Okuyamano momijinonishiki hokayorimo ikanishigurete fukakusomekemu

English Translation

Deep in the mountains
this brocade of coloured leaves—
more than anywhere,
how much rain must have fallen
to dye it so deep a red

Meaning

This brocade of maples deep in the mountains—how much more rain than elsewhere must have fallen on it, to dye it so deep?

Commentary

Section 30: A Life of Pilgrimages

Setting down without order things separated by two or three, or four or five years makes her look like an ascetic forever on the road; but it is not so—these were things years apart.
Around spring she went into retreat at Kurama. The ridgeline was hazed over and everything peaceful, and it was pleasant that people came down from the hills with a few wild yams they had dug. The road out held nothing, the blossom all fallen; but going up again about the tenth month, the mountain country along the way was far finer at that season. The ridge looked like brocade spread open, and the water came boiling down and leapt back like scattered crystal—better than anywhere. Reaching the temple and coming to the monks' quarters, she found maples soaked with the passing rains, beautiful past comparison, and made a poem.
Two years or so later she went into retreat at Ishiyama, where rain fell hard all night. Having heard that rain is a nuisance when one is away from home, she pushed up the shutter and looked out: the dawn moon lay clear to the very floor of the valley, and what she had taken for rain was water running from the roots of the trees. She made a poem on that.
Going once more to Hatsuse, she felt incomparably surer of herself than the first time. People made ready for her here and there along the way, so that she could not press on. In Yamashiro the maples of the Hahaso wood were at their finest. Crossing the Hatsuse River she made another poem, and to think so was itself a comfort.
Coming away after three days of retreat, the party this time was too large to lodge in the little houses on the near side of Narazaka, and a rough hut was thrown up in the open country, so that the people simply sat out in the fields all night. Leggings were spread on the grass and matting laid over them, and the night passed in the flimsiest of arrangements, with the dew settling thick even on their heads. The moon toward dawn was wonderfully clear, lovely beyond anything, and she made one more poem.

The author is known only as the daughter of Sugawara no Takasue. Kurama is the Kuramadera north of the capital, Ishiyama the Ishiyamadera in Ōmi, Hatsuse the Hasedera in Yamato, and the Hahaso wood a poetic place name in Yamashiro. The "token of the cedar" refers to her earlier retreat at Hatsuse, when at dawn she dreamed that something was thrown out to her with the words that it was a cedar granted as a sign from Inari.

About the tenth month, at Kurama, on reaching the monks' quarters after arriving at the temple.

When she had gone in spring, the blossom had already fallen and the road back held nothing; going up in the tenth month she found the mountains far finer, and on reaching the quarters the rain-soaked maples were beautiful beyond comparison. That is what drew the poem.

The prose says she found herself gazing out at them, so this is a solitary poem spoken to the view, and no reply is recorded. Some two years later, in retreat at Ishiyama, she composes "Tanigawano nagarewaameto kikoyuredo hokayorikenaru ariakenotsuki."

Okuyama no is the deep interior of the hills. Momiji no nishiki likens the maples to brocade, taking straight into verse the prose remark that the ridge looked like brocade spread open. Hoka yori mo sets up a comparison with other places. In the fourth line ika ni asks how much, and the poem rests on the poetic convention by which the cold rains dye the leaves. The close ends on kemu, the auxiliary of past conjecture. From the visible result, the depth of the colour, the poem reasons back to an unseen cause, the amount of rain—the same construction as "Arashikoso fukikizarikere miyajiyama madamomijibano chiradenokoreru" on the journey up to the capital, which inferred the absence of a storm from the leaves still hanging. Both this and "Mizusaezo sumitaenikeru konohachiru arashinoyamano kokorobososani" in Section 16 join maples with rain or storm, but that one turned toward the emptiness left after the fall, while this one turns toward praise of the colour.

Author

Sugawara no Takasue no Musume

Source

Sarashina Nikki

Other