鳴きかへる聲ぞきほひて聞ゆなる
まちやしつらむ關のひぐらし
まちやしつらむ關のひぐらし
- Roma-ji
-
Nakikaeru koe zo kioite kikoyu naru machi ya shitsuramu seki no higurashi
- English Translation
-
Voice answering voice,
they come to me contending,
vying with each other —
had they been waiting for us,
the cicadas at the barrier?
- Meaning
- Voice answering voice, they reach me contending with each other. Had they been waiting for us, these cicadas at the barrier?
- Commentary
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44 The Purification at Karasaki
Having gone on so for more than twenty days, she was at her wits' end and strangely unable to settle anywhere. Wondering whether there might be somewhere cooler, and thinking to ease her mind and perform a purification besides, she set out for Karasaki on the shore. They left about the hour of the tiger, with the moon very bright. There was a woman of her own sort and one other in attendance, so that only three rode in the carriage, with seven or eight men on horseback. It grew light about the Kamo river. As they took the mountain road and saw how unlike the capital it was, she found it very moving — because of her state of mind, perhaps. At the barrier they stopped the carriage to change the oxen, and empty carts came on one after another, and rough woodcutters emerged out of the half-dark, which was strangely refreshing and full of interest. Looking ahead, the view opened without limit, and what seemed two or three birds floating there must, if one thought about it, be fishing boats. There she could not hold back her tears. They passed through the crowded houses of Ōtsu and came out at last on the wide shore. While the purification was performed the wind blew hard, but there was no shade and it was very hot. It was over about the hour of the sheep, and they turned back. Gazing at it all with regret, they passed on, and by the time they reached the mouth of the hills it was toward the end of the hour of the monkey. The evening cicadas were at their height. The poem that came to her as she listened she told to no one. At Hashirii some of the party had ridden ahead, and when they arrived those who had gone before were resting and cooling themselves very comfortably and came up to where the carriage was being set down; whereupon the woman in the back of the carriage spoke an opening verse, and a closing verse was added. They drew the carriage near, let down the curtains, and all got out. Bathing hands and feet, she felt as though her cares were clearing. When the sun went down they were urged on, and at a place called Awatayama a man came from the capital and said that His Lordship had called that noon — which she found very strange indeed. It seemed to her he had chosen a time when she would be out. The next day she rested from the journey, and the day after that the child set off for his father's house. It went against her to ask about the strange business, but the memory of the shore was too much for her, and she wrote a poem, telling him to set it down where his father would not see it and come straight home. He came back saying he had left it. She could not help waiting to see whether there might be some sign that he had read it. But nothing came, and the end of the month arrived.
The author was a daughter of Fujiwara no Tomoyasu. Kaneie was the third son of Fujiwara no Morosuke and would rise to be regent and chancellor. The child is her son Fujiwara no Michitsuna. Karasaki is a place on the lake in Ōmi, known as a site for purification. Hashirii is a spring by the barrier of Ōsaka. The woman in the back of the carriage is one of her attendants; the text gives no name.
It is the sixth month of the first year of Tenroku, on the way back from the purification at Karasaki, and the place is the mouth of the hills at Ōsaka.
The purification on the shore ended about the hour of the sheep, and as they drove back, gazing at it all with regret, they reached the mouth of the hills toward the end of the hour of the monkey. The evening cicadas were crying everywhere, and the poem came to her at the sound.
The narrative says that she told the poem to no one. They then reached Hashirii, where the linked verse beginning "Urayamashi koma no ashi toku hashirii no" was made.
The opening describes crying back and forth, one bird answering another. The verb in the second line means to vie, catching the way the calls overlap as they race one another from every side. The third is reportative, giving simply what reaches the ear. The fourth asks whether they had been waiting — as though the cicadas had been expecting the travelers who happened by. The close ends on a noun, gathering the barrier of Ōsaka and the cicada into one phrase; and since the insect's name contains the words for living out the day, the hour itself, the end of the hour of the monkey, is folded into the name. A barrier is a place where one waits and where one is detained, and cicadas waiting at a barrier call up the temper of months in which she had done nothing but wait. That the narrative says she told it to no one is no doubt because it was too heavy a poem to speak aloud on a day's outing.
- Author
- The Mother of Fujiwara no Michitsuna
- Source
- Kagero Nikki
- Other
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- Within the night, dew had settled even on the pine that waits; and now I know it for a thing that vanishes when the day comes.
- Does the warbler too brood on something with no term set to it? I hear it crying with a voice that, in this sixth month, is not spent.
- How I envy them — the colts are quick of foot, and at Hashirii, where the water runs —
- Could a reflection ever lie still in water that runs?