Pathway to Japanese Literature

I. The Manyoshu's Poetic Compositions and the Song Forms of Stomping Dance Ceremonies

It was reasonable to consider that the name Manyoshu became fixed during the early Heian period.
This work itself had been created around that time.
The primary source material related to this anthology remained the kana and mana prefaces of the Kokinshu.
If one accepted this premise, it meant that [the name] had been established during the reign of Emperor Heizei.
Consequently, it seemed plausible that the anthology’s name had coalesced not long before or after this period.

Scholars had managed without examining connections between works like *Shinsen Manyoshu*—which paired Chinese verses with song lyrics—the *Kokinshu*’s former designation as *Shoku Manyoshu*, and what was termed *Ko Manyoshu*.
Here I resolved to conduct an investigation.
The *Shinsen Manyoshu* stood unquestionably as precursor to *Wakan Roeishu*.
Its editorial purpose could likewise be surmised.
When comparing these collections with *Kokinshu*, their parallels lay solely in poetic form; what proved striking was their mutual emphasis on seasonal progression.
Equally significant were Volumes Eight and Ten of *Manyoshu*.
These volumes systematically categorized natural phenomena under seasonal headings before partitioning them into Miscellaneous Songs and Exchange of Messages.
Though meticulous in classification, juxtaposing this system with *Kokinshu* revealed why later compilers prioritized seasonal and amorous themes.
I maintained conviction that *Kokinshu*—originally titled *Shoku Manyoshu*—had inherited this structural paradigm.
Examining *Shinsen Manyoshu*’s lineage uncovered Ōe no Koretoki’s *Senzai Kaku* predating Kintō’s *Wakan Roeishu*, its existence antedating even Ōwa era.
Tracing further back toward Nara’s zenith revealed anthologies exclusively gathering Manyoshu poets’ works—veritable “Sinified Manyoshus”—including *Kaifūsō*.

The subtle relationships that once existed between the Manyoshu, Kaifūsō, Senzai Kaku, and Roeishu seem to have been utterly forgotten. Even in the Kaifūsō, poems of banquet revelries and congratulatory feasts accounted for seventy to eighty percent of its contents. In this sense, I believe that Manyoshu Volumes 8 and 10 can also be viewed as having been formed from impromptu compositions of banquet revelries and old songs recited at the time. The reason they were divided into four seasons was that these derived from seasonal banquets and elegant gatherings. Moreover, there had been a rationale behind classifying them into Miscellaneous Songs and Exchange of Messages.

The Exchange of Messages comprises call-and-response songs.
Though one cannot definitively state that all songs in Volumes 8 and 10 derived from this origin discussed here, their genesis at least lay thus.
In the informal banquets of court nobles—remnants of grander festivities—there existed an age-old custom of call-and-response exchanges between separated groups of men and women.
These would culminate in wild drunken dancing.
Given such circumstances, banquet songs were fundamentally premised on Exchange of Messages conventions.
In archaic terms, a naorai ritual feast followed ceremonies where solemn traditional songs were sung to explain ceremonial intent plainly and supplement deficiencies.
The song compositions created through improvised substitute songs beyond classical pieces became known as Miscellaneous Songs.

When these rituals further developed into banquet gatherings, they became impromptu call-and-response exchanges with dancing girls and other seated women. The further back one goes into antiquity, the fewer such inebriated rituals occurred—likely limited to ceremonies held on spring’s returning nights at winter’s bitter peak. From the Asuka period onward, however, their frequency gradually increased until banquet revelries came to be regarded as one of the court’s cultural institutions, leading to the regular conduct of imperial excursions and congratulatory feasts.

At naorai feasts, participants produced formulaic songs extolling the sovereign’s and household heads’ longevity through striking seasonal imagery. This gave rise to four seasons’ allegorical songs. Gradually shifting from a celebratory mood where mere cheerfulness sufficed, these transformed into something closer to descriptive poetry. When it came to banquet gatherings, methods of directly expressing emotions and conveying thoughts through objects came to be freely employed. Thus emerged the Four Seasons Exchange of Messages.

Volume 10 was a compilation of such discarded banquet songs and was likely intended to be repurposed for other occasions.
As for Volume 8, it appeared to be a record of pieces famous at the time—those produced in the tranquil and banquet gatherings of the court and noble households—compiled through Ōtomo no Yakamochi’s notes.

Among these songs, there were some where no congratulatory intent appeared on the surface.
However, they originally served to pray for the health of the sovereign and household heads and the permanence of the palace.
Just as stomping dance songs gradually fragmented into recitations in later eras—retaining their original purpose even after losing celebratory texts—so too were seasonal miscellaneous songs and exchanges of messages sung for eternal longevity.

Their oldest form was the Shangyuan stomping dance.
In stomping dance lyrics during the Nara court period, grand songs of court poetry were sometimes performed; however, by the early Heian period, Chinese-style poems appear to have been recited.
These included the male and female song compositions created during Enryaku 12’s capital establishment.
Yet examining later inebriated song pieces reveals that while official versions used those [Chinese texts], we may reasonably infer informal variants employed native Japanese poetic texts.
Thus Chinese-style poems were used for stomping dance songs, whereas tanka and other forms came to be employed for inebriated dance lyrics.
The Chinese-style compositions repeated phrases so extensively they were later called “Manharuga,” while Japanese-style ones adopted refrains like “may you reign for ten thousand generations” to such a degree they became known as *ararebashi* (hail-like chants).

It was already stated that recitation emerged from the poetic compositions of these stomping dance ceremonies. The existence of the *Shinsen Manyoshu*—which juxtaposes songs with what should be considered the precursor to this recitation—demonstrates that poetry and songs were performed side by side in stomping dance ceremonies. Moreover, the fact that they named the collection compiling these poems *Senzai Kaku* (A Thousand Years of Fine Verses) is a matter that requires consideration. Originating from stomping dance ceremonies, it was a designation for compositions that extolled imperial virtue and prayed for the sovereign’s longevity. These then came to be employed in other inebriated rituals as well. If we accept that the Manyoshu’s compilation dates to the early Heian period, then its title’s origin too may be explicated through terminology connected to stomping dances and other banquet revelries.

Regarding the Manyoshu’s nomenclature, debates that had posited *manji* (“ten thousand verses”) or *mandai* (“ten thousand generations”) as its meaning had been repeated by scholars since the late imperial court era. By now, they had reached the realm of empty speculation. Without a doubt, it is the meaning of ten thousand generations. However, that this had come to be believed to signify an anthology meant to be transmitted through ten thousand generations still had to be reconsidered. I held the hypothesis that in the early Heian period, there existed a term referring to celebratory texts for the emperor and imperial palace’s “many leaves” in contrast to *Senzai Kaku*. Later, there came to be things such as *Manharuga*. This term, having been used as the name for lyrics that formed part of stomping dance songs, likely became the general term for dance songs. And thus, I considered that [the poetry anthology] showcasing seasonal features and personal reflections gradually came to be called the Manyoshu.

Initially, it was exclusively a term for chanted pieces; later, did it not become a name applicable even to works over half of which were intended for literary appreciation? If my conjecture is fortunately correct, then at the time of this anthology’s compilation, it would still have been a collection of Manyoshu as chanted pieces. Considering this, the volumes of the Manyoshu that aligned with the significance of the newest era are Eight and Ten. However, within the Manyoshu's songs and poems, older forms still remained in the court and various clans. The achievement that sought to compile the Manyoshu from before the stomping dance songs along with these elements is the extant Manyoshu.

If we extend the terminological usage of "Manyoshu" in this sense, it would amount to court poetry.
The traditional lyrics used in court ritual ceremonies and the folk songs adopted from the populace were all contained within this.

II. The Grand Songs of the Manyoshu

The differences between the Grand Songs—those incorporating songs and gestures—seen in the *Kojiki* and *Nihon Shoki* and the court poetry preserved in Volumes 1 and 2 of the *Manyoshu* are twofold. He posited that elements detached from incantations and epics—narratives—retained ritual potency through their foundational verses' authority, establishing a stylistic consciousness independent from their original compositions. Even when not being revised or substitute versions of hereditary Grand Songs, he argued their power could freely reside within new lyrics themselves. While some indeed carried old tales as their background, they could at least be considered separately from those narratives.

Although it includes songs from legendary reigns like Emperor Nintoku and Emperor Yūryaku, these are predominantly records from the late Asuka period—specifically around the reigns of Emperor Jomei and Empress Kōgyoku. This era marked a turning point for the Grand Songs. Even within the *Nihon Shoki* and *Manyoshu* themselves, figures identifiable as court poets—Hata no Ōkurazō Yonemaro, Nonaka no Kawarafumi Hiroshi, Hazaka no Muraji Oi—appear to have emerged. They seem to have incorporated records of ghostwritten works performed as court poetry. Moreover, throughout Volumes One and Two, contradictions between prefaces and poems regarding circumstances, geography, periodization, and authorship can be identified in over half the cases. The late recording of these is evident. However, since the colophon's format suggests Prince Naga's involvement, we may conclude the volume took form during the early Nara Court period—likely compiled by this prince himself. From this we infer that pre-Nara materials were considered the authentic form of Grand Songs.

A particularly evident fact in these two volumes, and one that pervades the entire Manyoshu, is the relationship between songs and soul pacification rituals.
Soul pacification songs are poetic chants accompanied by dance and should formally be termed *furi* (ritual gestures), but in court-transmitted lyrical compositions, they are referred to as *uta* (songs).
In these volumes, the Miscellaneous Songs, Exchange of Messages, and Elegies all clearly appear to have been sung as their means.
In this sense, these two volumes vividly lay bare the religious life of court people.

