research leftovers
STUDY REMAINING MATTERSTUDY REMAINING MATTERS
This is a mini lecture by a faculty member (introduction to their specialized research).
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[Medieval Literature] The Name of the Flower that Parted with Red by Keisuke Yamamoto
Although not as well known, there are some songs that are memorable.
I think it was a song that happened to be performed in a seminar class when I was a student.
The undergrowth of the cherry blossoms is thick, and the name of the flower that was parted with red is
(Shin Kokinshu, Summer, Taikenmon-in Aki)
is one of them, and I sometimes remember it in early summer.
"Sakura-asa" is a type of hemp, but the details are unknown, and "wofu" seems to mean a place where hemp grows, or a hemp field. In modern terms, it would be something like, "Sakura-asa undergrowth, just keep growing thick and thick, because it has the same name as the flower (cherry blossom) that parted before I even got tired of it."
The opposite of "If you hate the priest, you hate the robe too," this poem expresses deep affection for the cherry blossoms that have fallen in the spring, and a wish that the summer grass called "sakura-asa," which has a similar name but looks very different from cherry blossoms, would grow. It expresses the gentle feeling of longing for the vestiges of flowers in the lush early summer air.
When I met someone with the same name as a lover I had broken up with, I would vaguely think as a student that this feeling was somewhat similar to the hope that that person would stay well.
The expression in the last line of this song, "The name of the flower that we parted from red," probably gives it a certain flavor.
However, if I translated this as "We broke up before we got tired of each other...", it seemed a bit tasteless.
However, at the time I was just casually watching it, so I didn't think too deeply about it.
To digress for a moment, I am currently studying classical literature.
People often wonder what literary studies entails.
There are various stages in research.
Specifically, the project involves finding the original text written in cursive script and putting it into type.
Read the printed text, annotate any parts that are difficult to understand, and translate it into modern Japanese.
We read the books and materials that have been prepared in this way and discuss literature, eras, people, etc.
Until recently, he was commissioned by a publishing company to write a commentary on the imperial anthology Zoku Kokin Wakashū, which was commissioned in the early Kamakura period.
At that time, the controversial "Akade" song appeared, and I was forced to face it.
In the "Shoku Kokinshu"
I long for the moonlit sky that I saw long ago.
(Love Three: Fujiwara no Sanekata)
And so on.
This is a song in which the author, Sanekata, expresses his lament after the woman he is trying to woo immediately enters his house, and the lines "akade" refer to the door of the house being "don't open it" and "akade."
The poem plays on the meaning of "ama no to", which means sky, and also the "doorway" of a house, and compares the woman to the "seen moon", longing for it to "enter red".
I feel a sense of regret, as I wish we could have talked more.
The translation is, just as I miss the sky after the moon has set before I have had a chance to enjoy it to its fullest, I miss the time when you saw me at the doorway and went in and hid without opening the door.
Here, "akade" is not translated directly, but I am not sure if this was the best way to translate it. The expressions "akade" and "wakare" have been used since ancient times.
The most famous is Ki no Tsurayuki's
The dew from our clasped hands makes the mountain well red. I wonder if I'll ever be separated from someone else.
(From the Kokinshu: Separation by Ki no Tsurayuki)
I guess so.
According to the text, this poem was written when parting with someone with whom he had exchanged words while crossing the mountains and coming across a clear spring.The poem translates to something like, ``Like the clear mountain water that becomes muddy from the drops that fall from your hands as you scoop it up, so you can only drink a little, I have to part with a feeling of dissatisfaction.''
The phrase "akademo" expresses the reluctance felt when parting with an acquaintance one meets by chance.
Other similar expressions include:
I open my door in the morning and gaze upon the starry sky as I lament my eternal farewell.
(From the "Gosenshu" by Ki no Tsurayuki)
There is also something called "an untimely separation."
This song imagines the sadness of parting between Orihime and Hikoboshi after their annual rendezvous.
In commentaries, these expressions "akade" and "akanu" are generally translated as "before I get bored of it," "before I'm satisfied," or "still regretful."
Since commentaries have limited space, there is no room for lengthy explanations. Also, translations should be as close to the original as possible, so paraphrases must be avoided. When compiling into a book, this kind of translation is unavoidable.
Whether you are admiring flowers or talking about love with someone, the feeling of nostalgia comes from the fact that the experience has ended.
If it continues for a long time, you will eventually get tired of it, it will no longer leave an impression, and it will no longer be poetry.
It is called "akade" because, even after it is over, one feels an endless lingering feeling for the subject.
Strangely enough, although "akade" seems to contain all these nuances in classical Japanese, it seems as if they are lost when translated into modern Japanese.
Is there any way to translate this into simple, modern language?
I could talk about these things in my university lectures and seminars, but with the space limitations of a manuscript, plus a deadline, I ended up not being able to come up with a great translation.
That said, one of the things I never get bored of is constantly thinking about how to translate the text without losing the flavor of the original. -
[Modern Japanese Literature] A Thoughtful Man Hiroyuki Katayama (Professor Emeritus)
I've been saddled with a thorny object for a while now: a handwritten manuscript from a famous author.
He passed away around 70 years ago, but he was an indispensable figure in the history of literature, having been active in a wide range of fields in the Japanese literary world from the Taisho era to just after the end of the war, and having had a great influence in many areas.
I first became interested in this author about 30 years ago, and at the time he seemed to have been overlooked even among researchers, but in recent years, research on him and his literature has progressed, and he has come to be reevaluated. However, there is still untouched fertile ground left. This momentum is likely to continue for a while.
Then, a thick catalogue of used books arrived from a long-established used bookstore in Hongo. The manuscript in question was published in the photographic edition. What appeared to be the opening page and one illustration that appeared to have been included at the same time were presented in color photographs. There was the title of the work and a brief explanation. It said, "A complete set of 63.5 pages of 400-character manuscript paper. Not included in the complete works," and "17 illustrations by Kanamori Kanyo." It was a work name I had no memory of. There were a lot of pages, and it was a "complete set" and "illustrated." If it was true, it would be quite an incident. I immediately called the used bookstore and went to see it in person. There was no doubt that it was the real thing.
When I say "without a doubt," people often ask me on what basis I can say so. It is true that the authenticity of an original manuscript cannot be scientifically proven. The most physical evidence would be whether or not the author used his or her favorite manuscript paper. Therefore, to put it simply, this is nothing more than a "gut feeling" that comes from looking at the handwriting of the same author for many years. That being said, there are some points to keep in mind.
First, check the author's unique "habits" such as the font, characters, and writing style. Although the font may vary slightly depending on the author's age and writing implement, the characters and writing style are, so to speak, the physiology of each author and do not change very much throughout one's life. This is especially true for writing style. Try carefully copying out the work of your favorite author. You will see that Murakami Haruki's writing style is by no means that of Murakami Ryu, and that Takamura Kaoru and Kitamura Kaoru are completely separate entities.
Another defining feature of handwritten manuscripts are the traces of "corrections." In other words, the way the text has been revised and completed. Some writers boldly erase corrections by roughly drawing two lines through them, in a "seemingly erased" fashion. Others, however, carefully erase each character by painting them over. It is this "way of erasing" that reveals the author's individuality more strongly. The same goes for completions; each writer has their own style. You could even say that this "erasing and repairing" is the writer's fingerprint.
