Chapter One

Poetic Topics and the Making of the Four Seasons

One of the major reasons for the prominence of nature and the four seasons in Japanese literary and visual culture is the impact of Japanese poetry, particularly the thirty-one-syllable waka (classical poetry), the main literary genre of the premodern period. Indeed, all the major types of Japanese poetry—kanshi (Chinese-style poetry), waka, renga (classical linked verse), and haikai (popular linked verse)—use natural themes extensively.

Nature as Metaphor

In an East Asian tradition going back to the Six Dynasties period (220–589) in China, poetry was generally expected to do one of three things: express emotions or thoughts (jō) directly, describe a “scene” (kei) directly, or express emotion or thought through a scene. Since it was generally preferable in the Heian period (794–1185) to express emotions and thoughts indirectly, elegantly, and politely, the third option became the primary mode of social exchange. Love poetry is often associated with the first technique, and nature poetry with the second, but the third became the preferred mode for both nature and love poetry. Even those poems that appear on the surface to describe only landscape or nature serve to express particular emotions or thoughts. Japanese poetry rarely uses overt metaphor (for example, “My love is a rose”). Instead, the description of a flower, a plant, an animal, or a landscape became an implicit description of a human or an internal state. Metonymy, especially the construction of a larger scene from a small detail, also played a crucial role, particularly in short forms like waka and seventeen-syllable hokku (opening verse of renga sequence). From the perspective of the reader, all such poetry will potentially have a surface (literal) meaning and a deeper meaning. Representations of nature in aristocratic visual culture—whether painting, poetry, or design—are thus seldom simply decorative or mimetic; they are almost always culturally and symbolically encoded, and that encoding tends to evolve with time and genre.

The “harmony” between the natural and human spheres that exists in waka and waka-related genres and media derives in part from a prominent rhetorical feature that we might call doubleness, in which the text operates at two levels simultaneously. One of the major features of waka is the frequent use of puns (kakekotoba) and engo (words culturally or phonetically linked), which allows two levels (usually human and natural) to coexist in a compact form. Mount Fuji, for example, which appeared in poetry from as early as the eighth century, was associated with omohi (melancholy thoughts), which had a homophone suffix hi (fire) that implied both volcanic fire and smoldering passion. Thus to compose a poem in the Heian period on the smoke of Mount Fuji, which was a live volcano at that time, was implicitly to compose on the topic of love. The two primary topics in waka were the seasons and love, with love being implicit in the seasonal poems and the seasons and nature being the primary expressions of love.

Two major Chinese poetry anthologies, dating to the Six Dynasties period, that had a huge impact on Heian and subsequent Japanese poetry were the yutai xinyong (Jp. Gyokudai shin’ei; New Songs of the Jade Terrace), compiled by Xu Ling (507–583), and the Wen xuan (Jp. Monzen; Selections of Refined Literature), compiled in the Liang era (502–557). The seasons, particularly autumn and spring, are important in Six Dynasties poetry, and many of these seasonal associations would emerge in Japanese poetry. Chinese poetry anthologies were organized by author, genre, and style, a pattern that Japanese poetry anthologies initially followed, but a significant difference emerged in that Japanese waka anthologies, beginning with books 8 and 10 of the Man’yōshū and culminating in the Kokinshū and subsequent imperial waka anthologies, also carefully arranged the poems on an elaborate temporal and seasonal grid so that attention was paid to all phases of the seasons. The prominence of seasonal poetry is evident in the Kokinshū, whose first five books are devoted to the seasons.

In the course of the Heian period, a broad range of natural objects acquired specific seasonal associations. The result was that much of Japanese nature poetry became seasonal poetry. For example, deer (shika) live in Japan all year round, but in classical Japanese poetry the image of the deer became associated with autumn and with the mournful, lonely cries of the stag looking for his mate. The deer thus became the embodiment of a particular emotional state as well as a seasonal marker of autumn and was coupled with other autumnal topics, such as bush clover (hagi) and dew, to form part of a larger grammar of seasonal poetry. Each seasonal topic generated a cluster of associations, and the seasons themselves (along with famous poetic places) developed associative clusters that became part of a cultural vocabulary.

The Man’yōshū and the Emergence of Seasonal Poetry

The seasonal associations were first developed by waka poets in the Nara period (710–784) and then refined and systematized by waka poets in the Heian and Kamakura (1185–1333) periods, before being inherited by renga (classical linked verse) poets in the Muromachi period (1392–1573) and then radically expanded by haikai (popular linked verse) poets in the Edo period (1600–1867). There is little seasonal poetry until the mid-seventh century, in the ancient songs of the two early chronicles, the Kojiki (Record of Ancient Matters, 712) and Nihon shoki (Chronicles of Japan, 720), or in the earliest songs and poetry of the Man’yōshu (Collection of Ten Thousand Leaves, ca. 759). Seasonal poetry began to emerge only in the late seventh century and finally came to the fore in the eighth century, particularly after the move to the new capital at Heijō (Nara) in 710. The seasonal poems collected in books 8 and 10 of the Manyōshu, which date mainly from the first half of the eighth century, were organized by season and by topic. These seasonal topics, which remained remarkably consistent over the next thousand years, gradually increased and evolved over time.

A wide variety of plants are identified in early texts up through the reign of Emperor Tenji (626–671; r. 668–671). They serve a broad range of practical purposes—from food; through medicine, building materials, and dyes; to clothing. But in poetry, the focus is on evergreens and flowering trees, both of which were believed to have special magical powers. The only seasons to draw attention are spring and autumn, notably in the famous chōka (long poem [Man’yōhū 1:16]) by Princess Nukata (fl. late seventh century), in which she debates the relative merits of spring and autumn. The early prominence of spring and autumn can probably be traced to two causes: the prominence of these two seasons in Chinese poetry, and the agricultural roots of seventh-century society. Spring was the time for planting, while autumn was the season for harvesting the five grains (gokoku). Various annual observances were carried out in the spring (such as land viewing [kuni-mi], gathering new herbs, and fence poem fests [utagaki]) to pray for prosperity, a rich harvest, long life, and fertility;¹ in the autumn, another set of annual observances was performed to offer thanks for the harvest.

In the mid-seventh century and even earlier, spring was the more prominent season than autumn, probably because of its connection to various rituals related to the New Year and prayers for fertility. However, Princess Nukata’s long poem, which favors autumn, suggests that by the reign of Emperor Tenji, autumn had come to overshadow spring. The impact of Chinese poetry, which is partial to autumn, probably played a major role in this shift of interest. Significantly, Nukata focuses only on bright yellow leaves (momichi) as the representative image of autumn and does not mention bush clover ([agi), the autumn moon, wild geese, or autumn mist (kiri), all of which became major autumn topics in the late seventh and eighth centuries.

The number of seasonal poems grew in the so-called second Man’yōshu period (672–710), including one on the movement of the seasons attributed to Empress Jitō (645–702; r. 690–697): “It seems that spring has gone and summer has arrived: hanging out to dry, the white hemp robes at Heavenly Kagu Mountain” (Haru sugite natsu kitaru rashi shirotae no koromo hoshitari Ame no Kaguyama [1:28]). Another characteristic of poetry of this period is the combination of seasonal motifs: “Small cuckoo, do not sing so much! Not until I can pass your voice through the jewels of the Fifth Month” (Ho-totogisu itaku na naki so na ga koe wo satsuki no tama ni aenuku made ni [8:1465]).² The poet tells the small cuckoo (later to be a major summer topic) that it should not cry until its voice can pass through the fruit (jewel) of the mandarin orange (tachibana), which became the primary poetic plant of summer. These seasonal poems also show empathy toward animals and plants, as in this poem attributed to Emperor Okamoto, whom scholars believe to be Emperor Jomei (593–641; r. 629–641): “The deer at Ogura Mountain, which cries when evening arrives, appears to have fallen asleep tonight without crying” (Yū sareba Ogura no yama ni naku shika wa koyoi wa nakazu inenikerashi mo [8:1511]). The deer, presented as a lonely stag seeking his mate, becomes an implicit metaphor for the poet’s internal state. Speculation on the movement of the seasons, the use of different seasonal motifs, and empathy for or identification with a plant or an animal—all became enduring features of Japanese nature poetry.