Volumes 3, 4, and 6 are records that interweave archaic and modern styles—a precursor to the *Kokinshu*—and it is likely that these were compiled with the most solemn editorial method, faithfully transmitted even in private or clan anthologies.
Considering this, this is the collection of the Ōtomo no Ujimasa household and could also be called the Ōtomo Kokinshū.
And was not the purpose behind its creation—much like the presentation of celebratory words at the New Year’s court greetings—to seek to exert the soul-pacifying effects contained within the clan’s songs upon the imperial person?
Therefore, presenting this anthology—comprising the reappropriated ancient court poetry “Grand Songs” of the Ōtomo clan from Volumes 3, 4, and 6, alongside songs long transmitted under the concept of soul pacification (encompassing all aspects of the modern clan leader’s life: love, vows, and disease eradication)—must have served as both a pledge of submission and a celebration of the sovereign’s longevity.

These two volumes may be considered as those that Yakamochi presented to the sovereign.
However, from the perspective of its position as a crown prince biography, it can also be regarded in literary history as a guidebook presented for Prince Sawara—or other princes and princesses—following his later demise.
Would not Heian-era court diaries and song tales—used in the education of court nobles’ children—and even works like *Wamyōshō* or *Kuchizusami*, written by men and employed as moral texts, count among these early examples?
Viewing it this way, my hypothesis—that these scrolls, including Volume Five and the four volumes from Volume Seventeen onward, entered the Music and Dance Bureau as part of the Ōtomo clan’s household assets confiscated during two suspected criminal cases linked to them—constitutes an early modern-style rationalism.
Though I must apologize to Mr. Sawamura, who kindly adopted this as one hypothesis, I shall resolutely retract it.
The materials that remained as assets of the Crown Prince’s Quarters became educational resources for the Second Crown Prince, Ate, and even after he ascended as Emperor Heizei, I believe the origin of the “Nara soul” deeply ingrained within him lies in these very volumes.

Volume Five derives from banquet entertainment lyrics composed in his capacity as clan leader and other soul pacification lyrics, incorporating a pronounced literary orientation.
The prevalence of lyrics concerning Okura's personal life further indicates that this volume should be understood as one in which Tabito's poetic works underwent organization by Okura's own hand.
Thus, while the preface text constitutes Okura's composition, the songs themselves likely represent Tabito's original creations.
The presentation of such songbooks thereby served both as an act of pledging fealty to superiors and as grounds for soliciting their patronage.
The song beginning "May my lord receive [your] august soul" communicates the underlying dynamics of this relationship.
Under this interpretation, the contradictions manifest in Volume Five's structural framework and conceptual methodology find resolution.

Volume Five was a collection of supplicatory songs that might be called Okura’s petitions—outwardly centering on Tabito while inwardly laying out himself. When it came to this volume and others like it, one could see that the purpose of family anthologies—hidden in Volumes Two, Three, Six, and others—emerged blatantly apparent. Viewing matters thus, one could assert that Volumes Three and Four as a whole revealed aims of didactic soul pacification and implicit moral instruction. In Volume Five, the entreaty for the division of souls appeared intertwined with the custom of presenting family anthologies. Even as their forms changed, none were without the purpose of soul pacification.

III. Ritual Gestures, Regional Dances, Songs

In the *Manyoshu*, *Kojiki*, and *Nihon Shoki*, phrases such as “touching upon the *ikuri* within the gates...”,
“the current settles upon the lower rapids,”
and “settling down onto middle branches” repeat formulaically—why do these *furu*-related terms persist in patterns half-significant and half-void?
This occurred entirely because verses born from tamafuri faith preserved traces of *furu* terminology within their fabric.
It is said *tamafuru* became contracted to *furu*.
This term *furu* exemplifies language that caused external august spirits to adhere to the body.
This had existed even before the faith of tamashizume—the prevention and pacification of the inherent soul’s dissipation.

This faith in external souls—foreign spirits—also existed among clan leaders, priests serving as provincial governors, and others subordinate to provincial rulers.
The power to subjugate these lands was said to originate from spirits “descending and adhering.”
The ritual songs and dances for this purpose constituted regional spirit-invoking songs and dances.
This represents the original meaning of the term *kuni-buri*.
Simultaneously, it becomes clear that *furi* was not an ancient term referring exclusively to dance postures or songs.
In spirit-invoking rituals that integrally combined song and dance as paired acts, the abbreviated term *furi* came into use—a practice seemingly dating back to antiquity.

The regions outside Yamato that lay directly under this court were distinguished as kuni (provinces) in contrast to the agata (imperial estates) directly controlled by the court.
Through traditional regional beliefs, they maintained their form as semi-autonomous domains that had not lost their power as local rulers nor their people.
The concept of kuni as territories where subjugated rulers still retained influence had not completely faded even by the time of the Taika Reforms.
These provincial rulers would offer the mana—external spirits—of such lands and cause them to adhere to the imperial person.
Simultaneously, the belief that the power to subjugate those territories arose within the Son of Heaven formed the basis for customary songs.
The presentation of kuni-buri—the soul-pacifying songs and dances of these provinces—simultaneously constituted a ritual pledge of submission.
Through this process, the Son of Heaven's territory gradually expanded.
After ministers and provincial governors presented their congratulations at the ritual feast, they restated the congratulatory addresses using alternate phrasing and performed rites anticipating the divine virtue of Ōnaobi-no-Kami—the deity who rectifies errors in ceremonial addresses.
What was chanted during these rites formed the foundation of kuni-buri—regional ritual dances.

This practice, though its transmission remains unclear and often perceived as originating in later imperial courts, came to be incorporated into the ceremonies of waka gatherings. A form identical to *utagaki* ritual song exchanges appears to have been conducted since antiquity, featuring call-and-response singing. This tradition gradually gave rise to formalized poetry matches. We may accurately understand that the principal and auxiliary elements of these songs became structured through exchanges between female officials of the Uneme class—shrine maidens—dispatched from various provinces and male attendants originating from those same regions. Even among the toneri retainers granted to noble households—those designated as chōnai shijin and similar roles—poets such as Mibu no Tadamine emerged.

The custom of military officials participating as summoners in poetry contests had underlying causes rooted in antiquity.
In the late imperial period, when writers emerged prominently from among military officials at the court’s retired emperor’s villa, it would be accurate to attribute this phenomenon to the old practice of these toneri retainers joining regional ritual dances and songs.
Waka gatherings were essentially sacred rites.
Within this sphere, call-and-response singing and debates took precedence, while dances became exclusively relegated to stomping dance ceremonies.
Both stomping dance ceremonies and kuni-buri performances—once held concurrently—shed all traces of their origins in the mixed-gender utagaki song-and-dance rituals.

The Kataka style was too antiquated and simplistic, showing no variation whether viewed vocally or in terms of content.
Lyrics that increased the syllabic feet of the first and second lines without significantly altering individual lines had already begun emerging in antiquity—traceable, if historical records are credited, to call-and-response chants at Emperor Jimmu’s Takasahino.
When this became consciously recognized and developed into a distinct new style, it appeared to have occurred from the late Asuka capital period through the Fujiwara court era.
What aided its complete establishment was a form involving repeated chanting and variation at the conclusions of long poetic songs.
This gradually coalesced as hanka, uniting both an emerging trend and an era when contrasting sections between main and subordinate parts came to be clearly recognized.
Through mutual influences, these elements progressively grew more intricate.
It appeared that here—amidst these developments—the establishment of a long-unconsciously repeated style converged with rapid transformations in vocal elements.

Even in long songs or short songs, when the final line was repeated as a *hanka* with an odd number of lines, it took the form of a three-line *kataka*. What bound [the poem]—when it entered an era where parallel phrase techniques flourished—was that relying solely on the final couplet and concluding line gave rise to a sense of insufficiency. Thus, they came to repeat two couplets along with the concluding line as *hanka*. In Hitomaro’s *choka* and similar works, particularly due to idiosyncrasies in their phrasing methods, there were many instances where the concluding five lines formed a single complete sentence, as well as numerous cases that approached that form. Though the *hanka* was already recognized as a distinct style, vestiges of its formative period still lingered in the concluding lines of *choka*.

IV. The Age of Song

Even in the *Kojiki* and *Nihon Shoki*, what should properly be called ritual gestures had been incorporated into songs.
Generally speaking, those termed Grand Songs could be considered as belonging almost entirely to ritual gestures when viewed through their usage; however, this designation was adopted from the belief that songs held higher esteem than ritual gestures.
It appears only poetic texts originating from other ethnic groups—particularly those later incorporated into Grand Songs—came to be referred to as *furi*.

The verb *utau* ("to chant"), derived from the root *uta* ("song"), had split in ancient times into what are called quadrigrade and lower bigrade conjugations.
The former denoted the act of chanting directed toward songs themselves.
The latter became the prototype for petitioning.
This served as the counterpart to chanting but for those charged with rituals, being conceived in a Noh-like manner as subjects' formal conduct when undertaking official duties.
These were examples of purification rites and divination rites.
Through chanting, it constituted a ritual awaiting the disposition or judgment of deities or divine intermediaries.

Originally, songs served as counterparts to the ritual gestures of ceremonial presentations and functioned as proclamations. They constituted the lyrical portions of divine epics and represented an evolved form of elements within incantations—specifically ritual sayings. Unlike these sayings that were direct and straightforward, songs tended toward greater circumspection while being rich in suggestive effects. They softened the ritual pronouncements of gods and divine beings; ceremonially speaking, these were the words spoken during the ritual feast. The chanting was conducted in the capacity of deities. This became the central event of the *utagaki* court. The flourishing of call-and-response exchanges in *sōmon* likewise arose because songs required reciprocal performance of ritual gestures.

The inverse of rituals where *furi* (ritual gestures) harmonized with songs became *utae*—a form adopting the structure of addressing deities. Those initiating discourse—from shrine maidens to deities, women to men, subjects to lords—predominantly belonged to this category. Examples include Izumo no Fune’s *Tamamo Shizushi* song, Mie no Uneme’s verses, the “Palace of Tsutsuki” poem from the *Nintoku-ki*, and Akaiko’s song—all being *utae*. Given Hitokotonushi-no-Kami’s epithet as “Kotosaka-no-Kami [who responds] with a phrase to both auspicious and inauspicious words,” ritual pronouncements likely remained concise.

