きてみればうらみられけり唐衣
かへしやりてん袖をぬらして
かへしやりてん袖をぬらして
- Roma-ji
-
Kite mireba uramirarekeri karagoromo
kaeshiyariten sode o nurashite - English Translation
-
Putting it on, I
found only bitterness there—
this Chinese robe I
would turn inside out and send
back, with my sleeves wet through
- Meaning
- Putting it on, I found only bitterness in it—this Chinese robe I would turn inside out and send back to you, with my sleeves wet through.
- Commentary
-
Part One: Tamakazura
At the year's end Genji distributed New Year robes among the ladies of the Rokujo estate and the east lodge at Nijo, discussing with Murasaki as he chose the colors suited to each—the celebrated scene of the parceling out of robes. The replies that came back were all of them out of the ordinary, but Suetsumuhana, who lived at the east lodge, being a punctilious person, did exactly as form required: she laid over the messenger's shoulder a kerria-yellow gown whose cuffs were badly soiled, with no lining beneath. Her letter was on heavily perfumed Michinoku paper, thick, somewhat aged and yellowed, and on it, in an antique hand, stood this poem. Genji smiled and did not at once put the letter down; but the sorry gift to the messenger put him out of temper, and the women laughed among themselves.
The "putting on" is the wearing of a robe. "Urami" plays on resentment and on seeing the lining. "Kaeshi" plays on sending back and on turning inside out. Wearing, lining, Chinese robe, returning, sleeve—all fall in as associated words, one upon another, in a manner strictly faithful to old convention. The complaint is that to be given robes without a visit is harder than nothing; but Genji only smiles at how exactly, how antiquely, it is done. Every device is used and nothing at all is felt: the poem conveys at once what is comic in Suetsumuhana and what is pitiable.
- Author
- Murasaki Shikibu
- Source
- Genji Monogatari
- Other
-
- This sedge of no worth— by what thread of destiny was it ever set to put its roots down and stay here in the mire, in this grief?
- The one who has loved all these years is the same still, yet by what strand of the jeweled vine did she come, tracing her way here to me?
- Even as you speak of sending the robe back to me, my thoughts go to you— to those nights of the one sleeve spread out beneath you alone
- On the pond's mirror, where the thin ice has melted and the water clears, there stand side by side two forms the world can show no like of