Pathway to Japanese Literature

I

This brief paper of mine deals with the period from the genesis of the Japanese people’s aesthetic perception of nature to when it began to show certain fixed characteristics; thus it naturally follows the sequence of serving as either an introduction or an overview to my predecessors’ writings in this field.
Among these general approaches there are certainly some that differ entirely from my own way of thinking—this I knew even before putting pen to paper.
To that extent this narrative remains grounded in my own perspective.
This represents a view I alone hold having not yet heard others’ dissenting opinions.
Yet I maintain that unless one reconfigures both literary consciousness and ethnic spirit’s developmental sequence through my methodological lens unresolved ambiguities will inevitably arise—not only regarding antiquity but even within modern perceptions of natural beauty.

Those who discussed national character were thought to believe that from the very dawn of human society, our national character had already crystallized exactly as it exists today—all because they lacked a developmental perspective. There prevailed a notion that Edo-period cynics and the bushido codes rationalized by disciplinarians could be wholly recognized as embodying the spiritual essence not only of Sengoku warriors but even Genpei-era samurai. Pushing further back, they equated the entire ethos of easterners—who in Nara-period Azuma still retained primal barbarism—with bushido itself, as exemplified by those lauded with “An arrow may pierce my forehead, but never shall I bear one in my back.” Moreover, they strained to extract an awareness of *mono no aware* from the inner worlds of ancient Kume soldiers whose ferocity was immortalized in “How fierce are the children of Kume!”

This occurs because, while their research methods may be sound, their fundamental approach contains errors. Japan’s dictionaries and annotated commentaries to date closely resemble the methodology that views terms as sharing several common meanings applicable across any era, floating ambiguously between usage examples. Just as this linguistic interpretation method is fundamentally mistaken, intellectual and civilizational histories sharing this error must be completely re-examined through an altered temporal framework. For dogmatists and the masses, let there be self-praise. For future scholars, I believe there must be proper historical introspection. I must vividly manifest the vestiges of village life predating the Asuka capital—a time when our ancestors had not yet deeply developed national consciousness—and thereby witness the crude yet endearing existence of those beloved forebears.

II

O Sawi River—the mist spreads across; on Mount Unebi—the tree leaves rustle.
The wind was about to blow (Isuke yori Hime—Chronicle).

Mount Unebi dwelled with clouds by day; when evening came—the wind began to blow and rustled through leaves.

If we took these records at face value—we could not help but marvel that even during our nation’s founding under its first and second emperors—such descriptive capacity already existed—or rather—the ability to calmly hold nature as humanity’s counterpart within one’s mind.
Even if one were to accept this text’s interpretation—that it allegorically alludes to a step-prince’s conspiracy—I believed such metaphorical descriptive poetry could not have taken form without an established contemplative attitude.
Proof over theory—consider Emperor Nintoku’s song composed much later for Princess Kuro of Kibi.

When the turnip greens sown in the mountain plots are planted together with the people of Kibi, would that not bring joy? (Emperor Nintoku—Chronicle)

Until this song emerged, not only could one find no poetry in descriptive verse or natural depiction that turned its gaze outward, but even the diction of the poems grew increasingly archaic, rendering their meaning difficult to trace.
The form of Susanoo-no-Mikoto’s “Yakumo tatsu” song—with its later stylistic refinement and precise expression—similarly left no doubt that these were considered interpolations or forgeries dating from after the Asuka capital period.
From the meaning of the song imbued with unease about the natural features around Mount Unebi, one sensed the presence of allegory; it was thought to have been incorporated by connecting it to legends prior to Emperor Suizei’s accession.

As for Emperor Nintoku’s imperial composition about turnip greens, while its descriptive elements were sparse, this work displayed such simplicity and vividness that it could well have been regarded as an early example of poetry taking genuine interest in nature. While this too belonged more properly to lyric poetry, it was thought to predate the Mount Unebi song. But this too could not be definitively attributed to Emperor Nintoku's reign. While this level of natural perception might acceptably have been regarded—following the general chronological order of records—as belonging to this emperor’s era, the songs associated with Emperor Nintoku were seen overall as exhibiting greater novelty than those from the Yūryaku and Kenzō eras, whether in expression, form, or depth of comprehension.

When examining songs from the Later Asuka period:

"By the mountain stream dwell a pair of mandarin ducks - who would dare take my beloved, so perfectly aligned with them?" (Nonaka Kawahara no Fumimitsu—Nihon Shoki)

"Beside Shinkan Hill, even clouds cling thickly, their shapes faint - why should I sigh?" (Emperor Saimei—Ibid.)

"Asuka River swells and flows - how ceaseless its waters seem." (Ibid.)

"Though clamorous ducks cross the mountain ridge, I steep in loneliness.
If not for you—" (Ibid.—Man'yōshū, Book 4)

Furthermore, when examining songs transmitted from this era through Nihon Shoki,

Faintly resounds the koto.
The island's thicketed plain.

In distant Awa Field, the pheasant calls without cease...

Led into the grove, I know not the face of this deceiver... (Miko's ritual chant)

By riverside where wounded deer are tethered, young grasses... (Emperor Saimei)

As seen in these examples, though extremely fragmentary, they were not mere rhythmic phrases strung together but possessed a firm objective grasp of the external world. Therefore, even when addressing the main theme, the effect of their modifying elements exhibited both a vividness that deeply resonated with the mood and a striking novelty.

Within these fragments of prefatory songs, the popular phrases that came to be constantly repeated were all such impressively objective descriptions.
The phrase "iyushishio" appears in the Man'yōshū as well.
The expression "ochikata no"—indicating what lies beyond a geographical barrier—remained a flexible folk song formula even into the Nara period, used in patterns like "ochikata no... [place name]" due to its vivid scenic evocation.
Moreover, recurring Man'yōshū phrases such as "my beloved and I... pine grove..." gained their effectiveness through lyrical quality and striking vividness.

If one were to cast doubt on the songs of the Later Asuka period (Emperor Jomei to Tenmu), even the works of Kakinomoto no Hitomaro—the cornerstone of the Man'yōshū—would become impossible to credit.
In the Man'yōshū too, this era's general placement at the anthology's beginning likely stemmed from a perceived reliability through its connection to the latter portions of the Kiki records.

The discordant positioning of poems from Emperor Nintoku and Emperor Yūryaku's reigns at the opening was probably intended to convey classical authority.
Thus in terms of content, we may reasonably regard the Later Asuka period as constituting the true starting point.
Mandarin ducks, clouds over hills, swelling waters, mountain-crossing duck flocks—had that age genuinely sought pure descriptive poetry, it demonstrated an ability to immediately seize such subjects and versify them.
It was simply that poetic consciousness had not yet coalesced around descriptive verse as a distinct form.
I previously posited that songs within the commemorative poetry for Emperor Nintoku's life likely belong to the Later Asuka period's dawn.
Let us now examine one or two further examples.