Of course, contrary to these minute checklists, there is the "finish" of the work itself. It is the "content" and the "appearance". It may be a bit of a backwards way of saying it, but a first-rate writer will not, and cannot, write a work that is below par, even if it has been criticized as a failure. Even in cases where a serialization has been discontinued or a last work is left unfinished, the passion and anguish of the writer at the time of writing is conveyed to the reader. Even if the work is incomplete in form, the writer's determination to carve their soul into it to the very limit naturally makes the reader sit up straight. This is no longer limited to literature, but is a question that concerns the essence of art in general.
*
Now that I know this manuscript is genuine, I definitely want to get it. I want to study it thoroughly, determine its value, and expose it to the light of day. But it's expensive. No, in a way, you could say it's cheap. This author's reputation is rising now. The price of used books, which is a barometer of attention, is also rising steadily. Some books have become an order of magnitude more expensive than before. When this happens, used books become antiques. They are treasures. There are treasure collectors in the world who don't care about money. When they get involved, the used book market immediately soars, and if it's a rare book and it's up for auction, it becomes a fierce battle like a battlefield. A mere researcher can only watch from the sidelines. And the <property> disappears into the darkness, becoming someone's personal collection. Even if I ask the used bookstore about its whereabouts, it's their confidentiality obligation. When will this <property> appear again? Even if it does appear again, it will be at an even more premium and outrageous price this time. I want to see just one line on that page, I just want to confirm the seal on the colophon, but the reverent feelings of the researcher towards the truth disappear like a light blown by the wind. This is true even for printed books. If it were a one-of-a-kind handwritten manuscript, I would be hesitant to buy it at this price right now.
That same day, I called the literature museum in the author's hometown. They had consulted me on a number of similar occasions in the past, and had generally purchased the manuscripts for the literature museum's collection. Of course, as a public facility, the budget is already firmly set. They are not free to purchase expensive items that were not planned for. This is only if it is possible, taking into account various circumstances. Fortunately, however, it seemed that they had also looked at the same catalog and considered it, so they trusted my report and happily purchased the manuscript for the literature museum's collection. This meant that this valuable material would no longer be stored as a private possession, but would be available to the public. I was grateful to the literature museum and the gods of learning.
*
Shortly afterwards, the CD containing the copy of the manuscript arrived from the Literature Museum. I quickly put it on the copier, and a color copy came out that was much clearer than when I had seen it in the dimly lit second-hand bookstore. There were traces of "corrections," as well as rough red-inked chapter instructions that must have been written by an editor, and the typesetters' stamps were carelessly stamped on it. I was taken aback by the power of the experience, as if I was witnessing the very act of printing a manuscript that was probably written before 1990.
Retyping and organizing this manuscript on a word processor, the outline of the work is a nested reminiscence of a strange incident that the author heard from an old man who was a attendant at the Ikaho Onsen bathhouse while he was staying there around 1918 or 1919, and that the old man told the story from his perspective at the time. The story is about an old man whose father was a samurai who served as a rifleman in Takasaki, Kozuke Province, at the end of the Edo period, and his family who were possessed by a monster and suffered a cruel fate. The story unfolds well, the tempo is good, the suspense is arranged, and the anxiety, fear, and sadness are told from the boy's point of view. The ending is abruptly cut short, leaving a touch of melancholy. It is a fine work that shows off the qualities of a skilled author without any flaws. As explained in the catalog, the length is just under 70 pages of 400-character manuscript paper, with a total of 18 chapters, and 17 illustrations by Kanamori Kanyo that seem to correspond to the scenes in each chapter.
Certainly, such a work is not included anywhere in the latest edition of the complete works, volume 29, which contains almost all of this author's works. Could it be a phantom manuscript? If so, then we must first determine when and where this work was published. He was a star and best-selling author throughout his life, and there is a mountain of information available about him. There is no way we can't find out the nature of this work. Or so I thought.
However, I couldn't find anything. I tried every tool I could think of (digital and analog), but I couldn't find anything. It seemed that the straightforward approach of using the author's name and the title of the work as keywords would not lead to anything. So, at the same time, I tried to find a clue by looking into the sources that might be the subject of the work. I tried to expand my reach to ghost stories, tales, legends, and folk tales from all over the world, past and present, but I couldn't find any similar stories. So what about storytelling, records, and unofficial history? I'd been interested in this since I was a student, so I was somewhat confident in my access to materials and networks in this area. But the result was the same. At a loss, I asked a leading authority in this field, known only to those in the know, for advice, but I only received a vague answer. I also consulted with local historians and folk tale research groups in the region where the story is set, but to no avail.
However, it is not that everything is hopeless. For example, it is possible to pinpoint the exact time when this work was published. Kanamori Kanyo, who was responsible for the illustrations, was a famous illustrator who showed his skills in works such as "Shinsengumi" by Shirai Kyoji and "Daibosatsu Toge" by Nakazato Kaizan, and he died in 1932 (Showa 7), so he must have worked on this work before that. Also, on the first page of the manuscript, there is what is known as the "author's words."
This may be a little different from "popular literature." It's not a historical novel, nor is it a sword fight story, it's a ghost story. It's not a long story, but I think it's quite interesting. There are about 20 or 30 episodes.
The term "popular literature" and the so-called "period novels" (chanbara stories) gained momentum around the end of the Taisho period and the beginning of the Showa period (1925). Therefore, this work was written with an awareness of this new trend, and can be considered a work published in the early Showa period.
In addition, the author intended to serialize the work as "fairly interesting" "ghost stories" with illustrations in "twenty or thirty issues." Given the content and the length of each chapter, it would be natural to assume that this was written as a fast-moving newspaper serialization, roughly the equivalent of one month's worth, rather than a monthly popular literary magazine.
I don't have time to discuss the newspapers and newspaper novels of those days, but one big difference from today is that there were a lot of small local newspapers, which were short-lived and were repeatedly consolidated and changed their names at each time. Serial novels were often mixed in with them. The newspaper involved in this issue is the "Yukan Osaka Shimbun," which was published from 1923 (Taisho 12) to 1942 (Showa 17). The original manuscript that the used bookstore had was accompanied by an old brown envelope measuring 24 cm in length and 10 cm in width, with the title of the work written in calligraphy on the front and "3-banchi Dojimahama-dori 4-chome, Kita-ku, Osaka City / Co., Ltd. / Yukan Osaka Shimbunsha" printed on the back. I was honestly relieved at the time, knowing that an investigation into the "Yukan Osaka Shimbun" would solve everything.
*
A little over a year has passed since then. I still haven't found the "Osaka Evening Newspaper." As is common practice when researching newspapers, I first went to the National Diet Library. However, there was neither the actual copy nor a microfilm. All I found was a record of the newspaper's name changes and a microfilm of the newspaper from when it changed its name to the "Osaka Newspaper" in 1942 (Showa 17). I felt like I had let a fish get away after catching it, so I tried everything I could think of, but all I could get was peripheral information. The thing I wanted to see was completely gone.
I want to settle this matter as soon as possible and repay the kindness of the Literature Museum, which listened to me and, presumably, managed its budget to purchase the expensive manuscript. I also want to add a flower to the history and life of this author. However, newspapers are expendable. Moreover, there is almost no chance that a small local newspaper from over 80 years ago still remains somewhere in Japan today. I have run out of options. All that remains is to wait for an unexpected stroke of luck. But even so, why did that great author want to publish his work in a local newspaper that was likely to disappear even at the time?
