(trans. K. Rexroth)

The poem in the original Japanese:

        Asuka gawa
        Kawa yodo sarazu
        Tatsu kiri no
        Omoi sugu beki
        Koi ni aranuku ni

The Manyoshu (literally, “collection of ten-thousand leaves”) is the most ancient, and largest, compiled collection of Japanese poetry. Over 4,500 poems were compiled into twenty books during the Nara Period (710 - 794 AD). The Manyoshu shows a wide variety of forms and topics, rather than the more restrictive rules that would govern court poetry in later ages.

The Manyoshu also is unusual for including poetry written from many different social levels, from conscript soldiers up to members of the Imperial Family, again in contrast to later works composed mostly by the nobility. While many of the poems are anonymous, a score of different authors are identified by name. Considered among the greatest of these is Yamabe no Akahito.

Little is actually known about Akahito beyond what is collected in the 50 poems in the Manyoshu that bear his name. He is famous for writing one of the first known descriptions of Mt. Fuji (the area that is now modern Tokyo, where Mt. Fuji lies, was then a swampy, thinly inhabited region, and would remain insignificant for the next five-hundred years, while the capital remained further west) and was considered by others to be one of the four great poets of the Manyoshu. As hinted at by his poems about Mt. Fuji, it is believed he traveled a great deal, at least some of that time in the company of the Imperial Court for which apparently some of the poems were written. But Akahito was most famous for being able to simply capture a thought or a scene in a few short lines – such as the poem I include here.

I have had, like Akahito, the great fortune of travelling many places in my life. I have watched the white wisps dance across the waters of the Japanese Inland Sea from the steps of the great shrine at Miyajima; I have seen the fog rise from San Francisco Bay and the Chicago Lake Michigan coast; even just the morning mist coming off the Huron River that runs behind the medical school at which I now spend my days. And so I identify very much with Akahito’s thoughts: while, like mists and fog, the mornings and evenings of our lives come and go, the memories that we take away endure.

Thank you,

— Jeff

Martin adds

Mist is one of those ‘intrinsically poetic’ topics - rich with connotations, evoking a plethora of memories, and possessed of a number of well-accepted metaphorical associations. This is a two-edged sword - a poem whose central metaphor involves mist can easily slip into cliche. On the other hand, as today’s poem clearly shows, a good poet uses those associations as a tool rather than as a crutch, and the result is often far better than if he had totally eschewed familiar imagery in pursuit of ‘originality’.

Akahito handles the image beautifully in today’s poem - he has a very light touch, subtly suggesting the flow and direction of the poem with simple, unembellished statements, and creating an effect that is softly rather than starkly elegant.

Interestingly, I read the poem quite differently from Jeffrey - I saw it as a wistful commentary on his inability to let go of painful memories. Thinking about it, this is likely because, for me, the image of mist imbues the poem with a slightly melancholy tinge that then colours the second half.

— Martin

Links

Another exquisite poem on the mist is Sandburg’s “Last Answers”, Poem #713

And on memories, see Poem #236