From Darkness Into Darkness: Lady Izumi’s Final Poem

Author’s note: I reposted this from the other blog. There’s a lot of overlap here, and it just made sense to post in both blogs (probably the first I’ve ever done that in 11+ years!). If you’ve already read the other post, apologies for posting again.

In a lesser-known Imperial poetry anthology called the Shui Wakashu (拾遺和歌集), poem 1342, is recorded what is believed to be Lady Izumi’s1 final poem:

JapaneseRomanizationTranslation
暗きよりKuraki yoriThe way I must enter
暗き道にぞKuraki michi ni zoleads through darkness to darkness —
入りぬべきIrinu bekiO moon above the mountains’ rim
はるかに照らせHaruka ni teraseplease shine a little further
山の端の月Yama no wa no tsukion my path.
Translation by Jane Hirshfield and Mariko Aratani in The Ink Dark Moon.

This poem was addressed to a Buddhist monk named “Shoku” and includes several Buddhist allusions. The most important is the phrase “darkness to darkness”, which comes from chapter seven of the Lotus Sutra:

….from darkness they [living beings] enter into darkness,
to the end never hearing the Buddha’s name [hear the Dharma].

translation by Burton Watson2

This refers to the Buddhist notion of Samsara, the near-infinite, aimless wandering that living beings undergo lifetime after lifetime, like a cosmic rat race. Such beings, who have yet to hear the Dharma [the teachings] of the Buddha, will continue to wander lifetime after lifetime without rest.

Thus, Lady Izumi is asking Shoku to help shine a light in the darkness for her, so that she may find the way [follow the Buddhist path].

I had trouble deciding which blog to put this in, since it covers both themes, but I decided to originally post in the other blog since the poem was introduced in the new historical drama about Lady Murasaki, Izumi’s contemporary.

Lady Izumi was, to put it mildly, a complex woman. She had incredible talent, and found herself in one scandal3 after another as powerful men fell at her feet, plus she earned scorn from other women such as Lady Murasaki. And yet, she was also very kind, devout and struggled to balance both the religious and worldly aspects of her life, while raising her orphaned granddaughter.

Hirshfield and Aratani note that if this poem is indeed her last, the final word she ever wrote was tsuki (月), “moon”.

1 poem 56 in the Hyakunin Isshu.

2 alternate translation by Murano reads: …they go from darkness to darkness, and do not hear of the names of the Buddhas.

3 this was a conservative, narrow, aristocratic society where men frequently had affairs, but it was much more scandalous if women did. The idea that women could want, and enjoy sex, was not something people really accepted at the time.

Remembering Loved Ones

Recently, my family and I observed the 100th day memorial for “baba”, my wife’s mother in Japan, and grandmother to our kids. This had me thinking about another poem by Lady Izumi1 from The Ink Dark Moon by Jane Hirshfield and Mariko Aratani:

Original JapaneseRomanizationTranslation
跡をみてAto wo miteEven in my dreams
偲ぶもあやしShinobu mo ayashiI never think of you—
ゆめにてもYume nite mohow strange now,
何事のまたNanigoto no mataseeing your handwriting,
有りしともなくArishi to mo nakuto recall…
Translation by by Jane Hirshfield and Mariko Aratani

I can understand this sentiment. When doing the memorials, it can feel kind of formulaic, but then sometimes I will see something that reminds me of my mother in law, and I can still her presence somehow. While I was in Japan, my father in law, noticing my interest in the Hyakunin Isshu, gave me a book to take home that belonged to his wife (my late mother-in-law).

「新百人一首をおぼえよう」(Let’s Memorize the Hyakunin Isshu, new edition) by 佐佐木幸綱 (Sasaki Yukitsuna)

This is a nice book, published back in 2002 that covers the Hyakunin Isshu anthology with lots of neat photography of famous locations, and tips and mnemonics for memorizing poems for karuta card game. I’ve enjoyed reading through it.

But more importantly, it provides a tangible link to my mother-in-law. Due to language barrier, I wasn’t able to converse with her much in my early years of marriage, and in the later years her health had declined to the point we couldn’t converse anyway. So, I wasn’t able to connect with her as much as I wanted to.

But with this book, I feel connected to her in a way I couldn’t before. My only regret is that we didn’t share this hobby before.