Seasonal poetry did not come into its own until the early eighth century, particularly in the Tenpyō era (729–749) and the so-called third Man’yōshu period (710–733), when Chinese poetry flourished in Japan, bringing with it a strong awareness of the seasons, particularly spring and autumn. Most of these poems are found in books 8 and 10 of the Man’yōshū, which are divided into miscellaneous poems (zōa) and love poems (sōmon). The love poems use images of nature and the seasons to express longing and love, as in this spring poem: “[(A poem sent by Ōtomo no Yakamochi to the daughter of the Sakanoue family) How I wish the seeds of the pink that I planted in my garden would quickly turn to flower—I will watch them as if they were you” (Wa ga yado ni makishi nadeshiko itsushika mo hana ni sakinamu nasoe-tsutsu mimu [8:1448]). The pink (nadeshiko), a flower that homophonically implies “stroked / petted (nade) child (ko)” is planted in the spring with the expectation of blossoms (fruition of love) in the autumn. In contrast to book 8, which names the authors of the poems, thus providing a historical backdrop to the development of seasonal poetry,³ the poems in book 10 are basically anonymous and are organized by such topics such as birds, spring mist, willow, flowers, moon, and rain.

Books 8 and 10 of the Man’yōshū represent a major break from the earlier books of the anthology, which were structured around three basic genres: Zōka (miscellaneous poems), sōmon (love poems), and banka (elegies).⁴ In the early books of the Man’yōshū, the miscellaneous poems, which are often long poems, were composed at the imperial palace or on imperial excursions, particularly to detached palaces at Yoshino and Naniwa, where homage was paid to high royalty and to sovereigns, who were treated as gods. When these miscellaneous poems became private banquet poetry, around the Tenpyō era, the poetry, increasingly in the short, thirty-one-syllable waka form, came to focus on seasonal animals, plants, and atmospheric conditions—such as bush warbler, small cuckoo, mandarin orange, bush clover, and mist—instead of the gods and high royalty who had been celebrated earlier.

The series of thirty-two plum-blossom poems composed at the residence of the courtier Ōtomo no Tabito (665–731), in the First Month of 730, is the earliest recorded seasonal banquet poetry in the Man’yōshū (5:815–846). More than thirty people attended this banquet, which followed the model of kanshi (Chinese-style poetry) banquets on plum blossoms and which was held in Dazaifu, in Kyushu, which was a bridge to continental culture at the time.⁵ A good example from this banquet is: “Plum blossoms mixing with the lingering snow, do not scatter quickly even if the snow disappears!” (Nokoritaru yuki ni majireru ume no hana hayaku na chiri so yuki wa kenu tomo [5:849]).⁶ In a manner that anticipates Heian-period waka, the poem personifies nature and addresses it as though it were a friend or lover.

The degree to which books 8 and 10 of the Man’yōshū were read in the He-ian period is unclear, but there is no doubt that the custom and tradition of composing and collecting seasonal poems began in the early eighth century, providing the initial cluster of seasonal associations, and continued to grow in the Heian period to the point where it became the dominant poetic practice.

The Kokinshū and the Establishment of Seasonal Poetry

The organization and content of the seasonal poems in the Kokinshū (Collection of Japanese Poems Old and New, ca. 905), the first imperial waka anthology, became the model for the culture of the four seasons for the next thousand years. The Kokinshū, which was the object of poetic reference and allusion throughout the Heian period and had become the most influential classical text by the early thirteenth century, opens with six books (maki) on the seasons: two on spring, one on summer, two on autumn, and one on winter. The editors of the Kokinshū, no doubt drawing inspiration from books 8 and 10 of the Man’yōshū arranged the seasonal books (with a total of 342 poems) around topical clusters, but they did not label them, as had the editors of book 10 of the Man’yōshū.⁷ Instead, the topics are implicit but carefully organized, laid out in temporal sequence to create a larger temporal and cosmological order:

SPRING

Book 1. Beginning of spring, spring mist, bush warbler, snow, new herbs, green willow, returning wild geese, plum blossoms, cherry blossoms

Book 2. Scattering cherry blossoms, flowers in bloom, scattering flowers, wisteria, yellow kerria, passing spring, end of spring

SUMMER

Book 3. Waiting for the Fifth Month, small cuckoo, mandarin-orange blossoms, deutzia flowers, lotuses, summer rain, summer night, pinks, end of summer

AUTUMN

Book 4. Beginning of autumn, autumn wind, Star Festival, autumn moon, insects, pine crickets, cicadas, wild geese, deer, bush clover, white dew, yellow valerian (maiden flower), boneset, miscanthus grass in ear, autumn grasses

Book 5. Storm, bright foliage, chrysanthemums, fallen leaves, late autumn, end of Ninth Month

WINTER

Book 6. Beginning of winter, snow, plum blossoms in snow, end of the year

The cycle of the seasons in the Kokinshū is not a reflection of the natural environment. Extensive attention is given to spring and autumn (two long books each), with a heavy concentration of poems on a small number of topics—plum blossoms, cherry blossoms, small cuckoo, autumn moon, bright foliage, and snow—which occupy more than half of the six seasonal books. The summer (thirty-four poems) and winter (twenty-nine poems) books are extremely short and are dominated by small cuckoo and snow, respectively. In short, the editors of the Kokinshū did not attempt to represent the actual seasonal plants and animals but instead concentrated on the topics and seasons that they considered to have the highest cultural and poetic value.

The Creation of Spring

Spring came at the beginning of all the imperial waka anthologies, giving it extreme political and cultural importance, particularly because the emperor or retired emperor, who commissioned the anthologies, was their most important reader and patron. Early spring also coincided with the New Year, a major annual observance and a felicitous time, as is evident in the poems on new herbs (wakana) and “pulling up the small pine” (komatsu-hiki) on the first Day of the Rat (Nenohi). Under the luni-solar calendar, spring began on the first day of the First Month and finished at the end of the Third Month (the equivalent of February 4 to May 4). The weather at the start of spring was thus very cold and resembled that of winter.

In the kokinshū four topics mark the arrival of spring: snow (Spring 1, nos. 3–9), the bush warbler (nos. 10–16), spring mist, and thawing ice. The most prominent of these is the bush warbler (uguisu), a small sparrow-like bird with a white belly and feathers of an uguisu color (a mix of green, brown, and black), which in spring descended to the city from the surrounding hills and valleys, where it was thought to hide during the winter (figure 4). As a poem by Ōe no Chisato notes, the voice of the bush warbler was thought to signal the arrival of spring: “Without the voice of the warbler that comes out of the valley, how would we know the arrival of spring?” (Uguisu no tani yori izuru koe naku wa haru kuru koto wo tare ka shiramashi [Spring 1, no. 14]). Mist (kasumi) also meant the coming of spring: “On the Heavenly Hills of Kaguyama, the mist trails this evening—spring must have arrived!” (Hi-sakata no Ame no Kaguyama kono yūbe kasumi tanabiku haru tatsu rashimo [Man’yōshū 10:1812]).⁸ By the time of the shūshū (Collection of Gleanings, 1005–1007), the third imperial waka anthology, mist had become the primary marker of the advent of spring (Spring, nos. 1–4), arriving via the mountains, a stance characteristic of subsequent imperial waka anthologies.⁹ As Kawamura Teruo has shown, spring was envisioned as coming by way of the famous mountains (such as Mount Kagu and Mount Kasuga) in the Yamato basin, the former capital at Shiga (Ōtsu), and Yoshino, a detached imperial palace to the south of present-day Nara visited thirty-three times by Empress Jitō,¹⁰ thus paying homage to the old capital (furuki miyako) and to the former sites of imperial glory.

