I try not to linger excessively on a poet's biography in these emails.
The poems stand in their own right, and biographical readings, of women's work especially, can be reductionist. But this week's poet, Izumi Shikibu of Heian Japan (974?-1034?), had such a fabulously interesting life that I feel like I'm depriving you of something if I leave it all the way out. The following is excerpted from the introduction to The Ink Dark Moon:

"Despite her marriage to a provincial official... and the birth of a daughter, Shikibu began a passionate liaison with the empress's step-son; the resulting scandal left her divorced and disowned by her family. Three years later, a year after her first lover had died, his brother, Prince Atsumichi, sent Shikibu an exploratory gift of orange blossoms, and thus commenced a new affair... Atsumichi persuaded her to move into his compound despite the unusually vigorous protestations and eventual departure of his primary wife. Five years later Atsumichi's death in an epidemic ended the central relationship of Shikibu's life... [In a period of mourning,] she wrote over 240 poems to her departed lover." (Hirschfield and Aratani)

Shikibu's daughter also passed away during her lifetime, and you will see poems of both grief and love represented in the selection below.

Last week, you may have noticed I took a gentleman's intermission from this newsletter in order to focus 100% of my brain's capacity on worrying about the election. Time well spent.

5 Poems
By Izumi Shikibu
Translated by Jane Hirschfield with Mariko Aratani

[To a man who used to visit secretly but asked to come now in daylight]

There are many
strange and lovely things
that swim in the midnight tide pools...
I think I do not want to share them
with other divers' eyes by day.

What color is
this blowing autumn wind,
that it can stain
my body
with its touch?

Although the wind
blows terribly here,
the moonlight also leaks
between the roof planks
of this ruined house.

[A friend, hearing I was in mourning, asked the cause of my grief]

If I say
this or that,
how ordinary grief becomes—
broken cries are the words
that sorrow's voice demands.

[Around the time Naishi {Shikibu's daughter} died, snow fell, then melted away]

Why did you vanish
into empty sky?
Even the fragile snow,
when it falls,
falls in this world.

These poems were written a thousand years ago by Izumi Shikibu (974?-1034?). I read them in The Ink Dark Moon: Love Poems by Ono no Komachi and Izumi Shikibu, Women of the Ancient Court of Japan, translated by Jane Hirshfield with Mariko Aratani (Vintage Classics, 1990).

The Postscript

1. I have a new collaboration out with elaborator of mixed feelings, @abivalentlyyours. I wrote the words, and she turned them into a divine pink animation.

Click Here for Words in Pink

2. If you are interested in learning more about salacious poetry and courtship rituals in Heian Japan, read on.

"The first intimation of a new romance for a woman of the court was the arrival at her door of a messenger bearing a five-line poem in an unfamiliar hand. If the woman found the poem sufficiently intriguing, the paper it was written on suitable for its contents and mood, and the calligraphy acceptably graceful, her encouraging reply—itself in the form of a poem—would set in motion a clandestine, late-night visit from her suitor. The first night together was, according to established etiquette, sleepless; lovemaking and talk were expected to continue without pause until the man, protesting the night's brevity, departed in the first light of the predawn. Even then he was not free to turn his thoughts to the day's official duties: a morning-after poem had to be written and sent off by means of an ever-present messenger page, who would return with the woman's reply. Only after this exchange had been completed could the night's success be fully judged by whether the poems were equally ardent and accomplished, referring in image and nuance to the themes of the night just passed. Subsequent visits were made on the same clandestine basis and under the same circumstances, until the relationship was either made official by a private ceremony of marriage or ended." (Hirschfield and Aratani, The Ink Dark Moon)

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5 Poems By Izumi Shikibu Translated by Jane Hirschfield with Mariko Aratani

5 Poems
By Izumi Shikibu
Translated by Jane Hirschfield with Mariko Aratani