Category: Japanese Classical Literature

Another ghost story from Noh plays

When a Buddhist monk from Kiso came across a field near Lake Biwa, he saw a woman crying in front of a little shrine.

When asked why she was crying, the woman told the monk that a famous samurai warrior Yoshinaka, also from Kiso, was enshrined there.  The woman asked the monk to pray for the spirit of Yoshinaka, and left.

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That night, when the monk was praying for Yoshinaka, a woman warrior in a fighting attire appeared. 

“I’m Tomoe.  Yoshinaka’s lover as well as his vassal. Here Yoshinaka died on a battlefield.  I was ready to die with him as his lover, but couldn’t.”

“Yoshinaka was deeply wounded.  No hope to survive this battle.  Rather than enduring the shame of being caught by the enemy, it was time to end our lives ourselves, an ultimate way to preserve our honor as samurai warriors.    I was ready to die together with Yoshinaka.”

“But Yoshinaka wouldn’t permit me to die here.  He ordered me to leave him behind and return to our homeland Kiso.  If I refuse his order, Yoshinaka would deny me as his vassal for as long as the next three generations.  It would be the last thing a vassal could bear as a punishment by the master.  What other choice could I have…”

“As his vassal and a samurai warrior, I returned to the battlefield.”

And Tomoe was a fierce, mighty samurai warrior indeed.

She tricked the enemy by stumbling upon a rock in front of her.  When the enemy saw her losing balance and tried to attack her, Tomoe quickly thrust her Naginata (long-handled sword) into the enemy.  No enemies could move forward without falling down and being attacked by her.

“By the time I rushed back to Yoshinaka, he had already killed himself.    I took Yoshinaka’s robe and put it on, hid Yoshinaka’s small sword inside the robe, and fled back to Kiso.” 

Nobody knew what happened to Tomoe afterward.

“My spirit is still here.  I can’t get over the regret that I couldn’t die together with Yoshinaka.  Please pray for me, so that I can rest in peace…”

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Kiso Yoshinaka (1154 – 1184) is a real figure in history.  Tomoe, on the other hand, appears only in The Tale of the Heike and Genpei Seisuiki.  Did she really exist?  We have no way of knowing. 

But we can be sure that many samurai warriors both in the Heike clan and the Genji clan must have had their own lovers who felt the same sorrow and regret like Tomoe.  To those spirits, please rest in peace. 

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Halloween is coming up.  I haven’t figured out yet why, but there are a lot of ghost stories in Noh, a major form of classical Japanese dance-drama that has been performed since the 14th century.  This month I would like to share with you some of my favorite ghost stories from the Noh plays.

How did you like this Tomoe’s story?

Noh Plays are full of Ghosts

Photo:  “Ichi-no-Tani Battle Map Screen” held by Eisei Bunko, Noh Mask

Story of Noh Play “Atsumori” （敦盛）

Atsumori was only 16 years old when he was killed by Kumagai at the battlefield of Ichi no tani. 

It was not easy even for a fierce samurai worrier of Genji Clan like Kumagai to take the life of a young man who was about the same age as his own son.  Atsumori’s face was so beautiful, and he even had a slight makeup. 

Only after the war was over did Kumagai find out that the boy was Atsumori, Heike’s prominent family member, famous for his talent as a flute player. 

Kumagai, who renounced the world and became a Buddhist priest now called Rensei, was traveling through Ichi no Tani.  One day he heard the beautiful sound of a flute.  It turned out that one of the three grass-cutters was playing it. The guy asked Rensei to recite the prayer of Amitabha Buddha ten times.  To the suspicious Rensei, the guy hinted that he had some connection to Atsumori, and left.

That night, when Rensei was praying for the peace of Atsumori’s spirit, Atsumori’s ghost appeared in his battle attire.  Thanking Rensei for his kind gesture, Atsumori the ghost began dancing, depicting his last day, the battle with Kumagai (now Rensei), and how he had fallen.

After the dance, Atsumori’s ghost addressed Rensei as his close friend, not an enemy, asked Rensei to pray for his soul, and disappeared…

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Both Atsumori (Taira no Atsumori 平敦盛 1169 – 1184) and Kumagai (Kumagai Jiro Naozane 熊谷次郎直実 1141 – 1207) are real historical figures.  The battle of Ichi no tani also really happened, and is one of the most famous that is depicted in the Tale of Heike. 

