月はなほ漏らぬ木の間もすみよしの
松をつくして秋風ぞ吹く
松をつくして秋風ぞ吹く
- Roma-ji
-
Tsuki wa nao moranu ko no ma mo Sumiyoshi no matsu o tsukushite akikaze zo fuku
- English Translation
-
The moon still cannot
get through between the branches
at Sumiyoshi
it goes through all of the pines
the wind of autumn, and blows
- Meaning
- The moon still does not come through between the trees; and through every pine at Sumiyoshi the autumn wind is blowing.
- Commentary
-
Book Four Autumn Poems I 396
Headnote: on the theme of wind before the moon.
The twenty-first poem on the moon. The topic is wind in front of the moon, and here the moon is not to be seen while the wind sweeps the pines.
The Monk Jakuren, whose lay name was Fujiwara no Sadanaga, was a nephew and adopted son of Fujiwara no Shunzei. He took orders and was appointed one of the compilers of the Shin Kokin Wakashu, but died before it was finished. This is his second appearance in this book, after the three hundred and sixty-first poem.
The time is a night in autumn; the place is Sumiyoshi in Settsu Province, known for its pines.
The occasion was the set topic.
The first two lines mean that the moon still does not come through the trees, the situation of the daughter of Shunzei's three hundred and seventy-fifth poem.
The place name in the third line sounds the verb for a moon shining clear, so that the only clear moon in the poem is the one inside a name.
The verb in the fourth line means to do a thing without exception: through every pine. It is the word of the hundredth poem in Book Two and the three hundred and forty-second of this book.
An emphatic particle governs the verb at the close. The moon is unseen and only the sound of the wind reaches everywhere, the shape of Sagami's three hundred and seventy-second poem, where all that could be seen was gone and a sound remained.
- Author
- The Monk Jakuren
- Source
- Shin Kokin Wakashu
- Other
-
- Of all times, just now the people of the old home send no word at all and on the deep mountain's moon the wind of autumn blows on
- Not deep in the hills and still, at a hut on the nearer slopes, waking in the night: how lonely it must be, the moon through the trees
- When I gaze at it the moon, a thousand thoughts come and then, over them and mine alone, no one's else the wind in the mountain pines
- On the mountain road over the dew on the moss I wake in the night and deep in the dark I lie and look at the moon up there