今日はもし君もや訪ふとながむれど
まだ跡もなき庭の雪かな
まだ跡もなき庭の雪かな
- Roma-ji
-
Kyō wa moshi kimi mo ya tou to nagamuredo mada ato mo naki niwa no yuki kana
- English Translation
-
Today, I thought, perhaps
even you might come to call,
and so I gazed out—
yet not a footprint marks
the snow within my garden
- Meaning
- Thinking that today, perhaps, even you might come to call, I have been gazing out—yet there is still not a single footprint in the snow of my garden.
- Commentary
-
Book Six Winter Poems 664
Headnote: "Sent to the Later Tokudaiji Minister of the Left on a snowy morning."
This is the eighth poem of the snow sequence. On a snowy morning the speaker gazes out, thinking the friend might come, but there is still no footprint in the snow of the garden. According to the headnote, it was sent to the Later Tokudaiji Minister of the Left, Fujiwara no Sanesada, on a snowy morning, and the next poem, 665, is his reply.
The author, "Master of the Empress Dowager's Household Toshinari," is Fujiwara no Shunzei. A son of the Provisional Middle Counselor Fujiwara no Toshitada, he rose to Senior Third Rank and Master of the Empress Dowager's Household, and took the Buddhist name Shakua when he entered holy orders. He compiled the Senzai Wakashū and was the father of Fujiwara no Teika.
The scene is a snowy morning, and the place is the garden of the author's dwelling.
The direct occasion is sending a poem as a message to his nephew Fujiwara no Sanesada on a snowy morning.
The first line, "kyō wa moshi," means "today, perhaps."
The second line, "kimi mo ya tou to," means "whether you too might visit," with "ya" as an interrogative particle. Behind it lies the idea that on a snowy morning someone of taste would surely come calling.
The third line, "nagamuredo," means "though I gaze out," with "do" as a concessive conjunctive particle.
The fourth line, "mada ato mo naki," means "still without a footprint."
The last line, "niwa no yuki kana," closes with the exclamatory particle "kana." The snowy garden without a visitor's footprints shows that the awaited one has not come, and the poem invites him with a gentle reproach for not calling. Following the preceding poem's longing for a visitor at dusk in a snowy mountain village, this poem actually calls out to the other on a snowy morning. As with "ato dani mo nashi" in 659 of this book, the "trace" on the snow is sung as the sign of a visit.
- Author
- Fujiwara no Shunzei
- Source
- Shin Kokin Wakashu
- Other
-
- On the narrow mat, the sleeves of my robe at midnight grow colder and colder— white lies the first snow on the pines along the hill
- Even this morning, when the snow began to fall, I found myself longing for a visitor— in a deep mountain village the snow at dusk
- Only now I hear it— the heart leaves no footprints after all; though through the snow I pushed my way, sending my thoughts to you
- Upon White Mountain is the snow of years gone by piling up again? The sleeve I spread alone at midnight has turned so bitterly cold