On Genji -- Part 1

On Genji – Part 1

I’m rereading The Tale of Genji (Genji Monogatari).  I’m enjoying it immensely.  I first read Genji decades ago; I think it was at least 35 years.  And, if memory serves, I did not read the entire work at that time, finding myself overwhelmed by the immense cast of characters and the huge size of the novel (over 1,000 pages).  I admired the work at first reading, and there were passages of great beauty that spoke to me; but as an overall whole Genji eluded me.

This time I am responding differently.  I love it.  I think this is partly due to simply being older.  The understanding of impermanence permeates Genji at multiple levels.  The world of nature is one way that this expressed, but there is also the impermanence of human relationships both at a personal and political level.  I think it is easier for an older person to resonate with this; in any case it speaks more to me now than when I read Genji before.

The fickleness of human desire is another major theme in Genji and, again, I think this is something that is learned, if it is learned, over time.  All relationships end in parting, either by death or divorce; and though that is a universal truth, it is a truth that takes some experience to really comprehend.

I am also more familiar today than I was when I first approached Genji with the specifically Buddhist references found in the novel in every chapter.  References to past lives and karma, to the Lotus Sutra, and to the Pure Land add dimensions of depth and meaning to Genji that, I suspect, most westerners would miss.  Murasaki assumes that her audience knows these references, but a modern westerner, unless, like myself, he took a lot of time studying the Japanese Buddhist tradition, is unlikely to pick up on most of them.  And the Buddhism of Murasaki’s time differs in significant ways from Japanese Buddhism today.  Modern Japanese Buddhism is the result of the turmoil of the 13^th century and ended up with strongly sectarian traditions that view each other with suspicion so that in Japan today you find institutionally separated traditions like Zen, Pure Land, and Nichiren.  In the time of Murasaki (the 11^th century), however, the Buddhist tradition had not yet fragmented into these mutually antagonistic sects.  There were divisions, naturally enough, but they were divisions found within an organization rather than divisions between organizations.  For this reason the understanding of Buddhism in Japan at that time was more singular and more pervasive than it is now; either in Japan or in the West.

I am also struck, at times amazed, by Murasaki Shikibu’s ability to comprehend and write about human psychology.  The world of Genji is in many ways strange to us.  It is an insular world, an elite world, a world of mannered gestures and coded complex customs that are no longer part of the world (either the western world or Japan’s).  Yet beneath these striking differences Murasaki uncovers motives and purposes that drive her characters and that we can fully recognize as operative in the world today.  That is how Genji can manage to speak to a modern audience.

In some ways I feel while I am reading Genji like when I am reading some sci-fi novel set in another world.  I am thinking, for example, of the Darkover novels by Marion Zimmer Bradley.  Bradley constructs a world on a distant planet named ‘Darkover’, with groups and factions that differ from what we have on earth today.  Yet Bradley’s novels nevertheless speak to us.  Murasaki is a better author; but my point is that reading Genji  today has a similar, off-worldly, feeling to it; like you are dropping onto a planet (a Star Trek first contact) that is filled with strange customs and has a completely different history.  Yet, in spite of that, they are still humanoids and not only is communication possible, but it is surprisingly enriching.

And I am a more experienced poet now than when I first tried to read Genji.  Murasaki was not only a great novelist and storyteller; she was also a great tanka poet.  The world of tanka poetry is a major theme in Genji.  Numerous tanka from the imperial waka/tanka collections, such as the Kokinwakashu, are quoted.  In addition Murasaki herself composed almost 800 tanka that are scattered like jewels throughout the novel.  This integration of story with poetry has left a lasting impression on Japanese literature.

The English language world is blessed with four excellent translations of Genji.  The earliest one is by Waley and is still admired by many.  I am currently reading the Seidensticker translation which I find lucid with just enough footnotes to assist the reader with customs and references.  There is also a translation by Royall Tyler; it is more recent.  And late last year Dennis Washburn published a brand new translation through Norton.  In addition, there is a translation of all the tanka poetry found in Genji by Edwin A. Cranston found in A Waka Anthology, Volume Two: Grasses of Remembrance.  I don’t know enough Japanese (in fact, I’ve forgotten almost all of it that I used to know) to judge the quality of each translation.  (And Genji  is written in Japanese that is 1,000 years old.  My understanding is that modern Japanese read Genji in translations into contemporary Japanese because the Japanese of Genji is too remote.)  Each translation has its advocates.  If you are inclined to read Genji my recommendation is to go online and read from the translations and find out which one resonates most with you and go for it.

This is the first post about Genji I plan on writing.  In subsequent posts I want to address what Genji offers us in terms of insights into human nature, and the place of Murasaki’s poetry in Genji, which, I believe, hasn’t been fully recognized by her English language translators.  I think this can tell us something about our own poetic culture at this time.

More to come.

A Guide for English Language Tanka Poets

I have a great fondness for the Kokin Wakashu, particularly the translation by Helen McCullough.  My feeling is that it has not received the attention it deserves from those interested in composing Tanka in English.  The skill with which McCullough translates the Japanese tanka into English is amazing.  And the fact that she maps the Japanese syllabics of 5-7-5-7-7 onto English is impressive.

More importantly, the translation is itself a demonstration of the efficacy of adopting the syllabic shape of the Japanese onto English.  I feel the work can serve as a kind of textbook for those wishing to follow the traditional syllabic shape of the Japanese.

Hoping, in a minor way, to encourage more interest in this translation, I wrote the following review for Amazon and posted it today:

The Kokin Wakashu, compiled about 905, was the first Imperial Anthology of Tanka poetry.  It has had a huge influence on Japanese poetry in general, and particularly on the Japanese form of Tanka.  What we now call ‘Tanka’ today was, at the time of this anthology, known as ‘Waka’.  Tanka is the most important poetic form in Japanese culture.  It has had a continuous history of about 1400 years, and is still practiced by numerous Japanese poets at this time.

