Here again (and long overdue) I offer up the second in a projected series of translations and readings of seasonal poems from the Hyakunin Isshu. This one was a toughie. Here is the poem in Japanese, then romaji, and then my translation:
かささぎの
渡せる橋に
置く霜の
白きを見れば
夜ぞ更けにける
[中納言家持]
kasasagi no
wataseru hashi ni
oku shimo no
shiroki wo mireba
yo zo fuke ni keru
[Chunagon Yakamochi]
magpies spread their wings to span
the stars all speckled white
upon this frosted bridge
across this ancient night
[Translation by Michael Lambe]
Despite all my best efforts that rhyme seems unavoidable. This one is a tricky one to translate, partly because I love it so much that I’m rather afraid of it (yes, women do have the same effect on me), and I know I can never ever do it justice (yep, same again). It’s also tricky because it is so very dense. To begin with, you need to be familiar with an ancient Chinese legend, specifically the story known in Japan as the story of Tanabata. So here it is, or here at least is one version of it:
The Story of Tanabata…
It goes like this: the beautiful 織姫 or Orihime (sometimes called 織女 or Shokujo) is this heavenly princess who likes to go skinny dipping in the river of heaven: 天の川 (Ama no gawa, a.k.a. the Milky Way) leaving her celestial robes on the river bank when she does so. One day she’s splashing around merrily in her state of nature, when a lowly cowherd strolling by decides to play a hilarious prank on her by nicking her togs. His name is variously 彦星 (Hikoboshi), or 牽牛 (Kengyu) but he is actually the personification of the star Altair and our fair princess Orihime is Vega (just so you know). Anyway, the upshot of the story is, this jolly japing cowherd Kengyu and buck-naked Orihime fall madly in love and thus upset the whole heavenly order of things. And not only is this an issue of class mind you. They are simply too in love. In his raptures our Ken lets his cows run amock among the heavenly pastures, and Orihime (the brazen hussy) quite forgets her heavenly duties (weaving mostly, so you can’t blame her really, but her Pa does - he, the Emperor of Heaven is particularly partial to her weavings, so…). Inevitably, the-powers-that-be see fit to separate them by setting the entire Milky Way between them, and never are they to meet again! But then (!) so stricken with grief is Orihime at being separated from her beloved cowboy Ken, that she weeps and weeps and howls and wails and weeps and cries some more. This too seems to have an adverse affect upon her efforts at the loom. The Heavenly Emperor deigns to grant her a boon: Orihime and Kengyu may meet but only one night a year, upon the seventh day of the seventh month, and when this night arrives, as there is no bridge for them to cross, magpies taking pity on the two young lovestruck fools, gather in huge flocks and spread their wings together to form a feathery bridge that spans the heavens. That is かささぎの渡せる橋 - The Bridge of Magpies!
The Bridge of Magpies
Tanabata is a summer festival in Japan (seventh day of the seventh month see) so why is it referenced in this winter poem? Well, in Chunagon Yakamochi’s time, it was common to refer to the Imperial Court as if it were heaven on earth and so the walkways between buildings in the Imperial Palace compound also became known as “the magpie bridge”. It seems that the poet was in residence one winter’s night at Court, on official guard duty, when he saw this “magpie bridge” all white with frost, and it brought to mind the ancient legend. In his poem he is fusing these two images: a frost-whitened walkway here on Earth and a fantastical bridge of white-bellied birds spanning a river of stars. In that instant, seeing the frosted bridge, he feels how deep the night is, and looking up at the Milky Way above him he sees the same night sky his ancient Chinese forebears saw when they first wove their stories. And the reason I love this poem, is that when I first read and understood all this, I felt like I was there with him gazing in awe at that same deep and ancient night sky. This poem bridges a single moment in time for the poet, with an ancient Chinese legend and then bridges it again with every future generation of those who read and comprehend it. Awesome!
Here are a couple of additional notes on the poet and the language:
中納言家持
Chunagon Yakamochi (718 - 785) was one of the “36 Poetic Masters” (三十六歌仙) and it is also said he was in was involved in the completion of the Manyoushu. Delicate, elegant poems were his specialty and he has a collection bearing his name: the Yakamochishu (家持集).
夜ぞ更けにける
「ぞ」 is used for emphasis in the form 「ぞ ～ ける」. 「ける」 expresses a past recollection. The verb 「更ける」 expresses lateness, so a more prosaic translation might read: “Ooh, the night has gotten late!” but that just didn’t cut it for me.
Related: Winter Poems From the Hyakunin Isshu #1
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