FIGURE 4

BUSH WARBLER ON RED PLUM BRANCH

The bush warbler and plum blossom became a major icon of the arrival of spring as early as the time of the Man’yōshū and appears repeatedly in almost every visual and textual genre. This ukiyo-e (1843–1847) by Utagawa Hiroshige (1797–1858) focuses on the red plum (kōbai), rather than the white plum (hakubai) blossom, which was the standard in the Nara period. The woodblock print exemplifies the way in which poem and image, tree and bird, have been closely integrated as seasonal topics since the ancient period. The hokku reads: “The bush warbler: this year too, the voice has not grown old” (Uguisu ya kotoshi mo koe no furukarazu). (Color woodblock print; 13 x 4.4 inches. Courtesy of the Museum of Fine Arts, Boston, William S. and John T. Spaulding Collection, 1921, no. 21.8078)

In the kokinshū, the arrival of spring is followed by the budding of the green willow (Spring 1, nos. 26 and 27), the return north of the wild geese (nos. 30 and 31), and the scent of the plum blossoms (nos. 32–48).¹¹ The buds of the willow (oyanagi), which turn into flowers in the spring, symbolize new life.¹² The plum blossoms, generally thought of as white flowers with five round petals, were admired because they are able to withstand the cold, and in spring poetry they appear with snow. A famous example is Ōtomo no Tabito’s poem composed at the banquet at his residence: “The flowers of the plum tree scatter in my garden—a shower of snow from the heavens!” (Waga sono ni ume no hana chiru hisakata no ame yori yuki no nagare kuru kamo [Man’yōshū, 5:822]). This kind of comparison (later called mitate) of the scattering plum blossoms to falling snow appears frequently in Six Dynasties poetry as well as in Tabito’s own kanshi in the kaifūō (Nostalgic Recollections of Literature, 751]), the oldest anthology of Chinese-style poetry in Japan. These poetic conventions continued into the kokinshū but in contrast to the Man’yōshū where the stress is on the color of the plum blossoms, the overwhelming focus of plum-blossom poems in the Kokinshū is on the scent.¹³ This olfactory emphasis may have come from the new Heian-period incense culture or from the mid-Tang poetry of Bo Juyi (772–846) and other Chinese poets who wrote about the “floating dark scent” of the plum blossoms. A common conceit in the Kokinshū is that neither darkness nor distance can cut off the scent of the plum blossom, as in this poem by Ōshikōchi no Mitsune: “(Composed on the plum blossom on a spring night) The darkness of the spring night makes no sense: the color of the plum flower may not be visible, but can its scent be hidden?” (Haru no yo no yami wa ayanashi ume no hana iro koso miene ka ya wa kakururu [Spring 1, no. 41]). According to one interpretation, the darkness of the spring night represents the parents who attempt to block a suitor from seeing their daughter (plum blossoms), but the suitor (the narrator) claims that they cannot hide her beauty (the scent).

The cluster of topics on early spring (mist, bush warbler, new herbs, willow, and plum) in the Kokinshū is followed by a massive body of poems on cherry blossoms: twenty poems on the cherry trees blooming and twenty-one poems on the cherry blossoms scattering, followed by another fourteen on blossoming flowers and fifteen on scattering flowers. In the Man’yōshū the word “flower” (hana) refers to a wide range of grass and tree flowers. The most popular of these was the plum blossom, with the cherry blossom coming in second. In the Heian period, by contrast, the main flowers of spring became the cherry, plum, and yellow kerria. In the spring books of the kokinshū hana refers primarily to the cherry blossom (sakura), indicating that it had become the supreme flower of spring.¹⁴

The first large group of hana poems in the Kokinshū explores the glory of the cherry blossoms. Cherry trees, which were planted in gardens and throughout the city, become a symbol of the beauty of the capital, leading to the phrase “flower of the capital” (miyako no hana) or “capital of flowers” (hana no miyako), as in this poem by Priest Sosei: “(Composed upon looking over the capital while the cherry blossoms were at their peak) When I look afar, the willow and the cherry blossoms mix together, making the capital a brocade of spring” (Miwataseba yanagi sakura wo kokimazete miyako zo haru no nishiki narikeru [Spring 1, no. 56]). By contrast, the main interest of the cherry blossoms in the second major group of hana poems is the fading and scattering of the flowers, as in Ono no Komachi’s famous poem: “While I gaze out during the long rains, the color of the cherry blossom fades, much like my life, which passes in vain” (Hana no iro wa utsurinikerina ita-zura ni wa ga mi yo ni furu nagame seshi ma ni [Spring 2, no. 113]). plum blossom, which endures even in the snow, the cherry blossom lasts for only a short time, and from the tenth century onward cherry blossom also appears in lament poems (aishō-ka).

The spring books of the Kokinshū come to a close with wisteria (Spring 2, nos. 119 and 120), yellow kerria (nos. 121–125), and the passing of spring (nos. 126–134). The Man’yōshū which has twenty-seven poems on wisteria (fuji), generally focuses on its flowers, with frequent use of the word fuji-nami (wisteria waves), thus associating wisteria with water—a connection that continues into the Kokinshū. In the spring, yellow kerria (yamabuki), sometimes translated as “yellow rose” since it belongs to the rose family,¹⁵ bears small five-petaled yellow flowers at the tip of its slender green trailing branches (figure 5). The name [yamabuki (literally, “mountain blowing”) is said to come from the fact that its branches are weak and easily blown by the wind. In the Man’yōshū which contains seventeen poems on yellow kerria, the flower is frequently found on the bank of a river, often with crying frogs (Kawazu): “The yellow kerria is probably blooming now, its reflection in the Kamunabi River, where the frogs cry” (Kawazu naku Kamunabikawa ni kage miete ima ka sakuramu yamabuki no hana [8:1435]). In the kokinshū the yamabuki continues to appear on the edge of the water, where its flowers are reflected, as in this poem by Ki no Tsurayuki: “(Composed on the yellow kerria blooming on the banks of the Yoshino River) On the banks of the Yo-shino River, the yellow kerria, blown by the wind, have scattered even on the water bottom” (Yoshinogawa kishi no yamabuki fuku kaze ni soko no kage sae utsuroinikeri [Spring 2, no. 124]).¹⁶

FIGURE 5

YELLOW KERRIA AND FROGS

This ukiyo-e (early nineteenth century) by Utagawa Hiroshige (1797–1858) combines yellow kerria, clear river water, and crying frogs—an associative spring cluster that emerged as early as the time of the Man’yōshū and has appeared in multiple media. The waka reads: “The frogs cry, lamenting that even though the spring showers fall there is not even one fruit [raincoat] of the yellow kerria” (Harusame no furu hi nagara mo yamabuki no mi no hitotsu dani naku kaeru kana), which plays on the words mino (straw raincoat) and mi (fruit) and parodies a famous poem in the Goshūishū (Later Collection of Gleanings, 1086): “How strange that though the seven-layered, eight-layered flowers bloom, there is not even one fruit [raincoat] of the yellow kerria” (Nanae yae hana wa sakedomo yamabuki no mi no hitotsu dani naki zo ayashiki [Miscellaneous, no. 1154]). (Color woodblock print; 14.8 x 6.5 inches. Courtesy of the Museum of Fine Arts, Boston, William S. and John T. Spaulding Collection, 1921, no. 21.6793)

The Making of Summer

The summer book of the Kokinshū, much like the summer sections in books 8 and 10 of the Man’yōshū is very short, with summer functioning more like a transitional period between the two major seasons: spring and autumn.¹⁷ In the luni-solar calendar, summer extended from the Fourth Month through the Sixth Month (the equivalent of May 5 to August 6). The arrival of summer was marked by intense heat and high humidity in the Nara and Kyoto areas. Koromogae (changing to summer clothes), the annual custom that marks the arrival of summer, is a time of regret: “Regretfully taking off the sleeves dyed by the colors of the cherry blossoms—how sad it is today, changing to new clothes” (Hana no iro ni someshi tamoto no oshikereba koromogae uki kyō ni mo aru kana [Shūishū Summer, no. 81]).