*
The situation changed only recently. I found a photo of the original manuscript by this author in the catalog of a long-established used bookstore in Hokkaido. The title of the work written on it was something I had never seen before. The photo was small and in black and white, so I couldn't see the details. Moreover, I didn't have the time or money to go to Hokkaido to check it out right away. However, perhaps because it was only 27 pages of 400-character manuscript paper, the price was not something that an individual could not afford if they made a rough estimate. Even if it caused a temporary breakdown in my family, I should make a decision. If I hesitate, I will disappear into a treasure spiral. I called the used bookstore immediately and secured it. The actual thing arrived soon. The name at the beginning is definitely his hand. However, there is a strange aura about the entire manuscript. There is a possibility that it is a forgery or ghostwriting. However, it will be a document that sheds light on the reality of his creative work, which included quite a few ghostwritings. It should be investigated carefully. Rather, what surprised me was not the authenticity of the manuscript. It was a brown envelope that came out from the bottom of the manuscript. It is 23 cm tall and 16 cm wide. On the front is the name of the author written in calligraphy, "Manuscript by Mr. XX", and on the back is a familiar address, and "Inc. / Osaka Evening Newspaper" printed in bold letters. Now, what should I do? -
[Linguistics, Japanese Language Studies] Entering the Ocean of Japanese Language Studies by Jun Sawada
Japanese language studies is, of course, the study of the Japanese language, but there are various approaches to this. Typical approaches in Japanese language studies include analysing the grammar and meaning of modern Japanese while making the most of one's intuition as a native Japanese speaker, and analysing the structure of Japanese language in each era and the historical changes in Japanese language observed over the years based on historical materials such as the Manyoshu and the Tale of Genji. Japanese language studies also include researching dialects throughout the Japanese archipelago (or introspecting on one's own dialect), writing down the vocabulary and grammar of the dialect, recording various everyday conversations, and analyzing the characteristics of Japanese conversation. Sometimes, turning one's attention to foreign languages such as English and Korean and comparing them with Japanese may help one to see the characteristics of Japanese more clearly.
As an example of a concrete example of Japanese language studies, let us take up an analysis of the Japanese words "iku" (go) and "kuru" (come).
When a speaker is moving to a listener at the destination at the time of speaking, "iku" is usually chosen in Japanese and "come" is usually chosen in English ("*" is a negligible mark).
(1) A: Taro, could you come over here for a moment?
B: I'm coming/going now.
(2) A: John, would you come here, please?
B: I'm {coming/*going}.
However, there are some Japanese dialects that behave differently from standard Japanese (1). In dialect regions such as Okinawa, Kyushu, parts of Sanin (Shimane, etc.), and parts of Hokuriku (Toyama, Ishikawa, etc.), the speaker's movement to the listener's domain can be expressed with either "go" or "come." Here is an example from the Izumo dialect of Shimane Prefecture.
(3) A: Why don’t you come over here now?
B: In that case, I'll come right away. Just wait for me. (Izumo dialect)
The dialectal usage of "kuru" is limited to parts of the western region when the dialects of the Japanese archipelago are broadly divided into east and west, and there have been no reports of its use in the eastern region (such as Kanto or Tohoku). (The dialectal distribution of the special usage of "kuru" shows what is known in dialectology as the "East-West conflict.")
When we examine historical documents called Chuka Wabun (such as the Tale of Genji), which reflect the Japanese language in the central part of the Heian period (mainly Kyoto), we find that in the central Japanese language of that period, both "iku" and "rai" could be used to indicate the speaker's movement to the listener's domain. The following two examples are taken from Heichu Monogatari, a song tale from the mid-Heian period.
In (4), the movement of the man, who is the speaker (writer of the letter), to the woman, who is the listener (receiver of the letter), is expressed with “go.”
(4) The man replied, "No, I cannot continue," but the place was quiet again, and the man who had come originally also did not show up, so the woman said to the younger man,
[Modern translation: (The man said to the woman) "But I'd like to ask you again," but
(Tales of the Heian Period, Chapter 29)
In the following (5), the movement of the male speaker to the female listener is expressed with “来” (more precisely, the humble form of “来” “mairai”).
(5) The woman said, "What are you talking about? Please come quickly." The man replied, "I will come right away. This garden in front of the temple is very interesting and beautiful." And so he stood up, but the monk who was there came out and soon someone else came.
[Modern translation: "Why are you doing like that? Please come quickly." So I replied, "I will come right away. I see that this shrubbery is very beautiful and has a lot of shade."]
(Tales of the Heian Period, Chapter 17)
It can be seen that Old Central Japanese, like some of the western dialects we have seen above, had a "combined 'yuku' and 'kuru' type" operating system when the speaker moved to the listener's domain. The "combined 'yuku' and 'kuru' type" operating system seen in some of the western dialects can be considered a remnant of the Old Central Japanese operating system.
On the other hand, in modern common Japanese (and even in the modern Kyoto dialect, which is a descendant of Old Central Japanese), only "iku" is used to indicate the speaker's movement to the listener's domain, as seen in example (1). Japanese has simplified the operation system of the motion verb "iku/kuru" for movement between interlocutors (speaker and listener).
Now, with the above facts in mind, let us consider the choice between "iku" and "rai" in Old Central Japanese in a little more detail. Let's take a look at the following example.
(6) From the woman's side, there are no words,
You came, I came, I didn't even think about it. Was it a dream or did I wake up?
[Modern translation: I am not sure whether you came or I came. Am I dreaming or awake?]
(The Tale of Ise, Chapter 69)
Here, the opposing two-way movements of "movement from listener to speaker" and "movement from speaker to listener" are depicted, but "来" is used for the former and "いく" is used for the latter. As confirmed above, both "いく" and "来" can be used for "movement from speaker to listener," so "来" could have been used here as well. However, at least as far as the research materials for Middle Japanese texts are concerned, no examples were found in which "来" was used for "movement from speaker to listener" in the two-way opposing movements of "movement from listener to speaker" and "movement from speaker to listener." Was "来" just not used by chance, or was its use suppressed for some reason? It is difficult to determine which is the case from the data on ancient languages.
Let us therefore take a look at the use of motion verbs in a Japanese dialect (here, the Izumo dialect of Shimane Prefecture) and in English in similar conflictual motion situations. Interestingly, in the Izumo dialect, in situations where such conflictual motion is shown, "iku" is preferred over "kuru" for "movement from speaker to listener." When we conducted a questionnaire survey of Izumo dialect speakers, we received responses that in the following examples, "kuru" is unnatural and "iku" is natural (hence, "kuru" in (7) has been marked with "??"). This informant responded that "kuru" as in (3) is completely natural (used frequently), and is a speaker who uses the dialectal usage of "kuru."
(7) If you come here, I'll come over there.
(Izumo dialect)
A survey of native English speakers elicited similar responses. When American English informants were presented with the following examples, they responded that in this situation, come would be unnatural and go would be more natural. Therefore, come is marked with a “??” (compare with (2), where only come is acceptable):
(8)(on the phone) If you can't come here, I'll {go/??come} there instead.
In the Shimane dialect and English, in situations where "movement from listener to speaker" and "movement from speaker to listener" are depicted as opposing actions, the use of "come" is suppressed for "movement from speaker to listener," and "go" is preferred. This is an interesting fact (when two-way movement between speaker and listener is shown, the opposing viewpoints between the speaker and listener become clear, so two-way movement is expressed with go and come). It is natural to think that something similar occurred in ancient languages as well.