Though western winds rose over Yamato, parting clouds to set us apart—could I ever forget you? (Princess Kuro—Chronicle)

The descriptive atmosphere was intensely dynamic.
"It differed from those improvised prefatory songs that went something like '...resounding ginger lips—I shall never forget,' being instead steadfastly observed."
[They] were grasped.

The songs thought to have been omitted from epic poems conveying great figures and major events generally possessed an easily comprehensible context and mode of thought. Those concerning Yamato Takeru no Mikoto believed to have been transmitted by the Takebe clan, and the love poems of Ōkuninushi inferred to have been disseminated by the Azumi people—all remained clearly distinguishable regardless of their classification within the Kiki periods, yet felt scarcely separated in era from later love poems like those of Prince Kinashi no Karu. I considered that items carried around to various provinces by others' hands did not transmit their fixed forms intact, but with modifications emerging from rhythmic cadence being added from time to time, they appeared to flow directly into works of the Later Asuka period.

Thus externally, descriptive techniques had already emerged; internally too became clear why objectivity began faintly appearing even in lyric poetry.
This explains why phrases like "In the grove" possess such sharply defined scenic qualities.

III

In early Edo-period Jōruri works, it was an essential requirement that each play invariably contained at least one *michiyuki* journey scene—sometimes even including two or three such scenes—but by the mid-period, these *michiyuki* scenes became artistically refined, sparking a trend where only this portion would be performed like *kouta* short songs.
And by the late period, though such stylized movements had waned, the custom of treating them as essential components within plays became firmly established.
In theater, while they flourished most in its late period, the early period merely showed simple enactments of highway journeys or the flamboyant strides of exotic men.
However, even in performing arts predating Kabuki, *michiyuki-buri* performances were being carried out in ancient forms such as Ennenmai ceremonial dances, Dengaku field music rituals, and Sarugaku entertainments.
“Fūryū” processions primarily consisted of *michiyuki-buri* performances as their core element.
The inclusion of *michiyuki-buri* in Japanese performing arts is thought to date back to very ancient times.

I considered this to be the persistence of an ancient ritual form—the divine processions where distant gods, having set their time, observed village communities—which established conventions for depicting travelers' forms in both theater and epic poetry.
Even when examining the songs of the Kiki records, the reason passages featuring journey descriptions were so abundant lay in their ritual connections—so much so that even works narrating human eras came to display journey descriptions wherever one looked.

But there is another reason arising from their mode of thought.
This arises from the fact that ancient legal texts were not conceived through premeditated planning, but rather through improvised additions of phrases—as they carried forward a text of some length, during which the mood would unify and arrive at a theme—an approach that characterized all such works.
Things present before one’s eyes would first give rise to words from whatever sensation they touched upon; it was by no means an expression conceived through anticipation.

By the great rock in the Ise Sea where divine winds blow—the periwinkles crawl round and round; shall we cut them down? (Emperor Jimmu—Chronicle)

In order to reach the thematic phrase "Shall we cut them down?," they did not craft a prelude describing periwinkles while anticipating rhetorical effect, but rather encountered the phrase "crawl round and round" while speaking of the Ise Sea and coastal rocks—phrases approaching the theme—whereupon they abruptly discovered within themselves the action of "digging round the roots," thereby arriving at "We shall cut them down."

Splendid Kume’s children—in the millet field, a single stalk of garlic chives.
Binding their roots and root sprouts together, shall we cut them down? (Emperor Jimmu—Chronicle)

Splendid Kume’s children planted ginger beneath the fence.
Resounding through my lips—I shall never forget.
Shall we cut them down? (Emperor Jimmu—Chronicle)

This song too—as the Kume clan members sequentially turned their gaze toward their homes, first mentioning the millet fields, then observing a stalk of garlic chives growing among those fields—gradually coalesced in mood until, from the chives’ roots, they expressed a desiring heart: that “ga mo” which signifies not the root as trunk but a possessive yearning for roots themselves. By the time they described digging up those roots, the theme had already crystallized; through the image of “binding their root sprouts together” to wrench them from the earth’s depths, they envisioned their entire faction and decisively concluded with “Shall we cut them down?”

The second poem had already been explained, but to elaborate further: from a variety of Japanese pepper plant at the base of a fence, they associated [the image] with “lip-resounding,” recalled a deeply impressed resolve, and settled upon expressing the intent to seek retribution.

…If we flock like birds and depart, if we lead away like decoy birds—though you say you will not weep, as the lone pampas grass at Yamato Gate bows its neck in your weeping, it resembles the morning rain’s fine mist.… (Yachihoko no Kami—Chronicle)

Observing a flock of birds crossing [the sky], they first expressed the intent to depart together; but finding no subsequent inspiration arising in that moment, they created leeway by setting up “decoy birds” as a parallel phrase—thereby describing being urged onward to leave—until finally arriving at the sorrow of separation’s aftermath, persisting in a mood that compelled the woman resolved to endure loneliness bravely to reflect [on her plight].
In the midst of half-describing—or perhaps not fully describing—the appearance of pampas grass plumes at the mountain gate before their eyes, they envisioned the figure of a woman bowing her head in tears after parting; then shifted their attention to the morning rain weighing down those plumes, and as they developed the description of its fine droplets transforming into mist that lingered, the word “stand” shifted meaning, ultimately connecting to the emergence of phantom visions.
When viewed as techniques arising from anticipation, these would not have seemed easily achievable; yet through being expressed in a linked-verse style, they gradually coalesced.

This was due in part to the era having poetry gatherings where participants competitively improvised call-and-response verses; the accumulated practice from such exercises also helped foster this freedom in their mode of poetic conception.
However, songs like those of Ōkuni-nushi possessed such precise expression that they appeared to have undergone layers of oral refinement.
The depiction of morning rain clinging to a single pampas grass at Yamato Gate would hardly have seemed unusual as a product of an era when objective description had advanced.
The striking manifestation of rhetorical effects became apparent when compared to those insubstantial preludes—like "millet field garlic chives" or "fence-planted ginger"—that left only faint impressions; here one discerned the era’s progression.
When compared to works from the Jimmu chronicles, Ōkuni-nushi’s love poems could be inferred to represent a more recent development.
What remained curious was that songs from the later Ōjin era chronologically demonstrated, when viewed from their mode of thought, something that conversely belonged to an older period.

Come now, my lord.
As I go into the field to gather garlic chives, gather garlic chives—on my path, fragrant citrus flowers.
The lower branches are all taken by people; the superior branches, withered by nesting birds. On the clustered middle boughs—hidden, blushing maiden.
Come.
Sakahae na (Emperor Ōjin—Nihon Shoki)

These examples clearly show no evidence of premeditated composition.
“Izāgi” is an introductory ritual exclamation meaning “Come now, O people—we shall begin singing.”
The notion of “Listen!” became fixed and adheres to various chants.