Japanese poetry is syllabic and the contours of Tanka have remained the same for its entire history: a five phrase (ku), or line, poem with the syllables distributed as follows: 5-7-5-7-7.  This gives the Tanka a total of 31 syllables.

One of the remarkable things about this translation by Helen McCullough is that she chose to map the syllabic count of the Japanese onto the English language in her translations.  What this does for the reader is to replicate the formal relationships that the poems have in the anthology.  I mean that in the original anthology all the poems have the same formal characteristics, the same syllabic count.  As you move from one poem to another a rhythm, or pulse, is felt.  This pulse is shared by all the poems no matter how different they may be in topic, image, and style.  McCullough’s translation replicates this relationship among the poems which is a great achievement.  And her translations are themselves superb; they are poems themselves.  I am in awe of how she was able to transform a Japanese poetic masterpiece into an English poetic masterpiece and retain the structural elements as she moved from one language to another.

The Waka Kokinshi consists of 1111 poems, grouped into topical chapters that include the four seasons, felicitations, parting, travel, wordplay, love, grief, and miscellaneous.  Because some topics have more than one chapter, the total number of chapters is twenty.  There are about 130 named poets, as well as numerous anonymous tanka.  The editors skillfully arranged the tanka so that they link to each other and there is a natural flow as one reads the tanka in sequence.  The skill with which the tanka are linked is amazing, considering the large number of poets.  The result is that each chapter is more than the sum of its parts.  In a way, each chapter resembles a beautifully crafted collage where all the parts contribute to an overall effect. 

If you are interested in Japanese poetry, this is an essential read.  The Waka Kokinshu became a textbook for how to craft Tanka.  Its poems are referenced allusively in countless poets down through the centuries.  The careful linking of the poems led to the emergence of renga, and out of renga emerged haiku.  So this collection of Tanka is in many ways the wellspring of Japanese poetry.

If you are an English language poet who has taken an interest in the tanka form, this work serves as an elegant teacher of how to craft a 31-syllable poem into a 5-7-5-7-7 structure in the English language.  Because McCullough’s translations are so elegant and so natively English, this translation serves as a guide for all those interested in English language tanka.

The book also contains two short, additional, works by the primary editor, Ki no Tsurayuki: the Tosa Nikki and the Shinsen Waka.  These two works give us a broader view of the main editor.  There are also excellent appendices that help in locating a specific poem you may be searching for.

This book was published in 1985.  Unfortunately, it has not received, in my opinion, the attention it deserves from English language poets writing in Japanese forms.  Part of the reason, I think, is the price.  My hope is that Stanford will issue this translation in paperback at some point in the near future so that the treasures found in this work can be accessible to a wider audience.

This is a grand work of poetry and one of the finest translations I have ever come across.  Lyrical, poignant, striking in its imagery, and universal in its humanity, it is a work that can nourish a lifetime.

Kokin Wakashu

The First Imperial Anthology of Japanese Poetry

Translated and Annotated by Helen Craig McCullough

Stanford University Press

ISBN: 9780804712583

$95.00

Translators Day

Translators Day

I’ve put aside a date on my developing Syllabic Poetry Calendar to honor translators; specifically translators of poetry.  And even more narrowly, those translators who have translated syllabic poetry from other cultures into English.  And, finally, bringing this into sharper focus, those translators who have done their best to communicate the formal parameters of the original into English.

Translation is difficult and I feel that translators have not been given their due.  It was, for example, translations of Italian Sonnets into English that introduced that form to the English speaking world.  Many of these very early translations are fine works in themselves.  And that, I think, is the great contribution that translators give to their native culture.  If the translation itself is attractive and poetic, the translation serves as a sign to other poets that there is potential here, something to be looked at and developed.

One of my favorite examples of such a translator is Helen Craig McCullough and her translation of the Kokin Wakashu.  It is the finest volume of translation from the Japanese that I have read.  McCullough keeps close to the formal parameters of the Tanka, the 5-7-5-7-7 syllable form.  This serves as a demonstration of the efficacy of that form in the English language.  Her translations are often excellent poetry in themselves.  And there are judicious notes which help the reader to understand cultural references. 

I think of McCullough’s translation of this ancient collection of Tanka (known at the time of its publication, the 10^th century, as ‘Waka’) as an exemplar of what translation should be like.  In the ‘Translator’s Preface’ she writes, “Two basic options exist for the translator of classical Japanese poetry.  A waka may be treated as a point of departure for a very different poem in another language, or an effort may be made to reproduce content, form, and tone as faithfully as possible.  The second method, which seems the more conducive to an understanding of Japanese literature, has been the one adopted here.”

Most modern translations into English of East Asian poetry into English adopt the first method; that is to say the original poems are treated as a point of departure for a very different poem in English.  My view of this approach is that what is occurring is not actually translation.  It is closer to commentary.  At its best the result is a kind of midrash on the original poem.  But because the formal parameters are ignored I do not think that such a procedure yields what I think of as an actual translation.

Fortunately, there are translators such as McCullough, Cranston, Carter, Arntzen, and many others who comprehend that form is part of a poem’s meaning.  This especially applies to poems that are part of a long formal tradition such as the Tanka/Waka and the Sonnet.

So let’s take a moment to express our appreciation for those translators who have opened doors that were previously closed and thereby enriching our own world of poetry.

Kokinshu Commentary -- 10

Kokinshu Commentary – 10

10. Fujiwara Kotonao. A poem recited at the beginning of spring

Has spring come early
Or might the blossoms be late?
There is no answer –
Not even from the warbler,
Who could tell me if he would.