In junior high, the excerpt of this battle was included in our textbook as “Atsumori no Saigo” (The Last Moment of Atsumori).  I used to hate reading classic Japanese because it was so different from the modern spoken Japanese and painfully difficult to understand.  But somehow this tragic story resonated with me, and I can still recite the phrase “Naku naku kubiwo zo kaiten geru (with tears (he) cut the neck). 

Resurrecting Atsumori as a ghost, the playwright Zeami Motokiyo (1363 – 1443) took up this tragedy and turned it to a beautiful Noh play of friendship.  Even though the character is no longer alive and it’s only a play,  I’m somewhat relieved that Kumagai and Atsumori were able to forgo their hatred and make peace with each other. 

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Halloween is coming up this year.  I haven’t figured out yet why, but there are a lot of ghost stories in Noh, a major form of classical Japanese dance-drama that has been performed since the 14th century.  This month would like to share with you some of my favorite ghost stories from the Noh plays.

How did you like this Atsumori story?

Four poems about breeze found in Hyakunin Isshu 百人一首

Summer in Japan is unbearably hot and humid.  Now that I’m living in Seattle, where I can enjoy the most comfortable and beautiful summer in the world (in my opinion), I refuse to go back to Japan in the summer. 

It is not surprising, therefore, that I found only 5 poems about summer in Hyakunin Isshu 百人一首, a classical Japanese anthology of one hundred waka poems by one hundred poets compiled in the 13th century. In contrast, there are 20 poems about autumn and 9 about spring.

Out of four poems that read about the wind, only one clearly indicates the season, which is summer.  Was the cool breeze a rarity in the summer in ancient Japan as well as in the present days?

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12/100 僧正遍昭 by Sojo Henjo

あまつ風  Amatsu kaze
雲のかよひ路 Kumo no kayoiji
吹きとぢよ  Fuki tojiyo
 をとめの姿Otome no sugata
 しばしとどめむShibashi todomemu.

The following is the English translation by William N. Porter (1909).

OH stormy winds, bring up the clouds,
  And paint the heavens grey;
Lest these fair maids of form divine
  Should angel wings display,
  And fly far far away.

58/100 大弐三位 by Daini no Sammi

ありま山 Arima yama
ゐなの笹原 Ina no sasawara
風吹けば Kaze fukeba
いでそよ人をIde soyo hito wo
忘れやはするWasure yawa suru.

The following is the English translation by William N. Porter (1909).

As fickle as the mountain gusts
  That on the moor I’ve met,
’Twere best to think no more of thee,
  And let thee go. But yet
  I never can forget.

74/100 源俊頼朝臣by Minamoto no Toshiyori Ason

うかりける Ukari keru
人を初瀬の Hito wo Hatsuse no
山おろし Yama-oroshi
激しかれとは Hageshikare to wa
祈らぬものをInoranu mono wo.

The following is the English translation by William N. Porter (1909).

OH! Kwannon, Patron of this hill,
  The maid, for whom I pine,
Is obstinate and wayward, like
  The gusts around thy shrine.
  What of those prayers of mine?

98/100 従二位 家隆 by Junii Ietaka

風そよぐ Kaze soyogu
ならの小川のNara no ogawa no
夕暮は Yūgure wa
みそぎぞ夏のMisogi zo natsu no
しるしなりけるShirushi nari keru.

The following is the English translation by William N. Porter (1909).

THE twilight dim, the gentle breeze
  By Nara’s little stream,
The splash of worshippers who wash
  Before the shrine, all seem
  A perfect summer’s dream.

So I was taught at school

Photo: Genjimonogatari Emaki by Wikipedia

I first learned about Hyakunin Isshu 百人一首, a classical Japanese anthology of one hundred waka poems by one hundred poets compiled in the 13th century, in junior high school.  Learning Hyakunin Isshu meant learning about the sex life of ancient Japanese aristocrats and court ladies.    

In ancient Japan,

• virginity was not highly valued by men or women.
• monogamy was not highly valued, either.
• a man visits a woman at her house at night and goes home at dawn. 

The sunrise, therefore, was a departing time for lovers. And if a woman makes a poem about sleeping alone at dawn, she must be full of jealousy.   