This must be a song addressed to a maiden encountered in the fields.—The traditional explanation in the Kiki records—that during a banquet, there was an implication of bestowing Kaminaga-hime upon Prince Ohosazaki—does not correspond to the song.
This was likely an explanation concerning the ōuta (court poetry) that conjectured this song's composition based on such facts.

They first initiated phrases addressing the shy maiden seen in the field—who revealed neither home nor name—through garlic gathering imagery, then shifted focus to a citrus tree bearing a single standing flower, sequentially describing each branch’s appearance; likely entwining their dissatisfaction that though many girls existed among these branching forms, none proved to be maidens—yet hesitated to directly approach the theme even after employing parallel phrases—though the conceptual core had now partially formed—while still waveringly describing the middle branches’ condition.
This conversely manifested an external solemnity that merely drew attention.
The technique had reached the point of praising the glossy hue of her cheeks—those of a maiden blushing at being contemplated, her heart attuned to the youthful sprouting where middle branches did not extend—embodying the freshness of a woman yet to know a man.
However, scholars believe this song was transmitted incompletely, with either additional verses or a second poem having been lost.

The poem composed in response by Ōsazaki could not definitively be said to express gratitude for having received the blushing maiden.

At Yoroi Pond where waters pool—unaware how water-shield spreads and grows;
At Kawamata Inlet where stakes are driven—unaware how water-chestnut husks pierce—
My heart stands steeped in folly. (Emperor Nintoku—Nihon Shoki)

Through this poem’s lens—unaware of lurking dangers—he carried a conception and mood steeped in self-mockery at his own foolishness for having suffered such misfortune.
From Yoroi’s pond—connecting to its submerged contents—he remained ignorant of what lay beneath those waters.
Thus it was told: he became ensnared by spiny aquatic plants.
This song too bore traces suggesting missing portions within its form.

Passing through Isonokami and Furu; passing through Komomakura and Takahashi; passing through Ōyake with its bustling crowds; passing through Kasuga of Kasuga; passing through Osao where wives dwell—

The majority of this text from the poem composed by Kagehime—lover of Heguri no Wani—in mourning over Wani’s slaying did not reach its thematic core, merely recounting the path traveled.
And thus, at last, the core conception had matured,

In the jeweled basket she heaped rice, in the jeweled bowl she poured water,

after fumbling through parallel phrases,

She went on sobbing, soaked in tears.
Kagehime—ah! (Kagehime—Nihon Shoki)

And thus, it settled on an extremely simple resolution.
The "Kagehime—ah!" within this had been inserted as a ritual exclamation; the original text concluded with "she went on sobbing, soaked in tears."
This too was not actually composed by Kagehime herself, but rather was likely a fragment from a narrative poem associated with the Heguri clan or perhaps another person’s funeral song that came to be accompanied by such legends.
In any case, this song stood as an extreme example of oral improvisation in verse.
A similar example existed with Iwa no Hime.

Ah, ascending the Yamashiro River toward the palace—when I make my way upstream, past Nara's verdant fields, past Odade and Yamato's villages—the land I long to see lies around Katsuragi's Takamiya, where my home awaits. (Iwa no Hime—Chronicle)

The sole distinction lay in its refusal to conclude with narrative, instead descending into lyricism.
This companion poem reportedly composed contemporaneously introduced marginally greater complexity within its journeying descriptions.

Ah, ascending Yamashiro River upstream—as I climb, Karasugisu trees stand tall along the banks.
The Karasugisu tree—under which grow five hundred broad-leaved true camellias.
The radiance of its blossoms, the fullness of its leaves—these must belong to the Great Lord.

This song, as transmitted in the Nihon Shoki, was a fragment.
When examined through the Kojiki version, it shifted from journey descriptions into enumeration technique.
Journey descriptions were ultimately nothing more than an enumeration technique that listed place names.
However, as previously stated—with the added influence of divine procession songs—they created a new form of Japanese song beyond mere enumeration.

IV

The enumeration technique that developed into one distinct form in antiquity is what we call yomika (lit. "reading songs").
The notion that this was due to yomika having few melodic elements and approaching a recitative style is entirely unfounded.
Such methods of chanting fall under what has been termed *kataru* from ancient times to the present day.
The ancient significance of *yomu* lay in enumeration.
These were songs that assigned lyrics to each and every visible object without omission—later evolving to become the foundation for what came to be called *ihitate* (declarative recitation) from the beginning of the samurai period onward.
I believe these were songs that associated celebratory words with each and every object present there, much like the pillar praises and mansion praises in modern manzai performances.
A type of hogi song related to buildings later gave rise to kaeuta (replacement songs) and similar forms, losing yomika's distinctive features to become merely a rhythmic designation—though they are still thought to have chanted phrases in the *ihitate* style.

Among hogi phrases there existed those that became songs and others approaching recitation.
The former were hogi songs while the latter were termed yogoto (ritual celebratory verses).
Yogoto refers to an ancient form of norito (ritual prayers) yet differs from norito in all aspects—from conceptual approach to the intended recipients of their texts.
Yogoto are words of life—their original meaning being *yorikotoba* (age words).

Among yogoto (ritual celebratory verses), those concerning houses held particular significance.
The new house consecration rites (hokahi) were performed even for existing structures, producing oral texts that interwove blessings for both buildings and their owners' vitality.
This conceptual framework—where steadfast pillars, beams, thatched walls, rafters, floors and sleeping quarters symbolized a householder's robust health—gave birth to the dual-subject parallel narration technique that simultaneously articulated architectural and corporeal integrity.
Thus steeped in yogoto's symbolic logic—where ropes dangling from roof ridges directly signified longevity in poems composed before imperial passings—they would gaze upon these beams and spontaneously utter anomalous phrases like "may it reach heaven" for the Emperor's lifespan.
This practice emerged during Emperor Tenji's reign.

When I gaze across the plain of heaven, the Emperor’s august life stretches long, reaching unto heaven. (Yamatohime no Ōkisaki—Man'yōshū, Book 2)

This deficiency in expression would have been readily grasped by those accustomed to yogoto rituals.

Yogoto ritually extolled a householder's health through metaphorical language while simultaneously functioning as architectural blessings.
From such remarkable conceptual patterns emerged symbolic modes of expression—indeed metaphor itself took root here.
Naturally, simile techniques evolved as well.
However generally speaking, though simile existed even in the Later Asuka period, it was principally through Kakinomoto no Hitomaro's efforts during the Fujiwara period that these techniques reached their perfected form.

It could be said that metaphor and symbolic techniques emerged from *yogoto*'s dual-subject parallel narration method, though if other contributing factors exist, the earlier spontaneous narrative approach would be one such cause.
The fundamental reason why yogoto came to adopt this parallel narration method shall not be discussed here.
This forms part of an essay examining the origins of Japanese literature that I intend to publish in the near future.

