Left (Win).
月ぞ澄む里はまことに荒れにけり鶉の床を拂ふ秋風
| tsuki zo sumu sato wa makoto ni arenikeri uzura no toko o harau aki kaze |
Clear shines the moon, dwelling O’er a house truly Gone to ruin; The quail’s bed Brushed by autumn breezes… |
347
Sada’ie’s poem alludes obliquely to a famous poetic exchange from the Kokinshū, initiated by Ariwara no Narihira.
Right.
繁き野と荒果てにける宿なれや籬の暮に鶉鳴く也
| shigeki no to arehatenikeru yado nare ya magaki no kure ni uzura nakunari |
Overgrown are these fields, and Is that a deserted Dwelling? By the fence at evening time The quails are crying. |
348
Both teams concur that there are no faults at all this round.
Shunzei agrees: ‘Both poems are on the theme of now deserted dwelling places and are equally beautiful in expression, with the Right’s work reminiscent of “Fushimi at evening time”, but this implies a broad vista, and is not “the fence at evening time” too narrow? The Left’s final section is better, and wins, I think.’
Left (Win).
ひとり寢る葦の丸屋の下露に床を傡べて鶉鳴く也
| hitori nuru ashi no maruya no shimo tsuyu ni toko o narabete uzura nakunari |
Sleeping singly In a reed-roofed hut, Dripped with dew, Beside my bed The quails are crying. |
345
Right.
秋風に靡く尾花の夕露や鶉が閨の雨と散るらむ
| akikaze ni nabiku obana no yūzuyu ya uzura ga neya no ame to chiruramu |
In the autumn breeze Flutter fronds of silvergrass, Scattering dewdrops On the quails’ roost – How like rain… |
The Provisional Master of the Empress’ Household Office.
346
The Right state that the Left’s poem has no faults. The Left state that, ‘“On the quails’ roost – how like rain” (uzura ga neya no ame) suggests that this is what it actually is.’
Shunzei disagrees: ‘It is not the case that uzura ga neya no ame definitely implies that it is actually rain, particularly with the scene set by dew on silvergrass. However, “beside my bed” (toko o narabete) is particularly attractive in expression. It should win.’
Left.
夕間暮あはれこもれる野原かな霧の籬に鶉鳴く也
| yūmagure aware komoreru nohara kana kiri no magaki ni uzura nakunari |
In the early evening dusk How melancholy is The plain; From beyond a fence of mist The quails are crying. |
343
Right.
移し植へし萩が籬の荒れ行をまことの野邊となす鶉哉
| utsushiueshi hagi ga magaki no areyuku o makoto no nobe to nasu usura kana |
My transplanted Bush clover by the fence is Disturbed and Truly, ‘tis the plain Again, with quails. |
344
The Right state that ‘“Fence of mist” (kiri no magaki) is an unclear expression.’ The Left counter that they are ‘unaccustomed to the expression “bush clover by the fence” (hagi ga magaki).’
Shunzei states, ‘With regard to the respective criticisms of the gentlemen of the Left and Right, in this context “fence of mist” is a perfectly standard expression. “Bush clover by the fence”, too, needs no real explanation. In fact, the Left’s poem is straightforward, and the Right’s charming: melancholy in the mists, and the charming cries from beneath the bush clover – it is impossible to say which is the winner, and so the round must tie.
Left (Win).
夕風の眞野の萩原吹くまゝに閨荒れぬとや鶉鳴らん
| yūkaze no mano no hagiwara fuku mama ni neya arenu to ya uzura nakuran |
As the evening breeze across Mano’s bush clover meadow Does blow, Their roost disturbed, perhaps, Quail burst into cry. |
341
Right.
風の音花の色にもしるかりつ鶉鳴べき野邊の氣色は
| kaze no oto hana no iro ni mo shirukaritsu uzura nakubeki nobe no keshiki wa |
The sound of wind, and The grasses’ hues Do tell it: ‘Tis fit that quails cry Upon a scene of plains. |
342
The Right have no criticisms to make of the Left’s poem. The Left simply remark that having both iro and keshiki (which use the character 色) is ‘a fault’.
Shunzei’s judgement is that, ‘the Left’s “does blow” (fuku mama ni), followed by “their roost disturbed, perhaps” (neya arenu to ya) is not a particularly expression. The Right’s, “do tell it” (shirukaritsu) is somewhat old-fashioned; I would not regard it as a fault, but I do regret it. Thus, the “roost” should win.’