In Old Central Japanese, in situations where both "movement from listener to speaker" and "movement from speaker to listener" were depicted as oppositional, "lai" was used for the former movement and "iku" for the latter movement, and the use of "lai" was suppressed for the latter movement. Except for such special situations of oppositional movement, "lai" could be used for "movement from speaker to listener," as shown in the example of (5).
Above, we have looked at one aspect of Japanese language studies in practice, using the examples of "iku" (go) and "kuru" (come) (note).
The study of Japanese language is deep and broad. Just as it was for me, I believe that for you, your voyage into the vast ocean of Japanese language will be full of discoveries and intellectual excitement that will make your irreplaceable student years a fruitful and rewarding one. -
[Japanese Language Education] Vocabulary Learning Using Knowledge of Word Structure Kiyo Yamashita (Professor Emeritus)
It goes without saying that increasing vocabulary knowledge is important in language learning. When learning English, students may use various methods to remember words, such as making flashcards and trying to memorize them or writing them down in a notebook over and over again. Also, when reading an English sentence and coming across a word they don't understand (an unknown word), they may look it up in a dictionary. These various methods and methods for progressing through learning are called "learning strategies." Here, as an example of a language learning strategy, we will look at one strategy for "guessing the meaning of an unknown word." This is the strategy of "analyzing a word into a base and an affix." However, in order to use this strategy, some knowledge of word structure is required.
Before we move on to the strategy, let's explain a few terms. The smallest linguistic unit that expresses meaning, obtained by analyzing a word, is called a "morpheme." In other words, the "base and affix" in the strategy of "analyzing a word into a base and an affix" are both morphemes. A "base" expresses the central meaning of a word, and can be a word on its own or a component of a word. There are "simple words" that consist of one base, such as "sea (ocean)/heat (cup)," and "compound words" that consist of multiple bases, such as "riverbank/takeaway/shore/game set." Affixes are always combined with other bases to form words, and they add formal meaning to bases and determine the part of speech of words, and there are prefixes and suffixes. For example, see the underlined parts of "sweets/forgetful/meaningless/theoretical." "Meaning" is a noun, but "meaningless" becomes an adjectival verb, such as "meaningless debate," and the part of speech of the word changes when the affix "no" is added. This is the function of affixes to determine the part of speech of a word. A word composed of an affix and a base is called a "derived word," and a compound word and a derived word together are called a "compound word." "Word structure" is concerned with the structure of compound words, and concerns itself with what morphemes the word is composed of, what the relationship between them is, and the semantic relationship between the morphemes and the word as a whole.
Next, let us show an example of the strategy of "guessing the meaning of an unknown word" by "analyzing a word into its base and affixes". First, in the English example, even if "unnaturalness" is an unknown word, if you know the adjective natural, and can analyze it as a word formed by adding the negative prefix un- to make it unnatural, and then adding the suffix -ness to make a noun, you should be able to guess the meaning of unnaturalness. This is an example of guessing the meaning of an unknown word using knowledge of word structure. In Japanese, let's take the "anti-social forces exclusion clause" as an example. It is said that for non-Chinese language learners of Japanese who do not use Chinese characters in their native language, learning Chinese characters is quite difficult. It is difficult to understand the meaning of a compound word expressed with 10 Chinese characters, as in the example, without knowledge of word structure. First, the following three pieces of knowledge of word structure will be necessary to analyze a word.
1. A Chinese word consisting of two bases (two-character Chinese word) expresses one meaning.
2. "Han-" is a prefix that means "against...", and "-teki" means "in the state of..." and is a suffix that creates na-adjectives (adjectival verbs).
3. The meaning and part of speech of the entire compound word is determined by the rightmost word or morpheme.
Based on this knowledge, we can analyze the compound word as "anti-social/forces/exclusion/clause," and we can see that the core meaning of the compound word is "clause" and that it is a noun. Furthermore, if we understand the connections between the word bases and affixes, we can infer the overall meaning of "clause to exclude anti-social forces."
However, little research has been done into the knowledge of word structure that is necessary for Japanese language learners. This is an area where we can expect future progress, along with research into Japanese word structure. -
[Modern Japanese Literature] Saikaku's Novels as Urban Literature Shinohara Susumu (Professor Emeritus)
There is a lot of information on the Internet today, including this page. While some of it is useful, there is also a fair amount of incorrect information. In today's world, media literacy and intelligence to distinguish between different types of information are essential. The academic world is no exception. Let's start with a story from the Edo period.
One year was the end of the year. An old man returning home to the Kitayama area of Kyoto found three koban coins (one ryo is about 60,000 yen based on the current price of rice). He tried to return them to the person who had lost them (a man dressed like a firewood seller), but for some reason the person refused to accept them, and a trial ensued. At the time, Gozen (the magistrate/judge) was not feeling well, so the elder retainer who was judging the case in his place added three more ryo, and the three parties received two ryo each, resulting in a ruling of "three parties losing one ryo." Gozen was not satisfied. When the two were questioned, to the shock of the Yamake family, they confessed that it was all a farce at the request of the loser. They had planned to make the people of Kyoto recognize them as honest people, and later to commit a large-scale fraud. The story goes that not only the mastermind, but also the man who had requested the money, were banished from "the village near Kurama."
This is a famous story from Saikaku's courtroom novel "Honcho Sakurain Higoto" (Volume 3, Part 4, "Some Drops, Some Picks," published in 1689), which has also been incorporated into a rakugo story ("Sanpo Ichiryo Son," a court case tale involving Ooka Echizen no Kami), and was recently included in the entrance exam for our university, so you may already be familiar with it.
As mentioned above, this story is free of any contradictions, but about 50 years ago, Professor N, a leading scholar of Saikaku, interpreted the underlined part "yamagiya no mono (= those who live in mountain villages)" as "tsuboshi (firewood seller)," and that's when the long and confusing drama began. If you read it that way, the following sentence (recording the words of the "yamagiya no mono") must be considered a typographical error, otherwise the story wouldn't make sense. However, this theory of a typographical error was supported by another influential person, Professor T, and became the accepted theory, and several research books published since then have followed it without exception.
Is that really the case? Professor N may have misunderstood the word "bush seller" and interpreted it as "mountain man". However, the lost man also lives in Kitayama (Kurama-yamabe, Kyoto), so he is also a "mountain man". If that is the case, Saikaku was not wrong. Nevertheless, why has this wrong interpretation become established? It is because people assumed that someone as great as Professor T could never be wrong, or they made the easy choice out of fear of going against "authority". No matter how great a person is, they can make mistakes. What is important is not to blindly accept the conventional theory, but to unravel the text as a "fabric of quotations" (Roland Barthes) down to the level of its threads and face it sincerely.
By the way, if the "man from the mountain house" is the "old man returning to Kitayama", then the mastermind of this case is naturally the "man who appears to be a firewood seller". It's a minor point, but the expression "man who appears to be a firewood seller" does not mean the firewood seller itself. It should be interpreted more as "someone who disguises himself as a (simple) firewood seller". This is because his aim was to make the people of Kyoto trust him as an "honest man" and then to plot a larger scale fraud. Such a cunning trick is not suitable for "an old man returning to Kitayama". This is because "an old man returning to Kitayama" does not imply anything more than that. In contrast, the "man who appears to be a firewood seller" merely "appears to be a firewood seller" and his true identity is unknown. This ambiguity is exquisite in setting up a character with a secret.
