On Leaving His Wife In Ihami (Ii) Poem by Kakinomoto no Asomi Hitomaro

By Kara's cape

(what sea-babble Kara hears)

the seaweed rises

from the ocean floor

by ivy-clothed Ihami,

and all along the sea sands

float fine sea-tangles.

So, far within me, floats

love deep as anchored kelp

for her who sleeps by me,

like a plant at rest upon the shore.

Alas, our days of joy have not been many.

Each time we're torn apart

it is as cruel as ripping clinging ivy

from the trunk it shelters on.

. . . .

Now all my heart,

chief ruler of my being,

is filled with sorrow,

as casting long looks backwards

to our home-place, dear,

I find the ruddy shower of autumn leaves,

with which Watari Mountain glows,

hides from my eyes the waving of your sleeve

bidding me farewell,

while on the waters of Yakami

infrequent rifts in scudding clouds allow

moon beams to shimmer—

sad moon, drawing up sad thoughts—

and the sun barely lingering

ends its course far in the west—

I can be resolute in battle

yet now my fine silk sleeves

are drenched with dew of tears.


In headlong gallop

on his gray horse he hurries

beyond all knowing

and far beyond he leaves

her home-place whom he loves.


High hill of Autumn

delay the falling

of your so ruddy leaves.

A little longer let me

gaze at what she gazes on,

gazing towards me.