However, as Lady Izumi’s poetry shows, there is another side to grief and losing loved ones:

Original JapaneseRomanizationTranslation
としをへてToshi wo heteThrough the years
物思ふことはMono omou koto waI’ve become used to sorrow:
ならひにきNarai ni kithere was not one spring
花に別れぬHana ni wakarenuI didn’t leave behind
春しなければHaru shinarakerebathe flowers
Translation by by Jane Hirshfield and Mariko Aratani

and:

Original JapaneseRomanizationTranslation
頼むとてTanomu toteDo you now know
頼みけるこそTanomi keru kosothis world
はかなけれHakana kereis a waking dream?
昼間の夢のHiruma no yume noHowever much I needed you,
よとは知らずやYo towa shirazu yathat is also a fleeting thing…
Translation by by Jane Hirshfield and Mariko Aratani

As one gets older, one becomes somewhat numb to all the people that we’ve lost. The second poem here has overtly Buddhist undertones, reminding the reader that, as the Diamond Sutra famous says:

All composed things are like a dream,
a phantom, a drop of dew, a flash of lightning.
That is how to meditate on them.
That is how to observe them.

Translation by Ven. Thich Nhat Hanh, in The Diamond That Cuts Through Illusion

For my part, I have lost friends as far back as high school, known relatives who have taken their own lives, lost loved ones due to cancer, dementia, pneumonia, etc.

Chances are, you have too.

As time goes on, this number will continue to grow. If you imagine scattered blossoms in spring, one can easily find parallels to life and the people all around us.

1 Other recent mentions here, here and here.

Of Burning Houses and Rain

Here is another wonderful poem (previous posts here and here) by the 11th century Japanese poetess, Lady Izumi (izumi shikibu 和泉式部 in Japanese), that I found in The Ink Dark Moon by Jane Hirshfield and Mariko Aratani:

Original JapaneseRomanizationTranslation*
ものをのみMono o nomiShould I leave this burning house
思ひの家をOmoi no ie oof ceaseless thoughts
出でてふるIdete furuand taste the pure rain’s
一味の雨にIchimi no ame nisingle truth
ぬれやしなましNure ya shina mashifailing upon my skin?
* Translation by by Jane Hirshfield and Mariko Aratani

The headline for this poem reads:

On the night of the sixth, the sound of the night monk’s voice reciting the Sutras mingled with the sound of incessant rain, and truly this seemed to be a world of dreams…

Lady Izumi cleverly makes not one, not two, but THREE separate allusions to the famous Lotus Sutra, in this poem. I’ve talked about the Lotus Sutra before. It’s a very influential Buddhist text in the Mahayana tradition, and contains many parables and dramatic allusions, compared to some of the drier, more textbook style Buddhist sutras. Thus, allusions to the Lotus Sutra are found throughout literature in East Asia. In my opinion, understanding the Lotus Sutra is key to understanding Buddhism in East Asia: Zen, Pure Land, Tiantai, Nichiren and Vajrayana, etc.

The “burning house” here alludes to the Parable of the Burning House of third chapter of the Lotus Sutra. I’ve talked about it here, among other places. This is pretty straightforward to understand in the poem: the Burning House here is symbolic of the world we live in, burning with passions, craving, anger, delusion, old age, disease, and so on. We can step out of the burning house if we choose to, but we are often distracted by things in the house, and thus unaware that the timbers all around us are on fire, putting us in mortal danger.

The second allusion is that of rain. In the fifth chapter of the Lotus Sutra, there is a parable describing rain on plants, the so-called The Parable of the Medicinal Herbs:

What falls from the cloud is water of a single flavor, but the plants and trees, thickets and groves, each accept the moisture that is appropriate to its portion. All the various trees, whether superior, middling or inferior, take that is fitting for large or small and each is enabled to sprout and grow. Root, stem, limb, leaf, the glow and hue of flower and fruit— one rain extends to them and all are able to become fresh and glossy, whether their allotment of substance, form and nature is large or small, the moistening they receive is one, but each grows and flourishes in its own way.

The Buddha is like this when he appears in the world, comparable to a great cloud that covers all things everywhere, Having appeared in the world, for the sake of living beings he makes distinctions in expounding the truth regarding phenomena.

Translation by Burton Watson

This is, for me, one of my most favorite parts of the Lotus Sutra. As a sutra, it’s very inclusive (cf. the Parable of the Dragon Princess), but it also acknowledges that there is a huge variety of people in the world. Some people are just different than others, but they can all benefit from the Dharma in their own way, just like the various plants in world drinking from the rain.

Finally, the third allusion in Lady Izumi’s poem is that of a single “taste”. Both the Parable of the Burning House and the Parable of the Medicinal Herbs make a single point: the Dharma of the Buddha appears in a variety of ways, or “gates” for one to enter, but in the end the Dharma tastes the same equally, and is but one truth. So, whichever gate one enters, the rain will ultimately taste the same. For the Burning House, when the children come outside, their father offers, in the end, a single magnificent cart (not many) to offer them as an incentive.

Turning back to Lady Izumi, it’s obvious that she was very thoughtful of these things, even if she struggled to practice them amidst her life. Even when she was surrounded by scandal, and lost both her lovers and her daughter to illness, she could see past it and look at the greater picture.