The latter part of the story says that he too was banished "outside Kyoto," so there is no doubt that he had been a resident of the city of Kyoto until then. This story is an allegory of the "evil" that urban spaces produce, which is gradually encroaching even on honest elderly people living on the outskirts. In his work "Twenty Fuko of the House of Honcho" (1686), Saikaku skillfully depicts the "evil" that inevitably comes from the urban space of Kyoto, which has transformed into the world's largest city with "208,000 houses" and is rapidly expanding and exploding, what could be called social evil. This theme is repeated and caricatured here.
Saikaku was a man who anticipated extremely current issues. I look forward to the day when we can enjoy his novel together. -
[Linguistics, Japanese Language Studies] Exploring Old Numbers Naomichi Yasuda (Professor Emeritus)
I'm researching the history of numerals in Japanese, and I'll start with a quiz: "One person and two people are called hitori and futari, but what did people call three people, four people and five people in the past?" In Japanese, the way we count differs depending on what we're counting. For objects, we use hitotsu and futatsu (or ikko and nikoko in Chinese), for numbers of people, hitori and futari, for days, we use futsuka and mikka, for flat things, ichimai and nimai, for long and thin things, ippon and nihon, and for animals, ippiki and nihiki.
In the case of Chinese numerals, it is sufficient to add a counter word (ko, hai, hon, hiki) to ichi, ni, or san, but it is not so simple with Japanese numerals.
It is said that hitomune (one building) and futamune (two buildings) are formed by removing the "tsu" from hitotsu and futatsu and adding the "mune" to them, but it is difficult to explain the relationship between futsuka (second day), muika (sixth day), nanoka (seventh day) and futatsu, mutsu and nanatsu. To consider this issue, it is necessary to refer to examples from dialects and classics. The sixth day is called "muyuka" in the Shikoku dialect, and the seventh day is called "nanuka" in the Kansai dialect, but in fact these are the old forms. And kokonoka was kokonuka in ancient times.
Whether it is an old form or not can be confirmed by finding examples from the classics. For example, Nanuka is written as "Nanuka" in the "Manyoshu," and there are many examples written in kana in the Heian period. Muyuka and Kokonuka (Kinka) are written in kana in the Heian period, but there are no examples of Muika or Kokonoka in this period.
On the other hand, the form nanoka (seventh day) could not be found in any examples from classical texts, and there were no examples in the large 20-volume dictionary "Kojien" (Shogakukan). However, I later discovered an example in "Nansō Satomi Hakkenden" from the Edo period, and so I included it in the Second Edition of the "Kojien."
Numerals are often written in kanji, so finding definite examples is a time-consuming task, but the old ways of saying the number of days that we have found are hutuka, mika, youka, ituka, muyuka, nanuka, yauka, kokonuka, towoka, and hatuka. When written in kana, it is not obvious, but when written in roman letters as hutuka, mika, youka, ituka, muyuka, nanuka, yauka, kokonuka, towoka, and hatuka, we can see that most of them end in uka.
Traditionally, words expressing the number of days have been explained as being formed by adding 'ka' to 'futa', 'mi', 'yo', 'itsu', 'mu', 'nana', 'ya', 'kokono', etc., but this does not explain why 'futaka', 'yoka', 'muka', 'nanaka', 'yaka', and 'hataka' did not actually exist. Rather, I think it is better to think that '-uka' was added, rather than 'ka'. I see it as the vowel before the 'u' in 'huta-uka', 'nana-uka', 'kokono-uka', and 'hata-uka' being dropped. There are still some points that my '-uka' theory does not fully explain, but I think it is better than the traditional 'ka' theory.
In modern Japanese, the only purely Japanese numerals to express the number of people are hitori and futari, but in the past, three people, four people, five people, six people, etc., must have also been expressed with Japanese numerals. However, it is difficult to find examples of this. Nevertheless, there are a few examples such as mitari for three people and yotari for four people.
Some people may have answered the first question with "Three people is Mitari, Four people is Yotari, Five people is Itsutari." Mitari and Yotari are correct, but Itsutari is wrong (though on TV quiz shows, it is said to be "incorrect"). When it comes to five or six people, there are only examples written in kanji even in works of kana literature, and no examples written in kana, but in Heian period Chinese-Japanese dictionaries and Chinese readings, it is written as "five people Itori." This form cannot be guessed from Hitori, Futari, Mitari, and Yotari, and I believe that this is precisely why it is a form that actually existed (not something that scholars, writers, or literary figures invented at their desks).
So how did they say six or more people? It seems that they said it in a completely different way than up to five people. A good reference is the Miyako dialect of Okinawa Prefecture, where one to four people are said in the "-tori" and "-tari" style, but five, six, seven, etc. are said as ittsunohito, muyunohito, nananohito... From this, it seems likely that in the mainland dialect (the dialects of Nara and Kyoto), up to five people were said in the "-tori" and "-tari" style, and six or more people were said as muyunohito, nananohito..., but there is still insufficient evidence at this point. -
[Ancient Literature] How was the Kojiki written? Izumi Yajima (Professor Emeritus)
1
The title "Kojiki" is always found in textbooks on literary history and Japanese history, and the activities of O no Yasumaro and Hieda no Are, who are said to have been involved in the compilation, are depicted in historical manga series for elementary and junior high school students, so everyone is probably familiar with the title "Kojiki." However, it is likely that there are surprisingly few people who have actually picked up and read the "Kojiki." Of course, some high school textbooks on classics include the stories of Yamato Takeru and Susanoo, so many people must have come into contact with some of the content. However, what I would like to observe here with you is not the form that has been revised by famous scholars into a Japanese reading text that mixes kanji and hiragana, but the original text of the "Kojiki."
So, how was the original text of the Kojiki written?
Top 5
尓天God's command follows the command of the heavenly gods.
Character pronunciation
The quote is from the "Land Creation Myth" of the two gods Izanagi and Izanami. Entrusted with the task of creating a nation by the heavenly gods, Izanagi and Izanami attempt to bring about the birth of a land through reproduction, but a mistake in the ritual procedures at their marriage results in the birth of a failed child. They return to heaven to consult the heavenly gods, who use divination to discover the cause and give new instructions to the two gods. The quote is from the scene where the heavenly gods use divination to give instructions to the two gods.
Well, it's only 34 characters, but since the original text doesn't have any punctuation marks to help decipher it, it seems like it would be quite difficult to understand. However, the Kojiki was written based on a certain descriptive policy, as shown below, so as long as you understand that policy, you won't have any trouble deciphering it.
i. In principle, ideographic descriptions should be made using the readings of kanji characters.
ii. Divide sentences into arbitrary units (usually short phrases) and write them using classical Chinese syntax.
iii. The sentences will be written in the classical Chinese format.
Let's start with iii. For example, the character "尓" at the beginning of the quotation represents the conjunction "shikakushite" (later known as shikoushite), which uses a Chinese particle to show the connection to the previous sentence, but at the same time, it also has the function of indicating the position of the beginning of the sentence. The beginning of sentences in the Kojiki are filled with conjunctions such as "当是 (here)" and "而 (shikaaredomo), and these measures not only show the relationship between sentences, but also function like punctuation marks to show the break between sentences. The particles that are often placed at the end of sentences, such as "也", "苑", and "ｬ", also have the function of not only showing the nuance of the sentence, but also indicating the position of the end of the sentence. It is because of these advantages that the Kojiki is written in a Chinese style.
The problem shown in ii is also inseparably related to iii. The basic approach is to navigate the framework of the text by using classical Chinese forms to show the relationship between sentences and the breaks between sentences (iii). Therefore, even though the text of the Kojiki aims to be written in Japanese, it actually relies heavily on classical Chinese. Therefore, when writing sentences and their subunits, phrases, classical Chinese syntax is often used. In the above quotation, for example, the parts "Because the woman spoke first" and "Not good" are examples of this.