V. Exchange of Messages

When the core and periphery of *kataka*—performed in call-and-response by two people—were continued and regarded as a single integrated song, the form of *sedōka* came into being.
Therefore, even a form resembling call-and-response *sedōka* had come into being.
Moreover, even those that became independent as *sedōka* typically took the form of self-questioning and answering.
Within *kataka*, while *tanka* was being gestated, *sedōka* had first been recognized as a poetic form.

To begin with, while some *kataka* were transmitted as single poems due to certain circumstances, this was incorrect; they were invariably chained and chanted as combined songs of two or more poems—excluding those that neglected the call-and-response exchange.
Among such works, both *kataka* and pieces closely resembling tanka were intermingled.
Thus, before *tanka* separated from *kataka*, *tanka* too were chanted in the form of combined songs, with several poems performed in succession.
The presence of single independent tanka within the Grand Songs of the Kojiki and Nihon Shoki was also due to incomplete transmission and records.

As verses for Exchange of Messages, tanka too came to be recited individually—each standing in contrast—or chanted in groups of several poems; during this process, those deemed worthy of remembrance gradually separated themselves to be murmured independently.
And thus, even single isolated tanka came to be chanted and composed.
The songs used during utae rituals included long songs and kataka, but they appear to have gradually come to resemble tanka.
A fact particularly observable in the Manyoshu is that this form was most frequently employed in cases of vows between men and women.

In both their initial vows and thereafter, they stated the will of the gods through ritual petition songs and inquired of divine judgment. At such times, responses manifested not through song but through omens—taking the form of divination rituals. Should these ritual petition songs contain errors or falsehoods, unnatural and unrealistic phenomena would appear before their eyes as portents. Songs adopting such expressions carved out a distinct domain within Exchange of Messages poetry. The folk songs born from these ritual petitions introduced a measure of sincerity into frivolous verses that had previously lacked the substance of Exchange of Messages call-and-response exchanges.

Beyond what were termed court poetry, such phrases from ritual petition songs came to be recognized as songs in their own right, and Exchange of Messages or love poetry came to be regarded as the essential core of folk songs.
What unified this tendency and momentum was the ascendancy of the tanka form.
The period spanning from the Fujiwara Capital to the Nara Capital is thought to have been when tanka truly became independent.
This trend of tanka's dominance is believed to have emerged not from the capital, but rather from provincial regions.

VI. Eastern Songs

The Eastern Songs were neither limited to the Nara Court period nor confined solely to the Manyoshu.
They appear in the Kokinshu and continued to be performed into the mid-Heian period and beyond.
The lyric pieces of Azuma-asobi and folk songs number among them.
These three types of Eastern Songs transformed in both form and purpose across different eras.
Yet their original significance remains inferable.

There should be no objection to characterizing Azuma-asobi as Eastern Province dance.
This undoubtedly represents regional dance forms from the Eastern Provinces that developed distinctive features before becoming standardized.
These likely originated as divine rituals spanning Suruga and Sagami provinces.
East and west of Ashigara Pass, circumstances diverged even within the Eastern Provinces.
Beyond this pass lay the easternmost reaches of the East.
Thus the allegiance of this Ashigara Pass's deities posed particular significance for the court.
The performance of Ashigara's divine songs and dances as pacification rites for the court - compelling gods to swear oaths - held profound importance.
The depth of connection becomes evident through fixed phrases like "wa o kake yama no kazu no ki no" from the Manyoshu appearing in Azuma-asobi's "Ichi-uta" lyrics.
Even within Manyoshu Volume 14, Sagami Province's Ashigara songs constitute a distinct category unto themselves.

The Azuma-asobi of the mid-Heian period likely became standardized forms of Ashigara's divine rituals under these circumstances.
It is reasonable to consider that the Eastern Songs in the *Kokinshu* were treated as part of the Bureau of Grand Songs' repertoire or nearly equivalent to it.
Alongside this... there must have existed rituals and ceremonies resembling those involving ritual gestures and songs from divine practices.
The sole reason they designated one as Azuma-asobi and the other as Azuma-uta was that while the former centered on dance, the latter had branched into vocal music through Fuzoku-uta ("Folk Songs") rooted in Eastern customs.
The reason Fuzoku-uta ('Folk Songs') do not take tanka as their foundation is that they belonged to the category known as Saibara of the East.
In the case of the *Kokinshu*'s Eastern Songs, one can still imagine their connection to ritual ceremonies, but when it comes to those in *Manyoshu* Volume 14, even such outlines cannot be traced.
However, by deducing the original intent behind customary or ad hoc presentations of regional customs, Volume 14's compilation purpose becomes roughly clear.
Among them were likely works by travelers from the capital.
There were probably also poems composed on behalf of Easterners.
Some were perhaps collected indiscriminately as Eastern Songs. But those actually sung by Easterners likely formed the majority.
What remains appears to be lyrics and melodies in Eastern style—tanka reflecting provincial customs with long-standing traditions, recent compositions, and transmissions from other regions—once performed at court.

The Hayato dances and Kuzu performances had become ancient traditions inseparable from the court’s history.
The customs of the old provinces—particularly those of Yuki and Suki—differed in nature.
This was a newly annexed province of frequent rebellion and submission.
Its customs had to be treated with gravity.
If one hypothesizes the circumstances under which they were performed, it would likely have been during the presentation of first fruits as tribute.
The distinctive customs—expressed through phrases like “Even the cords of the Easterners’ first fruits tribute…”—had developed to such a degree that they captured the capital dwellers’ attention.
Considering that customs were presented so the august rice spirits of Yuki and Suki provinces might settle within His Majesty’s person, to imagine Eastern-style songs and dances were not performed when Easterners offered their first fruits would be rather unnatural.

The Eastern Songs of the Nara Court were likely records of lyrics gathered as a result of such annual court rituals. The songs of Volume 14 seem to have been transmitted through institutions such as the Gagakuryō (Bureau of Court Music). The ones that newly imitated this were the Eastern Songs of Volume 20. Just as Volumes 1–2 had their corresponding 3–4, and Volume 13 its resulting 16, this too was indeed the work of Yakamochi.

Having the Easterners who were conscripted as border guards compose songs was not out of simple curiosity. Even if their content spoke of other matters, the act of presenting songs had become a vow to obey the court’s command. In my view, it was not a whim arising from Yakamochi’s personal taste; such border guard songs were likely routinely requisitioned. Within Volume 14, even among those not labeled as border guard songs, many are likely border guard compositions; there are also probably chants by court attendants and messengers who served the palace. The Eastern Songs of Volume 14 are generally more skillful than those of Volume 20 because they are not constrained by self-conscious artistry. Among them, it can be said that there is not a single one that should be regarded as true lyric poetry. They consist solely of works that imagine emotional-historical circumstances typical of lyric poetry and those that appear passionately dramatic in their exaggeration.

Why did Easterners have particular aptitude for tanka? This might stem from how most surviving works were those selected as Eastern Songs from their broader repertoire. Yet another reason likely resides in how utagaki gatherings—those song festivals forming tanka's cradle—and rituals like divine spouse visits continued to be devoutly observed during tanka's developmental era.

VII. The Chinese Literary Foundation in Regulated Texts

Volume 9 appeared to have been compiled based on the archaic style of court poetry collections—as Mr. Sawamura also observed—but differed from Volumes 1 and 2 in its faint trace of Grand Songs.
Instead emerged prominent hues of a particular class.
It resembled Volume 5 while carrying an archaic essence.
Judging by *Manyoshu*’s editorial formats across volumes，this might have been Takahashi no Mushimaro’s compilation.
Only through left annotations could one recognize poems from Mushimaro and Tanabe no Fukumarō’s collections，for both lacked signatures in main texts.
Rather than attributing these works to anonymous poets，we must conclude that compilers omitted their own names from compositions.
Thus，it likely remained a personal anthology compiling ancient verses before appending original works.

However, what could explain why both Mushimaro and Fukumarō omitted their names? It may be that Mushimaro’s works were incorporated into Fukumarō’s personal poetry collection with his consent. Though their stylistic tendencies bear striking resemblance, they cannot be regarded as a unified whole. Moreover, many tanka lack even left notes. These too appear to have been written in a manner suggesting the authors were known during Volume Nine’s original compilation. Yet the tanka do not seem to be Mushimaro’s compositions but rather resemble those of Kurohito and others.

In any case, it appeared to be the volume within the Manyoshu that most resembled a freehand record. They recorded only family names or noted just given names. They respectfully referred to someone thought to be a Go patron as “Go master,” while bluntly recording Fujiwara no Umakai as “Lord Umakai.” These could be considered entries that bureaucrats stationed at a single office had written down in routine fashion. Judging from the left note stating “Some say this was composed at the residence of Fujiwara no Kita-kyō,” it had been evident during the Manyoshu’s compilation that this collection existed at Umakai’s residence. Thus, one could interpret that while the main text abbreviated him as “Lord Umakai,” the postscript recorded his name with due formality. In any case, this volume differed so markedly in character from Ōtomo lineage works and other volumes that it might well be said to derive from materials of the Northern Fujiwara—those with a penchant for Chinese literature. Apart from ancient compositions, the recorded works appeared to have been those of individuals well-versed in Chinese literature. In any case, it seemed that court poets after Hitomaro had documented songs by scholar-class ghostwriters and works by acquaintances.

Takahashi no Mushimaro appeared to have been a scholar thoroughly versed in Chinese studies and literature.
Works such as *The Song of the Bamboo Cutter* in Volume 16 made it unmistakably clear that these were scholars’ creations.
Mushimaro’s narrative poems, among others, demonstrated his dual identity as a scholar.
I now intended to expound upon the origins of court poets.
The previously discussed instance of Nakanokawara no Fumimitsu presenting a poem mourning Crown Prince Naka no Ōe’s beloved consort likely constituted a ghostwritten piece composed on the Crown Prince’s behalf.

In mountains and rivers dwell two mandarin ducks, well-paired; who would dare take away this beloved I’ve paired with? (Kōtoku-ki)

Though flowers bloom on every trunk, why does my beloved not blossom anew? (Kōtoku-ki)

From the Chinese literary cultivation of descendants of naturalized people emerged such fresh works.

