"an illusion is hope born from fear / and now you're right back here / safe in my arms my dear"

[larryhammer]

We know very little about Ono no Komachi aside from that she was female, a poet, and the subject of numerous medieval legends about her beauty and hard-heartedness. Our best guess as to her dates is "active in the 850s," and as to her background, "probably a lady-in-waiting to someone in the capital." Her parentage is unknown, but the Ono clan held a number of ritual positions, apparently hereditary, and included some of the literary figures of mid-9th century Japan. Her own poetry had enough reputation in her own time that it was discussed in the Kokinshu prefaces, thus making her one of the so-called Six Poetic Geniuses of the early Heian period.

Of the 100-odd surviving poems ascribed to Komachi, only the 18 in the Kokinshu (compiled while people who might have known her were still alive) and possibly the 4 in the Gosenshu (compiled fifty years later out of the former's discards) are considered reliable attributions. Most of these are love poems, though some of those are placed in other topical sections. A few are flirtatious exchanges with men (all active mid-century), the sort of social poetry that was part of daily life among the Heian aristocracy; most have no context, but are personal and informal, and include some of the most passionate works of classical Japanese literature. All show her as a superb poetic technician, and especially a master of pivot-words (words or phrases used punningly in more than one sense simultaneously understood), used not just for decoration but in service of being, by turns, passionate, witty, sarcastic, and regretful.

In short, she is (with Tsurayuki and Narihira) one of the three best poets of the Kokinshu era.

Below the fold are all her Kokinshu poems. Unlike Tsurayuki's, I can't say a single one of these translations feels even adequate, let alone partakes of that quality Aristotle called "being good." I can only hope for some measure of accuracy, if "accurate" has any meaning when it comes to figurative language. As always, corrections and suggestions for improvement welcome.