In the Kokinshū, the small cuckoo (hototogisu) dominates the summer, with twenty-eight of the thirty-four summer poems focusing on this bird—a pattern followed by subsequent imperial waka anthologies. Indeed, the cuckoo came to represent summer much as the cherry blossom came to represent spring; the moon, autumn; and the snow, winter. Since the hototogisu, which has a gray back and a white belly with black-spotted stripes, arrived in the Fourth Month, its singing was thought to mark the beginning of summer, and poets looked forward to its first cry (hatsune). The song of the hototogisu was also thought to increase one’s longing for a lover, as in this poem by Ōtomo no Sakanoue no Iratsume (Lady Sakanoue): “Small cuckoo, please don’t cry so hard! I sleep alone, and when I hear that voice I find it too much to bear” (Hototogisu itaku na naki so hitori ite i no neraenu ni kikeba kurushi mo [Man’yōshū, 8:1484]). From as early as the Man’yōshū the hototogisu was also associated with nostalgia and longing for the past: “When I hear the voice of the small cuckoo, I long even for the village that I left behind” (hototogisu naku koe kikeba wa-karenishi furusato sae zo koishikarikeru [Kokinshū Summer, no. 146]).

The main flower of summer in the Kokinshū is that of the mandarin orange (tachibana). The mandarin orange is often paired with the small cuckoo, much as the bush warbler is paired with the plum blossom in spring.¹⁸ The tachibana, a medium-size evergreen tree with thorny branches, has five-petaled white flowers that have a strong fragrance in the summer. In the Man’yōshū the tachibana was treated primarily as an auspicious plant, with a focus on its evergreen leaves and golden fruit, which were thought to possess magical powers. But in the Heian period and in the kokinshū poets began to point to the scent of the flower, which became associated with memory: “When I catch the scent of the orange blossoms waiting for the Fifth Month, I am reminded of the sleeve of that person of long ago” (Satsuki matsu hanatachibana no ka wo kageba mukashi no hito no sode no ka zo suru [Summer, no. 139]).¹⁹ As a result of this famous poem, the mandarin-orange flower, somewhat like the small cuckoo, became closely associated with personal memory and nostalgia.

Summer rain (samidare) is the most prominent atmospheric topic of summer in the kokinshū comparable to mist in spring and snow in winter. The long, oppressive rains of the Fifth Month (monsoon season)²⁰ first became a major topic in the Heian period, when they became associated with melancholy thoughts. The homophonic association between smidare and midare (troubled) linked the summer rains to depression (mono-omohi) and “tangled” (midare) hair. In short, the summer book of the Kokinshū combines the image of the hototogisu with those of the tachibana and samidare to create an emotionally textured landscape associated with love, memory, and depression.

In contrast to the cold of winter or of early spring, waka poets did not write about the heat of summer, perhaps because it was too unbearable as a topic of composition. Instead, from the mid-Heian period onward, poets turned to the opposite: the topic of coolness in summer or cooling off (nōyō: “(Cooling off at the base of a spring at the Kawara-in) Scooping the water of the well in the shadow of the pines, I think of a year without summer” (Matsukage no iwai no mizu wo musubi-agete natsu naki toshi to omoikeru kana [Shūshū Summer, no. 131]). Poets gravitated to the summer evening, which was seen as a time of cooling off, as in this poem from the Goshūshū (Later Collection of Gleanings, 1086), the fourth imperial waka anthology: “How cool the summer evening! The light of the moon appears to be white frost in the garden” (Natsu no yo mo suzushikarikeri tsukikage wa niwa shirotae no shimo to mietsutsu [Summer, no. 224]). In these poems, the summer nights were thought to be all too brief. No sooner has one fallen asleep than dawn appears.

The Dominance of Autumn

Autumn is the most emphasized season in the Man’yōshū, the kokinshū and subsequent imperial waka anthologies. By the time of the Shinkpkinshū (New Anthology of Poetry Old and New, 1205), the eighth imperial waka anthology, poems about autumn outnumber those on spring by almost three to two. Under the luni-solar calendar, autumn extended from the Seventh Month through the Ninth Month (the equivalent of August 7 to November 6). The beginning of autumn is marked by the lingering and stifling heat of summer, which continues to the end of the Seventh Month. Even tsuki-mi, the annual rite of viewing the harvest moon (meigetsu), which comes in the middle of the Eighth Month, was thought of as an opportunity for cooling off in the Edo period. The coolness associated with autumn in North America and Europe does not come until the latter half of autumn, in the Eighth and Ninth Months.

In the Kokinshū, the arrival of autumn is foreshadowed by wind, as in this noted poem by Fujiwara no Toshiyuki: “Though it is not clear to the eye that autumn has arrived, I find myself surprised by the sound of the wind” (Aki kinu to me ni wa sayaka ni mienedomo kaze no oto ni zo odoro-karenuru [Autumn 1, no. 169]). Autumn is also ushered in by the Star Festival (Tanabata), a major annual observance held on the seventh day of the Seventh Month. According to Chinese legend, two stars, the Herdsman (Kengyū [Altair]) and the Weaver Woman (Shokujo [Vega]), were lovers, but they were punished for a transgression and separated by the Milky Way (Ama-no-gawa). On the seventh day of the Seventh Month, the stars were allowed to meet for one night only. Of the poems on Tanabata in the Man’yōshū (8:1518–1529; 10:1996–2093), a large number were probably composed at Tanabata banquets at the private residences of Ōtomo no Tabito and other courtiers.²¹ The poet often takes the position of the Weaver Woman or the Herdsman and expresses passionate feelings, as in this example by Yama-noue no Okura: “Facing each other across the River of Heaven, it sounds as if the person I love is coming—I shall loosen my sash and wait” (Ama no gawa ai-muki-tachite aga koishi kimi kimasu nari himo tokimakena [Man’yōshū 8:1518]). In the Kokinshū, Tanabata continues to be a major topic, ranking in number of poems behind only bright foliage among autumn topics. One result is that Tanabata serves to integrate the theme of love into early autumn, much as the hototogisu does for early summer.

The full arrival of autumn in the Kokinshū however, comes with the appearance of the light of the autumn moon in the night sky, which is described as eliciting melancholy thoughts from as early as the Man’yōshū(10:2226). However, it was this poem in the Kokinshū that clearly established this image’s poetic essence: “When I see the light of the moon leaking through the trees, I know that the heart-wrenching autumn has arrived” (Ko no ma yori morikuru tsuki no kage mireba kokorozukushi no aki wa ki-nikeri [Autumn 1, no. 184]). Although the moon appears in all four seasons, the association of the moon with autumn was so strong in the imperial waka anthologies that eventually the moon came to symbolize autumn itself.

Adding to the sorrow of the autumn moonlight were the cries of the wild goose (kari). The Man’yōshū has sixty-seven poems on the wild goose, making it second only to the small cuckoo among birds. A good example of the association of loneliness and wild geese is: “Midnight—it seems that the night has grown old. One can see the moon crossing a sky filled with the sound of crying wild geese” (Sayo naka to yowa fukenurashi karigane no kikoyuru sora wo tsuki wataru miyu [9:1701]). The “crying voices” ([karigane) of the wild geese came to refer to the geese themselves. In the Kokinshū (Autumn 1, nos. 206–213), the visual image of wild geese flying in formation also took on importance, as also in this poem: “One can even count the number of wild geese flying wing to wing across a sky of white clouds—the moon on a clear autumn night!” (Shirakumo ni hane uchikawashi tobu kari no kazu sae miyuru aki no yo no tsuki [Autumn 1, no. 191]).

In the Kokinshū (Autumn 1, nos. 196–205), the sounds of insects (mushi)—particularly the katydid (kirigirisu), pine cricket (matsumushi), and cicada (higurashi)—also add to autumn’s loneliness and sorrow: “Katydid! Do not cry so intensely! The melancholy of the long autumn night overwhelms me” (kirigirisu itaku na naki so aki no yo no nagaki omoi wa ware zo masareru [Autumn 1, no. 196]). The same is true of the cries of the stag (Autumn 1, nos. 214–218), which is always presented as looking for his mate: “When I hear the stag crying as it makes its way through the bright leaves deep in the hills, autumn is truly sad” (Okuyama ni momiji fumiwake naku shika no koe kiku toki zo aki wa kanashiki [Autumn 1, no. 215]).