Hata no Ōkurazō Mari was also descended from naturalized people.
The notion that Empress Saimei sought to have him eternally transmit an imperial poem mourning Prince Takechi was, in truth, likely an order to commission a ghostwritten poem to be chanted perpetually.
The emulation of inherited ancient diction within the Japanese literary tradition underwent a significant leap by the end of the Asuka period.
Moreover, it could not have developed solely through internal forces.
Not only Imperial Edicts, Norito ritual prayers, and Jushi felicitation addresses—but even song lyrics—required the expertise of scholars deeply versed in Chinese literature to develop new modes of expression.
They drafted documents in Chinese while composing prose and songs in the Japanese literary tradition.
Among them were also those who had newly naturalized.
Their descendants naturally undertook this task alongside scholars and scholar-monks.
The first institutional form this took was the Senzenkushi Bureau.
This occurred in the third year of Emperor Jitō’s reign.
The people of this bureau also compiled the ritsuryō legal codes during Emperor Monmu’s reign.
Beyond the ritsuryō codes, new Imperial Edicts and Jushi appear to have been produced by this bureau.
Thereafter, even as the Nara Court emerged, the continuous issuance of Imperial Edicts likely originated from this bureau’s establishment.
All these efforts traced patterns of ancient incantations while pioneering new expressive methods.
The literati of the Manyoshu era were those who wrote in both Japanese and Chinese styles.
It comes as no surprise that many authors appear in both *Kaifūsō* and *Manyoshu*.
These scholars also studied Jin and Tang novels and translated Japan’s ancient tales into Chinese.

At the same time, using the form of chōka (long poems), they also adapted them into new narrative poetry. At banquets and excursions, they freely composed both Chinese-style poetry and prose as well as Japanese poems. This was a skill of scholars that continued to be practiced throughout the Nara Court.

Even someone like Kakinomoto no Hitomaro—who appears to have composed the Fujiwara Palace Miya Song and Fujiwara Palace Laborers’ Song—cannot be definitively characterized as having devoted himself solely to poetry. When we come to Takachi no Kurohito, the influence of Chinese literature becomes clearly evident. The fact that he discovered unprecedented realms in depicting scenery and expressing the thoughts of travel is indeed a manifestation of what had been refined through the poetry and prose of travel banquets. When one examines the people surrounding Umakai and Tabito in Volumes 9 and 5, this theory becomes comprehensible.

8. Ghostwritten Poems

That many court poets were individuals versed in Chinese literature remains paradoxical yet undeniable. Yet it equally holds true that numerous works transmitted as compositions by royalty and nobility were likely ghostwritten pieces. Those attributed to Empress Kōgyoku and Empress Saimei—found throughout the *Kojiki*, *Nihon Shoki*, and *Manyoshu*—stand as masterworks without exception. When weighed against the circumstances previously outlined, however, these too must be recognized as products of ghostwriting. Even in cases like the Uchi no Ōno song from Volume One, we would do well to interpret its preface—which states that Hito no Muraji Oi was instructed to present the poem—as evidence of Oi’s role as ghostwriter. When examining the issue of ghostwriting through the lens of Hitomaro’s corpus, doubts emerge regarding nearly every author contained within the *Manyoshu*.

(a) Works recognized as Hitomaro's compositions within court poetry

(b) Works recognized as Hitomaro's compositions yet wherein misunderstandings arose regarding their subjects' relationships

(c) Works that, though originally others' songs, became attributed to those who commissioned their creation or performed them

(d) Works through which Hitomaro’s circumstances have been inferred from songs ghostwritten for others

(e) Works that were not Hitomaro’s compositions yet were attributed to him

(f) Works that are Hitomaro’s compositions and became folk songs

Because he was both a renowned poet and a ghostwriter, such misunderstandings have accumulated.

When we consider that the Grand Songs of the *Kojiki* and *Nihon Shoki*—the court poetry of the first period—were products of shamanic imagination, their legendary authors cannot be credited as factual. The Grand Songs of the second period are, for the most part, creations whose true authors differ from their legendary attributions in the Manyoshu.

How long did court poets tasked with ghostwriting persist? This practice likely persisted as long as they continued to consistently employ newly composed verses for the Grand Songs. However, beyond the new Grand Songs in this sense, the established Grand Songs from the *Kojiki* and *Nihon Shoki* traditions remained influential. When the Heian Court emerged, all the new Grand Songs of the Manyoshu vanished from sight. Thus, the Grand Songs of this period—comprising surviving remnants of old Grand Songs and newly added compositions—came to be employed more in court ceremonies than in religious rituals.

Therefore, while the third-period Grand Songs inherited the form of the old Grand Songs, their content had become extremely biased.
Among them, some even came close to resembling the deeply intoxicating tunes of stomping dance ceremonies.
Among the Grand Songs of the second period, the solemn ones likely vanished, their final use being as elegies.
As the influence of gagaku grew, the domain of Grand Songs had been narrowed.
Moreover, during the height of the Nara period, these signs were already apparent.
Among the Grand Songs, those that continued to be repeated until the end of the Nara period were the tanka serving as celebratory songs for longevity.
The cause behind the third-period Grand Songs becoming fixed for direct use had already been present here.

9. Creative Attitude

That the creative attitude emerges during the creation of ghostwritten works by court poets is, I believe, something that had already been accepted. And it was Chinese literary erudition that shaped this, as I stated. It can be said that the literary attitude of the Manyoshu begins with banquet songs and their expanded forms—the songs of longevity celebrations and travel. To discover an objective attitude from lyric poetry rich in narrative elements, they had to break free from the age-old conceptual habit of metaphorizing notable natural features. Instead of metaphorizing, efforts to approach symbolism were also accumulated. That nature beyond humanity came to be recognized as a subject of poetic admiration was an entirely natural development, yet one must also consider the influence of Chinese literary descriptive techniques. The unspoken assimilation from Chinese poetry cut away, to a certain point, the uncertainty in expression that did not fully commit to landscape description and reverted to lyricism.

The first to undertake natural description was Kurohito. As for Hitomaro, even if some works achieved that level, they were not yet products of conscious effort. Kurohito possessed another kind of literary concept—advanced for his time yet flawed. He appears to have planned within waka conventions to create works of varying styles. Yet he left many compositions unburdened by such constraints. He accomplished natural description. Simultaneously, he discovered a tranquil nocturnal sensibility within his works. This tendency had been emerging before him but became widely imitated after he gave it concrete form. Yamabe no Akahito’s “As night deepens, catalpas grow thick…” exemplifies this.

This originated from a category of ritual incantations used when ancient travelers sought spiritual calm during overnight journeys—after the Manyoshu era, such examples vanished entirely.

Yamabe no Akahito too appears among the court poets, his long poems and lyrical tanka patterning after Hitomaro's style while his landscape verse mirrored Kurohito's approach.
Yet he ultimately shed these influences to manifest his individuality.
The seasonal miscellaneous songs and exchange poems—regarded as his strengths and influential in post-Kokinshu eras—developed a literary stance that reconfigured nature as an element of human existence while envisioning distinctive lifestyles through imaginative constructs.
Though his methodology remains questionable, this nonetheless marked the ascension of creative intentionality to unprecedented heights.

Ōtomo no Tabito incorporated hedonistic elements, while Yamanoue no Okura laid bare utilitarian purposes; in any case, both treated poetry as literature. Scholars like Takahashi no Mushimaro had also made such attitudes clear. However, all long poems were unable to sustain their passion. It was an era when long poems no longer ignited with literary fervor. In outward form, Tabito had incorporated Chinese styles more thoroughly than Mushimaro. But when viewed from the perspective of creative motivation, he remained a pure lyric poet. As for expressions of narrative flow, when it came to this person, they had ceased to exist. Devoid of any scholarly pretension, his work should be regarded for the first time as literature of unexaggerated passion.

When it came to his son Yakamochi, through literature he came to grasp human loneliness. Among his works were those crafted as expedients of courtly poetic style and those that stood as pure literary creations. The latter demonstrated literature’s beneficial influence more than literature itself. The long poem that appeared to have studied the Yamakaki style through his songs bore an unmistakable pseudo-classical affectation. His exchange poems also lacked distinctive features. In those works where he laid bare his personal circumstances, a mindset akin to Kurohito’s lineage became visible. And yet, the way he seemed to have arrived at a universal loneliness from mundane life resembled modern literature.

10. The Absence of First-Rate Sources in Manyoshu Studies

To those who have followed my arguments thus far, I feel such trust that there will probably be no problem. I am not attempting to say anything novel. By the early mid-Heian period, the original intents of the Manyoshu in all its aspects had already been misunderstood. Even if they had been correctly transmitted, I believe that—given my conviction that the addition of misinterpretations by poetry scholars from the late Heian period onward caused the pure original significance to remain long obscured—it becomes clear that merely reorganizing and adjusting the traditional intuitive theories of the Rokujō House’s Minamoto and Fujiwara schools could not provide satisfaction.

To put it plainly, when it comes to this anthology, what should be called true first-rate sources are lacking.
Apart from the Kokinshu Preface, all others were nothing more than mere pretenses to maintain the authority of scholarly lineages.
It is utterly impossible for us to adopt such non-academic references of later poetry scholars as our own frame of reference.
In such circumstances, research on the Manyoshu must either dissect the Manyoshu itself or conduct studies that reference the literary circles and popular traditions surrounding the anthology—only then might we navigate through the current impasse.
Thus, I can posit an inference closer to the truth beyond the hypotheses advanced by scholars since the late imperial period.
Moreover, I believe that what I have undertaken with the conviction that it is the rightful duty of those who bear the many auxiliary studies of a new era will be graciously accepted.
Let me reiterate.
The greatest vexation for students of Manyoshu studies is, above all, the absence of first-rate sources.
In such circumstances, one must recognize that to the dissection of the Manyoshu itself must be added the substantial contributions of literary-historical perspectives and folkloric reasoning.