We return to the theme of the ambiguity of time and season. In Tanka one the question is how to determine the beginning of the year which is marked in the traditional calendar as the beginning of spring. Here the ambiguity relates to how far along we have entered the Spring season.

This points to a way that seasonal verses are organized in Japanese poetry. There is a progression to a season, particularly spring and fall. There are the first signs of spring; where I live that would be the quince blossoms, which are the first to bloom, often in mid-February, before the plums. Where I live the sequence of blooms is first quince, plums, cherry and apple at about the same time. In Japanese poetry this kind of sequence of seasonal events was noted and the sequence of Tanka in the seasonal sections of the Kokinshu replicates these seasonal appearances. Beginning with mist rising from snow because of the warming air, the arrival of the warbler (uguisu), the blossoming of the plum which often happens in the snow, first spring rains, cherry blossoms, etc.

When Renga, or linked verse, developed there were locations in the linked verse sequence which were designated seasonal sequences. The verses needed to be in seasonal order; that is to say if there was a verse that referred to cherry blossoms the next verse could not refer to plum blossoms because plum trees blossom before cherry trees do. Similarly for other seasonal appearances.

These became codified in what are called Saijiki, a book of words and their seasonal associations, among other things. It is a standard tool for Japanese poets. No Japanese Haiku poet would write without one. All of this is rooted in, and takes its nourishment from, the way Tanka were placed in the classic collections such as the Kokinshu.

This consciousness of the signs of nature, and the placement of those signs in the seasonal unfolding, is one of the characteristics of Japanese poetry, particularly Japanese poetry anthologies. This indicates a culture which was acutely aware of this aspect of their environment, celebrated it, honored it, responded to it.

This particularly Tanka points to the fact that the sequence of seasonal events doesn’t always follow our expectations. The warbler is here, which means we are in spring, but where are the blossoms that normally coincide with the warbler’s appearance? As the poet says, “There is no answer.”

The link to Tanka 9 is “flowers have yet to bloom” from Tanka 9 raises the question of why they are blooming late in Tanka 10.

The author, Fujiwara Kotonao, does not appear often in the Kokinshu. However, the Fujiwara clan as a whole makes many appearances. This is the first Tanka from the Fujiwara clan. This clan was the most powerful clan in Japan for a long period of Japanese history. It is not surprising, then, that the Fujiwaras would be significantly represented in the Kokinshu.

The lede to the Tanka indicates that the Tanka was ‘recited’. This likely means that Fujiwara Kotonao was asked to present a Tanka on Spring at a gathering or party of some kind and that he came up with this Tanka spontaneously. Sometimes at these gatherings people would know ahead of time what the topic would be for any poetry offered. Sometimes the host would name the subject after the guests had gathered. In any case, this recitation sufficiently impressed people that it was remembered and included in the Kokinshu.

Kokinshu Commentary -- 9

Kokinshu Commentary -- 9

Book 1 Spring 1

9. Ki no Tsurayuki -- On a snowfall

When snow comes in spring –
Fair season of layered haze
And burgeoning buds –
Flowers fall in villages
Where flowers have yet to bloom

The link to the previous Tanka, number 8, is the snow. In Tanka 8 snow functions both as a seasonal marker for late spring and as a metaphor, through the technique of elegant confusion, to indicate the aging of the poet and the appearance of white, or snow, in his hair.

The technique of elegant confusion continues as the central device in Tanka 9. The ‘confusion’ is the mistaking of falling clumps of snow for falling blossoms when only buds have begun to appear. So Tanka 8 and 9 are linked by the central image of snow and also linked by how that image is used; to create a deliberate sense of ambiguity.

In addition the central ambiguity, or confusion, has to do with time. In Tanka 8 the snow in the hair indicates aging and the passing of time, as opposed to the seasonal now of snow falling in early spring. In Tanka 9 the confusion is between very early spring, when only buds have appeared, and late spring, when blossoms have fallen. Read together the two Tanka have a dream like quality to them:

Rare is the fortune
Of one who basks in the sun
On this springtime day,
Yet how can I not lament
That snow should whiten my head?

When snow comes in spring –
Fair season of layered haze
And burgeoning buds –
Flowers fall in villages
Where flowers have yet to bloom

This is the second Tanka by Ki no Tsurayku who was the main editor and compiler of the Kokinshu. There have been three by ‘Anonymous’; all other poets thus far have one each.

This Tanka was written to a topic: On a snowfall. We do not know what the circumstances were for the assigned topic, but it is likely that it was a public event and that Tsurayuki won the prize for the best Tanka on that topic. I think that one reason Tsurayuki won is that he wrote a Tanka on the assigned topic, but the season of his Tanka is spring. Normally ‘falling snow’ would be a winter Tanka, perhaps late fall. It is unusual, and counterintuitive to think of falling snow as a spring topic. But our poet pulls it off successfully, painting a picture from late spring, perhaps the last snowfall of the year. In my own imagination I think of the snowfall in this Tanka as melting almost immediately.

The progress of the season of spring is moving slowly forward. This is the first Tanka that specifically mentions ‘buds’, ‘burgeoning buds’. The way this Tanka is placed, after a Tanka on snow, and with snow as the central image of this Tanka, mutes the reader’s awareness of the introduction of this specifically spring event. There really is now ambiguity about the progress of the seasons; we all know when we can see buds that spring is here. In a sense spring means that buds are beginning to appear.