One of the reasons why such non-Japanese constructions are used so frequently is related to the description policy confirmed in iii. For example, if "good is not good (good not)" is written according to the Japanese word order, it becomes "good not good," but if a string of characters with such a strict Japanese word order appears in the Kojiki, which is made possible by using a Chinese framework, the reader would be confused (many readers would look for the predicate that appears after "not" and try to understand it by rereading it as "not ──"). Since the Kojiki was written on the assumption that the reader shares knowledge of Chinese, writing "furyou" using Chinese constructions would actually convey the content more accurately. However, if it were written entirely in Chinese, it would no longer be different from a translation into Chinese. In the end, the Kojiki adopted a method of dividing Japanese sentences into appropriate units, listing the order of the phrases according to Japanese, and writing each phrase using Chinese constructions. This style is generally called variant Chinese or Japanese-style Chinese.
i can be said to be based on the same principle as ii iii. Although it is written in Japanese, the Kojiki is made up of the active use of classical Chinese form (iii) and classical Chinese syntax (ii), so there is not much importance placed on reproducing the Japanese phonetic sequence as it is. A method of expressing the Japanese phonetic sequence as it is in writing had already been invented at that time. This method ignores the original meaning (kun) of the ideographic Chinese characters and lists only the sounds (on) (commonly called otogana). For example, yama is written as "mountain" using the kanji kun, but it can also be written as "yoma" or "yasue" using the sounds. However, in the case of the Kojiki, this method is not often used, except for popular songs (the unusual way of writing popular songs is thought to be due to the importance placed on the fact that it is sung in Japanese).
The explanation of the writing policy has become a bit long, so let's return to the quotation. This quotation is also written according to the basic policy that I have explained so far, but the five characters from the seventh character onwards, "Futomanini", are actually written in an exceptional way that deviates from that policy. As the note "These five characters have sounds" is made in the middle of the quotation, this is not the reading of the kanji, but the Japanese sound sequence "Futomanini" is written as it is in ongana using the sounds (on).
So why is it not written in kun readings according to the basic policy? The reason is simple. It contains words that are difficult to express ideographically using the kun readings of kanji. In the context, since this is a scene where the heavenly gods are doing divination, we can guess that this means something like "using the divination method called Futomani," but then how can we express Futomani ideographically using the kun readings of kanji? "Uran" or "Toku" would be understood as simply meaning Uranahhi (if it simply meant divination, it could have been written that way, since examples such as "Uranaf" in the quoted passage, "Ura," "Urafu," and "Uranaf" can be seen in the Kojiki). Futo is a prefix meaning fine, and seems to be related to "Futo," but there is no example in the Kojiki where it is expressed ideographically with the character "Futo." Another problem is mani. Semantically, it seems to be related to characters such as "卜" and "万" (fortune telling), but as mentioned above, there are no examples in the Kojiki where "卜" or "万" should be read as mani, so the possibility that a reader would read it as mani is close to zero. The exceptional description "Fudomarin" is thought to be the second best solution of writing a Japanese phonetic sequence in otogana, since it was not possible to express it ideographically using readings.
2
Now, what I wanted to look at together with you is the problem that lies beyond that. Because the noun futomani was written using onkana as "ふともま迩," the case particle ni, which is not usually written using onkana, was transcribed using the onkana "尓." In variant classical Chinese, which is basically written using the form and syntax of classical Chinese, particles and auxiliary verbs that do not exist in Chinese are not usually written as characters (for example, case particles ni and wo are expressed in a latent form in the classical Chinese syntax of verb + object, such as "行山 (go to the mountains)" and "苑水 (drink water)"). In the case of the Kojiki, the case particle ni is sometimes expressed using the reverse reading syntax "於─," so it seems possible to write this as "於ふともま迩尓," but the problem is not that simple. In general, the character "o" is also widely used as a phonetic kana to represent the syllable "o" (this makes sense when you know that "o" is the character for the hiragana "o"), so if you write "obutomani" there is a possibility that it will be read as "ofutomani".
Here, it is important to show the Japanese phonetic sequence Futomani-ni, so it is best to avoid descriptions that allow for alternative readings. However, if the classical Chinese "At-" construction is not used, the case particle Ni will not be conveyed to the reader even if only the noun "Futomani-ni" is transcribed, so it can be said that it is absolutely necessary to transcribing the case particle Ni in onkana. As a result, the homophonic Ni appears consecutively in the fourth and fifth syllables of the five syllables expressed in onkana. In the first place, since it is not possible to transcribing the noun Futomani ideographically, this is a place where the method of description using onkana was adopted as the second best solution, so it is possible that the meaning of the written phonetic sequence may not be fully understood by the reader. Up to this point, I have explained on the assumption that the fifth syllable is the case particle Ni, which indicates means or method, but since it is written in a method of description that gives up on ideographic description, in fact, it is not possible to know from the phonetic sequence shown what the five syllables of Futomani-ni are structured.
However, the quotation shown here has measures in place to overcome such problems. First, have you noticed that the fourth and fifth syllables of "Fudomāni ni" are written in different onokana? This is not a meaningless use of different onokana, but an intentional usage method to show that the fourth syllable ni and the fifth syllable ni in "Fudomāni" are different, and that the four syllables "Fudomāni" and the following "ni" are discontinuous, through the difference in onokana (if it were written as "Fudomāni ni", one would think of it as a continuous string of characters with the same quality onokana). In other words, although it is expressed using exceptional onokana, it is a string of characters that is segmented into "Fudomāni" and "ni".
Now, let's consider the meaning of the note "上" that was left pending earlier. We know from the Chinese-Japanese dictionary "Ruijūmyōgishō" created in the Heian period that the case particle ni was originally pronounced with a high tone. In this case, the meaning of the note on the accent on the character "尓" is very important. The character string "Fudomāni ni" seems to have been abandoned as an ideographical description, but the fourth and fifth syllables are written with different okana so that the reader can understand that "Fudomāni" and "尓" are discontinuous, and the note "上" on the fifth syllable, which indicates that it should be pronounced with a high tone, is added to indicate that it is a case particle (of course, there was no such term as case particle at the time).
O no Yasumaro's deep insight into the Japanese language and his delicate consideration for his readers - don't you feel a little moved?
(Note) The quoted passage reads as follows:
Then, by order of the heavenly gods, Futomani consulted divination and received the following command: "As the women have said before, it is not good. Please go back and speak anew."... -
[Modern Japanese Literature] Natsume Soseki's "Kokoro" by Shunji Hioki
"Kokoro" is a full-length novel by Natsume Soseki, and is said to be a must-read for high school students. Let me tell you an episode about the publication of "Kokoro".
By the way, "Kokoro" is sometimes written as "Kokoro." Which title is correct?
First, let's quote from the preface of the first edition of Kokoro, which was published in September 1914.
"Kokoro" is a novel that was published simultaneously in both the Tokyo and Osaka Asahi newspapers from April to August 1914.
In the announcement at the time, I told readers that I intended to combine several short stories together and give it the title "Heart," but as I was writing the first of the short stories, "The Teacher's Will," I realized that it was not being completed as quickly as I had expected, so I ended up changing my mind and compiling just that one story into a book and publishing it publicly.