I contemplated the mindset of the Manyoshu people who created and transmitted their songs. And I argued that under conventional approaches, there remained many aspects of this mindset that could not be fully contained. Perhaps by good fortune, I might have discerned the forms in which literary consciousness and attitudes first arose. Thus I felt I had managed to elucidate both the original meanings of poetry and its synonymous expressions, along with their transformations. And perhaps I enabled readers to envision both the differences between court and folk literature and faint traces of their progression. Yet I felt a faint sense of accomplishment in having evoked—if only partially—the central transitions during the long Manyoshu era. I had always discarded aged subjects. Even passages resistant to comprehension were composed in anticipation of young sensibilities brimming with luminous openness.

11. The Life of the Manyo People

This term is one I proposed, and already fifteen years have passed.
But I have yet to publish a single thorough discussion on it.
I now wish to set down at least its outline.
The term “Manyo people” as I use it encompasses the transitions, traditions, and developments in the inner lives of both court and society during the era central to the Manyoshu—namely, from the end of Asuka through the early Fujiwara and Nara periods, then into Nara’s zenith, followed by the late Nara period when anticipations of Heian life began to stir.
While it goes without saying that they cannot be called records of pure emotional expression, I seek to abstract the various aspects of life from song-poems that may be seen as commemorations of inner life.

I wished to observe how the lives of sovereigns, ladies, high-ranking officials, and common people became embedded in poetry—or rather, most appropriately put—how they clung to verse.

The Sovereign: His Highness the Imperial Prince

The sovereigns appearing in the Kojiki and Nihon Shoki had been deities themselves during eras that repeated cyclically—periods that persisted at length.
In the Manyoshu era, they had already begun distancing themselves from this "divine mode of existence."
Yet as scions of the supreme deity, the laudatory epithet "children of the sun" remained in use.
Moreover, the term *kaminagara* grew markedly prevalent from this period's outset.
Consequently, their essence shifted toward metaphorical expression—transforming from "divinity itself" to "divine semblance," ultimately acquiring connotations of "that which manifests divine will."
Terms used almost synonymously with *kamukara* proliferated throughout the Manyoshu.
Even vocabulary once strictly describing sovereigns' words and deeds evolved into encomiums for the numinous virtues permeating all natural phenomena.

In the sovereign's dwelling place—the "realm under heaven" (directly beneath the celestial sphere)—and its vicinity, no gods existed apart from the sovereign himself.
This occurred because even dominant spirits came to be called gods.
Through deepening perceptions of blood kinship between the sovereign—as the supreme deity's original embodiment—and his human form, people gradually came to conceptualize divinity and humanity as separated by temporal epochs.

Nevertheless, most works by court poets preserved conceptual frameworks inherited from traditional poetic conventions.
Therefore, one cannot directly prove from these verses that notions of divine essence persisted in that era.
The belief that sovereigns could enshrine any numinous power as inherent authority had early assimilated various foreign faiths.
Yet by this formative period, what sovereigns revered saw Buddhism emerge as paramount doctrine, while ancestral beliefs became designated as a branch sect called Shinto.
This shift happened precisely because sovereigns' lives spawned honorifics like "divine existence" proportionally to their detachment from actual divinity.
Hence Prince Shōtoku gained the title Dharma King of the Upper Palace, while later figures like Dōkyō of Nara received precedent-based honorifics.
They instituted a supreme religious executive separate from temporal sovereignty.
This describes situations lacking a consort-sovereign counterpart for female rulers.

In such times, it was often a man closest in bloodline and endowed with sacred character who was selected to administer government affairs.
These were the individuals referred to as imperial successors of noble status.
To distinguish them from retainers bearing noble status, they appended the abbreviated *mikoto* to the end of names.
From ancient times, whether princes were called with *mikoto* or not—regardless of being male or female sovereigns—was a distinction reserved solely for princes and kings of the highest sacred standing.
The gradual restriction of these *mikoto* names exclusively to princes serving as regents or *sesshō* became characteristic of the Asuka court.
Thus ultimately, a single *mikoto*—though multiple imperial successors (*hitsugi no miko*) existed—came to signify the Crown Prince Regent.
The honorific titles of Prince Hinamishirashishi no Mikoto and Prince Takechi no Mikoto appear thus in the Manyoshu.

Female Sovereign: Nakatsu Sumeramikoto

The presence of an Imperial Prince serving as regent for a female sovereign proved exceptional; the norm remained the sovereign and female sovereign coexisting as counterparts.
She assisted the sovereign through sacerdotal authority.
This arrangement arose because the sovereign had distanced himself from religious governance.
The intermediary figure bridging deities and sovereign came to be called nakatsu sumeramikoto.
*Sumeramikoto* was not terminology exclusive to the sovereign.
It denoted sacred status that broadly encompassed Empress and Crown Prince alike.
The absence of a sovereign with only a female ruler enthroned did not warrant the nakatsu sumeramikoto designation.
Early records occasionally used "imperial princess" or "empress consort," but from the Asuka period onward, they unequivocally employed "Tennō" (emperor).
Female sovereigns maintaining ancient-style bonds—those sharing closest blood ties and optimally embodying court deities' sanctity—appear to have been specifically designated Nakatsu Sumeramikoto.

Therefore, even among empresses, distinctions such as Nakatsu Sumeramikoto, Ōkisaki (Great Empress), and Kisaki existed.
Those later enthroned as Empress would all have been Nakatsu Tennō.
And thus they remained qualified as Nakatsu Tennō even after the sovereign’s absence.
This makes clear it cannot be described merely as an intermediary sumeramikoto transferred between male sovereigns.
This archaic practice left enduring impressions that established the foundation for the honorific “Nakatsugū,” maintained from early Heian onward.
Consequently, the site where these rites were performed preserved the name “Nakatsugū-in.”

The rendering of Nakatsu Sumeramikoto as Nakatsu no Himemiko was likely not an error.
It was written as Kagami no Ōkimi—not Nukata no Ōkimi.
This should be regarded as referring to her elder sister—a pattern consistent with other notations.
When writing terms like "Nakatsu Sumeramikoto" (= Takatsu Sumeramikoto) and "Kagami no Ōkimi" (= Kagami no Ōkimi), scribes commonly omitted characters indicating femininity—a precaution against confusion with male sovereigns.
That Nukata no Ōkimi appears solely as *Nukata no Ōkimi* in the Manyoshu serves as counterevidence, her renown having rendered any concern of masculine misinterpretation unnecessary.

The sovereign and female sovereign coexisted, thereby possessing the qualification of "Sovereign Enthroned at So-and-so Palace." Therefore, even after the sovereign was gone, that qualification did not vanish. It remained with the Nakatsu Sumeramikoto of both sovereigns. The Sovereign Enthroned at Okamoto Palace referred to both Emperor Jomei and Empress Kōgyoku. The attribution of the Kōgyoku reign as the Sovereign Enthroned at Later Okamoto Palace was a later interpretation. And thus, even after the male sovereign was no longer present, she remained as Nakatsu Sumeramikoto. The designation as Nakatsu Sumeramikoto throughout both Okamoto Palace and Later Okamoto Palace was not a misrepresentation. Among consorts, it appeared that the practice of high-ranking priestesses—women of status from other clans and regions—bestowing upon their husbands, the lords of foreign lands they married into, the divine might and teachings of their own clan’s deities to govern those territories fell under the archaic terminology of *kisaki*.

By applying the character 后 here, they abandoned ancient customs and established conventions such as *kisaki* or *chūgū* for women of both royal and non-royal clans.
In antiquity, Nakatsu Sumeramikoto originated from imperial lineage while *kisaki* were women of external clans; these roles likely involved sacred duties overseeing the sovereign's purification rituals.
When examining the consort district of Jōneiden alongside legends like the Hamakie reed-pipe said to have emerged beneath Mi Yudono, the connection between *kisaki* and purification rites becomes apparent (see "Water Women" in Volume 1 of *Folkloric Studies*).

It appears that such origins produced many water-related compositions in the songs of empresses and consorts. Even within the Manyoshu, one should examine from this perspective works like the exchange poems between Emperor Tenmu and Lady Fujiwara in Volume 2; the songs by empresses, consorts, and ladies-in-waiting during Emperor Tenji's state funeral; and the poems from the Saishōe night in the eighth year of Jitō's reign. When considering the Kojiki and Nihon Shoki, all songs dedicated to husbands—whether those of Suseri-hime, Toyotama-hime, the consorts and princes of Yamato Takeru no Mikoto, Empress Jingū's Shidouta response songs, or Empress Ōkisaki's compositions—proved inseparable from water imagery. Suseri-hime's poems depicted garments being loosened; the Shidouta response songs reflected customs of seeking purification streams; while the latter derived from ancient verses describing connections between purification rites, bamboo, and musical instruments—all demonstrating this enduring aquatic motif.

That water imagery ran deep in the exchange poems and elegies of the Manyoshu’s imperial family and nobility could be attributed to poetic exchanges with noblewomen who handled water-related rites—exchanges that gradually engendered such patterns of thought.

Women as Priestesses

From Nakatsu Sumeramikoto and Saigū down to empresses, consorts, and all court ladies—each served as priestesses to the palace deities and divine sovereign.
The households of clan chiefs and provincial governors too were filled with such priestesses.
Beyond these, women of age in every province and village possessed priestesshood as their sole qualification.
Thus one must not simplistically view the lives of court-frequenting women through later-era conceptions like "ladies-in-waiting" or "court ladies."

The personnel of the inner court retained their awareness as priestesses even into the early Heian period.
The Manyoshu women of regional renown or anonymity who appear in epics and folk songs likewise carried these concepts at their core.
This reality remained evident even when men entered the age of creative poetry.
Exchange poems particularly embodied this quality, with the same atmosphere permeating elegies and other forms.