Another major topic in the first autumn book of the Kokinshū is the autumn grasses (akikusa), commonly known as the seven grasses (nanakusa), which are listed in the Man’yōshū as bush clover (hagi), miscanthus grass in ear (obana), kudzu-vine flower (kuzu), pink (nadeshiko), yellow valerian or maiden flower (ominaeshi), boneset (fujibakama), and morning glory (asagao). From as early as the Man’yōshū an implicit contrast existed between these grass flowers (kusa no hana), which had a melancholy and wistful tone, and the flowers of spring, such as the cherry and the plum, referred to as the tree flowers (ko no hana), which were all bright. The most prominent of the autumn grasses was hagi, a deciduous bush that grows about five feet high, with small leaves clustered in threes and narrow branches that bend in elegant arches down to the ground. The character for hagi is a kokuji (graph of Japanese origin), which combines the radical for “grass” (kusa) with the graph for “autumn” (aki ), creating an association between the two that is so strong that the plant is often referred to as autumn bush clover (aki-hagi). The Man’yōshū has 140 poems on hagi—more than for any other plant. The most prominent pairing of images is that of stag and bush clover, as in this poem by Ōtomo no Tabito: “The stag has come to my hill, looking for its flower wife—the first bush clover” (waga oka ni saoshika kinaku hatsuhagi no hanazuma toi ni kinaku saoshika [8:1541]). This implicit love pairing, between the deer and the bush clover, continues in the Kokinshū and subsequent imperial waka anthologies.

The theme of love is also integrated into autumn in the Kokinshū through the topic of ominaeshi (Autumn 1, nos. 226–238), or yellow valerian (often translated as “maiden flower”), a perennial grass that grows in wild fields and on hills. At the beginning of autumn, the small yellow flowers of yellow valerian, shaped like upside-down umbrellas, bloom at the top of its straight and narrow stems, which grow to a height of about three feet.²² The identification of yellow valerian with women begins in the Man’yōshū (10:2115), where ominaeshi is written with the graphs for “beautiful woman” . In the Heian period, ominaeshi was written with three graphs that literally mean “woman flower.” The poetic associations for ominaeshi were established in the Kokinshū by a series of poems beginning with this one by Priest Henjō: “I was drawn to the name and broke it off, maiden flower! Don’t tell anyone I’ve fallen this far!” (Na ni medete oreru bakari zo ominaeshi ware ochiniki to hito ni kataru na [Autumn 1, no. 226]). The word “fallen” (otsu) implies that the priest has broken his vow of celibacy. In another poem from the same series, the ominaeshi bends in the autumn wind, suggesting a loose or frivolous woman: “The woman flower bends wherever the wind blows in the autumn fields. Whom does the person of one heart favor?” (Ominaeshi aki no no kaze ni uchinabiki kokoro hitotsu wo tare ni yosuramu [Autumn 1, no. 230]).

The word for “autumn” (aki) was homophonous with the word for “bright” (aki ), and from the seventh century, autumn was thought of as the season in which the tree leaves turned bright colors and the five grains (gokoku) were harvested. However, during the Tenpyō era, under the heavy influence of Chinese poetry (in which autumn is associated with personal frustration, aging, and death), autumn began to acquire overtones of sorrow, and by the ninth century, in the Heian period, autumn had become a season of sadness. This dark side of autumn, particularly the sense of mortality and impermanence, begins to appear in late Man’yōshū poetry and in the Kaifūsō, By the time of the Kokinshū (Autumn 1, nos. 184–190), in the early tenth century, sadness had come to be one of the major themes or associations of autumn. The key word is utsurou (to change color or fade): “In all things autumn is sad—when I think of what happens when the tree leaves turn color and fade” (Monogoto ni aki zo kanashiki momijitsutsu utsur-oiyuku wo kagiri to omoeba [Autumn 1, no. 187]). The famous chōka (long poem) in the Moanyōshū (1:16) by Princess Nukata on the relative merits of spring and autumn comes out in favor of autumn, but it does not give a clear explanation. The reason became more explicit in Heian poems such as this one: “When it comes to spring, the cherry trees simply bloom in profusion; but when it comes to the pathos of things autumn is superior” (Haru wa tada hana no hitoe ni saku bakari mono no aware wa aki zo masareru [Shūishu, Miscellaneous 2, no. 511]).

At the same time, the “bright” aspects of autumn expanded dramatically in the Heian period. Momichi (momiji in the Heian period), the ancient word for “bright foliage,” was written with the graphs for “yellow leaves” .²³ In the Nara period, at banquets, aristocrats broke off branches of bright yellow leaves to decorate their hair. The colored leaves, which are usually portrayed as yellow in the Man’yōshū become crimson in the Kokinshū, matching the colorful cherry blossoms of spring. If autumn grasses dominate the first autumn book of the Kokinshū, bright foliage is the main focus of the second autumn book (nos. 249–267). Colorful foliage came to be associated with brocade (nishiki), as in this poem about fallen leaves (ochiba): “It appears that the bright leaves flow down the Tatsuta River in disarray. If one crossed the water, the brocade would break in half” (Tatsutagawa momiji midarete nagarumeri wataraba nishiki naka ya taenamu [Autumn 2, no. 283]). The metaphor of brocade implies that autumn is a colorful and bright season, even more so than spring: “As for spring, I see one grass, which is green; as for autumn, there are flowers of myriad colors” (Midori naru hitotsu kusa to zo haru wa mishi aki wa iroiro no hana ni zo arikeru [Autumn 1, no. 245]).

The chrysanthemum (kiku), which appears in the second autumn book of the Kokinshū (nos. 268–280), also contributed to the bright side of autumn. Not a single chrysanthemum poem appears in the Man’yōshū but from the Heian period the chrysanthemum became the most prominent autumn flower in Japanese poetry, surpassing even bush clover and yellow valerian.²⁴ A perennial plant that blooms for an extended period, the chrysanthemum had become a symbol of long life in China and it appears in the Kaifūsō As an elegant flower with what was regarded as a pure fragrance, it became a flower of high status. At the Chrysanthemum Festival (Chōyō), a Chinese-derived annual observance adapted by the court of Emperor Kanmu (737–806; r. 781–806) and held on the ninth day of the Ninth Month, chrysanthemum wine was imbibed in the hope of attaining long life. Most of the thirteen poems on the chrysanthemum in the Kokinshū are related to this association with reinvigoration and immortality, as in this poem by Ki no Tomonori: “The chrysanthemum, let me break it off, still wet with dew, and place it in my hair, so that the autumn will never grow old” (Tsuyu nagara orite kazasamu kiku no hana oisenu aki no hisashikarubeku [Autumn 2, no. 270]). Here, dew is a metaphor for chrysanthemum wine.

The last major autumn topic in the Kokinshū (nos. 281–305) is fallen leaves (ochiba), which returns to the theme of bright foliage, but with the leaves in a scattered state, as in Ki no Tsurayuki’s famous waka: “With no one to see it, the bright foliage scattering deep in the hills is a brocade in the night” (Miru hito mo nakute chirinuru okuyama no momiji wa yoru no nishiki narikeri [Autumn 2, no. 297]). The two groups of momiji poems establish a correspondence with the two main topics of spring: cherry trees blooming and cherry blossoms scattering. In short, autumn in the Kokinshū is anchored, on the one hand, by autumn grasses, the loneliness of which is enforced by the light of the moon, insects, wild geese, and the stag. On the other hand, we have the chrysanthemum, often believed to hold the power to transcend time. Between these two poles stands the topic of colorful foliage, which can either be brilliant or evoke a sense of wistfulness and transience. So valued was autumn that Japanese poets looked forward to the season and regretted its departure, developing the theme of “regret at the departure of autumn” (sekishū, the counterpart to “regret at the passage of spring” (sekishun).