Even in the legends of Emperor Kenzō, we can observe how chamber yogoto gave rise to passages marked by hedonism on one aspect.
The custom of people costumed as gods—who attended new chambers in full belief of their divine status—gradually faded, while in the Yamato region during the Asuka court era, individuals perceived as belonging to a higher class than the household were welcomed as distinguished guests. Not only did they watch dancers perform and listen to chants, but there are records in the Ingyōki of them requesting maiden dancers as temporary wives and lodging at these homes.
The fact that the hokahi (hogi—blessing) of new chambers gradually became the origin of what differentiated into the custom called "banquet" can be understood by examining the Man'yōshū among other sources.

Shizuko (?) treads the new chamber, her handballs resounding.
Like a jewel shines our lord—let us enshrine him within. (*Man'yōshū*, Book 11)

To cut the wall thatch of the new chamber, we have come to be present.
Like supple grass, the maiden sways—all for our lord’s sake. (same)

Is this sedōka not preserving a form where, no longer solely solemn, a banquet-style song of relaxed revelry was immediately performed after the hokahi?
From the improvisational wit honed in song contests, they began attaching spontaneous phrases to scenes both inside and outside chambers—giving rise to a custom where formulaic yet enlivening verses were chanted, offering blessings for household masters and praises for distinguished guests.
As long as they remained within the household, these works were merely nascent forms of descriptive poetry—not only failing to depart significantly from journey descriptions, attention-grabbing methods, and enumeration but even tending to center on sexual interest.
However, the ancient people’s beliefs and customs regarding houses—on special occasions—cultivated a mindset that, without diverting their gaze long directed outward or resorting to metaphor, came to value composing poems about things beyond human affairs.
This marks the beginning of Japanese descriptive poetry.
It is also the cause behind the emergence of a purely objective attitude in poetry.

V

The reason that can be considered was travel.
As national consciousness flourished, the endeavor to survey as much of Japan’s territory as possible became markedly prominent starting from the Later Asuka period onward.
Legendary accounts spoke of nobles journeying to distant lands, but most were human adaptations of divine tales from the village settlement era—stories of gods who came from afar to visit.
The fact that travel to distant provinces became relatively free demonstrated how national consciousness had permeated society.
This had been the case since the Former Asuka period, and excepting certain parts of the eastern provinces, even the western borderlands of Kyushu were no longer considered dangerous enemy territories.

However, it could not be said that the firsthand experiences of provincial officials and temporarily assigned bureaucrats directly compelled them to invent descriptive poetry. The Emperor’s processions gradually extended to increasingly distant regions. Even erecting temporary huts at hunting grounds provided fresher stimuli than the familiar vistas of domestic life. As poets grew unable to sustain themselves solely through reciting verses yearning for “the sister at home,” a gradual shift toward descriptive poetry gained momentum.

Moreover, these sister-longing songs were never truly meant for private solace alone. Though self-amusement verses emerged by the late Nara period, all prior compositions had presupposed an audience. What later mystics imagined as lovelorn lyrics saturating the Man'yōshū were in truth largely epic-tinged抒情詩 anchored in communal wonder—their purported intimacy being后世の projection. Most travel poems pining for family derived their purpose from resonating with fellow journeyers’ shared sentiments. When performed at wayfarers’ banquets, these songs wrung tears from listeners who found life’s plenitude and humanity’s universal pulse within tragic themes—if they imparted solace akin to savoring desolate joy, they became cherished refrains in capital society’s collective voice. Indeed, through precisely this trajectory did the travel poems and amorous exchanges preserved in the Man'yōshū etch—however faintly—lingering traces of lived experience into worldly memory and archival records.

When exactly were travel banquets held?
I believe that even after entering the Later Asuka period, as an ancient custom, new chamber rituals (hokahi) were strictly performed; even when staying for a single night, if they erected a new hut, they could not feel secure enough to dream of temporary rest there unless they chanted yogoto.
When lodging at residences, they could settle peacefully by ritually trampling to stabilize the buildings and performing purification rites; when constructing temporary huts in mountains, fields, or coastal areas, they invariably conducted new chamber hokahi.
And to consider that they conducted the *naorai* new chamber banquet would not be deemed mistaken.

I too once believed that travelers who, while journeying, gazed across seas and arrived at places where beautiful flower fields unfurled were moved by the scenery to compose poems.
Yet this was mere fantasy.
Even a temporary hut remained a new chamber.
At banquet sites, people imbued with a spirit of vying in improvisational wit—dwelling in huts amid splendid vistas—found their chanted songs increasingly working vividly to depict those scenes.
They could no longer restrict themselves to using scenery solely as a device for channeling emotions.

VI

One factor was an era when Chinese literary influence after the Han and Wei dynasties came to be directly imparted through naturalized scholars and monks as well as those returning from overseas study. When compared to what we imagine of Chinese literature's flourishing centered around Emperor Saga in the early Heian period, traces of constrained creative freedom become apparent in literary composition, while as scholarship, it had not advanced to a degree where one could readily assess superiority. Evidence has been emerging piece by piece that even works unknown to compilers of bibliographies like the *Nihon Genzai Shomokuroku* and *Honcho Shojaku Mokuroku*—whether books concealed in scholars' libraries or others—had indeed been imported, proving this was no mere fantasy. Books regarded as repositories of general knowledge were read by the educated elite and officials both for scholarly pretensions and examination necessities. However, traces can be seen of Japanese people's literary inclinations and likely neglect of rigorous scholarship dating back to the Nara period or earlier. When this tendency reached the Heian period, it intensified visibly: civil service examination subjects changed, and even the more demanding academic paths pursued by scholar-officials had been abolished.

The biography of Zhang Wencheng in the *Book of Jin* records that many Korean and Japanese travelers who arrived at Zhang’s gate sought to obtain even a scrap of paper. After generations of ancestral life without ever experiencing the hardship of producing written phrases, this sudden attempt to imitate Chinese literature had not yet socially matured. The works preserved in the *Kaifūsō* sufficiently demonstrate that ours was never a people destined to lack literary talent. What proved more accessible than prose were styles possessing poetic or *fu* rhythms—forms that could achieve structural coherence if one accepted their constraints. This became the common path for beginners, while from society’s perspective, such regulated texts maintained inherent flexibility. Thus even if multiple collections resembling the *Kaifūsō* emerged, they would likely be filled with poetry and *fu*. I consider that Chinese prose without foundation would have challenged even non-descendants of naturalized immigrants to express their thoughts as desired.

