紫にかことはかけむ藤の花
まつより過ぎてうれたけれども
まつより過ぎてうれたけれども
- Roma-ji
-
Murasaki ni kagoto wa kakemu fuji no hana
matsu yori sugite uretakeredomo - English Translation
-
On the purple, then,
of the wisteria will I
lay my grievance—though
it galls me that it should climb
and bloom out beyond the pine
- Meaning
- On the purple wisteria, then, will I lay my grievance—though it galls me that it should climb and flower out beyond the pine.
- Commentary
-
Part One: Fujiura
The gathering went on, and Yugiri arrived. The Minister put on his cap to receive him formally as a guest, and turned to the pleasure of the flowers, remarking, with a meaning smile, how this wisteria alone bloomed on into summer, and how its purple might be taken for a bond of kinship. The moon came out, the wine went round, and feigning drunkenness he pressed the cup on Yugiri, invoking the rule of filial courtesy and hinting at his long grievance. Then, judging the moment, he hummed the old poem of "the underleaf of the wisteria," and so gave his consent. Taking his meaning, Kashiwagi broke off a deep-colored, long-clustered spray and set it to the guest's cup; and as Yugiri took it and sat at a loss, the Minister made this poem.
"Purple" is the color of the wisteria and so the daughter. "Lay my grievance" is to voice a reproach. "Matsu" plays pine against waiting, and lays over it the real sight of wisteria climbing a pine. "Galls me" carries the sense of "ure," the flower's tip, as well. Complaining that it was Yugiri who kept him waiting, he says he will aim the reproach at the wisteria—that is, the daughter—so that the blame on the son-in-law is softened by being turned upon a flower. With this poem, taking up the old "underleaf of the wisteria," his consent is made sure. Folding grievance and blessing into one on the pivot of pine and wisteria, it is the work of a practiced hand.
- Author
- Murasaki Shikibu
- Source
- Genji Monogatari
- Other
-
- In the deepening dusk, when the wisteria of my house glows dark— will you not come and seek out what remains here of the spring?
- Rather, I might be lost in the plucking of it, this wisteria— if the hour of the dusk should leave me too uncertain of my way
- How many a spring heavy with dew have I passed and come at last to— this, the hour when the flower unlooses its knotted bud?
- The wisteria, that one might take for the sleeve of a slender girl— its color, too, may deepen according to who beholds it