As explained here, Soseki intended to write a variety of short stories. When it was first published in a newspaper, it was serialized under the title "Kokoro: Sensei's Will." In other words, he intended to combine the short story "Sensei's Will" with other short stories to create a collection called "Kokoro." However, the story of "Sensei's Will" grew into a full-length novel.
As quoted above, the kanji character "心" (heart) is used in the preface to the book. Thus, there was a change in the writing plan, but there is no doubt that Soseki was attached to the word "心." In the advertisement for "心" (Jiji Shimpo, September 26, 1914), Soseki also wrote the following:
To those who wish to capture their own hearts, I recommend this work, which has the ability to capture the hearts of humanity.
On the cover of this book is a quotation from the entry for "heart" in the Kangxi Dictionary. This dictionary is a Chinese character dictionary compiled by imperial order of the Qing Emperor Kangxi, so the quotation naturally contains only Chinese characters. Therefore, the Chinese character "heart" is also on the cover of the book.
However, the main text of the work begins with the title "Kokoro," so the official title should be considered "Kokoro." Writing "Kokoro" in hiragana gives a softer, gentler, and more familiar feeling.
From the notation, the sound "here" also becomes apparent. You may begin to feel a sense of your own "heart" being nowhere, but "here" now.
Now, when you open this first edition, you will see a red seal on the back of the endpaper that reads ars longa, viva brevis. (Art is long, life is short.) This seal, as well as the patterns on the title page and colophon, and the book's binding were all designed by Soseki himself.
This may be a little sudden, but I would like to talk for a moment about a man named Iwanami Shigeo.
He is from Suwa, Nagano. He went to Tokyo and graduated from Daiichi High School. After that, he returned to his hometown and sold his farmland. With the money he made, he returned to Tokyo again, looking up at the Yatsugatake mountains bathed in the morning sun.
In 1913, he opened a second-hand bookstore in Jinbocho, Kanda. This became Iwanami Shoten. The following year, in 1914, he published Natsume Soseki's Kokoro, and entered the publishing industry. Soseki was a famous author at the time. It was unusual for an unknown second-hand bookstore to publish Soseki's work.
Iwanami Shigeo, who was moved by the "heart" of the serialization in the "Asahi Shimbun," met Soseki and tearfully begged him to publish it. Soseki, impressed by Soseki's sincerity, finally agreed, and he asked him to "cover the publishing costs as well." Amazingly, Soseki accepted the offer as well. Soseki may have been moved by Iwanami's "heart."
Although Kokoro was published by Iwanami Shoten, it was actually self-published by Soseki. Was Soseki's decision to take on the task of binding the book a way to help Iwanami? There must have also been Soseki's extraordinary interest in art and his feeling that he could not leave it to a fledgling, amateur publisher. There may also have been a sense that this was a book that he had made by hand, using all his own funds.
The cover of "Kokoro" features Chinese characters on a fresh orange background, creating a deep and attractive design. This is called "Shikubun" (stone drum pattern) from Qiyang in the Zhou Dynasty. It is said that the characters were taken from a rubbing sent to Soseki by Mitsugu Hashiguchi, who was in China.
Soseki passed away in 1916. Iwanami Shoten published the Complete Works of Soseki using the same cover design as Kokoro. The popularity of the Complete Works of Soseki led to a leap forward for Iwanami Shoten.
In other words, the Iwanami edition of The Complete Works of Soseki was self-edited by Soseki himself.
There are probably not many authors who have designed the cover of their own collected works, which are published posthumously. There are many mysteries surrounding the work "Kokoro," and its publication also contains the fluctuating emotions of many people, including the author. -
[Early Modern Literature] Parody and Edo Literature by Oya Taeko
Novels and plays from the Edo period, especially those from the later period, contain many absurd stories, including ghosts, monsters, sorcerers, and immortals, as well as characters who would be considered heartless today, such as those who were so devoted to their loyalty that they killed their wives and children in place of their lord.
One of the best examples of this is Kyokutei Bakin's "Nansō Satomi Hakkenden." "Hakkenden" is a story about eight friends (the Eight Dog Warriors) who are mysteriously united by the fact that both of their surnames contain the character for dog, and who work hard for the Satomi family, who were feudal lords of Awa Province during the Muromachi period.
Here we will introduce the story of Inumura Kakutaro, one of the Eight Dog Warriors, and his wife, Hinaginu.
Hinagoromo accidentally swallows the spiritual orb, and her stomach soon begins to swell. Hinagoromo is suspected of adultery by her husband, Kakutaro's parents, and is sent home without an excuse. Kakutaro is also unable to defy his parents, so he locks the wooden gate and goes into confinement. Then Hinagoromo calls out to her husband from outside.
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"Our bond is deeper than that of Takayasu's Izutsu. From the first time our hair was cut, our parents tied the knot along the Imosegawa River... We never saw cherry blossoms outside, and our love was not as lively as it was on a moon-viewing boat... Years passed when I thought even the mandarin ducks would never be able to match me, and from the summer days of my birth, I began to suffer from stomach ailments... I am plagued by the ups and downs of a lifetime. Even when the waves at our inn are raging, we swear to the gods and turn our hearts to them. You are the one to see this pure heart."
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The relationship between the two of them is deeper than that of the man and woman in Tsutsuizutsu, a promise made to each other by their parents when they were young with their hair in the style of Furibaregami, and they spent many years together in a loving relationship that never fluctuated or was a casual affair, even more so than that of a mandarin duck.However, in the summer, she suddenly took ill with her stomach, and it became a serious condition that would affect her for the rest of her life.No matter what those around her say, I swear to God that you know my heart is pure, says Hinagoromo.
"Takayasu's Izutsu" is a story from chapter 23 of The Tales of Ise about a boy and a girl who are childhood friends and exchange a poem: "Tsutsui Izutsu ni kakeshi...". The rhetorical device is excellent, drawing out the connection between "flower viewing" and "moon viewing", "boat" and "float" and using the pillow word "kimono mukafu" for "heart". This scene is based on the story of Yokobue and Takiguchi Nyudo in The Tale of the Heike. Takiguchi Nyudo has become a monk without telling him anything, and Yokobue, his lover, visits him, but the Nyudo chases him away. Not only does it draw on classics and have lyrical lines that are beautiful and pathetic, but its rhythmic 7-5 meter has led to it being recited fondly as "Hina-goromo Kudoki".
In a later scene, Hinagoromo is asked for the live liver of the fetus and Hinagoromo's own heart blood as a miracle cure to cure the injury to Kakutaro's father, Ikkaku. Ikkaku is actually a monster cat disguised as a human, and is making such a cruel request. Kakutaro initially resists Ikkaku's extremely cruel request, but he is bound by the moral obligation of filial piety to his parents and is unable to resist any longer, so Hinagoromo finally commits suicide. A spiritual orb emerges from her stomach and strikes Ikkaku, clearing the suspicion that Hinagoromo was pregnant. Realizing that Ikkaku is a monster cat and the enemy of his real father, Kakutaro defeats the monster cat and avenges the grudge against his father and wife.
The story's elements, such as the false pregnancy caused by the spiritual orb, the monster cat, and the blood potion, as well as the characterization of Kakutaro, who values morality above the life of his wife, are all far-fetched from reality, but it is precisely the absurdity of the situation that makes readers sympathize all the more with Hinagoromo's tragedy.
Edo period readers were able to release the pent-up emotions of their real lives, which were tied to their status and family status, through the extreme depictions of human behavior and the emotions of joy, anger, sorrow and happiness in unrealistic stories.