However, it was thought that considerable development had been achieved in reading and comprehension.
The influence of readily accessible books was evident, and even the impact of literary works that were not passed down to later generations could be seen—this too manifested itself in the Man'yōshū.
I had come to consider the notion that Kakinomoto no Hitomaro received influence from Chinese poetry and applied rhetorical techniques such as parallel couplets (taiku) and repetitive phrasing (jōku) to be an outdated theory that could now be discarded.
While they might have sensed society’s inherent resonance and perhaps manifested some degree of Chinese literary influence arising from it, those who claimed that such poetic forms emerged through mastery of Chinese scholarship were individuals who remained blind to the developmental path of song since ancient times.
The notion that similarities in forms allegorizing abnormal psychology—arising as literature accompanies religious consciousness—constituted a uniquely Chinese development had by now lost all authority.
As for influences unseen in Hitomaro’s work, I found it undeniable that those officials who delighted in Japan’s poetic songs had embedded certain vestiges within the verses they composed.

VII

What stood out in Chinese court literature was a tendency to revere solemnity and a hedonistic attitude prone to descending into decadence.
In folk tale novels predating the Tang dynasty, sensual pleasure and extravagance appeared to excessive degrees; yet even in works composed with courtly or aristocratic literary intentions, these elements remained visible.
As matters of sexuality and love intertwine with the lyric poetry of Japan’s flourishing Nara period, I shall refrain from addressing them here.

Aspects resembling Japan’s banquet entertainments—though multiplied in scale through their celebration of feasting and praise of palaces and gardens—resonated with erudite officials.
Beyond mere imitation of customs, some degree of projection—whether conscious or unconscious—inevitably manifested itself in travel banquet gatherings, detached palaces, and the impromptu verses sung at banquets during imperial progresses to distant provinces.

From the Japanese people’s inherent modes of expression, attitudes toward depicting the external world had gradually emerged; just as these were beginning to take on a more formalized shape of descriptive poetry through banquet songs—particularly the impromptu verses composed at travel-related new chamber banquets—a faint whiff of Chinese court literature came to permeate this development.
Therefore, descriptive poetry had already come into conscious awareness during the era of the Fujiwara Capital.
And so, while lyrical poetry remained unable to shed its reliance on poetic exchanges, improvisational wit, emotional exaggeration, and dramatic stimulation—and even someone of Hitomaro’s great talent could not grasp the true essence of pure love poetry and lyrical verse—there already emerged descriptive poetry endowed with Takechi Kurohito’s contemplative attitude.
And then, immediately following this, Yamabe no Akahito appeared and demonstrated the proper form of descriptive poetry.

Kakinomoto no Hitomaro, though likely unaware of it himself given his talent as a harbinger of the coming age, had already created works in banquet songs and travel poems that grasped the essence of descriptive poetry.
When one places the presence or absence of consciousness at the core of literary value judgments, Hitomaro still belonged to an age of chaos and could not be assigned great significance.

What must be stated is that imperial visits to detached palaces were entirely modeled after Chinese courtly banquet entertainments.
Even one such as Empress Jitō—though the journey to Yoshino Palace took less than half a day—made trips there with astonishing frequency, as recorded in the Chronicles of Japan alone.
And even when she journeyed from the capital to Asuka’s sacred hill—a mere half-day’s distance—Hitomaro would elaborately compose verses that could indeed be described as imitations of Chinese literature praising the sovereign.

Even during banquet entertainments and journeys lasting several days, people composed banquet songs at their destinations; since these events were mere imitations of foreign practices, they learned their lyrics from China, and despite not even constructing huts, banquet songs still came to be performed.
In essence, even as Japan’s rituals for welcoming distant deities transformed into customs of hospitality for honored guests, by completely altering what had remained of their ancient significance, a new style of banquet was initiated.
This represents a capricious midcourse alteration in Japan’s banquet customs that later appears to have returned closer to their original methods.
Yet even during this period, it is not entirely impossible to consider that they preserved vestiges of ancient significance—slightly expanding the ceremonial forms of *keihitsu* (imperial procession protocols) and *hempei* (ritual purification steps) used during the Emperor’s outings—to conduct banquet entertainments devoid of new chamber hokahi.

VIII

In Japan, the fervor for Sinicization reached its most precarious peak throughout the Asuka period and its surrounding eras, growing particularly intense as time progressed.
Even Emperor Tenmu, who had assumed the role of harmonizer midway through this process, in truth remained unable to transcend the malady of his era.
Precisely because this movement turned inward, reactionary activists welcomed it, and society's culture actually advanced.
Therefore, even the minutest details of cultural institutions during this Emperor's reign being within reach served as reminders of their foundations, and a steady policy emerged in an orderly fashion regarding matters likely to prove effective.

The Fujiwara Capital was an era that, despite lacking national prosperity, strove through superficial facades to avoid being underestimated by advanced nations while concentrating efforts on cultural emulation.
Yet it was as if societal perspectives—until then crude, bleak, and narrow in outlook—had transformed, suddenly emerging into clarity; as if the national character had become resplendently vitalized, acquiring broad-mindedness and learning to stride forward with strength.
Even when the era's central forces operated through hollow concepts, the flamboyant currents of the times buoyed society upward, letting people taste vibrant living while stirring confidence from society's depths.
This holds true whether examining Hideyoshi's reign or Tsunayoshi's era.
That it was an ostentatious age does not mean national life deteriorated.
Rather, what frequently emerged was a vigorous social dynamism transcending petty notions of good and evil.
Whether viewed as a nation or a people, this could be called an era worthy of acclaim.
Thus did Empress Jitō and her court's opulent lifestyle suddenly instill vitality into national life, yielding unexpectedly favorable outcomes.
Generally in such circumstances, art becomes the first beneficiary.
No wonder Hitomaro emerged during this period.
Yet one must not conflate that zeitgeist with the social conditions epitomized by the Meiji-era Rokumeikan.

The ancient social organization had already begun transforming through the dual efforts of firmness and flexibility during the reigns of Emperors Tenji and Tenmu—the concept of small states rooted in village life shifting toward national consciousness under the county system. The *kuni no miyatsuko*, monarchs of these small states, were incorporated into officialdom as county governors; their previously combined religious authority became separated from political power; and under the intent to unify village-era faiths—which hindered the dissemination of national ethos—into a court religion, virgins closely related to *kuni no miyatsuko* were conscripted into the palace as *uneme* attendants and acclimated to its ritual practices.
Viewed as a whole, it was only natural—and indeed beneficial—that the newly awakened court life brimmed with an opulent atmosphere.
Chinese imitation, when viewed from its positive aspect, also served as a demonstration to the domestic populace for awakening a new national consciousness.

In this zeitgeist, Hitomaro was thought to have emerged in Kakimoto of Soekami District, Yamato Province.
As a court poet, traces that he was commissioned to create ceremonial songs and verses representing the will of courtiers for imperial rituals were evident in the many poems of the *Man'yōshū* transmitted as his works.
For works that proclaimed the author’s own fervor, even if they displayed novelty in technique, many ultimately failed to escape conventional patterns.
Many of the works traditionally accorded high value—such as poems composed during imperial visits to the Yoshino detached palace or songs voicing emotions felt when passing through Ōmi’s old capital—were, for the most part, not so much expressions of the author’s own emotional impulses as they were facile praises and laments universally shared among the courtier masses.