The Associations of Winter

Winter may have been the most severe season for people in the ancient period due to the combination of cold, frost, and snow. Under the luni-solar calendar, winter spanned the Tenth, Eleventh, and Twelfth Months (the equivalent of November 7 to February 3), alternatively called Kannazuki (Godless Month), Shimotsuki (Frost Month), and Shiwasu (Teacher Running), respectively. The harsh conditions are probably why winter was of relatively little poetic or aesthetic interest in the Man’yōshū Books 8 and 10 of the Man’yōshū have 172 poems on spring, 105 on summer, 441 on autumn, and only 67 on winter. The situation is similar in the Kokinshū which has only 29 poems on winter out of a total 342 seasonal poems. In the Kokinshū, winter is essentially regarded as cold and lonely: “As for the mountain village, the loneliness only grows in winter, especially when one realizes that visitors and grasses fade away” (Yamazato wa fuyu zo sabishisa masarikeru hitome mo kusa mo karenu to omoeba [Winter, no. 315]). The dying of the grasses coincides with the fading of human activity.

The winter book of the Kokinshū begins with sudden showers (shigure) and the bright leaves at Tatsuta River (nos. 314–316), works its way through a long series on snow (nos. 317–333), takes up plum blossoms in snow (nos. 334–337), and then finishes with poems on the year’s end (nos. 338–342). This topical sequence shows that for tenth-century waka poets, winter was, like summer, essentially about the loss of one major season and the anticipation of another. The opening winter poem in the Kokinshū (no. 314), about the brocade of bright leaves on the Tatsuta River, is about the remains of autumn; and in the last part, snow is visually confused (mitate) with flowers (hana), as in Ki no Tsurayuki’s famous poem on snow, which implies that snow is beautiful because it looks like cherry blossoms:” When the snow falls, flowers unknown to spring bloom on both the grass and trees that have been dormant all winter” (Yuki fureba fuyugomoriseru kusa mo ko mo haru ni shirarenu hana zo sakikeru [Winter, no. 323]).

The Structure of the Seasonal Books

In the Kokinshū each of the four seasons is divided into three phases: early, middle, and late.²⁵ The first and last poems of each season focus, respectively, on the arrival and the departure of the season—for example, the last poem in the summer book, by Ōshikōchi no Mitsune: “(Composed on the last day of the Sixth Month) On the corridor in the clouds, summer and autumn are passing each other: no doubt a cool breeze is blowing on one side” (Natsu to aki to yukikau sora no kayoiji wa katae suzushiki kaze ya fukuramu [Summer, no. 168]). The early phase, particularly for spring and autumn, has two stages: anticipation and arrival. Lingering snow and the bush warbler anticipate spring, while the gathering of new herbs, mist, and green willow signify its arrival. Likewise, the wind anticipates autumn, and the sadness of the moonlight marks its arrival. The middle phase is generally signaled by insects and other animals (such as birds and deer), followed by plants. In the middle phase of spring, returning wild geese and crying frogs are followed by the plum, cherry, wisteria, and yellow kerria. In summer, the small cuckoo is followed by the mandarin-orange blossoms (hanatachibana) and deutzia flower (unohana). In the autumn books, poems on the cries of the insects and wild geese precede poems on autumn grasses, bright foliage, chrysanthemums, and fallen leaves.

Throughout the seasonal books, the birds, insects, and deer (which both “cry” and “sing”) are perceived almost entirely through their songs, sounds, or voices. Flowers, by contrast, are admired for their color and fragrance. The favorite Heian color was white, as is evident in the cherry blossom, plum blossom, deutzia flower, and chrysanthemum. Moonlight, dew, frost, and snow were almost always considered white. Another admired color was crimson, the color of bright foliage and crimson plum blossom (kōbai), which became popular in the Heian period.

Five major elements appear in the seasonal books of the Kokinshū: atmospheric conditions, birds and other animals, flowers and trees, celestial bodies, and annual observances. The emphasis on atmospheric conditions—particularly spring mist (kasumi), rain, autumn mist (kiri), and snow—may have been due to the humid climate of Japan, but it also reflects a strong preference for obscured sight and veiled landscape, as is evident in such topics as misty spring moon (oborozukiyo) as well as a tendency to attach emotions to certain atmospheric conditions. There are, for example, at least three major types of rain—drizzle (harusame), long rains (samidare), and passing showers (shigure)—each of which came to be associated with a season and a specific psychological state: spring (romance), summer (melancholy), and autumn and winter (uncertainty), respectively.

Love and the Four Seasons

In books 8 and 10 of the Man’yōshū each season is divided into love poems (sōmon) and miscellaneous poems (zōka), indicating, from the beginning of the waka tradition, a fundamental link between seasonal and love topics. As we have seen, many of the major seasonal topics in the Man’yōshū and the Kokinshū—such as hototogisu (small cuckoo), samidare (long rains), Tan-abata, ominaeshi (yellow valerian), and deer—had major “love” associations. A strong parallel also emerges between the structure of the six seasonal books and the five love books of the Kokinshū. Most of the poems in the first and second love books of the Kokinshū are implicitly composed from the perspective of the pursuing man. In the third, fourth, and fifth love books, by contrast, it is generally the woman who is neglected and who waits in vain for the man to visit. This narrative of love has a direct parallel in the seasonal books of the Kokinshū where the poet longs for the arrival of a season or a particular bird or waits impatiently for the flowering of a tree or another plant. Equally important in the love books is regret and resentment over the unexpectedly quick departure or loss of a lover. Longing takes the form of desire for something yet to be obtained or desire for something lost, both reflected in the verb shinobu, which can mean either “to suppress desire” or “to look back on the past with regret.” This is also a familiar stance in the spring and autumn books, where regret about the passage of spring or autumn is a major topic. Similarly, the focus of poems about cherry blossoms is not so much on the flowers at their peak as on the anticipation of the cherry blossoms and the regret at their scattering.

One result of the personification of nature that occurs frequently in the Kokinshū is that plants and animals are often gendered. Many flowers, trees, and other plants are associated with women, particularly yellow valerian (maiden flower), willow (linked with arching eyebrows and long hair), plum blossom, cherry blossom, wisteria, yellow kerria, deutzia flower, morning glory, bush clover, and pink. Morning glory (asagao; literally, “morning face”), for example, is associated with the face of a female lover in the morning. Pink (nadeshiko; literally, “child that I stroke”) becomes a girl who has been raised by a man. By contrast, birds, many of which which seek out flowers, are often associated with men, a tendency that reflects the duolocal marital system in which the man commuted to the woman’s residence. The deer is a stag longing for his wife, often represented by the bush clover. The sound of insects, particularly the pine cricket (matsumushi; literally, “waiting insect”), often becomes that of a lonely woman waiting for a man’s visit. In short, birds, insects, and other animals often express the same emotions as those found in love: frustration, a sense of betrayal, loss, resentment, and loneliness.²⁶

Another striking parallel is between the arrival of autumn and the fading of love. If spring corresponds with the beginning of love, then autumn echoes the sorrow of separation or abandonment. A poem by Priest Henjō reveals the “autumnal” nature of love: “Cold showers are falling on my sleeves before their time. Has autumn already arrived in your heart?” (Wa ga sode ni madaki shigure no furinuru wa kimi ga kokoro ni aki ya kinuramu [Kokinshū Love 5, no. 763]). Autumn (aki), implying the homophone aki (weariness), has come unexpectedly early to the heart of the loved one, a change that brings tears (shigure [sudden cold showers]) to the poet. This kind of close association between love and the seasons, the two most important topics in the Kokinshū and in classical Japanese literature in general, is part of the larger scene / emotion (keijō) double structure typically found in waka, but is also manifested in the topical arrangement of the anthology itself.

The Diversification of Seasonal Topics

The seasonal topics first appeared in the Man’yōshū and became firmly established in the Kokinshū but they continued to evolve and increase in number even as their circle of associations became solidified with time. Two fundamental modes emerged. Poems could be composed freely on private occasions as a form of elevated dialogue or soliloquy, or poems could be composed (as they increasingly were from the late tenth century onward) on given or fixed topics (daiei) for banquets; screen paintings (byōbu-e), in which the poet was usually expected to take the perspective of a figure in the painting; poetry contests (uta-awase); and poems on one hundred fixed topics (hyakushu-uta).

