In this steady rain,
this quiet spring rain falling
through the long days—how,
I wonder, do you remember
the man of that old place?
- Meaning
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In this quiet spring rain falling through the long days, how do you remember, I wonder, the man of that old place?
- Commentary
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Part One: Makibashira
The Second Month came. Genji thought how heartlessly the Commander had acted, and how galling it was to have been caught off guard, never supposing the thing would be done so decisively; and he thought of her constantly, and with a longing unbecoming in public. He knew the trouble was of his own making, and still she rose before him waking and sleeping. With so unpolished a man beside her she could not even be joked with, he told himself, and held back; but on a day of heavy rain and long quiet he went, for want of anything else, to the rooms where she had lived, and longing for the way she used to talk with him, he wrote. He sent it secretly to Ukon, but even so, fearing what she would make of it, he set down little and left the rest to be guessed. This is the poem.
"Kakitarete" is rain coming steadily down. "The quiet spring rain" mirrors his own low spirits. "Furu" plays raining against growing old, and so leads into "furusato-bito," one of the old place—that is, himself. "How do you remember?" asks only that, without a word of open reproach. To leave the point unsaid and let the reader supply it matches the whole tone of the letter: a poem balanced very finely between the part of a foster father and the longing of a man.
- Author
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Murasaki Shikibu
- Source
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Genji Monogatari
- Other
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If the ninefold mist
comes down and keeps us apart,
plum blossom, must I
not have even so much as
this, your fragrance, coming to me?
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At least let this scent
be carried to you by the wind,
even if I have
no fragrance fit to stand beside
the blossoms on the branch
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Lost in the long rain,
my sleeves wet through with the drops
that fall from the eaves—
how should there be a moment,
brief as foam, when I forget?
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Unlooked for, the road
that runs through Ide divides us;
yet I go on loving,
saying nothing of it—loving
the flower of the yamabuki