Manima no Tekona, Ashia no Umibe Mura Otome, and others who appeared in narrative songs were legendary figures from earlier eras, leaving an impression of faith that avoided becoming wives to those types of priestesses.
There also exist two Eastern Songs imagining lovers visiting village girls during the Niiname-sai ritual night.
These represent folklorized customs where village girls who had undergone coming-of-age rites awaited deities on festival nights.
The night's visitor was a deity—what we call a one-night husband.
Utagaki song gatherings, Kagai-kai festivals, and celebratory call-and-response in newlywed chambers formed enduring driving forces behind folk song development.
Originally, male participants arrived disguised as gods while female participants—as spirit-representing priestesses—confronted them, welcomed them, and followed their lead.
This has been explained as the origin of exchange poems.

In these call-and-response rituals—from striving to out-sing and resist being outdone—"women’s songs" particularly flourished among the populace. Regions that had lost sight of the original purpose behind the opposition between gods and priestesses had existed even before the time of Manyoshu people. Amidst this, archetypes gradually took on individuality while remaining archetypes. Meanwhile, the witty techniques of call-and-response dialogues progressed even further. Women’s songs were always thus anticipating men’s songs. Even when examining the Manyoshu, it is evident that among works by women there is almost not a single one departing from exchange poem contexts. That women’s songs possess a unique realm goes without saying; it is only natural their mode of conception exhibits traditional forms.

Women’s songs, by virtue of being directed toward the opposite sex, all employed a romantic mode of conception.
Therefore, one could not easily discern genuine romantic exchanges from the songs.
Therefore, in the Manyoshu, they were termed “Exchange of Messages” rather than being recorded as love songs.
According to ancient interpretations, courting songs had been performed by men seeking marriage.
These came to be incorporated into women’s songs as well, but in their mode of conception contained many elements that lacked distinction between genuine and feigned.
What appeared to be courting songs were largely fragments that had broken away from the narrative poetry of previous eras.
These were performed as folk songs.

Even in response to men’s courting songs, women’s songs often showed defiance.
Or perhaps there were many outwardly gentle yet firm deflections.
As for the passionate elements in what appear to be women’s songs found in Exchange of Messages, elegies, folk songs, and the like—they were largely either archetypes from ancient verses, adaptations from narrative poetry, or exaggerated lyricism—a point I had made long ago.
However, within this framework, the instances where authenticity emerged were those that responded to men’s songs—such as morning-after poems or expressions of prolonged absence.
Even these ultimately often could not be definitively known whether they were the works of the authors themselves or songs by guardians or matrons.
Among the poems that his aunt Ōtomo no Sakanoue no Iratsume presented to Yakamochi, many were likely composed by adopting the sentiments of a young noblewoman.
Moreover, the songs said to be the young noblewoman’s responses to Yakamochi could very well be considered Lady Sakanoue’s ghostwritten works.

In any case, works consciously aware that mere Exchange of Messages posturing does not align with men’s hearts have emerged later.

However, as I previously stated, the poems of Nakatomi no Takemori and Chigami no Iratsume were likely romantic-historical creations of their own time that bear little resemblance to love songs.
It would be accurate to say that love songs in their true sense emerged during the Manyoshu's final period.
What appear to be love songs from earlier eras were predominantly either soul-summoning chants or travel-related soul-pacification compositions.

Women's songs possessed no expressive means beyond romantic conceptualization.
The enduring ritual responsibilities of priestesses had shaped this distinctive expressive logic.

It is correct to view the tanka style as having developed especially within “women’s songs.”
In court life, there were many occasions where women’s songs flourished.
At stomping dance banquets and folk song gatherings—the prototypes of poetic assemblies—talented women who could render men speechless emerged in significant numbers.
Even Nukata no Ōkimi’s choka—which adjudicated the spring-autumn debates—likely became legendary for rising above the multitude of compositions in such contexts.
It was not through song alone that a single individual achieved such mediation.
True women’s compositions, even when taking the form of choka, have been exceedingly rare from ancient times to extend beyond ten stanzas.
Therein lies something that emerges with striking cohesion.
As for someone like Sakanoue no Iratsume, she composed lengthy works as well, but these were merely pseudo-archaic pieces born from the retro revival fervor of late Nara.
This figure likely stands among the earliest women who studied Chinese literature, yet even into the mid-Heian period, women remained bound to preserving old customs.

However, such cases were exceedingly rare. The women serving in the court and noble households likely employed the most phonetically precise forms of Man'yogana to keep daily records of their masters' and princesses' words and deeds.
This gradually transformed into a cursive style and likely developed into the kana literature of the court ladies in Heian-kyō.
Many of these works by court ladies likely disappeared without being recorded.
Women’s songs were largely transmitted orally and may be regarded as having become numerous songs of unknown authorship.
Among these, those fortunate enough to be classified and preserved in writing were likely numerous in Volume 10 or Volume 7, among others.
This type remained numerous in the Heian Court.
The anonymous works in anthologies like the *Shinsen Manyoshu*, *Kokinshu*, and *Kokin Rokujo*, as well as the unattributed quoted poems frequently found in Heian tales and diaries, were likely improvised verses that had been widely circulated in their respective times.

In the Heian court, those who regularly participated in daily rituals found their status diminished. Uneme became lower-ranking court attendants; until the Nara period, Uneme had been highly ranked as court ladies. However, they retained their priestly functions. This was because they participated in the private affairs of court nobles' inner chambers, became direct assistants and mediators to their lords, and served as educators. These duties were still the responsibilities of court ladies as priestesses during the Manyoshu era. The diaries of court ladies began incorporating private matters beyond old tales and song-stories, gradually leading court lady literature to flourish. Court lady anthologies emerged when later people—or sometimes contemporaries—extracted only poems from works containing their compositions. There were also instances where tales were excerpted and matters pertaining to character-driven incidents or annual ceremonies documented; thus appeared genres like tales, diaries, and books on courtly practices. They all derived from court ladies' diaries.

In such household anthologies, there must have been exaggerations, ostentations, and memory discrepancies.
First and foremost, interpersonal relationships often differed from later generations' conceptual frameworks.
Without considering the logic of "women's songs" dating from before the Manyoshu era, many depictions of male-female relationships risked misinterpretation.
In any case, poetry could not be conceived separately from Heian court lady literature.
Narrative records centered on previous eras' customs and songs transformed into song-tales, while sections documenting personal exchanges came to be practiced as diary poems—these in turn spawned standalone tales, household anthologies, diaries, and generational histories.
As times shifted and court ladies' education grew shallow, not only women's songs but all court lady literature passed into the recluse class's hands.
Such was the state of affairs at the Heian period's end.
This interim "women's" era in truth represented the culmination of prolonged court priestess traditions stretching back to pre-Nara times.

The Beloved’s Soul-Binding

The women who underwent household initiation rites were priestesses.
As such, they wielded ritual magic.
When lovers or husbands journeyed afar, they would divide and bestow what served as both family guardian spirits and their own inner souls.
They secured these within men's garments using soul-binding cords tied with secret knotting techniques.
Thus they created protective talismans for travel.
Later, this practice evolved to bind men's souls within women's bodies too.

Untying this cord would invoke calamity upon its counterpart.
Therefore both parties had to strictly observe taboos.
These cords—and indeed all objects hung to contain spiritual essences—were called himo.
They likely served as ritual warnings against external violations.
The cords required no bodily wrapping.
Merely hanging or attaching them sufficed.
Their evolved forms became known as inner cords and lower cords.
Epithets like komanishiki and karanishiki—functionally akin to poetic pillow words—were probably incantatory praises to ward off evil.
In antiquity, himo bore no inherent connection to undergarments.

"If word comes that the imperial ship has moored at Naniwa Port, I would untie and rend the cord, then rise and run (Volume 5)."

The aforementioned poem by Okura does not express sexual impatience at having successfully awaited a lover. This was an act men too came to perform—to prevent an elder’s spirit from wandering.

"Komanishiki brocade—one unties the cord with ease—on such a night as this for the heavenly being’s wife. I too shall long for (Volume 10)."

These verses likewise do not directly anticipate intimate relations.

It may be that "Yoshi" should be read as "kaeshi." When those long separated—my homeland (Naniwa Port being considered part of Yamato Province)—returned home, their taboos were lifted. The items fashioned into undergarments and skirts clinging closely to both their bodies came to be conflated due to their use in chastity garments like fumodashi. Thus, the cords were by no means equivalent to undergarments—let alone chastity belts in significance. The cord faith evident in *Kojiki* and *Nihon Shoki* held broader meaning. So long as cords containing guardian spirits tied by wives or lovers remained fastened, a tabooed custom arose around them. There appears to have been no practice of using lower undergarment cords as markers for desire-related taboos.

It was for this reason that travelers’ songs frequently addressed the cord out of concern to prevent their wives’ souls from escaping. This practice gave rise to the poetic sensibility of longing for one’s spouse. At the same time, they had come to believe that a portion of their own soul remained separated within the bed of their family home. This gave birth to customs invoking references to home, bedding, and pillows.

"I shall not row to that inlet shore where soul-binding seaweed is cut."
"The space around this steadfast pillow—I find myself unable to forget it." (Volume 1)

Even these songs by Umakai make me visualize with peculiar frequency today—the state of the bed where my pillow lies proves difficult to dismiss from mind. When such expressions emerged, it signaled ill omens that made them dread sea voyages.

Soul Multiplication Rituals

In the eastern provinces, there seems to have been a custom of welcoming travelers' souls onto tree branches and enshrining them. This too appears to have been the beloved's ritual role. This practice is called soul multiplication.

In the soul multiplication grove at Aratama’s village border, having set you up, I cannot go forth.
The beloved—do not go before (Volume 14).

In Kamitsukeno, breaking the young sanu stems for soul multiplication—I shall wait.
Even if you send no word (Volume 14).

Kibe referred to structures such as palisades surrounding villages' outer perimeters.
Aratama was a pillow word.
Because this became prevalent around Aratama District in Tōtōmi Province, they used the place name as a pillow word to introduce 'ki'.
The place-name theory for kibe was flawed.

