Shinto poetry Archives - Green Shinto

Entrance torii and approach to Oharano Shrine, reflecting its one-time importance

It’s on the outskirts of Kyoto. It’s in spacious woodland. It dates back to the eighth century and pre-Heian times. It’s little-known, but once it was counted amongst the top 22 shrines of Japan.

Oharano Shrine is closely associated with the powerful Fujiwara clan. It was set up by the dominant family at the time of the Nagaoka Capital (784-794), which preceded Heian-kyo (i.e. Kyoto). The area was said to be a favourite of Emperor Kammu (737-806), who hunted around the foothills, and the shrine later featured in such literary works as Tales of Ise and The Tale of Genji, while its pure spring water was celebrated in many a poem.

The deities here were installed from Kasuga Taisha, clan shrine of the Fujiwara whose symbol was the deer on which their kami rode.

Misfortune and an ‘angry spirit’ drove Emperor Kammu to abandon the Nagaoka capital, leading to the foundation of Heian-kyo in 794. The Fujiwara continued to keep up patronage of Oharano, even despite the establishment of Kyoto’s Yoshida Shrine in 859 as a new base for the clan.

The Fujiwara were descendants of the powerful Nakatomi clan, whose authority derived from having charge of court rituals and purification rites. Their ancestor, Ame no Koyane, was one of the five clan leaders who descended from heaven with Ninigi no mikoto in the so-called Tenson Korin.

One of the Fujiwara was the famous poet, Ariwara no Narihira (825–880), a courtier and grandson of Emperor Kammu. A renowned lady’s man, he was in love with Takako, the wife of Emperor Seiwa. Though he was banned from seeing her, he wrote the following poem on the occasion of her visit to Oharano (she was a distant relative of Narihira and as a Fujiwara was visiting her ujigami clan shrine).

おほはらやをしほの山もけふこそは神世のことも思ひいつらめ
Ohara ya Oshiho no yama mo kefukoso wa kamiyo no koto mo omohitsurame

Oharano and Oshio Mountain
on this day in particular
bring to mind
the Age of the Gods

The poem suggests that Takako’s visit conferred on the setting the majesty of a time when gods strode the earth, as portrayed in Japanese mythology. It was included in the first of the great imperial anthologies, Kokinwakashū (c.905).

There’s an interesting anecdote that goes with this poem, which is included in my Cultural History of Kyoto. According to tradition, Narihira lived on the site of the present-day temple of Jurin-ji, a fifteen minute walk away from Oharano Jinja. Like other aristocrats, he enjoyed salt making by boiling water, which resulted in steam rising into the sky. On the occasion of Takako’s visit, he added purple dye to the water thereby colouring the sky with evidence of his love for her.

Today Jurin-ji is keen to celebrate its link with the poet, and his supposed grave is prominently displayed while a site is marked out where his salt making could have taken place. Buddhist temple and Shinto shrine thus continue to be linked by poetry, even though the artificial separation of the Meiji Restoration in 1868 drew a line between them. Love conquers all!

From Oharano Shrine to Hana Dera where Saigyo’s cherry tree stands is a pleasant woodland walk.

Close to Oharano Jinja, less than a ten minute walk away, is another temple with strong poetic connections. Hana Dera (Flower Temple) is the popular name of Shoji-ji, famed for its cherry blossom.

The wandering monk, Saigyo (1118 – 1190), stayed in a hut in the grounds as a young man when he was on retreat, and one of his poems describes the nuisance of noisy tourists coming to visit a flowering cherry tree at the temple – a sentiment with which contemporary Kyotoites might well sympathise! The poem blames the tree for attracting the crowds and forms the basis for a famous Noh play, Saigyo-zakura, written by Zeami (c. 1363 – c. 1443).

花見にと群れつつ人の来るのみぞあたら桜の咎(とが)にはありける
Hanami ni to mure tsutsu hito no kuru nomi zo atara sakura no toga ni wa arikeru

Throngs of visitors
One after another
To view the cherry blossom –
It’s all the fault of the tree, regrettably,
For being so beautiful

The poem was included in Saigyo’s anthology, Gyokayoshu, with a heading by the poet that ran: ‘Composed on the occasion of a visit by people come to see my blossoms, just as I had planned to spend my time in peace.’

