伏しわびぬ篠の小笹のかり枕
はかなの露やひとよばかりに
はかなの露やひとよばかりに
- Roma-ji
-
Fushiwabinu shino no ozasa no karimakura hakana no tsuyu ya hitoyo bakari ni
- English Translation
-
Lying, I cannot sleep
on this pillow made of grass,
of cut bamboo leaves;
how fleeting is the dew
on just a single night.
- Meaning
- I lie here and cannot sleep on this makeshift pillow of cut bamboo grass; how fleeting the dew is, falling so thick for just a single night.
- Commentary
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Book Ten Travel Poems 961
Headnote: "On the heart of travel."
This is the twelfth of a sequence of poems on the road at nightfall and lodging for the night. Unable to sleep on a makeshift pillow of cut bamboo grass, the speaker finds fleeting dew settling even on a single night's lodging, a dew-drenched night on the road. According to the headnote, it was composed on the heart of travel.
The author, "Arie Ason," is Fujiwara no Arie. A son of Fujiwara no Shigeie, he was a poet of the early Kamakura period and one of the compilers of the Shin Kokin Wakashū.
The scene is a single night sleeping on the road, on a plain thick with bamboo grass.
The direct occasion is composing on the topic "the heart of travel."
The first line, "fushiwabinu," means "I lie and cannot sleep." Closing with the perfective "nu," the poem breaks after the first line.
The second line, "shino no ozasa no," means "of the small bamboo grass." It shows the grass of the plain that becomes the traveler's bed.
In the third line, "karimakura," "kari" carries both "kari," makeshift, and "kari," the cutting of bamboo grass. Following "komomakura" in 946 and "sayomakura" in 948, a traveler's pillow is sung of again.
The fourth line, "hakana no tsuyu ya," means "how fleeting the dew." "Ya" expresses feeling. The dew also suggests tears.
In the last line, "hitoyo bakari ni," "hitoyo" carries both "one night" and "one node," a word associated with bamboo. It ends with a lament that dew settles even on a single night's lodging. Time moves from the "evening sky" of the preceding poem to a single night of sleep on the road.
- Author
- Fujiwara no Ariie
- Source
- Shin Kokin Wakashu
- Other
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- The capital, I never heard, lay in the sky, in the heavens high; why then do I gaze so long at the far edge of the clouds?
- Pillowed on the grass under the evening sky— should anyone ask, tell them though you cry to do it, voice of the first wild geese.
- On a bed of rock, the storm wind spread in the place of a single sleeve, must I sleep alone tonight at Sayo-no-Nakayama?
- With no one certain, an evening at an inn is my only pledge; how many nights will I call on a host who always changes?