113. Topic unknown.
hana no iro wa utsurinikeri na itazura ni waga mi yo ni furu nagame seshi ma ni	This flower's beauty has faded away it seems     to no avail have I spent my time staring into space at the long rains
One of the most famous classical Japanese poems, in part for being included in the Hyakunin Isshu. It has been frequently translated, possibly because it's grammatically comparatively simple -- or appears to be if you manage to ignore (or overlook) the fact that every noun and verb has multiple operative meanings, starting with the color/beauty (iro) that can be both the literal flower's and the speaker's. I found some equivalent double meanings in English, but ended up double-translating one pivot-word (nagame = "gazing into space" / "long rain"). Although the Kokinshu editors placed this in the second Spring book, inviting one to read it as a pure nature poem, the implied context is that she has been waiting for a lover who never visited. The topos of a lonely lady's lament was common in the Chinese poetry in vogue at the time, and it appears in several of Komachi's poems.
552. Topic unknown.
omoitsutsu nureba ya hito no mietsuramu yume to shiraseba samezaramashi o	So was it because I slept full of longing that     I saw that person? If I'd known it for a dream, I would not have awoken!
This through #822 are all from the love poems of books 11-15. This one is Komachi at her most straightforward, a direct statement relying on conception instead of wordplay -- and the first of a sequence of dream poems in the Kokinshu. This appears anonymously in Tales of Ise as sent to a man by a women he no longer visited, which changes what appears to be a wistful complaint into a pointed jab.
553. Topic unknown.
utatane ni koishiki hito o miteshi yori yume chô mono wa tanomi-someteki	I dozed, and saw him, the one for whom I long,     and ever since then I have begun relying upon those things called dreams.
I was a little more creative with the syntax than my usual here, but it seemed the best way to handle the repeated mildly emphatic verb inflections.
554. Topic unknown.
ito semete koishiki toki wa mubatama no yoru no koromo o kaeshite zo kiru	Those times when I long for you so very keenly,     I wear through the night dark as leopard-lily seeds my sleeping robes inside-out.
Folklore held that if you slept with your night-robes turned inside out, you'd see what you desired in your dreams. Mubatama (which should be read in modern Japanese as either ubatama or nubatama, with little difference in meaning) is a pillow-word for the "night" of the "nightclothes" she wears, literally meaning "(as dark as) leopard-lily seeds" but basically adding the sense of jet-black or pitch-black. Given English is not used to applying an epithet to only part of a compound (where it would read as if the robe is dyed black) and the darkness adds to her sense of loneliness (and so shouldn't be lost), I ended up double-translating "night" (much like a pivot-word). I'm at a complete loss for a way to replicate how the emphatic particle zo marks the action of reversing the robe.
556. Written [by Abe no Kiyoyuki] on the text of a sermon by the priest Shinsei at a memorial service at Lower lzumo Temple, and sent to Ono no Komachi.
tsutsumedomo sode ni tamaranu shiratama wa hito o minu me no namida narikeri	Ah, these white jewels I cannot hold in my sleeve     though I wrap them up are tears falling from eyes that cannot see the one I love.
557. [Komachi's] reply.
orokanaru namida zo sode ni tama wa nasu ware wa sekiaezu tagitsu se nareba	They're foolish indeed, those teardrops that only form     beads upon a sleeve. Mine are a rushing torrent that I cannot dam up!
Have I mentioned before how Heian women poets all seem to be masters of arch sarcasm? Kiyoyuki (825–900) apparently spent most of his time until around 871 in the capital, after which he served in various provincial posts and governancies; he has one other poem in the Kokinshu. The Lower Izumo Temple was on the banks of the Kamo River, in the hills east of Kyoto. The sermon was possibly on a parable from the Lotus Sutra about someone (the Buddha) attaching a priceless jewel (enlightenment) to the robe of a drunken person (mankind), who doesn't see it and dies of starvation. In #556, "I love" is interpolated because "that person" alone sounded a bit silly, and is the clear implication.
623. Topic unknown.
mirume naki waga mi o ura to shiraneba ya karenade ama no ashi tayuku kuru	But doesn't he know that there is no seaweed (seeing me)     amidst my shallows (sorrows) -- this fisherman who comes here ceaselessly on weary legs?
So many pivot-words and double-meanings in this one. Treating some as alternate-reading puns (in parentheses) seemed better than wrenching them all in as double-translations, as I usually do. As it is, to accomplish even this, I had to slightly mistranslate ura as "shallows" instead of "bay/inlet/shoreline." The other reading of that doublet is also ambiguous, as it could be taken as ura = "callous" (which would be a discouragement to her lover: "I'm callous, so stop trying") or u = "sorrow" (which would be an encouragement: "I sorrow that we can't meet, so keep trying"). That I went with the latter is not out of any conviction but simply because I could work the pun, however strained. The other double-reading is closer to an exact translation of mirume = a type of seaweed / "seeing eyes." A double-reading I had to drop entirely: the dictionary form of karenade ("ceaselessly"), karu, can be understood as "to reap" -- what the fisherman comes to do to the seaweed; in my defense, commentaries disagree over whether this is an actual pivot or just an implied word association.
635. Topic unknown.
aki no yo mo na nomi narikeri au to ieba koto zo to mo naku akenuru mono o	Autumn nights are such only by repute, I see:     we say that we'll meet, but there is no time at all before dawn has come, alas.
This is a redo, rather than revision, of my previous translation, this time with a somewhat better grasp (read: any) of classical verbs. "Such" is usually interpreted as "long," making that one of those omitted-but-understood words Japanese poetry is infamous for, but other readings have been suggested.