Just as "Hinagoromo Kudoki" is a parody of classics in both rhetoric and scenes, parody can be said to be one of the basic characteristics of Edo literature. Edo literature is full of diverse and fascinating parodies. Why not get familiar with Edo literature yourself? -
[Medieval Literature] What is Waka? Hiroki Kazuto (Professor Emeritus)
Yamato is a land of peace and tranquility, surrounded by the Aogaki mountains.
This is a poem that Yamato Takeru no Mikoto composed on his way back to his hometown, Yamato, when he realized he was going to die. I don't like it when people use it for nationalistic purposes, but if you think of it as a man expressing his feelings for his hometown in a vision, I think it's a poem that anyone can understand and sympathize with.
You all sing a lot, don't you? I think the words of each song really touch your heart, whether you're happy or sad.
Nowadays, songs have a variety of rhythms, melodies, and lyrics, and there seems to be no set form, but in the past, songs had a more fixed format. Probably every country and ethnic group had such songs. When people felt emotional, they expressed their thoughts in the form of songs, both for themselves and to communicate them to people and gods. The above are not yet fully formed, but at some point several forms were formed, and among these the tanka form of 5-7-5-7-7 became mainstream. And it is mainly in this short form that the Japanese have continued to express the human heart and various aspects of the seasons for over a thousand years.
Skylarks soar in the bright spring sunshine. I feel sad and alone.
This is a poem by Otomo no Yakamochi, who is regarded as the editor of the Manyoshu. The poem is accompanied by the explanation that "Pain and sorrow can only be quelled through song." This is probably an expression of the lonely heart of a man named Yakamochi. It is spring, but I am alone, overwhelmed by sadness. I'm sure you have all experienced something like this. At that time, how did you comfort yourself and try to make others understand you? Did you sing a song softly, or out loud?
Ki no Tsurayuki, famous for his Tosa Nikki, said the following in the preface to the Kokinshu:
Yamato songs are the seeds of people's hearts and have become all kinds of words. ... People speak out what they see and hear in their hearts. When they hear the nightingale singing among the flowers and the frogs living in the water, there is no living thing that does not compose a song.
Finally, I would like to quote a poem by Fujiwara Teika from the Shin Kokinshu.
A spring night's dream of a floating bridge and a sky of horizontal clouds
What kind of night is a "spring night"? In winter, the nights are long, but they gradually get shorter. It's a night like that. And it's spring. Spring is the season when faint hopes begin to sprout. The dream you had that night was a dream of love, your heart swelling with a little hope? A "floating bridge" is a bridge made of planks and small boats lined up together. It's a precarious bridge that sways and wobbles, as if you can get to the other side, but in no way.
What do you sense from "The Floating Bridge of a Spring Night's Dream"? Perhaps it is the hope for a fleeting love. But that too will "cease." Do you notice that the name of a chapter in The Tale of Genji is included in this phrase? It is the name of the final volume, which depicts the tragic love story of Kaoru and Ukifune. It is sad and painful, but isn't that what love is all about? The second line says that when he woke up and looked outside, he saw the clouds moving away from the peaks in the gently brightening sky, as if to announce the end of their love.
The words that the Japanese have long perfected, the way of expressing the intertwining of the heart and nature, are one of the ways we have arrived at how to express and communicate the human heart.
Literature may not fill you up or cure your cold. But literature conveys the heart and history that are so important to us as human beings, in words that only humans can use. It's an abstract way of saying it, but I think it's fair to say that "people" themselves are present here. Literature, and waka poetry in particular, shows this to you in a condensed form. -
[Heian Literature] Yamato Kotoba and Stories Yoichi Hijikata (Professor Emeritus)
Yasunari Kawabata's novel "Snow Country" is a story about the relationship between a man from Tokyo named Shimamura and two geisha from Snow Country, Komako and Yoko. The famous opening line goes like this:
After passing through a long tunnel at the border, we found ourselves in a snowy country. The bottom of the night turned white. The train stopped at a signal station.
In the scene where Shimamura arrives in Snow Country, he meets Yoko, who is on the same train.
It may be difficult to understand from this quotation alone, but the beginning of "Snow Country" is written from the point of view of a character named Shimamura. After a long, rocking train ride, the character suddenly emerges from a long tunnel and finds himself in a completely different world, covered in snow as if he has entered another world. This feeling of surprise at the difference from the everyday world he left behind is depicted as Shimamura's own internal sensation, and so as we, the readers of the novel, get the impression that we have just boarded a train and arrived in Snow Country.
Edward Seidensticker has translated this opening sentence into English as follows:
The train came out of the long tunnel into the snow country. The earth lay white under the night sky. The train pulled up at a signal stop.
At first glance, it seems to be a faithful translation, but when comparing the original text with the English translation, there is a big difference in feel. In the English translation, the opening sentence is something like, "The train passed through a long tunnel and entered Snow Country." In other words, the original text expresses the feelings of the character (Shimamura) on the train when he arrives in Snow Country, whereas Seidensticker's translation conveys the objective fact that "the train has arrived in Snow Country."
I am not criticizing Seidensticker's English translation as inaccurate. As I mentioned earlier, the beginning of the story is written from the perspective of a character named Shimamura, and although it is formally written in third person, it is actually written in first person. This makes us, the readers, feel as if we are Shimamura and are immersed in the world of the story. If you are a native Japanese speaker and are used to reading stories written in Japanese, you will undoubtedly read it in this way.
However, such expressions, which are ambiguous as to whether they are in third person or first person, seem not to be easily transferred into English, and when expressed in English, it seems that the only way is to objectively describe the event of the train arriving in snowy country.
Surprisingly, similar passages can be found in much older stories, such as The Tale of Genji.
The following passage is from the Kiritsubo chapter, in which a woman named Utsukushibu no Myobu visits the residence of a deceased concubine as an envoy of the Emperor. This is a scene that is often included in classical textbooks, so I think many people have learned about it in class.
When the lady-in-waiting arrived there and entered the gate, she was filled with pity. Although she was a widow, she was well-groomed and spent her time in comfort, but as darkness fell and she lay there, the grass grew taller and the storm seemed even more desolate. Only the moonlight penetrated, not even the grass that had fallen.
The subject "Nobufu" appears, but who is feeling "pity" at the end of the sentence?
It does not seem to mean that "Nobu felt pity when she saw the dilapidated state of the village residence." It seems to be expressed from Nobu's perspective, as she is deeply moved by the sight of the dilapidated state of the village residence in Sarai. The scene is described through the eyes and heart of Nobu, a character in the story, so that we, the reader, get the strong impression that we too have become Nobu without realizing it, and are witnessing the dilapidated village residence in Sarai.
What the two scenes I have looked at here have in common is that, although they are written in the third person, the perspective of the narrator is assimilated with the eyes and mind of the character in the story, and as a result, we, the readers, enter the world of the story and are seized by the sensation that we ourselves are experiencing the atmosphere of the place. This means that the character in the story, who is supposed to be the subject of the story, may not be a pure object, but may become connected to the narrating subject.
This kind of expression is not limited to "The Tale of Genji" or "Snow Country," but is a phenomenon commonly seen in many stories written in Japanese, and it seems to be an expression that is difficult to translate into other languages such as English and French. Considering this, it is probably closely related to the nature of Japanese as a language, such as the ambiguity of the subject and the fact that "ta" and "keri" do not necessarily indicate tense.
It will be an exciting experience as you gradually come to understand the expressive effects that the unique characteristics of the Japanese language produce and how they move us.