But Tsurayuki is a master of ambiguity and of hesitancy; of keeping us waiting for the definitive signs of spring. Tsuryakuki will introduce them not one by one, but in a kind of overlapping way so that when a particular sign of spring first appears it is done subtly, enmeshed in other signs so that we almost miss this new appearance. And isn’t that the way we actually experience the flow of the seasons? We often have the feeling that ‘suddenly’ there is spring, missing when the buds first appear, or when the plum blossom first opened. In this sense Tsurayuki’s method mimics the way we experience the seasonal display.

Kokinshu Commentary -- 8

Kokinshu Commentary 8

Book 1 – Spring 1

8. Fun-ya no Yasuhide. On the Third of a certain First Month, the Nijoo Emprress [Kooshi], who was then known as the Mother of the Crown Prince [Emperor Yoozei], summoned Yasuhide to receive some instructions. As he bowed below her veranda, she observed that snow was falling on his head while the sun was shining. She commanded him to compose a poem

Rare is the fortune
Of one who basks in the sun
On this springtime day,
Yet how can I not lament
That snow should whiten my head?

Comment: This is the first Tanka that is given a specific date; the Third day of the First Month. The First Month here was according to the lunar calendar, the same as the Chinese Calendar, so the First Month would begin, usually, sometime in February. This is also the first Tanka with a substantial lede or introduction, explicitly setting the scene. It shows us how important it was for courtiers of this period in Japanese history to be able to compose a Tanka on the spot.

The theme of elegant confusion, which began with Tanka 6, continues here. Tanka 6, 7, and 8 form a linked series of three Tanka all of them using elegant confusion as the central technique for the construction of the Tanka. With Tanka 9 this technique is left behind. It is appropriate, therefore that this Tanka uses elegant confusion in a subtle way. The implication is that white snowflakes resemble the gray beginning to appear in Yasuhide’s hair; but this is not stated explicitly. In Tanka 6 and 7 the confusion is explicitly stated. Thus this Tanka, number 8, functions as a way of smoothly leaving the technique of elegant confusion behind, preparing for its disappearance in Tanka 9, by muting its usage. The reader is invited to compare white snowflakes and graying hair, but such a confusion is not mentioned overtly.

There is also the implied metaphor that Yasuhide is “basking in the sun” of his royal patronage, the Nijoo Empress, and by extension the Crown Prince. All in all this Tanka is thoroughly metaphorical, which is in keeping with a less explicit use of elegant confusion.

We are still in early spring. It is a sunny day, but snow is falling, probably lightly. I can envision the snow melting quickly as it lands. Flowers are not mentioned for the first time since Tanka 5, but that theme is resumed in the very next Tanka 9. The gap created here by the absence of flowers, allows for the subsequent Tanka 9 to depict flowers in a new way; flowers falling, and thus allowing for the movement into the spring season, away from its very beginning.

All in all this verse functions as a kind of turn; one can recognize how this kind of verse is used in Renga so that the series can move on to a new perspective, topic, person, or view.

The author of this poem, Fun’ya no Yasuhide is mentioned in the Japanese Preface (there are two prefaces; one in Japanese and one in Chinese). The preface reads, “Fun’ya no Yasuhide’s language is skillful, but his style is inappropriate to his content. His poems are like peddlers tricked out in fancy costumes.” (Page 7) The preface then quotes an example of his poetry as follows:

The plants of autumn
Droop and wither at its touch –
That explains, of course,
Why a wind from the mountain
Has come to be called a storm.

This poem is found in the Kokinshu at Tanka 249.

The rather negative evaluation of Yasuhide found in the Preface raises the question of why he was included. Again, I think this points to how the editors of the Kokinshu, and particularly Ki no Tsurayuki, as the principle compiler, viewed their task. It seems that they wanted the Kokinshu to reflect the actual usage of Tanka in Japan rather than imposing on the collection their own esthetic. This is not easy to do and I think it is likely that the compilers’ own preferences did play a part. Yet it is also a laudable goal and I think it contributes to the enduring value of the Kokinshu in that the editors were willing to include Tanka by poets that they may have had reservations about if that poets exemplified a certain approach to Tanka that was valued at the time; that is to say valued by others. This approach would resemble an editor today of, say, modern sonnets, and deliberately including sonnets that they didn’t think highly of because these sonnets had become widely appreciated or represented a way of approaching the sonnet that was widespread. I think this is highly commendable and it continues to be one of the reasons why I enjoy reading the Kokinshu.

Kokinshu Commentary 7

Kokinshu Commentary 7

Book One -- Spring 1

7. Anonymous. Topic unknown

That I should mistake
Lingering snowflakes for flowers –
Might it be because
My longing was so fervent
When I broke off the branches?

According to some, this poem was composed by the Former Chancellor.

Comment: The strong link between this Tanka 7 and the previous Tanka 6 rests both on method and on topic. Regarding method there are two aspects: rhetoric and device. The rhetorical usage is that of a question in both Tanka 6 and Tanka 7; both Tanka are in the form of questions. Regarding device, the method is elegant confusion, again used in both Tanka. The topic is confusing snowflakes for flowers in early spring; almost certainly plum blossoms are meant. The shift between the two Tanka has to do with the placement of the elegant confusion. In the previous Tanka 7 the author, Monk Sosei, infers elegant confusion on the part of the warbler, or acts as though he can understand what the warbler is thinking. In Tanka 7 the anonymous author reports his or her own confusion. Tanka 7 is, therefore, more introspective and personal. In addition, the cause of the elegant confusion in Tanka 7 is psychological; fervent longing has confused the observer. This Tanka focuses on how the mind, when it is in a state of deep longing for another often sees the world through perception that is distorted by that longing. We have all been through this kind of situation. Popular songs sometimes refer to it, e.g. “On the Street Where You Live”.