Evolution in the Imperial Waka Anthologies

Some seasons became more important with time, and their focus evolved. The expanding importance of autumn is evident in the number of poems for each season in the first eight imperial waka anthologies (see appendix). In the Kokinshū the spring (134 poems) and autumn (145 poems) books are roughly the same size, but in the shinkokinshū, autumn (266 poems) far outstrips spring (174 poems), thereby foregrounding autumn, with particular focus on autumn evenings and the autumn moon. Poets increasingly favored autumn topics but showed less interest in bright leaves as they became more concerned with the depth beneath the natural surface. In this famous poem by Fujiwara no Teika, considered by many to be the embodiment of the ideal of yūgen (mysterious depth), the bright leaves are marked by their absence: “When I look afar, there are neither flowers nor bright leaves—autumn evening in a thatched hut by the bay” (Miwataseba hana mo momiji mo nakarikeri ura no tomaya no aki no yūgure Shinkokinshū Autumn 1, no. 363]). Medieval poets gravitated toward the somber, subdued, lonely beauty of autumn, with an emphasis on twilight and evening, creating a monochromatic aesthetic that stood in implicit contrast to the brilliance of Heian court culture, represented by colorful foliage and cherry blossoms. This aesthetic implied a spiritual depth that transcended sight and physical phenomena. If Heian classical poetry was concerned with the brilliant but changing colors of autumn (utsurou aki), then medieval waka was drawn to the “deep autumn” (fukaki aki) and the “deepening” of the day: “Autumn has deepened—cry now, cricket in the frosted night! The light of the moon over thick weeds is gradually growing colder” (Aki fukenu nake ya shimoyo no kiri-girisu yaya kage samushi yomogiu no tsuki [Shinkokinshū Autumn 2, no. 517]).

Interest in winter also grew in the late Heian and Kamakura periods. The Senzaishū (Collection of a Thousand Years, 1183), the seventh imperial waka anthology, includes eleven poems on the “first (sign of) winter” (hatsu-fuyu), the word “first” (hatsu) indicating that some aspect of winter was eagerly anticipated, much like the first cherry blossoms. Mid- to late Heian poets expanded the topical scope of winter to include waterfowl (mizutori), birds that live along the banks of rivers and lakes, particularly the wild duck or mallard (kamo), the mandarin duck (oshidori), and the plover (chidori), as in this waka by Murasaki Shikibu, which puns on uki (floating) and uku (to be sorrowful): “Can we regard the waterfowl on the surface of the water as separate from ourselves? I too float uncertainly, leading a sorrowful existence” (Mizutori wo mizu no ue to ya yoso ni mimu ware mo ukitaru yo wo sugushitsutsu [Senzaishū Winter, no. 430]). Particularly prominent is the mandarin duck, a winter bird that was thought to sleep on water so cold that frost and ice formed on its feathers, as in this poem in the Gosenshū (Later Collection, 951), the second imperial waka anthology: “Since the night is cold, I wake up and listen to the mandarin duck crying—is it because it can’t brush the frost off its wings?” (Yo wo samumi nezamete kikeba oshi zo naku harai mo aezu shimo ya okuran [Winter, no. 478]).²⁷

In the Shinkokinshū, the most influential medieval imperial waka anthology, winter is almost the equivalent of spring in the number of poems. The light of the winter moon becomes part of a new medieval aesthetic of purity (kiyoshi) and coldness, as in a poem by Fujiwara no Kiyosuke: “How cold the moonlight that falls on the frost of the decayed leaves of a forest withered by winter!” (Fuyugare no mori no kuchiba no shimo no ue ni ochitaru tsuki no kage no samukesa [Winter, no. 607]). Here, the cold and pure light of the winter moon falls on the mundane world, which is implicitly in “decay.” Medieval waka and renga poets developed similar notions of coldness (hie), cold sadness / loneliness (hiesabi), and slenderness (yase). Winter topics—particularly cold showers, snow, frost, ice, and the translucent moon—constructed a monochromatic landscape that shares much with Muromachi ink painting (suibokuga) and rock-and-sand gardens (kare-sansui).

Fixed-Topic Composition

The evolution of seasonal topics continued in the poetry contest (uta-awase), in which two poets composed on the same fixed topic (dai), with a judgment being handed down on each round, either a “draw” or a “win.” The most famous of the early uta-awase was the Tentoku yonen sangatsu sanjūnichi dairi uta-awase (Poetry Contest in the Imperial Palace on the Thirtieth Day of the Third Month of the Fourth Year of Tentoku, 980), which had only twelve topics:

Spring mist, bush warbler, willow, cherry blossoms, yellow kerria, wisteria, end of spring, early summer, deutzia flower, small cuckoo, summer grass, love

The judgments in these uta-awase, which became increasingly popular and elaborate, reveal the expectations and associations surrounding specific poetic topics. In the decision on yellow kerria in the Tentoku uta-awase, for example, the judge criticized the loser for having depicted yae-yamabuki (multilayered yellow kerria) as opposed to hitoe-yamabuki (one-layered yellow kerria) in the winning poem.²⁸ On the topic of wisteria, the judge noted that the loser had used the word fujinami (waves of wisteria), but had failed to place the wisteria next to water, thus disqualifying the poem.²⁹ The word fujinami triggered the association of fuji (wisteria) with the water’s edge or a pond, which the poet could not ignore. When a poet composed in private, he or she was not as restricted in the use of seasonal topics, but the increasingly popular practice of fixed-topic composition from the mid-Heian period onward institutionalized these seasonal associations, which could be either consciously followed or deliberately twisted or violated.

Another major milestone in the expansion of seasonal topics was the Roppyakuban uta-awase (Poetry Contest in Six Hundred Rounds), held in the autumn of 1193 at the residence of Fujiwara no Yoshitsune (1169–1206), with Fujiwara no Shunzei (1114–1204) presiding as judge.³⁰ The Rop-pyakuban uta-awase contains fifty seasonal topics and fifty love topics, with six rounds (each consisting of two paired poems) for each topic, resulting in twelve hundred poems (see appendix). Four seasonal topics on the time of day—spring dawn, summer night, autumn evening, and winter morning—are placed at the climactic point of each season. These four topics derive from the famous phrases that open Sei Shōnagon’s Makura no sōshi (The Pillow Book, ca. 1000): “As for (the best part of) spring, it is dawn” (haru wa akebono), “as for summer, night” (natsu wa yoru), “as for autumn, the evening” (aki wa yūgure), and “as for winter, early morning” (fuyu wa tsutomete).³¹ Subsequently, autumn evening (aki no yūgure) became a major topic in the Shinkokinshū resulting in the famous “three evening poems” (sanseki), including Teika’s: “When I look afar, there are neither flowers nor bright leaves—autumn evening in a thatched hut by the bay.”

The selection of seasonal topics in the Roppyakuban uta-awase stands in stark contrast to that in the Kokinshū, in which the seasons revolve around the plum, cherry, autumn moon, and snow. Instead, the Roppyakuban uta-awase focuses on atmospheric topics, such as the simmering heat wave, evening shower, typhoon, lingering heat, autumn rain, and sleet, which—together with the new time-of-day seasonal topics—had a deep impact on subsequent imperial waka anthologies, particularly the monumental Shinkokinshū

Another important development in the history of poetic topics was the emergence of the hyakushu-uta (poems on one hundred fixed topics), in which each participant usually composed a hundred poems, one on each fixed topic.³² The most influential of these was the Horikawa hyakushu (Horikawa Poems on One Hundred Fixed Topics, 1105), which was composed by fourteen poets centered on Fujiwara no Toshiyori, the editor of the Kin’yōshū (Collection of Golden Leaves, ca. 1127), the fifth imperial waka anthology, and was presented to Emperor Horikawa (1079–1107; r. 1087–1107) in 1105. The fundamental difference between the poems in the Hori-kawa hyakushu and those in topically organized anthologies such as the Kokin rokujō (Six Books of Japanese Poetry Old and New, 976–987) is that the anthologies collected waka that had been composed on various occasions and arranged them by topic, while the poems in the Horikawa hyakushu were composed on assigned topics.

