Now The Season Turns

Ōtomo No Yakamochi

Now the season turns -
autumn breezes become
winter's bitter winds.
To a man alone, the nights
will grow sleeplessly long.

      Translated from the Japanese by Sam Hamill

                   Translator's Note

  This waka (short poem) is dated from the fall of 739, "following
the death of the poet's concubine," in book three of the first imperial
anthology of poetry, the Man'yéshii, published in the late eighth cen-
tury, along with a response poem by the poet's brother and several
other poems of lamentation by Yakamochi.
  Poetry was an important part of communication among the literate
classes of ancient Japan, and concubines (not to be confused with
geisha) were common in the courts. But most scholars agree that the
woman in question was probably the mother of at least one of his
children and his real paramour for many years, and that Man'yo edi-
tors used "concubine" in deference to the poet's wife and family.
  Yakamochi is the second great poet of the Man'yöshü, following
Kakinomoto no Hitomaro. Among his various positions, he served as
Governor of Etchü. He was a master of all the prominent forms and
styles of his time, including long celebratory poems for nobility on
special occasions and other "historical" events. But in his five-line,
thirty-one-syllable poems, he often transcends his time, elevating the
personal into a universal experience. Even in the eighth century, the
use of seasons as a metaphor for life's passages was not new. And yet
Yakamochi at his best attained a clarity and transparent simplicity that
would remain unrivaled until Saigyö, four centuries later.
  By not mentioning his lover or her death specifically, the poet lets
the oncoming darkness be just that - inviting the reader to supply
particulars. Since he was probably writing this poem to his brother,
he exercised both discretion and smart poetic tactics. The "alone" in
Japanese is hitori, and can also mean "single," as in "not married."
  Sentiment and sensibility often went hand-in-hand in ancient
Japanese poetry. If there is a bit of self-pity in Yakamochi's closing
couplet, there is also the breath of strength - he will endure the cold,
the dark, time and again through his long winter. He cannot know
whether there will be a spring. The poem prepares him for what he
knows is at hand. Grieving itself is a long dark season. -s.H.