The “breaking off the branches” refers to a custom in Japan at that time where someone would send a letter with blossoms attached. Different blossoms meant different things. I’m not sure what plum blossoms meant, but I bet the intended readers of the Kokinshu at the time it was compiled had a cultural referent for this. The scene this Tanka paints uses what some contemporary Tanka poets call “dreaming room”. That is to say there is implied in this Tanka an expansive situation involving a nascent love, a possible love letter, both a past and possible future for the two people implied. This is a powerful way of composing Tanka; to have the image reverberate in the mind of the reader, taking the reader both into the past and into the future, placing the Tanka in the midst of this field of time.

Incidentally, we do not know if the “I” of this Tanka is male or female. The author is anonymous and this kind of Tanka was written by both men and women. The note attached after the Tanka states that some think the Tanka was written by the “Former Chancellor” seems perfunctory. My sense is that the editors noted this, but didn’t feel the ascription was secure enough to place it where the author’s name would be.

Personally, I think this is a beautiful Tanka. There is a hint that the elegant confusion between the snow and the flowers may be a metaphor for unrequited love. Did the author think that someone else had fond feelings for the author (blossoms), only to discover that this was not the case (snow)? That might explain why the branches, though broken off, have not as yet been sent. On the other hand, the Tanka admits to multiple understandings.

Kokinshu Commentary -- 6

Kokinshu Commentary 6

Book One – Spring 1

6. Monk Sosei. On fallen snow clinging to a tree

Now that spring has come,
Does he mistake them for flowers –
The warbler singing
Among branches deep-laden
With mounds of snowy white flakes?

Comment: This is the first example in the Kokinshu of a technique that the reader will encounter frequently. The technique is called “elegant confusion”. The technique allows the poet to draw a comparison, using the pretense that the observer is confused. In this Tanka the elegant confusion is the mis-identification of snowflakes for plum blossoms, or spring blossoms. Here, I think, the translator may be off somewhat. The previous Tanka, Number 5, specifically mentions plum blossoms, while this Tanka, Number 6, uses the generic “flowers”. However, the deliberate linking here is, I think, supposed to guide the reader to inferring that the flowers in question are plum blossoms, and not just any kind of blossom. It is rather like flowers/”hana” functions as a kind of pronoun, or place holder, for the plum blossoms of Tanka 5. This kind of usage was later encoded in Renga where the word “blossom”/”hana” was understood to mean cherry blossoms unless otherwise specified. This is still the rule in traditional Japanese Haiku. However that may be, the linkage to Tanka 5 would lead the reader to infer plum blossoms if the two Tanka are read together as a single, longer, poem.

But back to elegant confusion; this is a technique that was inherited from Chinese poetry. Elegant confusion was, at one time, widely used. It has fallen into disfavor in modern times because it seems to us to be too affected. Who ever really confuses snowflakes and blossoms?, our realistic approach to the world asks.

I think this misunderstands the technique. My sense is that elegant confusion was a form of structured metaphor. In East Asian poetry in general, and Japanese poetry in particular, explicit metaphor is not a widely used, or admired, technique. One does not often come across the deliberate comparison through a linguistic structure of “X is like Y”, or “X is Y”. Elegant confusion, however, provided poets a means for stating a metaphor which would be accepted by the canons of their poetic culture. If we look at elegant confusion as “elegant metaphor” I think we can be more accepting of what the poet is offering. We do not blanche when the poet says, “My love is like a red, red, rose.” We accept this because it is part of the structure of western poetic culture. Similarly, we can be accepting of “X looks so much like Y that I got confused between the two when I saw them . . .”; such an approach is similarly a means for making a metaphorical statement within the acceptable range of Japanese poetic culture. In other words, the elegant confusion between the plum blossoms and snowflakes draws our attention both to how they are alike and how they differ; this is exactly the beauty and function of metaphor.

The author of this Tanka was the Monk Sosei, a famous Tanka poet who lived from 816-910. His work appears in many Tanka/Waka anthologies. He has been elevated to one of the Thirty-Six Poetry Immortals in Japan; in other words he has been deified in the same way that many living figures have become deified following Japanese Shinto custom. An earlier example would be Sugawara no Michizane, who became the deity Tenjin. A recent example would be the great Renga and Haiku poet, Basho.

I find it instructive that the editors of the Kokinshu placed this famous Tanka poet between two anonymous Tanka; both Tanka 5 and Tanka 7 are Anonymous. I think this achieves several purposes. First, it allows Sosei’s Tanka to stand apart somewhat. Second, I think it is a signal to the reader that the editors may have particularly liked this Tanka and may also reflect their admiration for Sosei.

The links to the previous Tanka are: the warbler, the setting of spring flowers/plum blossoms that are blooming in the snow. The shift is one of perspective. Tanka 5 is a simple landscape. Tanka 6 is more introspective and takes us into the mind of the poet, in this case Sosei. Here the poet is explicitly speculating, wondering, thinking about, the scene. It is this speculation that gives rise to elegant confusion.

In closing I’d like to say a few words about “topic”. After the author attribution the Kokinshu has a brief phrase. Sometimes it is “topic unknown”, and sometimes there is a statement of topic, and at other times there is a brief description of the circumstances under which the Tanka was written. When there is a specific topic that indicate to the reader at the time that the Tanka was likely written during a poetry meeting in which the gathered poets were given an assigned topic upon which to write their Tanka. This was a widespread custom in Japan for many centuries; perhaps it is still done, I’m not sure. The idea is that someone, the host, would gather the poets together and then at the gathering the topic would be announced. All the assembled poets would then compose a Tanka on that theme. The poems would then be judged and the winner receive accolades. If the gathering was put on by a high aristocrat there might be considerable material rewards. Teachers would use such gatherings for their advanced students to hone their students’ abilities. Topics were not spontaneous; there were lists of appropriate topics. Certain subjects were off-limits among which were explicitly erotic or pornographic subjects, political commentary, or subjects that might endanger the participants in the highly volatile world of Japanese politics. Acceptable topics were the seasons, love, travel, parting, impermanence in all its manifestations, religion (which meant Buddhism and Shinto), occasional Tanka that were usually laudatory of the sponsor or the sponsor’s family and/or clan affiliation, etc. Though there were numerous examples of acceptable topics, they all fell under a few headings. For example, there were many topics that fell under the category of Spring, or under the category of Love. Poets practiced writing Tanka on these specified topics so that they would be prepared for poetry gatherings.