However, in terms of style, Hitomaro succeeded in pushing ancient rhetorical techniques to their extremes and deriving novel impressions through their rhythms.
He sensitively identified elements that had recently become fashionable in metaphors, pillow words, and prelude songs, then further refined them.
In formal terms, he employed the vivid objective metaphors of the Later Asuka period to produce numerous new poetic compositions both long and short.
Meanwhile, those who shared his era merely chased conventional patterns in their song contests or banquet improvisations.
The aspirations of an age starved for talent, thirsting for wisdom, and parched for emotional richness were likely satisfied beyond all expectations.

The leap of genius lies not in conforming to later artistic theories, but rather in grasping the glimmering hints within society’s trajectory spanning from previous generations to the present—or rather, it refers to the power to leave new hints as questions for the world. Hitomaro accomplished this. In a certain sense, he extended even the buds and branches that later generations should have nurtured, while simultaneously pruning them into withering—a tendency he displayed. Therefore, strictly speaking from the perspective of rigorous appreciation, the chōka form was perfected by Hitomaro while simultaneously being stripped of its vitality.

The talents of Nara-period poets were directed solely toward tanka and increasingly flourished.
Chōka are true remnants.
Even in Akahito’s case, the ability he demonstrates in short poetic forms appears to have retreated into shadow when it comes to chōka.
One is astonished by the fierce concentration of centripetal emotion directed toward these newly perfected short poems, and by the magnitude of their quiet yet tenacious grasp—maintaining perfect form even as observation transforms into emotion.
Akahito’s chōka—whether called the Fuji poem or the Asuka Kaminabi poem—merely reveal a lax spirit.
Moreover, this gradual inclination toward short forms shows that the mood had become ill-suited to long poetic compositions.
In the Nara period as well, the later it progressed, the more the creative power for chōka diminished across society as a whole.
Even Okura’s chōka amount to nothing more than disjointed enumerations of knowledge and concepts devoid of rhythm.
They appear to stagger under a tepid rhythm incapable of perceiving any consistent vitality.

In particular, the conspicuous use of so-called extended expressions in Okura’s poems served to align with metrical feet, and from this perspective alone, it becomes evident that *chōka* had already lost their vitality by the early Nara period, becoming mere remnants by the mid-period.
Even Takahashi Mushimaro’s *chōka*, though quite lengthy, amounted to nothing more than tepidly narrated epic themes.
Therefore, when Yakamochi and his contemporaries in the late period traced Hitomaro’s brushwork out of nostalgia for the past, the old-fashioned stately dignity could not be found even if sought.

In the poems traditionally attributed to Kakinomoto no Hitomaro, there exist numerous formulaic commissioned works—products of his professional consciousness as a court poet (ōuta-maker) combined with the unavoidable limitations of an era that had not yet attained individual expression.
Therefore, one must not use these works born from commonplace, inferior, and immature creative motives as a basis for evaluating Hitomaro’s art. Moreover, extracting biographical materials about Hitomaro from them requires great caution.
Among works not attributed to Hitomaro, there are many that have come to be regarded as compositions by those who commissioned him to write on their behalf or by those who performed them, with prefaces also often presenting them as works of these individuals.

The three or four types of poems cited as evidence that Hitomaro served as an attendant to Emperor Tenmu and Empress Jitō’s princes were in fact elegies meant to be chanted by the attendants themselves—works Hitomaro crafted from imaginative fancies absent within his own being. Consequently, there could be no emergence of genuine emotion. In a later society that had developed artistic consciousness over many long years, a genius might use their intuitive power to empathize with others' experiences. But even from such mere enumerations of applied language utterly lacking artistic consciousness, Hitomaro had managed—through sheer force of will—to approach halfway to art. The beauty of style—even if we were to appraise Hitomaro’s achievement solely by the pleasantness of rhythm under certain conditions—one could hardly dispute that it merited higher valuation than the splendid works of Murasaki Shikibu, Saikaku, Chikamatsu, or Bashō.

The envoys attached to Hitomaro's chōka—even those presumed to be commissioned works—were always far superior to the long poems themselves, with many inevitably evoking recognition of the genius's assimilative power and intuitive faculty.
Many have tended to regard Hitomaro as a tragic protagonist.
Yet even when his works embodied experiences brimming with genuine emotion, their underlying mood never succumbed to the words' sorrowfulness, maintaining instead a serene composure.
This too might be understood as arising from Hitomaro's discipline as a court poet.
Conversely, when failing to attain that desperate emotional state from which individuality springs, the habitual practice of smothering everything beneath stylistic beauty—woven from conventional thought, antiquated yet stately techniques, and touches of new trends—ultimately blunted individual expression and warped true sentiment.
Had artistic consciousness truly existed here, critics might argue we should have witnessed more profound psychological depths.
Yet most poems traditionally praised as impassioned cries wrung from concentrated fervor—or revered as testaments to the Man'yō people's simple hearts capable of fierce love and deep sorrow—prove largely to be narrative chants following epic conventions, amounting to little beyond exaggerated expressions.

Even works like the Azuma-uta—though presented as a collection of folk songs (kouta) that everyone expects to be simple—often appear to be passions born from dire circumstances but are in reality nothing more than fantasy songs chanted to distract from the frustrations of sexual love, many of which fall into epic conventions with their dramatic structures.
When imagining the circumstances under which the authors composed their poems based on the works themselves, one finds many that should by all means contain impassioned cries yet reveal none.
The places where many of these works were produced—through the quick-witted repartee of utagaki gardens, exaggerated expressions, tricks born of sexual desire, nitpicking, and banter exceeding hidden intentions—transcended genuine emotion to generate creations that at first glance appear struck by intense passion.
Admittedly, even such creations can be acknowledged as manifestations of a time when the underlying vitality of society was raw and robust—but only in this aspect do we recognize the strong life of the Man'yōshū people that antiquarians anticipate.
Yet these very expression methods born of such developments compel us to recognize that our approach to appreciating ancient art must be fundamentally reexamined from the ground up.

IX

The reason only a calm and detailed state of mind appears in Hitomaro's works lies in how he had transcended contemporary trends, connecting to the mindset manifested in Ōtomo no Yakamochi's tanka from the late Nara period. In this very aspect, it shows he had unconsciously reached toward the distant future. It would be correct to consider that Hitomaro's attainment of this mental state resulted from his objective attitude approaching completion. It was Takechi Kurohito who further developed this quiet dimension. Even in poems about passing through Ōmi's old capital, while Hitomaro's tanka excel, they cannot match the quiet introspection of Kurohito's verses where one calmly gazes into their own heart.