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The following 5 poems are examples of such love poems in Hyakunin Isshu.    

21/100 素性法師 by Sosei Hoshi

今こむと Ima kom to
言ひしばかりにIishi bakari ni
長月の Naga-tsuki no
有明の月をAriake no tsuki
待ちいでつるかなWo machi izuru kana.

The following is the English translation by William N. Porter (1909).

THE moon that shone the whole night through
This autumn morn I see,
As here I wait thy well-known step,
For thou didst promise me—
‘I’ll surely come to thee.’

30/100 壬生忠岑 by Mibu no Tadamine

有明の Ariake no
つれなく見えしTsurenaku mieshi
別れより Wakare yori
暁ばかりAkatsuki bakari
うきものはなしUki-mono wa nashi.

The following is the English translation by William N. Porter (1909).

I HATE the cold unfriendly moon,
That shines at early morn;
And nothing seems so sad and grey,
When I am left forlorn,
As day’s returning dawn.

52/100 藤原道信朝臣 By Fujiwara no Michinobu Ason

明けぬれば Akenureba
暮るるものとはKururu mono to wa
知りながら Shiri nagara
なほ恨めしきNao urameshiki
朝ぼらけかなAsaborake kana.

The following English translation is by Clay MacCauley (1917)

Like the morning moon,
Cold, unpitying was my love.
Since that parting hour,
Nothing I dislike so much
As the breaking light of day.

53/100 右大将道綱母 by Udaisho Michitsuna no Haha

歎きつつ Nageki-tsutsu
ひとりぬる夜のHitori nuru yo no
明くるまは Akuru ma wa
いかに久しきIkani hisashiki
ものとかは知るMono to kawa shiru.

The following is the English translation by William N. Porter (1909).

ALL through the long and dreary night
I lie awake and moan;
How desolate my chamber feels,
How weary I have grown
Of being left alone!

59/100 赤染衞門 by Akazome Emon

やすらはでYasurawade
寝なましものをNenamashi mono wo
小夜ふけて Sayofukete
かたぶくまでのKatabuku made no
月をみしかなTsuki wo mishi kana.

The following is the English translation by William N. Porter (1909).

WAITING and hoping for thy step,
 Sleepless in bed I lie,
All through the night, until the moon,
  Leaving her post on high,
  Slips sideways down the sky.

Photo by Author Akemi Sagawa

Whenever I see the sunset, I feel as if a tiny part of my heart is taken away.  Something is going away, never coming back.  Me, left alone here…

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In Hyakunin Isshu 百人一首, a classical Japanese anthology of one hundred waka poems by one hundred poets compiled in the 13th century, there are four poems that read about sunset.   And they are all poems of autumn.

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70/100 良暹法師 by Ryo-zen Hoshi

さびしさに Sabishisa ni
宿を立ちいでてYado wo, tachi-idete
ながむれば Nagamureba
いづくも同じ Izuku mo onaji
秋の夕暮れ Aki no yūgure.

The following is the English translation by William N. Porter (1909).

THE prospect from my cottage shows
  No other hut in sight;
The solitude depresses me,
  Like deepening twilight
  On a chill autumn night.

71/100 大納言 経信 by Dainagon Tsunenobu

夕されば  Yūsareba
門田の稲葉 Kado-ta no inaba
おとづれて  Otozurete
あしのまろ屋に Ashi no maroya ni
秋かぜぞ吹く Aki kaze zo fuku.

The following English translation is by Clay MacCauley (1917)

When the evening comes,
  From the rice leaves at my gate
Gentle knocks are heard;
  And, into my round rush-hut,
  Autumn’s roaming breeze makes way.

87/100 寂蓮法師 by Jakuren Hoshi

むらさめの  Murasame no
露もまだひぬ Tsuyu mo mada hinu
まきの葉に  Maki no ha ni
霧たちのぼるKiri tachi-noboru
秋の夕暮 Aki no yūgure.

The following is the English translation by William N. Porter (1909).

THE rain, which fell from passing showers,
  Like drops of dew, still lies
Upon the fir-tree needles, and
  The mists of evening rise
  Up to the autumn skies.

98/100 従二位 家隆 by Junii Ietaka

風そよぐ  Kaze soyogu
ならの小川のNara no ogawa no
夕暮は  Yūgure wa
みそぎぞ夏のMisogi zo natsu no
しるしなりけるShirushi nari keru.