Namu Amida Butsu

Inattention

Photo by Gleb Dolskiy on Pexels.com

A while back, I talked about a famous poetess from 11th century Japan named Lady Izumi, one of several famous ladies of the court at that time, but for some reason the one I find most fascinating.1 Lady Izumi was a prolific poet, and I have been reading samples of her poetry compiled in The Ink Dark Moon by Jane Hirshfield and Mariko Aratani. I found this poem the other day and wanted to share. The headline of the poem was that Lady Izumi was on retreat while on retreat at a mountain temple in autumn…

Original JapaneseRomanizationEnglish translation*
心にはKokoro niwaAlthough I try
ひとつみのりをHitotsu minori woto hold the single thought
思へどもOmoe domoof Buddha’s teaching in my heart,
蟲のこゑこゑMushi wa koegoeI cannot help but hear
聞ゆなるかなKikoyu naru kanathe many crickets’ voices calling as well.
* Translations by Jane Hirshfield and Mariko Aratani

I think this speaks to the classic frustration many Buddhists (among others) have: the willingness to undertake a practice, and the reality of not being able to stay focused. If it were easy, we’d probably all be doing it.

Lately, in an effort to reconnect to the local Buddhist community, and due to recent experiences in Victoria, BC, I decided to join a local Soto Zen group for remote meditation sessions. It’s been great actually: I have something in the week to look forward to besides more work meetings, and it provides a nice spiritual anchor in my life again. However, I noticed that while meditating for 25 minutes at a time, my mind rarely stays focused for long. Sometimes I can discipline myself for a few minutes, counting my breaths, etc. However, most of the time my mind is just wandering around for most of the session.

When I was younger and first encountered the nembutsu, I used to dedicate myself to reciting the nembutsu 1080 times (using my rosary to help count). Usually this takes about 15-20 depending on the speed of recitation. I (surprisingly) continued this practice for months. However, I also noticed a pattern: my mind would quickly grow bored from reciting, then anxious to hurry up and finish, and then relief when I got near the end. My mind would wander, just as it does with meditation.

So, the experience that Lady Izumi has is not unique to her, and even now, a thousand years later, I can empathize with her.

Further, I don’t think there’s an easy solution here: it’s something that every one has to work out for themselves.

Namu Amida Butsu

1 Speaking of fascinating, you might like to read my review of the Diary of Lady Murasaki, her contemporary on my other blog. Lady Murasaki evidentially didn’t think too highly of Lady Izumi.

The Tragedy of Lady Izumi

1765 painting by Komatsuken, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons

The twilight years of the Heian Period of Japan (late 12th century) mark the high-point of the refined Imperial Court, its aristocracy and their literary culture. Poetry at this time, epitomized by the Hyakunin Isshu, was a popular past-time and frequent means of corresponding between men and women (often on the sly). A person’s career or reputation could be made or broken by a skillful, or clumsy, poem. Many of the ladies-in-waiting serving the court aristocracy would also go on to become famous writers in Japanese literature:

  • Lady Murasaki (Japanese: murasaki-shikibu 紫式部) – who wrote the first Japanese novel, the Tales of Genji, and her own diary is a fascinating read. She is part of the social circle around Empress Shōshi. She is also known for poem 57 in the Hyakunin Isshu anthology.
  • Sei Shonagon – who wrote the Pillow Book, a free-form thought about the minutia of Heian Period society. Sei Shonagon was part of a rival social circle centered around Empress Teishi. She is known for poem 62 in the Hyakunin Isshu.
  • Akazome Emon – another accomplished poet in the same social circle as Lady Murasaki. She composed poem 59 of the Hyakunin Isshu among her many other accomplishments.

And finally we come to perhaps the most the most controversial, and yet one of the most brilliant ladies among this generation of ladies-in-waiting turned writers: Lady Izumi. In Japanese she is called Izumi Shikibu (和泉式部).

Like all women at the time, her real name is not known. She is named after her husband’s region of administration (Izumi province), and her father’s role in the Imperial court as master of ceremonies (shikibu 式部). Lady Izumi was born into the elite aristocracy in Heian society of the time, but she distinguished herself both with her particular skill in poetry and with her tendency to get involved in scandalous relationships.

While unhappily married to her husband, Tachibana no Michisada, she had an affair with Prince Tametaka, the third son of Emperor Reizei, which caused her to be divorced and shunned by her family. Her ex-husband also took custody of their only child, a daughter named Koshikibu no Naishi (poem 60 in the Hyakunin Isshu). However, before long her lover Prince Tametaka died due to illness.