Though Karasaki of rippling Shiga fares well, the courtiers could no longer wait for their boats. (Hitomaro - Man'yōshū Book 1)

Though the rippling Ōgura of Shiga may stagnate, never again shall I meet the people of old. (Same source)

Might I be one with the people of old? When I behold the ancient palace site where ripples play, how sorrowful! (Kurohito—Man'yōshū Book 1)

The deity of the rippling land’s heart has grown wild; when I behold the ruined palace site, how sorrowful! (Same source)

Kurohito's poems extracted from their subject matter a mode of thought that broke with tradition.
The latter might appear narrative in style, but he composed them with a tranquil heart at a time when no one had yet versified such matters, neither censuring nor praising the historical facts.
He appeared to have mastered the artistic path of self-effacement.
In the first and second lines, he nonchalantly stated elements prone to exaggeration or encroaching upon factual interest.
In expressions seemingly devoid of subjectivity, one could discern an underlying lyrical power.
This was the true essence of what we now call *shasei*.

The first poem may seem more rhythmically elevated compared to these, but this stems from its far stronger emotional impact.
However, unlike in Hitomaro’s case, he does not solemnly sing in an expansive tone befitting banquet songs.
In Hitomaro’s works, rather than sorrow, one sees passages where comforting words seem laid upon the land itself—a discernible practical motive to placate the spirits of Shiga’s former capital.
They belong to the better category of poems, yet contain mismatches between tone and state of mind.

Kurohito was a man who quietly observed his own sorrow and yearnings.
He possessed the innate qualities of an ideal lyric poet.
Within his limited output, his descriptive poetry demonstrates exceptional shasei technique, while his lyric poetry fully expresses subdued yet moving emotions.
Though likely unaware of this artistic stance himself, his inherently pure and serene disposition—naturally inclined toward such states of mind—meant he inherently possessed the contemplative power that would become essential as the era transitioned into one of self-aware creative approaches.

Where might the boat be moored?
Aresaki—the small oarless boat that rowed around and departed (Kurohito—Man'yōshū Book 1)

As night deepened, he imagined how that single dugout canoe seen by daylight had moored at some harbor.
In meditative solitude yet revealing a vastness of spirit.

It was clear that this suppleness of Kurohito's derived from Hitomaro.
Amidst all these clamorous elements—epic poems, utagaki chants, fragments of narrative songs spread by traveling minstrels—how had such an exquisite state of mind come to manifest itself in poetry?
This was likely because narrative poems—telling of lovers drowned in sorrowful passion, exile tales of noble scions diminished by an indifferent world clinging to life in distant lands, and tragic accounts of pure-hearted nobles who lived by heroic ideals dying unrewarded in foreign realms after enduring countless hardships—when scattered abroad by traveling minstrels, had caused hearts to unfold a supple sensitivity to mono no aware.
Through style they brought forth a rich vocabulary; through content they generated a supple and elastic linguistic tonality.

When I think I cannot pass through Inamino’s plain, the beloved Kako river mouth comes into view (Hitomaro—Man'yōshū Book 3).

Though the sasa leaves rustle noisily across the entire mountain, I think of my beloved.
Since we have parted (Same source—Man'yōshū Book 2)

The inner and outer phenomenal lives were in perfect harmony.
The reason Japanese tanka never lost their fated lyrical quality was that Hitomaro had left behind such models in abundance.
In chōka long poems, instances where description and lyricism completely fused into one remained scarce.
First among these should be counted the elegy in Book Two mourning a lover from Katsuragi Village—a place he had frequented.
In essence, when their poems reached excellence, not only did scene and emotion blend—with landscapes symbolizing feelings—but emotions themselves seemed to symbolize the landscape’s very core.

As maple leaves scatter in their course, when I see the Tama-zusa messenger, the day we met comes to mind.

This serves as the envoy to that elegy, where he beholds the scattering yellow leaves.
At that moment, when he saw the Tsukabe—official couriers—passing by his side and receding into the distance, he said: “A messenger once came to call at my house too. Each day we met while still alive now comes back to me one by one.” Though this poem excelled more through its engagement with events than introspective depth, here too we clearly see a path where the theme expanded outward anew without lapsing into narrative.
The tone settled into calmness, and the figures of the Tsukabe—passing by while stepping on fallen leaves in desolate silence—shifted perception from auditory to visual.
That harmonized well with the inner world sunk deep into the sorrowful awareness of having become utterly alone.

Pure lyric poetry still appeared somewhat deficient.
The lyrical sensibility had not yet fully crystallized.
Even Hitomaro's own heightened lyric verse could not anchor Kurohito's distinctive contemplative stance—an inevitable progression.
Kurohito's work carried loneliness yet retained brightness.
It maintained solemnity while exhibiting a crisp poetic manner.

To my beloved, I showed Inano.
Nazuki Mountain, Sumi no Matsubara—when shall I show them? (Kurohito—Man'yōshū Book 3)

In such verses, sung with lightheartedness, all of Kurohito’s fine qualities emerged.
The sentiment of laboring for his wife appeared unconstrained yet imbued with deep love.
It was not without reason that they did not immediately vanish as banquet songs.

Standing at Enokizu in Suminoe, when I gaze out—from Muko’s anchorage depart boatmen.

When I cross Isohatsuyama, the oarless small boat rows to hide at Kasanui Island.

It was nearly a rough-sketch style of *shasei*. Such elementary *shasei* held little artistic merit in poetry; yet that this poet could adopt such a detached attitude during the Fujiwara capital era made one recognize his inventive talent. The accompaniment of scene and emotion had become standard in Japanese tanka, but its emergence resulted merely from single-mindedly advancing ancient poetic expression techniques—nothing more than those with abundant natural talent carving out their own poetic realms upon this foundation. That he pushed the form of banquet songs—historically laden with impurities—to a state approaching purity was truly something to marvel at. This too was likely a manifestation of the free expression inherent in such buoyancy.

10

In Akahito’s case we find conceptualization and intention subtly intermingling.
Examining his poem beginning “From Tago’s shore,” while its objective quality resembles Kurohito’s works mentioned earlier, one detects technical mannerism in lines like “how whitely...snow has fallen.”

At Kisa Mountain’s edge in fair Yoshino—
Through treetops thick,
Countless birds clamor loud!
(Akahito—Man'yōshū Book 6)

As night’s black orb deepens,
On catalpa-lined riverbanks clear,
Plovers cry incessant.
(Same source)

These verses stand acclaimed as supreme examples of shasei.
Here we see Akahito conjuring mountain-edge groves in his mind’s eye while attuning his hearing to birdsong.
He lies sleeping.
Even were he gazing upward at those wooded slopes,
An altered savor would emerge.
Calmly he absorbs each avian cry.
Within this poem dwells profound implication.
It masterfully captures nature’s very spirit.
Both this verse and its companion seek nature’s essence through auditory perception—
Akahito having pioneered this new shasei method.
Descriptive poetry,
Often deemed artistically suspect,
Attains here inviolable status as true art.
Was this poet uniquely gifted at apprehending nature through sound?

