- Top
- -
- Kagero Nikki
Omou chō waga koto no ha o adabito no shigeru nageki ni soete uramu na
Do not gather up my words, which say that I love her, together with the thickening sighs of a faithless man, and resent them too.
Soko ni sae karu to iu naru makomogusa ikanaru sawa ni ne o todomuramu
They say the wild rice has withered even at the water's bottom. In what marsh, then, has it settled its roots?
Kagero Nikki - The Mother of Fujiwara no Michitsuna
Makomogusa karu to wa yodo no sawa nare ya ne o todomu chō sawa wa soko to ka
Is it the marsh at Yodo where the wild rice is cut? And the marsh where its roots are said to rest — is that the place, so they tell me?
Waga yado no nageki no shita wa iro fukaku utsuroinikeri nagame furu ma ni
The lower leaves of the sighing wood at my house have deepened and changed color, while the long rains fell and I gazed the days away.
Kagero Nikki - The Mother of Fujiwara no Michitsuna
Ori narade irotsukinikeru momijiba wa toki ni aite zo iro masarikeru
Leaves that colored out of season only deepen in color when their proper time comes at last.
Kagero Nikki - Fujiwara no Kaneie
Moshio yaku keburi no sora ni tachinuru wa fusube ya shitsuru kuyuru omoi ni
That smoke of seaweed burning for salt, risen into the sky — was it smoked out of you by some smouldering fire of regret?
Omoiizuru toki mo araji to omoedomo ya to iu ni koso odorokarenuru
I had thought there would be no hour when you remembered me; and yet at that single cry — an arrow, a summons — I was startled awake.
Kagero Nikki - The Mother of Fujiwara no Michitsuna
Fuku kaze ni tsukete mo towamu sasagani no kayoishi michi wa sora ni tayu tomo
I shall ask after you, entrusting my word even to the wind, though the road the spider travelled breaks off midway in the sky.
Kagero Nikki - The Mother of Fujiwara no Michitsuna
Iro kawaru kokoro to mireba tsukete tou kaze yuyushiku mo omōyuru kana
Since it is a heart whose color changes, even the wind that carries your asking seems to me an ill-omened thing.
Fumi okishi ura mo kokoro mo aretareba ato o todomenu chidori narikeri
The shore where you once trod, and my heart with it, have gone to ruin: you were, then, a plover that leaves no trace behind.
Kagero Nikki - The Mother of Fujiwara no Michitsuna
Kokoro ari to fumi kaesu tomo hamachidori ura ni nomi koso ato wa todomeme
Though you tread it back and return my letter, saying it has a heart, the shore plover leaves its traces on one bay alone.
Kagero Nikki - Fujiwara no Kaneie
Hamachidori ato no tomari o tazunu tote yukue mo shiranu urami o ya semu
If I go seeking where the shore plover's traces come to rest, shall I do nothing but gaze at bays — and grieve — whose whereabouts I cannot know?
Kagero Nikki - The Mother of Fujiwara no Michitsuna
Ho ni idete iwaji ya sarani ōyoso no nabiku obana ni makasete mo mimu
I shall not bring it out into the open — not a word. I shall leave it to the plume grass that bends whichever way, and simply watch.
Kagero Nikki - The Mother of Fujiwara no Michitsuna
Ho ni ideba mazu nabikinamu hanasusuki kochi chō kaze no fukamu manimani
If it came out into the open, the plume grass would bend that way first of all — bending as the east wind blows, the wind whose name calls: come here.
Kagero Nikki - Fujiwara no Kaneie
Arashi nomi fukumeru yado ni hanasusuki ho ni idetari to kai ya nakaramu
At a house where nothing but storm winds seem to blow, what use would there be if the plume grass did come out into the open?
Kagero Nikki - The Mother of Fujiwara no Michitsuna
Momokusa ni midarete miyuru hana no iro wa tada shiratsuyu no oku ni ya aruramu
The color of these flowers, tangled among a hundred grasses — does it lie only in where the white dew chooses to settle, deep within?
Kagero Nikki - The Mother of Fujiwara no Michitsuna