According to the temple, this is the third generation of a cherry tree that Saigyo himself planted in the grounds. The board calls it ‘Saigyo Zakura’, just like the Noh play.

The lily pond is part of the spacious landscaped grounds at Oharano, evidence of the shrine’s former opulence

The deer motif which runs throughout the shrine is seen here at the water basin.

A cute version of the shrine’s totemic animal is found on the ’ema’ prayer boards.

Another trademark of Fujiwara shrines is wisteria, which in Japanese is called ‘Fuji’.

Even today the main compound impresses with its peace and stately nature. Unlike Saigyo’s poem, the shrine is now a place to get away from the downtown crowds of Kyoto – but please keep that secret!

One of the leading arbiters of poetry in early times was Fujiwara no Teika (1162-1241), a giant of Japanese verse who also compiled Hyakunin Isshu – 100 Poems by !00 Poets. Like others of his time, he saw divine purpose in poetry and was careful to distinguish between Buddhist and Shinto verse.

For Teika and his contemporaries, Japanese poetry had its origins in the Age of the Gods, with the first waka (Japanese poem) being composed by Susanoo no Mikoto. Thereafter it was held that poetry had the power to move the kami and it was closely tied to matters of ritual, proper conduct and even affairs of state. The divine power of words became codified in something called kotodana (word spirit). It’s no coincidence that the ancient word for government was matsurigoto, synonymous with religious ritual.

In Robert Huey’s The Making of Shinkokinshu (2002), the author shows that the Poetry Ministry in Heian times, known as Wakadokoro, divided poems into Buddhist and Shinto despite the syncretism of the age. The latter were given a greater sense of awe than their Buddhist equivalent, because the Japanese kami held power over life and death. This is illustrated in an anecdote about Ki no Tsurayuki, whose inspirational preface about the divine nature of poetry is discussed in an earlier Green Shinto posting here.

Once when riding through Izumi province, Tsurayuki passed by the shrine of the god Aridoshi. As it was dark he did not notice the shrine, and while passing by suddenly his horse dropped dead. Only then did he notice a torii and enquired as to which kami lived there. “Aridoshi Myojin” he was told, “who is easily offended. Perhaps you rode past mounted on your horse?”

Tsurayuki was at a loss and summoned the shrine attendant to ask for advice. However, the attendant appeared to speak with the voice of the kami. ‘Since you did not realise there was a shrine, I should forgive you. But you are highly skilled in the way of poetry, so if you can display those skills as you pass in front of me I shall revive your horse. Thus speaks the god Aridoshi Myojin.’

Tsurayuki immediately purified himself with water, composed a poem, wrote it on a slip of paper and attached it to a pillar of the shrine. He then began to pray, at which his horse revived and the attendant told him he had been forgiven. Here is the poem he wrote:

Since it was midnight. Amagumo no
With heavy rain clouds tatikasanareru
Layered thick, yofa nareba
How was I to know as I passed kami Aritohoshi
That the kami Aridoshi was there? omofubeki kafa

In this way it can be seen that poetry in the Shinto tradition could well be a matter of life and death. Pleasing the kami would bring well-being; violating the Way of Poetry could spell death or disaster. Retired Emperor Hanazono, for instance, who became a Zen monk, wrote in the fourteenth century of a poet who had strayed from the ancient path of poetry and therefore died an unfortunate early death.

Not long afterwards Zeami Motokyo, founder of Noh, wrote that ‘All living creatures and even non-sentient beings have poetry residing within them. The sound of trees, the moving grass, the earth and sand, wind, and ever-flowing water – all of these things embody the soul of poetry. In the spring, a wind from the east makes the forest sing. The wind from the north in the fall blends with the call of insects. All of these sounds are poems in and of themselves.’ (from Takasago)

Exactly!

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For more Shinto poems from the Heian period, please see here.

Tag: Shinto poetry

Oharano Jinja (Kyoto)

Shinto poetry