Later, Prince Tametaka’s brother Prince Atsumichi approached Lady Izumi and a romantic relationship began. Lady Izumi’s “Diary of Lady Izumi” (izumi shikibu nikki 和泉式部日記) covers this period of time, and their correspondences to one another. For example, she composed the following as a reply to Prince Atsumichi:

JapaneseRomanizationEnglish
薫る香にKaoru ka niRather than recall
よそふるよりはyoso uru yori wain these [tachibana] flowers
ほととぎすhototogisuthe fragrance of the past,
聞かばや同じkikaba ya onajiI would like to hear this nightingale’s voice,
声やしたるとkoe yashitaru toto know if his song is as sweet.
Translation by Jane Hirshfield and Mariko Aratani in The Ink Dark Moon: Love Poems by Onono Komachi and Izumi Shikibu, Women of the Ancient Court of Japan

She also left behind many romantic poems such as this one (undated, so it’s unclear who he is), which I was surprised to see quoted in the drama Thirteen Lords of the Shogun:

JapaneseRomanizationEnglish
黒髪のKuro kami noMy black hair’s
乱れても知らずmidarete shirazuin disarray — uncaring
うち臥せばuchi fusebahe lay down, and
まづかきやりしmazu kakiyarishifirst, gently smoothed it:
人ぞ恋しきhito zo koishikimy darling love.
Source: http://www.wakapoetry.net/gsis-xiii-755/

Since she was divorced anyway, she moved in with the Prince and her relationship with Prince Atsumichi was an open scandal for the Court. They would often be seen riding his carriage through the capitol. Prince Atsumichi’s wife was furious about the affair, and returned to her family, while public criticism of the couple became increasingly harsh and unavoidable.

In the end, Prince Atsumichi, like his brother, died from illness at the age of 27. Lazy Izumi was once again heartbroken.

By this point, Lady Izumi had few options, and no support from her family, so she was taken in as a lady in waiting for Empress Shoshi,1 where she served alongside another notable ladies Akazome Emon and Lady Murasaki. Empress Shoshi’s father, the ambitious Fujiwara no Michinaga, wanted to gather as much talent under his household as he could. However, Lady Murasaki didn’t think too highly of her:

Izumi Shikibu is an amusing letter-writer; but there is something not very satisfactory about her. She has a gift for dashing off informal compositions in a careless running-hand; but in poetry she needs either an interesting subject or some classic model to imitate. Indeed it does not seem to me that in herself she is really a poet at all.

— trans. Waley, “Diary of Lady Murasaki”

Later, Lady Izumi married Fujiwara no Yasumasa and moved to the provinces, and she was reunited with her only daughter (now in her 20’s). Tragedy struck yet again as her daughter died soon after the reunion, leaving behind two children of her own. Lady Izumi was devastated by this loss, but thinking of her grandchildren, she wrote:

JapaneseRomanizationEnglish
留め置きてtodome okiteLeft behind [grandmother and grandchildren]
誰をあはれとtare wo aware towhose loss do you
思ひけんomoi kenthink is more pitiful?
子はまさるらんko wa masaruranThe children’s loss is worse
子はまさりけりko wa masarikeriIndeed, the children’s loss is worse.
Rough translation by me, please take it with a grain of salt

By this point, she devoted herself to the Buddhist path as a lay nun named Seishin Insei Hōni (誠心院専意法尼). One of her last poems she composed, poem 56 in the Hyakunin Isshu, is:

JapaneseRomanizationEnglish
あらざらむArazaranAmong my memories
この世の外のKono yo no hoka noof this world, from whence
思ひ出にOmoide niI will soon be gone,
今ひとたびのIma hitotabi nooh, how I wish there was
逢ふこともがなAu koto mo ganaone more meeting, now, with you!
Translation by Joshua Mostow

This poem, based on Japanese commentaries I’ve read, wasn’t meant to be a simple chat, she was likely missing someone she was still intimately involved with, though it’s unclear who.

Lady Izumi is a fascinating figure to me. She was obviously quite attractive. In a very closed, and high-scrutinized society as the Heian-era court aristocracy, multiple men of very high rank risked considerable scandal just to be with her. In layman’s terms, men of the time thought she was really hot.

Even today, she is the subject of many romantic manga (Japanese comics) written for young women in Japan:

The comic 恋ひうた (koi uta, “Love song”) by Ebira Hiromi (江平洋巳)
The Diary of Lady Izumi (izumi shikibu nikki 和泉式部日記) by Igarashi Yumiko
A Chinese-language edition of “Love Song” by Ebira Hiromi

As well as stories about her life:

But Lady Izumi was also more than a femme fatale. She was obviously quick-witted, had many poetic talents, plus she was a loving mother (and grandmother), and a devout Buddhist who suffered many losses in her life. To me, she epitomized the bittersweet life of being a woman in Heian Period aristocratic society.

1 As Empress Shoshi was the second wife of Emperor Ichijō and a pawn in the power-struggles between two rival branches of the Fujiwara clan (the other faction tied to Emperor Ichijo’s first wife Empress Teishi), this was not a great position to be in, at least until Empress Shoshi successfully gave birth to a son.