So when we read that the Tanka was written on a specific topic it is likely that this particular Tanka won at whatever gathering it was written at. When the editors say “topic unknown” the inference is that they think that the Tanka was written at such a gathering, but they are not sure; perhaps it has folk origins outside of this kind of refined poetic culture. “Topic unknown” is a signal to the reader of the time that the source of the Tanka may lie in the wider public sphere, beyond the refined aristocratic pursuit of poetic excellence in accord with specific canons. When the situation under which the Tanka was written is explicitly described, this is done because the circumstances are meant to show the reader the talent and ability of the poet and give us a context under which it was written.

In this particular instance the topic was “On fallen snow clinging to a tree”. We do not know how many others were gathered at this poetry gathering, or when exactly it took place. But we do know that Sosei’s Tanka carried the day, eventually ending up in this anthology.

Kokinshu Commentary -- 5

Kokinshu Commentary – 5

Book 1 – Spring

5. Anonymous. Topic Unknown

O warbler perching
On a bough of the plum tree,
You come with your song
To welcome in the springtime
Yet snowflakes still flutter down

Comment: This is the first mention of the plum tree (ume). The plum is an early bloomer, often blooming before the last snow has melted. It is, therefore, a sign of spring, but the earliest part of spring.

I think this is one of those unsophisticated Tanka that appear scattered through the Kokinshu. I could see it included in a “Child’s Garden of Tanka” collection. Sometimes critics of the Kokinshu have pointed out that the editors include Tanka of questionable value, while not including Tanka of high quality that were available at the time. Often these admired Tanka were picked up in later royally commissioned Tanka collections such as the Shinkokinshu.

I think, however, that this kind of criticism misses the mark. In the west, and among moderns generally, there is the idea that all poems in an anthology should be of the first rank. Editors of poetry magazines often have that view and sometimes explicitly say they are only interested in poems that are unusual, original, or stand out. But that’s not the way the Kokinshu editors worked. My sense is that what the editors were attempting was a kind of record of actual usage; that is to say a collection that reflected how Tanka worked in the lives of the Japanese people. So Tanka were selected that have various functions from the highly literary to the folk song to the nursery rhyme style.

Personally, I have grown to admire this esthetic variety; I think of it as one of the great strengths of the Kokinshu. This approach also had a lasting influence on later developments in Japanese poetry, specifically in Renga. Not every verse in a Renga is supposed to stand out. Some Renga verses will be “background” verses. But these background verses serve to highlight the strong, memorable, foreground verses in a Renga.

In composing a Renga it was considered acceptable to write a “good enough” verse. I think that the editors of the Kokinshu included some Tanka that were “good enough” even if they were not show pieces. I understand that even some modern Tanka poets in Japan will collect their Tanka using the same esthetic; that is to say some Tanka are “good enough” to include, while only a few in the publication are sparkling jewels.

I find this approach restful and soothing. As a poet I think there is an important lesson to be gleaned here. And that is simply that when writing a poem it is OK to write a poem that is “good enough”. Just as a potter will make “good enough” cups, or a baker will make “good enough” bread.

The links between Tanka 5 and four are, first, the warbler, the snow, and the technique of personification. The shift takes place by adding in Tanka 5 the sonic element of the warbler’s song which is a new element. If one reads Tanka 4 and 5 together, the first sonic element is this song of the warbler. Actually, this is the first mention of a sound, none of the previous Tanka refer to the sonic world. This re-enforces my view that Tanka 4 was a kind of new beginning for the Spring Series of Book 1 because a more complete picture of Spring is being presented that includes both the visual and the sonic domains.

Kokinshu Commentary -- 4

Book One -- Spring

4. A poem by the Nijo Empress [Koshi] on the beginning of spring

Springtime has arrived
While fallen snow lingers on.
Ah, now at long last
The warbler’s frozen teardrops
Will surely be dissolving.

Comment: The fourth Tanka refers back to the opening Tanka; the structure, and even some of the lines, are identical. Here are the two of them so you can compare:

Tanka 1:

Springtime has arrived
While the old year lingers on.
What then of the year?
Are we to talk of “last year”?
Or are we to say “this year”?

Tanka 4:

Springtime has arrived
While fallen snow lingers on.
Ah, now at long last
The warbler’s frozen teardrops
Will surely be dissolving.

Tanka 4 announces the arrival of spring by referring to the dissolving of teardrops, which implies that the temperature of the air is warming, one of the first signs of approaching spring. Tanka 1 raises the question of the meaning of a season, whether it is designated by reference to a human made calendar or something else. Tanka 4 designates the arrival of spring by an indirect reference to the warming of the air, a natural appearance unrelated to the human made calendar.

In a sense I read Tanka 4 as a restarting of the spring series of Tanka found in Book 1. It is almost like Tanka 1 was a false start and the series really begins with Tanka 4. The feeling here for me is one of tentativeness. I am thinking of the feeling I have sometimes had when starting a lecture on some topic, and then deciding after a few minutes to take a different approach, and so I would start over; I might even say to the audience something like, “Let’s get at this from a different perspective.”

