The Poetry of
Ono No Komachi
Japanese Poet (825-900)
1 Biography
Ono No Komachi (825-900) was a Japanese waka poet, one of the Rokkasen — the six best waka poets of the early Heian period. She was renowned for her unusual beauty, and Komachi is today a synonym for feminine beauty in Japan. She also counts among the 36 Poetry Immortals. She was revered as a poet in her lifetime and many legends grew up around her within a century of her death. Few details of her life have been confirmed, and not all the poetry attributed to her may be hers.
According to one tradition, she was born in what is now Akita Prefecture, daughter of Yoshisada, Lord of Dewa. The Noh play Sotoba Komachi by Kan’ami describes her as “the daughter of Ono no Yoshizane, the governor of Dewa”.
It is believed that she was sent to the Imperial court at the age of 12 or 13 and served the Emperor Nimmei, either as a consort, or lady of the bedchamber. She began to write her erotically-charged poetry after the death of the Emperor in 850, when she became notorious for her many romantic liaisons, the passion of which she expressed in her poetry.
All of Komachi’s poems were written in the tanka (or waka) form which has 5 lines containing 31 syllables. The pattern of syllables is 5,7,5,7,7. Letters were often exchanged between lovers in the form of a tanka during this time period in Japan. Occasionally, one would write and send the first three lines (5,7,5) and the other would respond with the last two lines (7,7). This practice gave birth to haiku (5,7,5 lines).
This little book includes all poetry attributed to her. 2 Ono No Komachi’s poetry is often put into five categories:
- “tales of beauty” (bijin-setsuwa) - “tales of sensuality” (koshoku-setsuwa) - “tales of haughtiness” (kyoman-setsuwa) - “tales of poetry/poetic virtue” (kajin/katoku-setsuwa) - “tales of downfall/bemoaning old age” (reiraku/ suiro-setsuwa)
Was I lost in thoughts of love When I closed my eyes? He Appeared, and Had I known it for a dream I would not have awakened.
3 This night of no moon There is no way to meet him I rise in longing My heart pounds, a leaping flame My heart is consumed in fire
Yielding to a love that recognizes no boundaries, I will approach him by night— for the world cannot despise a wandering dreamer.
4 Lying down alone, I am so confused in yearning for you That I have forgot The tangles of my long black hair, Desiring the one who stroked it clear.
When my desire grows too fierce I wear my bedclothes inside out, dark as the night’s rough husk.
5 Without end Do I think of you and so Come to me at night. For on the path of dreams at least, There’s no one to disapprove!
In reality, It may well have to be; But even in my dreams To see myself shrink from others’ eyes Is truly sad.
6 Since my body was neglected by the one who had promised faithfully to come, I now lie here questioning its existence.
This vain life! My looks and talents faded like these cherry blossoms downthrown by endless dismal rains that I now survey, alone.
7 The colour of this flower Has already faded away, While in idle thoughts My life goes by, As I watch the long rains fall.
The flowers and my love Passed away under the rain, While I idly looked upon them Where is my yester-love?
8 A thing which fades With no outward sign Is the flower Of the heart of man In this world!
Am I to spend the night alone atop this summit, cold and lost? Won’t you at least lend me your robes of moss?
9 How brilliantly tears rain upon my sleeve in bright gemlets, for my despair cannot be withstood, like a surging flood!
Wretched water-weed that I am, severed from all roots: if rapids offered me freedom, why not welcome their lethal shoots?
10 This aimlessly floating body? This reed severed from its roots? If the river offered me freedom I think I’d follow ...
Now bitterly I watch fierce autumn’s winds battering the rice stalks, suspecting I’ll never again find anything to harvest.
11 I had thought to pluck the flower of forgetfulness only to find it already blossoming in his heart.
Two things wilt without warning, bleeding away their colors: a flower and a man’s heart.
12 What do I know of villages where fisherfolk dwell? Why do you keep demanding that I show you the seashore, lead you to some pearly shell?
Since there’s obviously nothing to catch in this barren bay, how can he fail to understand — this fisherman who persists in coming and going until he collapses in the sand?
13 “It’s over!” Your words drizzle like dismal rains, bringing tears, as I wilt with my years.
Autumn nights are “long” only in verse and song: for we had just begun to gaze into each other’s eyes when dawn immolated the skies!
14 In this dismal world the living decrease as the dead increase ... Oh, how much longer must I bear this body of grief?
Legend says that when Ono No Komachi grew old and her beauty faded, no one wanted her. Eventually, she was forced out of the court and made to wander the streets in old, dirty clothes. She became a mockery, as punishment for her cruelty when she was still young and beautiful.
15 Netsuke of Ono No Komachi - small carved images worn on a cord around the waist.
Tribute stone to Ono No Komachi, Zuishin-in Temple - Kyoto, Japan
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