The following English translation is by Clay MacCauley (1917)

Lo! at Nara’s brook
Evening comes, and rustling winds
Stir the oak-trees’ leave;–
Not a sign of summer left
But the sacred bathing there.

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What’s so special about the sunset in autumn, you may ask.

Because, that famous Sei Shonagon 清少納言 had said so in her famous essay Makura no Soshi (The Pillow Book). 

In autumn, it is the evenings (that is most beautiful),  when the glittering sun sinks close to the edge of the hills and the crows fly back to their nests in threes and fours and twos; more charming still is a file of wild geese, like specks in the distant sky. When the sun has set, one’s heart is moved by the sound of the wind and the hum of the insects.

Source: The Pillow Book of Sei Shonagon, translated by Ivan Morris

All four poems above were written after the days of Sei Shonagon.  Once the influential court lady had declared, no poet in Japan’s autocracy would dare refute.     

Two Poems about storms in Hhyakunin Isshu 百人一首

Photo by Shlomo Shalev on Unsplash

The word “thunderstorm” is a synonym for “typhoon” for me, who grew up in Japan.

When the typhoon approaches, first the air feels a little moist and lukewarm. Then large drops of rain start to hit.  The wind picks up.  You hurry to go inside the house.

You shut all the windows and doors.   Most Japanese houses have “amado 雨戸,” storm shutters outside the windows, to protect the glass pane from being broken by objects flown by the gust.  You make sure to close all the amado. 

It’s dark in the house, losing natural light coming in from the windows. In case the furious wind knocks down power lines, you make sure you have flashlights and candles around.   

While the violent gust and the rain continue, you stay inside the house, sometimes feeling the entire house shaking.  You hope the roof tiles won’t be blown away.

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Several hours later, normally the next morning, both the wind and the rain are gone.  The beautiful blue sky spreads above, as if nothing terrible ever happened.  The typhoon is gone. 

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“Two hundred and ten days 二百十日,” is a word people in Japan used to refer to typhoons.  210 days after the first day of the spring, normally September 1st or 2nd, is said to be the day we must be most careful about typhoons.  With climate change, this term may be already extinct, but for centuries, autumn has been the season of typhoons in Japan.

In Hyakunin Isshu, there are two poems that read about storms.  And they are both poems of autumn.

22/100 文屋康秀 by Bunya no Yasuhide

吹くからにFuku kara ni

秋の草木もAki no kusa kimo
しをるれば  Shiworureba
むべ山風をMube yama kaze wo
嵐といふらむArashi to iuramu.

The following is the English translation by William N. Porter (1909).

THE mountain wind in autumn time
  Is well called ‘hurricane’;
It hurries canes and twigs along,
  And whirls them o’er the plain
  To scatter them again.

69/100 能因法師 by No-in Hoshi

嵐吹く  Arashi fuku
みむろの山のMimuro no yama no
もみぢ葉はMomiji-ba wa
竜田の川のTatsuta no kawa no
にしきなりけりNishiki nari keri.

The following is the English translation by William N. Porter (1909).

THE storms, which round Mount Mimuro
  Are wont to howl and scream,
Have thickly scattered maple leaves
  Upon Tatsuta’s stream;
  Like red brocade they seem.

Found in a Poem from Hyakunin Isshu

Hyakunin Isshu 百人一首 is a classical Japanese anthology of one hundred waka poems by one hundred poets compiled in the 13^th century.  I once memorized them all in my high school days, but almost half a century later, I remember only a handful.

When prompted with sunlight, I was happily surprised that I could still recite this one poem by heart.

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33/100 紀友則　by Kino Nomonori
久方の　Hisakata no
光のどけき  Hikari nodokeki
春の陽に  Haru no hi ni
しづ心なく  Shizu kokoro naku
花の散るらむ  Hana no chiruramu.

The following is the English translation by William N. Porter (1909).

THE spring has come, and once again
The sun shines in the sky;
So gently smile the heavens, that
It almost makes me cry,
When blossoms droop and die.

Even the most gentle sunlight in the spring can’t stop sakura (cherry) blossoms from falling.  Only Impermanence is forever…

A 20^th-century feminist in Japan declared

Photo:
Amaterasu cave – large – 1856. 19th century Japan. Public domain image.