In the morning calm, the sound of oars could be heard.
In Miketsu Province: On Noshima's fisherfolk boats they seemed to be (Man'yōshū Book 6).

Compared to Hitomaro's works, Akahito's poems had become more substantive overall, placing less emphasis on formal beauty.
There were few poems as rigidly formal as Hitomaro's.
Yet he possessed full capacity for simplification.
While Kasa no Kanamura—his slightly senior contemporary—remained trapped in emulating Hitomaro, Akahito carved out his own domain.
What he first pioneered were poems of inventive conception.
Though a tendency to refine nature began emerging here, he established a courtly urban literary attitude called *miyabi*, becoming precursor to trends that drew sharp distinctions between capital and countryside.

To gather violets in the spring field, I came—yet lingering fondly on the field, I lay down to sleep through the night. (Man'yōshū Book 8)

Ah, mountain cherry blossoms—were they to bloom day upon day like this, how I would yearn for them still! (Same source)

The plum blossoms I thought to show my lord.
Or perhaps unseen.
When the snow falls (same source)

From tomorrow, in the field marked to gather spring herbs—yesterday and today, the snow keeps falling (same source).

It was he who initiated the shift from the so-called heroic masculine style to refined elegance.
By the mid-Nara period—when powerful clans had clearly developed a consciousness as government officials, having forgotten their village life—customs that distinctly demarcated capital from countryside and officials from commoners had already emerged.
They began regarding traditional rhythms and expressions as outdated poetry, mocked simplicity, and a hedonistic tendency emerged that sought to fully savor the atmosphere of aristocratic life centered on the court.
Akahito was its forerunner.
The elegance found in Heian-period literature may well be said to have begun with Akahito.
The reason Tsurayuki valued Akahito enough to compare him to Hitomaro was that he revered him as the progenitor of its vogue.

Akahito was thought to have been a resourceful genius.
He composed poems rich in Hitomaro-style lyricism while also seeming to have mastered Kurohito’s method of objectivity.
When examining the travel poems composed by Kurohito and Akahito along the Harima coast, Akahito’s individuality was nearly effaced; yet their works stood as poems of high artistic value.

Cranes cry as they cross to Sakurada.
The tide at Aichi Lagoon has receded, it seems.
Cranes cry as they cross (Kurohito—Man'yōshū Book 3)

When the tide flows into Wakanoura Bay, the flats become waves; toward reed-covered shores, cranes cry as they cross. (Akahito—Man'yōshū Book 6)

When we place these two poems side by side, it becomes clearly apparent how Akahito had modeled himself after Kurohito.
Moreover, as seen in the two earlier poems about the Yoshino Palace—

At the roaring rapids of mountain streams—clouds drift across Yutsuki Peak (Man'yōshū Book 7)

In this poem of Hitomaro’s, a similar detached contemplation had already manifested; thus, we could discern the traces of imitation that Akahito followed.

The elegance Akahito devised—grounded in tranquil living—engaged lightly with nature and human affairs, avoiding emotions capable of stirring the heart from its very foundations.
That is, while maintaining an attitude of supremely subtle pleasure, he sought to faintly grasp changes in human affairs and nature.
The *Kokinshū*’s approach of observing with eyes wide in wonder at seasonal greetings, calendar days and living creatures’ movements—their interactions and contradictions—all this began with Akahito.

On the old branches of bush clover in Kudara Field—awaiting spring, the bush warbler came to nest and must have sung. (*Man'yōshū* Book 8)

It was a poem that seemed to convey an empathy for nature so profound it faintly reached even the hearts of birds.
Yet this notion of "coming to nest" had been pure imagination.
This was an artistic device conceived to achieve elegance.
In midwinter, he could not have known this through observing warblers at Kudara Field.
These were warblers imagined to be nesting.
While one could not call this poem entirely poor, its tone already obliquely presaged the Heian period.
When compared with his previously cited works, everything from tone to spiritual disposition differed far too much.
Here was a form and spirit that had likely served as the model for Kokinshū compilers.

In the foot-dragging mountains and fields alike, imperial hunters grasp hunting arrows in disarray.
Can be seen (Man'yōshū Book 6)

This was Hitomaro’s

“At Ago Bay—where maidens must be boarding boats—has the tide risen to the hems of their beaded skirts?” (*Man'yōshū* Book 1)

It appeared to follow the same approach as these [poems], showing traces of imitation.
Yet he fully maintained his own distinct domain.
However, it remained overly external in expression.
Still, when compared to works like *Kudara Field*, this poem contained an ancient and potent vitality within its verses.
*Kudara Field* itself remained tolerable.
But when reaching the four spring poems, one could hardly believe they shared an author with those previously cited.
Akahito had indeed transformed himself three or four times over.

When viewed generally, this attitude could indeed be clearly seen in Man'yōshū Book 10 as well as Book 7. These volumes were so thoroughly steeped in nature that one could have seamlessly continued reading them into the Kokinshū. However, the still-unlost vital breath of the Man'yōshū poets coursed through even amidst slackened rhythms—as a whole, while the fixedness of Books 7 and 10 remained fixedness, many individual poems still gave rise to genuine emotion.

(1)

In the mid-Nara period, Ōtomo no Tabito and Yamanoue no Okura attempted to transplant Sinic tastes and create a new flavor in tanka.
However, their talents as lyric poets failed to produce outstanding works in descriptive poetry.

Yakamochi, son of Tabito, was a man who gave the impression of being the last of his kind.
He longed for ancient ballads and yearned for his family’s past.
He attempted to hold back the crumbling waves but was defeated by the tide of the times.

Yet, even so, his poems were permeated with a fusion of scene and emotion and modern sensibilities.

When heard from the morning bed, how distant it sounds.

Imizu River—boatmen singing as they row at dawn (Yakamochi—Man'yōshū Book 19)

The fact that Akahito's superior works bore resemblances [to others] could be attributed precisely to his having consciously absorbed influences—as one who had attained mastery through imitation.

In the spring field, mist trails—melancholy.
In this evening dusk, the bush warbler cries (Yakamochi—Man'yōshū Book 19)

At my home, the sparse clusters of bamboo—the faint sound of wind blowing through them, this evening perhaps. (Same source)

On a dimly shining spring day, a skylark ascends—heart grows sorrowful.
When I ponder alone (Same source)

In Yakamochi’s case, if I were to say which aspect, the portion of influence received from Hitomaro appeared favorable. By temperament, he was someone who had emerged from the lyrical school and moved into descriptive poetry. In this regard, a point of resemblance to Hitomaro could be discerned. Moreover, his poems possessed a sharp sensibility and modern sensitivity. Compared to Akahito’s late-period “elegant poems,” I wish to evaluate this side more highly.