石上布留の早稲田をうちかへし
恨みかねたる春の暮かな
恨みかねたる春の暮かな
- Roma-ji
-
Isonokami Furu no wasada o uchikaeshi uramikanetaru haru no kure kana
- English Translation
-
At Furu the field
of early rice is turned back
over on itself
and I cannot turn my grief
at the ending of the spring
- Meaning
- As the early-rice field at Furu is turned and turned again, so I go over my grievance and cannot bring it out: the end of spring.
- Commentary
-
Book Two Spring Poems II 171
Headnote: topic unknown.
The fifth poem grieving over the end of spring. The turning of a field serves as the pivot, and the poem gives a resentment that cannot be brought to completion. The headnote gives no topic and nothing is known of the circumstances.
The poet, known as the daughter of Shunzei, was in fact his granddaughter and adopted daughter; this is her third appearance in this book, after the hundred and twelfth and hundred and fortieth poems.
The time is the end of spring; the place is Furu at Isonokami in Yamato Province.
The occasion of composition is not recorded.
The first line is a pillow word leading into the place name of the second, as in the eighty-eighth and ninety-sixth poems of Book One.
The second line names a field planted with early rice.
The third line means to turn a field with a hoe and at the same time to do a thing over and over. It is the device of Kintada's eighty-ninth poem in Book One, which turned and turned a rough field, using the language of farm work for a state of mind. Turning a field also exposes the underside of the soil, and the sound of that word leads into the word for resentment below.
The verb in the fourth line means to be unable to carry a thing through: the resentment cannot quite be brought out, and the feeling is left unfinished.
The poem closes on a noun with an exclamatory particle. What is resented is the spring, and the spring is at this moment leaving, so that the object of the grievance is disappearing as it is felt.
- Author
- The Daughter of Fujiwara no Shunzei
- Source
- Shin Kokin Wakashu
- Other
-
- Where the harbour lies of the spring that darkens down nobody can say and into the haze it drops a brushwood boat on Uji
- Even unarrived for the flowers' sake I found myself awaiting them; and now the spring is gone here in this deep mountain place
- Though I know it well that saying wait will not hold anything at all still, past all reason, I grieve at parting from the springtime
- On the brushwood door the light of the sun that shone is gone without trace and the spring is going down in cloud at the mountain's edge