Left (Win).
小萱原吹來る秋の夕風に心亂れと鶉鳴くなり
| ogayawara fukikuru aki no yūkaze ni kokoro midare to uzura naku nari |
Across the sedge fields Come blowing the autumn Evening winds; My heart’s in disarray, The quails are crying… |
339
Right.
秋風を厭ひやすらん夕間暮淺茅が下に鶉鳴く也
| aki kaze o itoi ya suran yūmagure asaji ga shita ni uzura naku nari |
The autumn wind: Do they dislike it, I wonder? In the dark of evening From beneath the sparse stalks of cogon grass The quails are crying… |
340
The Right feel that, ‘Just having “my heart’s in disarray” (kokoro midare to) is lacking something.” The Left have no particular criticisms of the Right’s poem.
Shunzei responds, ‘The gentlemen of the Right have remarked upon the lack in the Left’s poem, wondering, no doubt, if this should be “feeling my heart’s in disarray” (kokoro midare tote). If one were to say that this is definitely the way the poem should have been composed, it would be something of a loss to the Way of Poetry, I feel. If we permit poets to say they are “moved” (aware nari), why not that their “heart’s in disarray”? The Right’s poem has a superlative final section, but one cannot know whether quails dislike the autumn wind or not. In Springtime, the warblers frolic in the mists; in Autumn, the insects cry from beneath the dewdrops – but each only at their allotted time, and from this one can tell the season. The quails’ cries make one feel the chill of the autumn wind. If one composes that they hid themselves from dislike of it, it restricts the imagination about quails too much. The Left wins.’
Left.
鷹の子を手にも据へねど鶉鳴く淡津の原に今日も暮しつ
| taka no ko o te ni mo suenedo uzura naku awazu no hara ni kyō mo kurashitsu |
A hawklet On my arm have I not, yet The quails are crying On Awazu plain, as The day turns dark. |
337
Right.
秋といへば鶉鳴くなり原鹿の音をこそ花に任すれ
| aki to ieba uzura naku nari kohagiwara shika no ne o koso hana ni makasure |
Autumn is The quails crying, while From a field of fresh bush clover, The stags’ call, Summoned by the blossoms. |
338
The Right state they have no particular criticisms of the Left this round. The Left, however, remark that, ‘“Quails” do not have such a general reputation. The use of “summoned by the blossoms” (hana ni makasure) is also dubious.’
Shunzei remarks, ‘The Left’s poem would seem to be in the spirit of the popular song “A Hawklet”, except that here the poet lacks the hawklet and “on Awazu plain, the day turns dark” (awazu no hara ni kyō mo kurashitsu). I can only think that he has spent the entire day there wondering about hunting quail! I also feel that the poem’s whole construction is rather commonplace. The Right’s poem is, indeed, poetic, and were there an exemplar poem for the blossoms summoning “the stags’ call” (shika no ne), I would make it the winner. In its absence, the round ties.’
Left.
夏草の野嶋が崎の朝霧を分てぞ來つる萩の葉の摺り
| natsukusa no nojima ga saki no asagiri o wakete zo kitsuru hagi no ha no suri |
Summer grass grows high On Nojima Point; Through the morning mists Have I come forging, Robes patterned with bush-clover leaves. |
197
Right (Win).
茂き野と夏もなりゆく深草の里はうづらの鳴かぬばかりぞ
| shigekino to natsu mo nariyuku fukakusa no sato wa uzura no nakanu bakari zo |
Ever thicker grow the grasses and With the summer’s passing, too, At Fukakusa – deep within the greenery – The quails Let out not a cry – that’s all… |
198
The Right have no criticisms to make of the Left’s poem. The Left, however, say, ‘Using “summer’s passing, too” (natsu mo) appears to suggest a foundation upon something definite. What is it, however?’ The Right reply, ‘As the source poem is “A quail I shall become and cry” (udura to narite nakiworan), the impression given is of Autumn. Thus, “summer’s passing, too”.’
Shunzei judges, ‘The Left’s poem has as its final line, “Robes patterned with bush-clover leaves” (hagi no ha no suri), and before it, where one would expect to find the reason why the poet is forging across Nojima Point, is only “summer grass” (natsukusa no). This is repetitive. The Right’s poem, though, commencing with “ever thicker grasses” (shigeki no) is particularly fine in terms of configuration [sugata yoroshiki ni nitari]. Thus, it is the winner, this round.’