The hundred topics in the Horikawa hyakushu are divided into spring (twenty poems), summer (fifteen), autumn (twenty), winter (fifteen), love (ten), and miscellaneous (twenty) (see appendix). The forty or so seasonal topics found in the Kokinshū were expanded to about seventy to give a much broader view of the four seasons.³³ Even more striking is the emergence of a kind of pastoral, an idealized landscape of farming,³⁴ with topics such as rice-seedling bed (nawashiro),³⁵ mountain rice field (yamada), young rice seedlings (sanae),³⁶ kangaroo grass (karukaya), and charcoal-making oven (sumigama). Beginning in the late eleventh century, aristocrats from the capital traveled to the provinces or to their summer residences outside the capital, where they had the opportunity to see farm life, which they began to incorporate into their poetry, thus expanding the landscape to include both farm villages (satoyama) and mountain villages (yamazato).

Seasonal Identity and Ambiguity

The seasonalization of nature in waka was largely a cultural construction. The deer exists all year around in Japan, but in classical poetry it became an autumn topic. Not surprisingly, poets often had difficulty fixing a plant or an animal to a particular season. For example, the iris (kakitsubata), which gained fame as a result of its appearance in a famous poem composed at the Eight Bridges in Mikawa Province in section 9 of The Tales of Ise (Ise mono-gatari, ca. 947), bloomed from the spring through the summer, leading to considerable debate. The Man’yōshū, Gosenshū and color scheme of the Heian-period twelve-layered robe (juni hitoe) place kakitsubata in the summer, but the [Kin’yōshū and the Fūgashū (Collection of Elegance, ca. 1346–1349) categorize it as a spring topic. The editors of the influential Horikawa hyakushu made the key decision to place Kakitsubata in the spring and shōbu (ayamegusa [Siberian iris or sweet flag]), a key feature of the Tango Festival, held on the fifth day of the Fifth Month, in the summer, probably in order to avoid confusion between the two similar plants. That choice had a lasting impact on later topical anthologies, such as the Fuboku wakashō (Fuboku Japanese Poetry Collection, ca. 1310). However, waka poets continued to compose on iris in the summer, and by the time of renga and haikai in the Muro-machi period, it had returned to summer.³⁷

Once established, seasonal topics followed a strict temporal order.³⁸ Within this larger frame, new topics were added or faded away. For example, yellow valerian (ominaeshi) is very popular in the kokinshū with thirteen poems in the first autumn book, but it gradually diminished as a topic and does not appear even once in the Kin’yōshū. A newcomer is azalea (tsu-tsuji), which makes its debut in the Goshūshū and reappears in the Kin’yōshū but then is absent from subsequent imperial waka anthologies. New seasonal topics took time to settle into an established time slot. For example, summer grass (natsukusa) appears sporadically in the Man’yōshū and in He-ian-period uta-awase (poetry contests) as a Sixth Month, late-summer topic, but in the Eikyū yonen hyakushu (Poems on One Hundred Fixed Topics in the Fourth Year of Eikyū 1116) and the Roppyakuban uta-awase, it is in the Fourth Month, marking the beginning of summer, where it is placed in the Shinkokinshū.³⁹

Seasonal associations were also consolidated with time. In the kokinshū the word hana (flower) could refer to either cherry blossoms or plum blossoms, but by the time of the Gosenshu, it came to mean only “cherry blossoms.” Similarly, the moon appears in all seasons, but by the time of the Kin’yōshū, the word tsuki (moon) had become associated specifically with autumn, unless indicated otherwise by a modifier (as in natsu no tsuki [summer moon]). In the Man’yōshū, the plover (chidori), which lives on the seashore or at the mouth of rivers and swamps, appears in spring (19:4146 and 4147) and summer (6:925). The bird’s exclusive poetic association with winter is not established until the Shūshū as a result of a screen-painting poem (byōbu-uta) by Ki no Tsurayuki: “When I go out in search of my love, unable to bear my longing, I hear the plovers crying in the cold river wind on a winter’s night” (Omoikane imogari yukeba fuyu no yo no kawakaze samumi chidori naku nari [Winter, no. 224]). The Shinkokinshū includes eleven plover poems in the winter book, revealing that by the Kamakura period it had become a major winter topic, associated with loneliness and the difficulty of bearing the cold.

As we can see, the seasonal landscape in the Kokinshū, as in most of the subsequent imperial waka anthologies, has no wilderness, wild animals, snakes, or wild boars—almost none of the animals that we find in anecdotal literature (setsuwa) from the Nara, Heian, and medieval (1185–1599) periods. Neither does it have the plants (such as barley) harvested in the farm villages. In the Kokinshū, poets do not climb the mountains or fish in the lakes and streams. The tree flowers and grass flowers are almost entirely those that grow in aristocratic gardens, in the capital, or in the suburbs. There are no fires, earthquakes, famines, floods, or droughts. Instead, the world of the Kokinshū is a largely harmonious universe in which nature—in the form of carefully selected animals, insects, flowers, trees, and atmospheric conditions—functions as an elegant and often highly nuanced expression of human thought and emotion.

This worldview, which is brought into sharp focus by the imperial waka anthologies compiled in the Heian period, is intimately related to what I call the ideology of the four seasons. The waka anthologies, which were commissioned by the emperor and offered to the emperor, were ultimately a celebration of imperial rule. The harmony of the natural world and that between the human and natural spheres thus directly reflected the nature of imperial rule. In this regard, the seasonal cycle in the Kokinshū functioned in a way similar to that of the annual observances held at court, such as the Five Sacred Festivals (Gosekku), which were also celebrations of imperial rule and prayers for peace and harmony in the land. At the peak of his power in The Tale of Genji, the protagonist constructs the Rokujō-in, a four-season, four-garden grand residence in which he places his most important women, with Akikonomu (One Who Loves Autumn; Genji’s direct link to imperial power) in the autumn quarter and Murasaki (Lavender; Genji’s great beloved) in the spring quarter. The two most important women (and the two most important seasons) occupy the southern and most important side of the Rokuj-in. The ideology of the four seasons, which is implicit in the Kokinshū, is evident in the ten Tamakazura chapters, which depict the cycle of the four seasons as they unfold at the Rokuj-in, thereby celebrating Genji’s rule. The downfall of Genji and the Rokujō-in is foreshadowed in the storm that marks the “Nowaki” (Tempest) chapter, in which Genji’s son, Yūgiri, catches a direct and erotic glimpse of Murasaki. As is evident in the “Akashi” and “Usugumo” (A Rack of Cloud) chapters of The Tale of Genji, celestial disturbances (tenpen)—such as lightning, tornado, natural disaster, and solar eclipse—were taken as signs of moral or political disorder, particularly imperial rule gone wrong. This form of thought, which can be traced to China and ritual texts such as the Liji (Jp. Raiki; Book of Rites), one of the five Confucian classics, implies not only that harmony with nature, especially atmospheric conditions and celestial bodies, was a mark of superior imperial rule, but that each season had its appropriate human activities. As we shall see, the use of poetic places (utamakura) in imperial anthologies also implied a spatial rule over the land, much as the seasonal topics implied a temporal rule.

Waka was, first and foremost, a poetry of affect in which certain images evoked specific emotions. This encoding was reinforced and institutionalized by the practice of fixed-topic composition (daiei), which came to the fore in the mid- to late Heian period and imposed strict rules on the range of associations. For the aristocracy, Buddhist priests, and educated samurai, this secondary nature became a shared cultural vocabulary—a rich repository of emotionally charged images and metaphors—that was used for and, indeed, became indispensable for a wide range of social, political, and religious functions. The close association of waka with the imperial court and with the emperor also gave it special status, as a kind of royal genre, whose use took on high cultural value. Moving beyond their origins, the seasonal topics of waka and their associations spread to a wide range of visual media, particularly painting and design.