At the village border, they performed the soul multiplication ritual. They cut trees and transferred souls into them; this constituted soul multiplication. However, this soul multiplication carried the significance of multiplying divided spirits and inducing their fission. "At the farewell rite for departure, beloved. If I make you stand and see me off, I cannot go forth. Beloved. Go ahead and return first." This interpretation was likely close in meaning. Later scholars, owing to Kōzuke folk songs, referred to the tree as sanu—or satsu—thus linking it to the place name Sano. The term kukudachi was easily mistaken for young grass stems but likely denoted the terminal part of a tree's sprouting core. It was by breaking this that they performed soul multiplication.—Does 'oru' signify repetition?—"The traveler’s message: It has not come frequently of late. Even should this continue, I—through soul multiplication—will perform the welcoming incantation." This line of interpretation was likely valid. Then,

At the Asuha no Kami in the household precincts, [we] will offer wooden branches; I shall perform purification rites.
Until I return (Volume 20).

From their avoidance of phrasing it as "dedicating to the gods," we see they targeted spirits instead.
Asuha no Kami being a hearth deity meant this also concerned the hearth itself.
In the hearth—or perhaps before it—they would erect soul-multiplying branches (?), while I, the traveler, purified and enshrined my soul here.
The song's attribution to the traveler himself—with its implied meaning of "being drawn back"—was likely a transmission error.
This poem's meaning becomes clear without resorting to notions of divine enshrinement.
Though naive, it paradoxically strikes us as remarkably modern—

When I see the drooping pine branches, it seems the ritualist watches over me—Mokoro where they once stood (Volume 20).

This became impossible to appreciate as a poem merely about observing rows of pine trees during a journey.
It did not appear to depict simply swaying trees in formation.
When seeing pine trunks bending low—their aged yet flourishing branches drooping—at the purification gate where pine boughs bowed (whether shrine hall, family member, or ritualist), the traveler found himself watched from behind. This represented the exact form of the soul-multiplying pine erected by those remaining at home to protect him from afar.
This was believed to manifest the vigorous semblance of the soul-multiplying tree dedicated to oneself—flourishing at the site where household souls were enshrined and pacified.
Thus did my soul at home remain settled and thrive.
the traveler who uttered: "The area around the firmly laid pillow—I find it impossible to forget"
A particular type of anxiety tended to emerge during soul-pacification rites for journeying souls.

Mokoro man had become fixed in the Yamato region as referring to men of equal standing, rank, or peerage. However, this appeared to be one of the forms in which divinatory hexagrams manifested. It was thought to involve seeing future fates, distant things, and the current state of affairs exactly as they were. It represented both the focal point of soul pacification songs at travel lodgings and the appearance of purification gates at rural homes in distant lands—a complex, archaic mode of thought from which descriptive scenes and meditative lyrical poetry expressing homesickness under night’s veil were beginning to diverge.

I had previously discussed the term *soul multiplication* elsewhere. Rituals such as Gion Forest, Matsubayashi, and Hayashida-gaku all involved cutting trees from mountains to form the central elements of ceremonial floats for festivals and Shinto rites. These took forms resembling mountains or festival carts. The musical dances performed by processions following these floats were all termed soul multiplication. The semantic association with characters like “hayashi” emerged much later. When felling trees for rituals, they spoke thus as entities possessing their own spirits. “Nanakusa Bayashi” too was an instance where auspicious phrases were employed in spring rites. In Kōzuke and Shimotsuke regions, cutting daikon and carrot stems was called *soul multiplication*—though this could not be deemed an ancient usage from the “sanu no kukudachi” song context, it remained an intriguing parallel.

Just as the ancient rituals held profound significance, soul multiplication too encompassed the act of cutting trees to welcome and pacify souls.
It expanded even further in later generations.
It appeared that soul multiplication rituals were not performed by the beloved from start to finish.
However, when one observed that even the wild grasses of the fields and the sacred trees of the mountains were first cut with blades by the chief priestess—who served as the sake-brewing maiden for the Yuki and Suki regions of the Daijōsai—such forms of ritual practice could indeed be imagined.

Spirit-Releasing Birds

In the lives of China's Son of Heaven and feudal lords, adorning forests, ponds, gardens, and parks constituted an essential requirement.
They confined exotic beasts in pens and kept rare birds in free-range conditions.
These arboreal and aquatic amusements from advanced nations appear to have been imitated in our own land.
The "Island Palace" of Asuka-kyō—likely confiscated from the Soga clan's former woodland springs—seems to have derived its name from spring-fed ponds and island-dotted shores.
Moreover, this came to represent such practices, leading parklands to be called *shima* and mountain retreats *yama* by contrast—or so it appears.
This was a palace site deserving commemoration in our nation's garden design history.

It was Prince Kusakabe who, residing in that detached palace as the Regent Prince, was posthumously honored with the title Hinamishirashishi Ōji no Mikoto and a native-style posthumous name. Following his passing, the twenty-three elegies likely composed by the palace attendants of that residence—apparently ghostwritten by Hitomaro—seem to be soul pacification songs chanted near the end of their service period as they traveled between the Island Palace and the burial mound at Tan Hill; these poems reference the released birds in the Island Palace’s pond in up to three instances.

Island Palace, released birds of the upper pond—do not grow wild and depart.
Even if our lord does not return,

Mitatashi Island’s birds who make even this isle your home—do not grow wild and depart.
Until the years change

The gosling raised in the coop—if it leaves the nest, fly back to Tan Hill (Volume 2).

They expressed future hopes to the birds.
These were all things cherished by the Imperial Prince; to attribute the sentiment solely to that would be reductive.
Yet even at Emperor Tenji’s passing, an imperial poem by the Empress survives: “The birds my great lord cherished take flight,” urging ritualists not to drive away the lake’s waterfowl.
Many other songs voiced sorrow through birds.

At first glance, this might have appeared to concern merely birds cherished by the deceased, yet it actually represented a mode of thought developed from ancient ritual forms. People had sometimes believed that birds—particularly waterfowl—manifested souls in concrete form. They were further considered transporters of spirits and even temporary dwellings for wandering souls. The “birds’ leisurely swimming” attributed to Kotoshironushi no Kami and attempts to divine meaning through the revered swan’s cry both reflected this faith that utilized waterfowl in soul pacification rituals. The white bird associated with Yamato Takeru—said to transform into an eight-fathom plover—was likewise understood as a soul’s manifestation. From ancient through modern times, numerous avian species served as spirit vessels: swans, cranes, wild geese, herons. Swans and wild geese stood out particularly as birds of Tokoyo-no-kuni, that blissful realm of longevity and fortune. Wild geese became central to essential court poetry through the legendary exchange between Emperor Nintoku and Takeshi/Uchi no Sukune, where a goose laying an egg was interpreted as an auspicious omen. The so-called wild goose goslings at the Island Palace likely bore that name only nominally—they were probably duck-goose hybrids or domesticated waterfowl. Even Heian-period references to “wild goose chicks” appear to denote duck eggs. These Island Palace birds could thus be established as substitute animals bearing traditional names for longevity celebrations.

In ordinary times as well, they kept waterfowl and sought to stabilize souls by observing them.
In times of emergency—such as grave illness, loss of consciousness, or death—they were made the target objects for soul retrieval.
In the ritual methods of the Izumo provincial governor, swans were employed.
This stood in contrast to the Soga clan’s use of wild geese.
Upon the succession of a provincial governor, they attended court for two consecutive years to present the "Shinagoto" ritual prayers.
All the tribute items were kotohogi offerings from the provincial governor’s household, but among them, the live offering of white swans was an especially important ritual object.
They referred to the swans as "playthings."
This was done to enshrine the divine spirit inherent in swans within the sacred body; by observing them daily, they sought to suppress the dispersion of souls.
Even swans gradually came to be substituted with other white-feathered birds.
Herons were among them.

The names "kari ga ne" and "tazu"—terms connected to swans, cranes, and wild geese—were particularly noted for their calls; this arose from listening intently to their high-pitched cries during flight. As birds defined by their vocalizations, people eventually began using these cries in suffix-like formations—through which "tazu" and "wild goose" came to signify the birds themselves. At the Island Palace, waterfowl saw their original ritual significance as sacred talismans gradually forgotten as this ancient purpose merged with cultural emulation of Chinese-style garden ornamentation. Thus even in poetry, such chronological rationalization permeated formal structures—yielding superficially coherent expressions like “birds of longing” or “released birds of cherished memory”—yet when one traces the developmental sequence through *hogi* songs, protective incantations, and soul-summoning chants, these verses chronicle transformations spanning centuries. One would come to recognize how poetic expressions—so meticulously refined to avoid clashing with later generations’ comprehension or sensibilities—possess origins entirely divorced from modern expectations.

Sumemima

The Kojiki and Nihon Shoki had already prioritized such interpretations, while the etymological theory embraced by later scholars—equating imperial descendants with *sumemima*—understood no more than secondary significance within Shinto's historical development. Even when examining imperial edicts like those in the Shoku Nihongi, *mima* signified "sacred person"—the physical form of the court's foremost figure, that august flesh wherein divine spirits should dwell. This form had branched into two variations from the prototype of edicts: traditions following the Kojiki and Nihon Shoki rationalized it through new interpretation as signifying sacred descendants, while pseudo-archaic edicts inheriting one branch established it as "sacred person." Therefore, I conclude the second-person honorific *mimashi* must undoubtedly relate to this.

This mima or ōmima—the sacred flesh—and mana—the divine spirits—were entities that could never be conceived as separate.
The name of this foreign soul was originally *hi*.
After *hi* had spread over all spiritual phenomena, it underwent differentiation.
The primordial form became “sun,” while its transformations manifested as *hi* and *mi*—Naobi, Magatsuhi, Tsukuyomi, Yamatsumi, Umitsumi—forging pathways toward the gods.
Those who could make this *hi* touch their own bodies were called Hinomiko.
It was the Great Yamato Lord who inherited this *hi*.