656. Topic unknown.
utsutsu ni wa sa mo koso arame yume ni sae hitome o moru to miru ga wabishisa	In the waking world it would of course be that way,     but seeing one avoid people's eyes even inside our dreams? -- wretchedness.
The start of another group of dream poems. Interpretation issue: does the speaker see her lover or herself avoiding people in dreams? I've tried to maintain the ambiguity, though it really would read better as "seeing someone". The question mark is not in the original, but was added to make the final grammatical fragment without a main verb sound reasonable in English.
657. Topic unknown.
kagiri naki omoi no mama ni yoru mo komu yumeji o sae ni hito wa togameji	Guided by the flames of a love without limits,     I shall come at night, for at least no one censures traveling the path of dreams.
Pivot-word: omo(h)i = "longing" / hi = "flame" -- the fires of love treated as a physical, light-giving object. "For" and "traveling" are interpolations: the former is the implied relationship between the independent sentences, and the latter (or some synonym) is the implied verb of the direct object "path of dreams".
658. Topic unknown.
yumeji ni wa ashi mo yasumezu kayoedomo utsutsu ni hitome mishi goto wa arazu	Though I constantly travel on the path of dreams,     feet never resting, all these visions are nothing to a glimpse in the waking world.
Note that original final line has an extra syllable for emphasis. Hitome (here "glimpse," literally "person-eye") can also be understood as "meeting," but the diminishment makes the comparison stronger, to my ear.
727. Topic unknown.
ama no sumu sato no shirube ni aranaku ni uramimu to nomi hito no iuramu	Though I'm not a guide to towns where fisher-folk live,     all he ever seems to say, resentfully, is "Won't you show me the inlet?"
Pivot-word: urami = "resenting/begrudging/blaming" / ura mimu = "would see the inlet". How to understand the double-meaning is another matter: are they both part of what's said or does resentful describe the manner of speaking? Commentaries seem to generally read the latter. While rendering ura as "inlet" instead of "shoreline" might sound like straying into indecorous territory, the homonym meaning "backside/underside" would be outright raunchy. The quote is actually in the positive, but "won't" sounds more natural in English.
782. Topic unknown.
ima wa tote waga mi shigure ni furinureba koto no ha sae ni utsuroinikeri	So it's over now -- my body falls into age     with the autumn rains, and even your words like leaves have faded and scattered.
783. [Ono no Sadaki]'s reply.
hito o omou kokoro ko no ha ni araba koso kaze no manimani chiri mo midareme	Heart who longs for her -- if you were a leaf on a tree     then, and only then, would you, obeying the wind, fall off and also scatter.
Two pivot-words in #782: furi = "fall" (of the rain) / "age" (of herself) and koto-no-ha = "word" / ha = "leaf". The late autumn rains (shigure) were believed to wash the colors out of autumn foliage. "Over" is another of those implied-but-understood words (more literally, she says, "because [it is] now"). Whether to read it as she has grown old (or feels that way) because her lover's affections (his "color") have faded or the other way around is much debated -- the former seems more natural to me. The reply from Ono no Sadaki doesn't help decide this -- regarding whom, his dates and relationship to Komachi is unknown; he was appointed governor of Higo Province (modern Kumamoto Prefecture) in 860, and was also at some point governor of Kai Province (Yamanashi Prefecture). He has one other poem in the Kokinshu, showing the editors agree with what this poem suggests, that he was not the poet Komachi was.
797. Topic unknown.
iro miede utsurou mono wa yo no naka no hito no kokoro no hana ni zo arikeru	So indeed it is: that which changes and fades,     its color unseen, is the flower in the heart of a man inside the world.
Though this may be obvious given the metaphor, while iro is literally "color" and by extension "appearance," it can also have the connotation of "feeling." Which way to understand it depends on a bigger issue, that of orthographic ambiguity: the second word can be read as either miede "is not seen, and" or miete "is seen, and" -- the diacritical marks that distinguished the two pronunciations would not be invented for a few centuries.* Either reading gives irony, the second more subtle than the first, as it implies that the man is showing the same appearance (color) all the while his feelings (the flower) are changing. While the whole thing is much debated, -de is the more common reading -- and more specifically is what's in my diacritical-supplying base text. Note that utsurou can mean either "change" or "fade" -- I went with both to sustain the flower=feelings metaphor. * Komachi was part of the first generation to widely use the recently invented hiragana writing system, still in use with modifications today -- no surprise that there were a few kinks to be worked out in the field.
822. Topic unknown.
akikaze ni au ta no mi koso kanashikeri waga mi munashiku narinu to omoeba	Like rice in the field meeting the chill autumn wind,     losing your interest and favor is bitter indeed. Since I feel I've become useless ...
I struggled over this one more than any other of these poems (even the technical tour de force #1030) because the pivot-words, aki = "autumn" / "be tired of" and ta no mi="grain of the rice-field" / tanomi="favor", here create two separate but overlaid subjects of what's bitter: "ears of rice met by autumn winds" and "the favors met from (one who is) tired (of me)". Given this results in an implicit comparison, I made it an explicit simile; the interpolated "chill" has less justification, though. And then there's how to handle ending with a conjunction meaning "since" without the consequent clause ...
938. Written in reply when Fun'ya no Yasuhide was appointed Secretary of Three-Rivers Province, and sent to her, "Won't you come tour the provinces?"