March is “Women’s History Month” in the US.  Several major institutions join in commemorating and encouraging the study, observance, and celebration of the vital role of women in American history.

I would like to take this opportunity to learn more about women in history, especially in Japan. Contrary to what is commonly understood, I sense that women in Japan once enjoyed much more freedom, equality, and even power than modern day.   

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Hiratsuka Raicho 平塚雷鳥 (1886 – 1971) is well-known as the founder of Japan’s first all-women literary magazine, Seitō (青鞜, literally Bluestocking).  The opening of the first issue of Seito was also a very famous line, “In the Beginning, Woman Was the Sun .（元始、女性は太陽であった）”

When Raicho wrote this statement in 1911, women in Japan didn’t have voting right.  Much stricter social norm was imposed upon women than on men. Starting a magazine company run by all women must have been epoch making.

What is more intriguing for me, however, is her declaration.  She reminded us of what the Japanese took for granted, that is, in Japanese mythology, the sun was a goddess, not a god. 

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Ancient Japanese people paid pretty impressive respect to women, don’t you think?

The preface of the first imperially-commissioned anthology of Waka poetry in the 9^th century explains

Photo by may yue on Unsplash

In ancient Japan, the ability to create wonderful poetry was indispensable for emperors and aristocrats to be politically successful.

What does poetry have to with politics, you may wonder. So do I!  By learning ancient literature, this mystery might be solved. 

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Compiled in the 9^th century, Kokin Wakashu 古今和歌集 was the first of 21 imperially-commissioned anthologies of Waka poetry.  The fact that the imperial court officially commissioned it tells you how highly the ruling class in those days thought of Waka poetry. 

The preface of this epoch-making anthology shows up in the 9^th-grade textbook in Japan.  I remember I hated memorizing it.  Now I’m reading anew, and quite impressed.  

Here I will share with you how the preface explains the relationship between nature and Waka poetry. 

The English translation is by Helen Craig McCullough.

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やまと歌は、人の心を種として、万の言の葉とぞなれりける。

Japanese poetry has the human heart as seed and myriads of words as leaves.

世の中にある人、ことわざ繁きものなれば、心に思ふことを、見るもの聞くものにつけて、言ひ出せるなり。

It comes into being when men use the seen and the heard to give voice to feelings aroused by the innumerable events in their lives.

花に鳴く鶯、水に住む蛙の声を聞けば、生きとし生けるもの、いづれか歌を読まざりける。

The song of the warbler among the blossoms, the voice of the frog dwelling in the water – these teach us that every living creature sings.

力をも入れずして天地を動かし、目に見えぬ鬼神をもあはれと思はせ、男女の中をも和らげ、猛き武士の心をも慰むるは歌なり。

It is song that moves heaven and earth without effort, stirs emotions in the invisible spirits and gods, brings harmony to the relations between men and women, and calms the hearts of fierce warriors.

Source: Kokin Wakashu – The First Imperial Anthology of Japanese Poetry: with ‘Tosa Nikki’ and ‘Shinsen Waka’ Translated and annotated by Helen Craig McCullough

Found in a Poem from Hyakunin Isshu  

Photo by Vinicius “amnx” Amano on Unsplash

What did ancient Japanese associate with the burning fire?  Let me refer to Hyakunin Isshu 百人一首, the classical Japanese anthology of one hundred waka poems by one hundred poets compiled in the 13^th century.  Yes, I found one!  What’s the theme?

You guessed right.  One of the 43 poems that read about love!  I told you, that ancient Japanese people were more direct in expressing their passionate love.

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49/100大中臣能宣 by Onakatomi no Yoshinobu Ason

みかきもり                Mikakimori

衛士のたく火の        Eji no taku hi no

夜は燃え                    Yoru ha moe

昼は消えつつ            Hiru ha kietsutsu

物をこそ思へ            Mono wo koso omoe

The following is the English translation by William N. Porter (1909)

MY constancy to her I love
  I never will forsake;
As surely as the Palace Guards
  Each night their watch-fire make
  And guard it till daybreak.

Just like the torch fire burns hard at night, the two lovers’ night is blazing. 

Source: A Hundred Verses from Old Japan (The Hyakunin-isshu), tr. by William N. Porter, [1909], at sacred-texts.com