Among other village chiefs and local lords as well, this faith was partially shared and gradually took hold.
In such cases, they called this *yo*.
When *hi* became fixed, *yo* came to be substituted; furthermore, the significance of *yo* shifted to mean the period of its replacement, ultimately signifying a single lifetime.
However, when examining examples such as Arasei and Wasei, *yo* retained its meaning of "soul" as a compound term.
In that case, both the term *mi* meaning "body" and the term *hito* meaning "living people" refer to physical forms imbued with potent power.

The fundamental purpose of our writing about the lives of the Manyoshu people was to state that the populace's lives constituted an extension of village chiefs' lives, and that the ritual practices of the children of the sun had become generalized. People were indeed a chosen people. The original meaning of "to" remains unclear, but even when examining the Kojiki and Nihon Shoki, we find it consistently used in names of entities existing between gods and humans. The meaning of this *hito* transformed into that of active divine practitioners who participated in provincial and village rituals.

Holding divine will as an august decree, those who served as attendants for the lord appearing in the world directly beneath heaven—the realm below the sky—were the *hito*. Therefore, until modern times, villagers had necessarily become *hito*.

The traditions of Aohitogusa and Ama no Masuhito had undergone rationalization by reciters predating the Kojiki and Nihon Shoki. Yet those entering the concept of *hito* amounted to nothing more than entities manifesting to serve in divine rites. The Okinawan language inadvertently corroborated this. The ancient terms *suji*, *seji*, and *shiji*—denoting "spirit" rather than "god"—also came to signify provincial lords. When taking the nominalizing suffix *a*, they became *sujyaa*, taking on the meaning of "human." From being the foremost figure in divine rites, this extended to all divine practitioners.

Our ancient people too were thus an extension of the lord who served as head of the divine practitioners. Among these people, there existed a distinction based on gender. *Ko* were male, and *me* were female. This was likely akin to the opposition between *kito* and *mi*. The lord would perpetually receive divine spirits and be resurrected. From such a belief, the previous lord became none other than the exact same person as the successor lord. This ideology also manifests in how successive generations of gods and lords came to be regarded as Sumemima—a secondary meaning—in relation to Amaterasu Ōmikami. The most rational and theologized expression of this appears in the poem composed during the temporary enshrinement of Prince Hinachishikō (by Hitomaro).

At the beginning of heaven and earth (per Yamada Yoshio’s theory)... When the gods ordained their divine will, Amaterasu Ōmikami—having illuminated the heavens—surveyed the Land of Ashihara no Mizuho from the realm where heaven and earth met. With the divine decree to rule, she parted the eightfold layers of celestial clouds, and the radiant Prince Hinachishikō descended in reverence. In Asuka’s Pure-Viewing Plain, he reigned as a god incarnate over the nation governed by the Sacred Ancestor. Then he opened the Heavenly Rock Gate and ascended—ascended to divine heights.
(Up to this point: matters concerning Emperor Tenmu)

Tenmu was regarded as a direct descendant of the Great Deity.
At the beginning of heaven and earth, even that first lord bearing divine decrees remained indistinguishable in matters of faith.

This extended even to those of lowly status.
After the state was organized, all powerful clans within Yamato were addressed by their sovereign with honorifics signifying high rank.
Such practices became commonplace among these groups and were uniformly applied to both lower-ranking clans like kakibe and higher-ranking tomobe within Yamato's courtly hierarchy.
Those who conducted rituals in provincial villages were *otoko*, while shrine maidens serving alongside them were called *otome*.

*otome* and *otoko*

For *otome* and *otoko*, it was customary in the Manyoshu to assign characters such as 未通女 ("unwed women") and 壮夫 ("able-bodied men"). However, I found it difficult to determine whether the character 通 ("passed through") indicated abstaining from marriage with men or not yet reaching sexual maturity. While *otoko* seemed to have moved beyond the *wakuko* period of youth, they appeared to be treated as full-fledged members of society more readily than *otome*.
But this too represents a widespread misunderstanding.

Wot carried the meaning of revival or return to origin; those men and women who took turns serving in divine rites were accordingly termed wot-ko and wot-me.

At Fujiwara’s Grand Shrine service—may shrine maidens continue to appear; their companionship makes a splendid sight indeed! (Volume 1)

Even when examining this song, one could perceive the faith in shrine maidens of the court alternately appearing to serve at the grand shrine.

The succession into this *otome* role had a fixed term of years.
It was only upon obtaining the qualification for this divine service that one became an *otome*.
Up to this point, receiving the Initiation into Womanhood had been a prerequisite.

The *otome* who had received the Initiation into Womanhood had indeed gained the qualification to become the god’s bride.
The life leading up to that point was lived with utmost devotion.
Even men had to avoid violating this as ritual impurity.
The girls who had reached this stage likely wore headbands decorated with cotton flowers or bird feathers.
This was the hane-kazura.

Hane-kazura—now adorning this maiden in her fresh youth—ah, how clear the sound of Iso River’s waters! (Volume 7)

Hane-kazura—now adorning this maiden in her fresh youth—they smile and fume, untying the cords that were fastened (Volume 11).

Hane-kazura—now adorning this maiden—I see her in my dreams and yearn for her endlessly within my heart. (Yakamochi—Volume 4)

Hane-kazura—now adorning this maiden—yet she was not here.
What manner of maiden is this—here she is longed for (Girl—Volume 4).

He wished to avoid a detailed explanation at this time.
"The phrase 'adorned with hane-kazura' represented a pattern preserved in the Manyoshu from such ritual practices."
Merely by saying *hane-kazura*, they knew this referred to a girl awaiting the Initiation into Womanhood to qualify for the village’s divine rites.
The custom of wearing black headgear in men’s coming-of-age ceremonies during the later dynasty—in form—was the *hane-kazura*.

After a period of abstinent life during these observances, they became *otoko* and *otome*.

However, while *otoko* were permitted sexual liberation from the very night of the festival, *otome*—being unable to meet anyone outside the gods—came to be considered women without husbands: virgins or uninitiated maidens.

Starting with the Saigū (Ise Priestess), Nakatsuhime was a divine *otome*, not a human *se no kimi*.
Only the spirit beings that manifested as gods during rituals had existed up to that point.
Such faith spread from the shrine maidens of provincial villages to those of individual households, shaping both high and low into a single lifestyle of *otome*.

Ministers and Commoners

Becoming *otoko* was not easily achieved among aristocratic youths.
Therefore, they continued to be called *woguna*—a term contrasted with *okina* (elder)—or *wakugo*.
Unless one became a lord, full qualification could not be attained.
In lordly households, the historical reality that *miko* shrine maidens and Ōkimi lords were not recognized as unified roles until modern times becomes evident.
Gradually, authorities came to acknowledge a semi-adult status through titles like *Hitsugi no Miko* and Prince’s Majesty.
Yet even these amounted to nothing more than the divine authority held by princes under Nakatsuhime from earlier eras.
The terms *woguna*, *wakugo*, or *wake*—meaning “distinction”—found before the Manyoshu era refer precisely to this reality.
Even among scions of the court and noble houses—those who had not grown beards eight fists long reaching their chests—they had to bear names like Homuchiwake, Homutawake, Yamato Woguna (per the Kojiki and Nihon Shoki), or Kume no Wakugo (per the Manyoshu).
When these commemorative events or incidents arose that stirred impulses within court and clan histories, their names came to be transmitted through regional villagers and organized groups.
The division of minor clans bearing compound surnames in fact aimed to obtain sacred status through such ritual offices.

In the later dynasty, senior nobles of the upper class were called Upper Courtiers (Kugyō). This was undoubtedly because they regarded the court as a shrine and termed the place where Tomomawari no Osami and Omi served as kamudachi. At Ise Grand Shrine, the character ※ (广+寺) was used, while at other shrines, it was referred to as a divine hall. This signified an offering preparation area for the gods. In ancient times, this had likely been the waiting area within the inner court where they served. The term me inherently related to be, both signifying a communal group. From among this group, those who attended upon the lord’s seat day and night were the Machigimi and Mahetsugimi. Even among the Mahetsugimi, once people from old noble clans began to intermix, this came to be called Ōmahetsugimi. Omi was a term for retainers and followers who maintained some reserve toward the lord, while Ōmahetsu-kimi was a term entirely for those serving under the lord as subordinates.

In the households of these Omi and shrine priest-provincial governors across the provinces, traditions akin to those of the court were practiced.
And thus, upon both the households of those minor clans and the people of subordinate villages, the court’s religious practices gradually exerted influence and bred conflation.
In some regions they prioritized ritual purification, while in certain provinces they resolved similar matters through exorcism rites.
This confusion led them to conflate ritual purification—meant to await auspicious events—with exorcism rites that served as means to atone for and discard inauspicious events.

In regions where purification rites were performed, the abstinent lives of male and female ritual deities during the rainy season were termed "rain obstruction" or "prolonged rain taboo."
This was rationalized through the Great Purification Ritual.
The pre-planting taboo observance of those destined to become village men—individuals undergoing coming-of-age initiation—constituted precisely this practice.
They gradually refined these observances and came to believe they originated from court-inherited incantations.

*Ama-tsu-tsumi* emerged as an origin narrative explaining the prolonged taboo life of costumed ritual deities and shrine maidens—the Early Maidens—during rice planting preparations in villages.
These practices reflected the lives of commoners—particularly Izumo residents.
Susanoo-no-Mikoto had been a deity who ravaged rice fields.
Thus did he pledge through purification rites to cease devastating crops—a vow enacted in the domain of the Izumo provincial governor.
Those ancient customs directly became terrestrial incantatory methods.
Therefore, the rituals performed by deities manifesting in village paddies were song-dance ceremonies of divine beings from settlements adopting powerful clans' customs.
At such times, even the shrine maidens' conduct at these events merely replicated those traditions.

My discussion concluded without fully delineating both the genesis of the Manyoshu's contents and the faith-based life that formed the foundation of the Manyo people's existence.
However, if this paper can anticipate even a modicum of effectiveness, then past research cannot be perfected through descriptions of antiquity alone.
I believe its significance lies in cultivating an awareness that one must perpetually account for continuity extending into modern times.