wabinureba mi o ukikusa no ne o taete sasou mizu araba inamu to zo omou	Lonely and, thus, sad I feel like a duckweed plant     that would break its roots and float away downstream -- were there waters that enticed me.
Out of the love poems and on to miscellaneous topics. Fun'ya no Yasuhide's dates are unknown, but he was active in the years around 860 and his son participated in a 893 poetry contest; he's another of the Six Poetic Geniuses, with 5 poems in the Kokinshu. Three-Rivers (which I wouldn't normally translate, but Komachi plays off the name) is the literal meaning of Mikawa Province, the eastern half of modern Aichi Prefecture, and Secretary was the third-ranking provincial official. Duckweed (ukikusa, lit. "floating grass," and which is indeed lightly rooted) was used in Chinese poetry as a metaphor for travel, here also repurposed via a pivot-word on oui="sadness" as a symbol for emotional detachment. As in #822, "like" is not explicit in the original but a comparison is the effect of the pivot. Yasuhide's playful invitation, as it is usually interpreted, provoked a playful response that's simultaneously melancholy -- a startling trick, and one that makes this almost as difficult to translate as #822.
939. Topic unknown.
aware chô koto koso utate yo no naka o omoihanarenu hodashi narikere	It is indeed true that this thing called compassion     is nothing more than an unbreakable shackle binding me inside this world.
Interpreting this one hinges on how to understand aware: while it has come to mean "pathos" or "sorrow," it originally also encompassed a more general "compassion" (or even just "emotion"). If read in the general sense, it's an orthodox Buddhist statement, but in the more specific ... well, honestly, I don't have the background to know what that would mean. Possibly a more subtle Buddhist statement? As for who is bound by aware, there are (as usual) no pronouns; while I'd prefer using "us" instead of "me" for the sound-shape of the lines, that would make this her only impersonal statement in her poems -- and coming right after #938 suggests the Kokinshu editors read it as a personal statement, or wanted us to. (The final inflection doesn't help decide this as it can indicate either realization of or indirect knowledge of an existing condition.)
1030. Topic unknown.
hito ni awamu tsuki no naki ni wa omo(h)iokite mune hashiribi ni kokoro yakeori	When we cannot meet because there is no moonlight,     I wake up -- blaze up with longing -- my breast pounding -- sparks fly -- my troubled heart chars.
This was placed not among the love poems but the "irregular" verse. Some speculate that the rawness of what's generally acknowledged as the most passionate poem in the Kokinshu did not suit the editors' sense of decorum, but equally likely it's the technique: there are five pivot-words packed into this thing, and too many pivots has long been seen as reducing a poem's tenor (by, I gather, calling attention to itself). The effect of all those pivots (which are tsuki = "moon"/"chance"; omo(h)i="longing" / hi="fire"; okite = "wake up"/"blaze up"; hashiri="pounding" / hashiribi="spark"; and yakiori = "is burned"/"is anxious") is a dense, knotty texture of constraint, reflecting the emotional content. It's also a strikingly dynamic poem, what with the passive first two lines and active last three.
1104. Okinoi, Miyakojima.
oki no ite mi o yaku yori mo kanashiki wa miyako shimabe no wakare narikeri	Even more painful than burning one's own body     with flaring coals is the separation between the capital and those islands.
This is going to take some explication, starting with some textual history. All our Kokinshu manuscripts are or derive from editions prepared by Fujiwara no Teika, which he created by collating variants against a base text edited by his father. In doing so, Teika restored several missing poems, and rather than mess with the numbering system he tacked them onto the end with notes explaining where they had originally been. According to which, this was from book 10, following #456. Book 10 takes a note of its own. It's devoted to a type of wordplay poetry called "names of things" that was apparently much enjoyed in the 9th century but later depreciated, especially for formal contexts like imperial collections. The topic is a word (or if you're really showing off, words) that are hidden word-search-like in a poem, in the manner of "both the duck and the grebe are scared" contains "bear." (Okay, not the best example -- work with me here.) The poem's content may or may not have anything to do with the topic word -- a couple poems are a riddle answered by the topic, but this does not seem to be common, more's the pity. In a sense, writing one was like using pivot-words not for semantic purposes but simply for the hidden reading -- the point being to be witty and clever, not to write great poetry. The result is poems that are often kinda meh or, even more often, seem a bit pointless in translation, given how poorly wordplay carries over between languages. In this case, Okinoi and Miyakojima (underlined in the text; note that without diacritical marks shi and ji were written the same) are the names of otherwise unknown places. It's easiest to read this as a speaker in the capital saying farewell to someone leaving for the islands -- in doing so, I specified "those." However, the poem also appears anonymously in Tales of Ise, with a speaker who's staying on a Miyakojima somewhere in northern Honshu reciting it to someone leaving for the capital. Note that whether speaker or listener is departing is also ambiguous. My sense is this is one of the better examples of the form, in that it not only glances at implications of the topic words but also works as poetry when you don't even know it's a puzzle-poem.

For more information, resources, and translations, the Other Women's Voices page on Komachi is, as often the case, a good place to start.

ETA: The 4 Gosenshu poems are here.

(Index to this project)

Comments

[asakiyume.livejournal.com]

Lovely collection

[larryhammer]

Thankee.

---L.