
From the 14th century Japanese text, “Essays in Idleness” (tsurezuregusa 徒然草), composed by Buddhist monk Kenkō:
26) When I recall the months and years I spent as the intimate of someone whose affections have now faded like cherry blossoms scattering even before a wind blew, I still remember every word of hers that once so moved me; and when I realize that she, as happens in such cases, is steadily slipping away from the world, I feel a sadness greater even than that of separation from the dead. That is why, I am sure, a man once grieved that white thread should be dyed in different colors, and why another lamented that roads inevitably fork.
Translation by Professor Donald Keene
From here, Kenkō quotes a poem that was “among the hundred verses presented to the Retired Emperor Horikawa”:
Original Japanese | Romanization | Translation by Donald Keene |
昔見し | mukashi mishi | The fence around her house, |
妹が垣根は | imo ga kakine wa | The woman I loved long ago, |
荒れにけり | arenikeri | Is ravaged and fallen; |
つばなまじりの | tsubana majiri no | Only violets remain |
菫のみして | sumire no mi shite | Mingled with the spring weeds. |
Finally, Kenkō ends the passage with:
What a lonely picture — the poem must describe something that really occurred.