The link to the previous Tanka is strong; if one takes the last lines of Tanka 3 they lead smoothly to Tanka 4:

While snow still falls
In the hills of Yoshino,
The hills of fair Yoshino

Springtime has arrived
While fallen snow lingers on.

Tanka 4 is the first Tanka that uses personification; the warbler is said to have “tears” which became frozen in winter and are now, in the warmer air of incipient spring, beginning to melt. It is possible that this Tanka refers to some folk story that I am not aware of, which would add a dimension of meaning. In any case, personification is used frequently in the Kokinshu, emotional states are read into the natural world so that the difference between the human and natural world is reduced. The message here is that spring is an optimistic time, a time when tears dissolve as new life emerges.

Personification is an effective means of pointing out what I call “resonance” between the human world and the world of nature. In traditional Tanka poetry the emotional world of humans is understood to mimic the world of nature and the world of nature is thought of as having an emotional life. This is not something that is easy for modern human to understand because modern humans tend to look at nature mechanistically. In my own opinion one of the virtues of the Kokinshu is that it does not view nature mechanistically; rather it seems the world of nature and the world of human beings as seamless.

Kokinshu Commentary -- 3

Book 1 – Spring

3. Anonymous. Topic unknown

Where are we to seek
The layered haze of springtime
While snow still falls
In the hills of Yoshino,
The hills of fair Yoshino?

Comment: The approach of spring is sometimes hinted at by a kind of haze that lifts off the snow or the cold ground. When it is really cold there is no haze, rather there is a crisp clearness to the air. So haze is an intimation of spring, a very early sign that spring is coming.

This Tanka links with Tanka 2 in this emphasis on very early signals of approaching spring. Tanka 2 focused on melting frozen waters, which often happens before there are buds or other more obvious signs of spring. Tanka 3 focuses on the spring haze. If one reads both Tanka 2 and 3 together, they form a complete landscape of the earliest signs that spring is coming.

‘Yoshino’ was a short-lived district (716-738), carved out of the Yamato district, and fairly quickly reabsorbed into Yamato. It is located in present day Nara Prefecture. The Yamato district was central to the development of Japan both culturally and politically. The last two lines referring to the ‘hills of Yoshino’, therefore, have a special meaning. This kind of meaning roughly corresponds to a phrase like ‘purple mountains majesties’ in the song ‘America the Beautiful’. This Tanka, therefore, seeks to express the particular beauty of Japan for the Japanese people.

A word about the author, ‘anonymous’. According to the translator, Helen McCullough, in her book on the Kokinshu, “Brocade by Night”, ‘Anonymous’ is the author of 460 poems in the Kokinshu collection. This is by far the largest group of poems. As mentioned previously, the largest group for a named author is Ki no Tsurayuki at 102 poems. So Anonymous has more than four times as many poems as the most frequently named author. This means that over 40% of the poems in the Kokinshu are by unknown authors.

It is interesting to speculate as to the sources of these unknown authors. Tentatively there seem to be a number of possibilities. Some of the anonymous Tanka are probably from very early sources and Tsurayuki did not know the actual author.

Some of them are likely to have been folk songs, or verses extracted from folk songs. Like the Sonnet, Tanka has its origin in song; the earliest name for this type of verse is simply ‘uta’, which means song. I think it is possible that this Tanka, Tanka 3, is a kind of folk song whose origin is in the people native to the Yoshino/Nara area. The last two lines have the kind of repetition that one often sees in folk songs and I can easily think of it as a refrain of a longer, multi-verse, song. There is a strong precedent for the inclusion of folk songs because Confucius included large numbers of these kinds of poems in his collection ‘The Book of Odes’.

Another possibility for Anonymous would be known authors who were currently out of favor at court. The editors may have wanted to include a Tanka by someone for whom it was politically dangerous to be associated with. And so the name ‘Anonymous’ could be a way out of this difficulty. Remember that the Kokinshu was an Imperially commissioned collection, with all the political implications that such sponsorship implies.

Finally, ‘Anonymous’ may designate a member of a rival house of poetry. In Japan during this period there were rival houses, or extended families and their students, who specialized in the art and way of poetry. They all vied for official recognition and the fortunes of patronage. To include a Tanka from a rival house would be to acknowledge that other tradition’s worthiness, causing difficulty among the associates in one’s own house and tradition. But it would be possible to slip in a Tanka from a rival house, assuming one admired it, by claiming that one did not know the author.

All of the above are possibilities. But the wonderful thing about all of these anonymous Tanka is that by including so many it guarantees that we get to hear a multitude of different voices. Think of how different the Kokinshu would have been if the editors had decided to only include named Tanka, those Tanka with secure attribution. There would have been fewer perspectives, and a more limited range of expression.

The result of including so many Anonymous Tanka is that as one progresses through the Kokinshu one moves from Tanka that are obviously sophisticated, penned from someone trained in literary technique, to Tanka that are simple and unsophisticated. So the Kokinshu retains the full spectrum of Tanka styles that were current at that time, offering us a window into how Tanka were treated by a wide range of different people.

Kokinshu Commentary -- 2

Book 1 – Spring

1.

Spring has arrived
While the old year lingers on.
What then of the year?
Are we to talk of “last year”?
Or are we to say “this year”?

2. Ki no Tsurayuki. Composed on the first day of spring.

On this first spring day
Might warm breezes be melting
The frozen waters
I scooped up, cupping my hands
And letting my sleeves soak through?

Comment: The second Tanka answers the questions raised in the first Tanka. The first Tanka is ambivalent about time and season, but the second Tanka makes the assertion that this is the first day of spring. It does so by pointing to the melting of frozen waters; in other words, we know it is spring because nature tells us it is spring. Gone, in Tanka 2, is the tension between the human calendar and the seasonal display.

The Kokinshu’s inquiry into the nature of time can be framed in this way: is time a vessel in which things happen or is time the happening of things itself? The tendency is to think of time abstractly, as a kind of scale along which things happen at certain points. The view of the Kokinshu is that the seasons are time; in the sense that time is the emerging and disappearing of things in the world. If this is true then time can best be grasped through attentiveness to the world around us and through the journey of the seasonal changes.

I also think that the choosing here of the image of melting can be thought of as a metaphor for the melting of fixed human conceptions. The human mind creates fixity, but nature is flowing like warm breezes and ice melting. If we let nature “soak through” our human tendency to fixity, then we can find ourselves more at home in the world.

A note on the author: Ki no Tsurayuki was the primary editor of the Kokinshu. The anthology contains 102 Tanka by Tsurayuki, more than any other named author (“anonymous” is the most numerous group). I feel that by placing this Tanka as number 2, and using it to respond to the questions raised in Tanka 1, Tsurayuki is communicating to us his editorial stance and, perhaps, more broadly, his basic sense of life.

Kokinshu Commentary -- 1

Book 1 – Spring

1. Ariwara Motokata. Composed on a day when spring arrived during the old year.

Springtime has arrived
While the old year lingers on.
What then of the year?
Are we to talk of “last year”?
Or are we to say “this year”?

Comment: The Kokinshu begins with a poem that questions the nature of time. In the traditional Japanese calendar, based on the Chinese calendar, the New Year began on the second New Moon after the Winter Solstice; which turns out to be the New Moon in Aquarius in Western terms. This is the Chinese New Year which takes place sometime between January 21st and February 20th. Traditionally this was thought to be the beginning of spring (the Solstices and Equinoxes were thought to be the mid-points of the respective seasons, rather than the beginning of a season, which is how we tend to regard them in the west).

But while the calendar says “New Year”, or that the New Year is approaching, the rhythm of the seasons and the natural manifestations don’t always match up with human ways of framing the flow of time. Spring has arrived before the official calendar date for spring. The Tanka highlights the artificiality of human constructs, and how tentative they are, contrasting them with the presentation of the natural world. Does the word “spring” mean a date on our calendar or does “spring” mean when certain appearances emerge; plum trees in bloom, quince blossoms, melting snow, the first warm breeze, ice cracking, buds on the branches of the trees, wearing lighter clothing, etc.

I think the Kokinshu starts out with this Tanka to signal the reader that it is going to take a stance with nature; that is to say that nature precedes the human and is the context in which humans dwell. It is this larger context that the Kokinshu will focus on, particularly in the first six books devoted to the seasons.

Kokinshu Commentary -- Introduction

I’ve decided to add a new series to this blog; a commentary on the Kokinshu.

The Kokinshu is an anthology of Tanka, which in those days were called Waka. For this reason the full title of the Kokinshu is “Kokinwakashu”, but it is usually referred to as simply Kokinshu. The title means “Collection of Ancient and New Japanese Poems”. The anthology consists of 1,111 poems, all but nine of which are Tanka. It was put together around 915 c.e. It is the first of the twenty-one imperially commissioned Tanka anthologies. It has exerted an immense influence on Japanese poetry at every level; in terms of technique, in terms of topic, in its influence on subsequent anthologies, the Kokinshu is unrivalled. Right into the modern era poets in Japan would memorize large numbers of Tanka from this collection. Its esthetic was considered definitive for many centuries. Even today the Kokinshu is studied assiduously.

The Kokinshu was commissioned by the Emperor Daigo who reigned from 897 - 930. He selected the following editors; Ki no Tsurayuki, Ki no Tomonori, Ooshikoochi no Mitsune, and Mibu Tadamine. It is generally believed that Ki no Tsurayuki exerted the greatest influence on the anthology.

After the individual Tanka/Waka were selected, they were topically arranged. The result is that each of the twenty chapters of the Kokinshu is a series of poems by different authors that are so skillfully arranged and placed that one can read them as a single, unified poem, or one can read a single poem by itself. The remarkable skill with which the poems are linked to each other is one of the most influential features of the Kokinshu and it is one of the reasons the anthology is such a pleasure to read. Because of the success of this linking together of Tanka by different authors, the precedent was set for the later development of Renga, the linked verse of Japan which was deliberately written by a group of authors in series.

There are two translations of the Kokinshu into English; one by Helen McCullough published by Stanford, and one by Laurel Rasplica Rodd, originally published by Princeton, reissued by Cheng and Tsui. They are, by all accounts, both excellent. Both translators successfully mimic the syllabic structure of Japanese Tanka in their translations; that is to say they both strive to produce in English the 5-7-5-7-7 syllabic structure of the Japanese original. This is remarkable, all the more so because their translations are so good. I have decided to use the Helen McCullough translation simply because I prefer the English which strikes me as smoother than the Rodd translation and because McCullough has also published some commentarial material, “Brocade by Night”, which I may want to use. So this will be a commentary on the McCullough translation.

This commentary will not be scholarly. I do not know Japanese; though I did study in Japan decades ago. But the Kokinshu is medieval Japanese and the Japanese language has changed a great deal since the tenth century. So it is truly a specialist’s task to offer scholarly insights.

My intention is to offer a poetic commentary. I hope to keep the comments conversational, like I’m speaking to good friends who share a mutual interest rather than lecturing in a classroom. Since I discovered the Kokinshu about five years ago I have been reading it more or less continuously; a little bit at a time. I am, obviously, a Kokinshu enthusiast. As Tanka spreads to non-Japanese countries, I hope this commentary may awaken in others an interest in this ancient work which has done so much to shape the world of Tanka.