This is the final tanka translation in this series. I hope to follow it up with a short article looking at the poems as a group, the similarities between them, and how they relate to each other.

Kyuhon-me: Takiotoshi

Takiotoshi is the ninth technique in Hasegawa Eishin-ryū, and the last of the tatehiza techniques in the set as taught in Musō Jikiden Eishin-ryū and Musō Shinden-ryū. It is one of the more complex of the nine waza.

Takiotoshi (瀧落 or 滝落) translates approximately as “a cascading waterfall.” As a simile it is used to describe rain falling heavily in sheets, like a waterfall. The same word can also be used to mean swimming down a waterfall, although I don’t believe this is relevant to how the word is used in Eishin-ryū.

In the tanka below, a description of a rushing waterfall and its rapids being unhindered by rocks is used as a metaphor for the motion and feeling of the practitioner.

Below is the waza Takiotoshi as it appears in Musō Shinden-ryū:

Once more, I will introduce a version of the waza for both Eishin-ryū and Shinden-ryū. Again, my description of the Shinden waza comes from the Japanese edition of Musō Shinden-ryū Iaidō by Yamatsuta Shigeyoshi (Airyūdō, 2002).

Muso Jikiden Eishin-ryu:

The practitioner is sat with his back to the opponent. The opponent takes hold of the practitoner’s saya at the kojiri. The practitioner stands and pulls the kojiri of his saya back and up, before returning it swiftly in the opposite direction while stepping forward with his left foot and bringing the koiguchi to chest height. This breaks the grip of the opponent and throws him off balance. The practitioner steps through with his right foot and draws his sword while opening the body and looking at the opponent. The sword is drawn and held at hip height with the blade horizontal. The practitioner turns to face the opponent, thrusting the sword forward and stabbing him in the chest. This is followed by a step in and a drop to a kneeling position while delivering a kirioroshi.

Note that the exact method of making the opponent let go of the saya differs depending on whether the opponent grabs it with his left hand, right hand or with both hands.

Muso Shinden-ryu:

The practitioner is sat with his back to the opponent. The opponent, seated behind, takes hold of the saya’s kojiri. The practitioner stands and the opponent does so too. The practitioner turns to face the left before sharply turning back and taking a short step through. Without placing his left foot on the floor, he brings the tsuka to his chest and breaks the opponent’s grip. Planting his left foot, he takes a short step forwards with his right and turns, drawing the sword at chest height and holding it at that height with the blade pointed upwards. The practitioner stabs the opponent with the sword in this position before raising the sword into jodan, stepping through and making a kirioroshi while standing. After this the practitioner drops to one knee to perform chiburui and nōtō.

Between the two schools, the technical details of the waza are slightly different, but fundamentally the technique remains the same in terms of feeling and application.

瀧落

たきつ瀬の崩るる如く流るれば
水とあらそふ岩もなきかな

Takiotoshi

Taki tsu se no
Kuzururu gotoku
Nagarureba
Mizu to arasou
Iwa mo naki ka na

As the waterfall
Flows like an avalanche
Its rapids seethe fiercely
In a powerful torrent
With which no rock can contend

First, a few notes on the language used in the poem.

The title of the poem clearly describes a waterfall flowing downwards. However the first line, taki tsu se no is worth exploring in a little more depth. This epithet is traditionally used in Japanese poetry to indicate speed. It can be be read as simply indicating a waterfall: however the meaning is deeper than this. It can be written as 瀧つ瀬 in kanji, in which case the direct translation would be “the waterfall’s (瀧つ) rapids (瀬).” But if we look at the root of the phrase, we find that originally the taki tsu part did not strictly mean “of the waterfall” (瀧つ), but comes from the verb tagitsu (滾つ or 激つ), meaning “violent” or “seething.” The word taki for “waterfall” comes from this root. In modern Japanese taki usually refers to water falling from the top of a cliff; however, in old Japanese it can also mean simply a fast, powerful flow.

Yōrō Waterfall, by Hokusai

In the Heian period and earlier, taki was used to refer to the rapids at the base of a waterfall rather than the waterfall itself, which was instead called tarumi (垂水). However, following the Heian period taki came to refer to the waterfall as a whole. As Eishin-ryū was founded in the Edo period, its tanka were almost certainly written after this shift occurred. Despite this, I believe it is important to think of the waterfall in the poem not just as falling from high to low, but as rushing down a surface and forming fast-flowing rapids.
 

The word kuzururu (崩るる) is an old form of the modern Japanese kuzureru, meaning “to break apart” or “to collapse.” Because this is usually used to refer to solid objects like rocks and buildings falling apart, I have translated it as “avalanche.” It seems to describe the waterfall tumbling down from a high point. It may be useful to note that this is an intransitive form of kuzusu. Practitioners of kendo, judo and other budo should be familiar with this word in its noun form kuzushi, meaning to break your opponent’s physical or mental posture and throw him into disarray. If we relate kuzururu to the waza Takiotoshi, it could be describing in particular the initial movement used to break the opponent’s grip on the saya. Although we might be inclined to take this to mean that the opponent is the one being broken apart, I would prefer to relate it to the practitioner and draw attention to the word gotoku (如く) meaning “like” or “as if.” The practitioner is not breaking posture and his mental calmness is not being disrupted, but the sharpness, suddenness and necessary size of the movement may give that impression.

The word “flow” (nagaru, 流る) means a flow of water, such as in a river, from high to low. It clearly implies smooth, fluid movement, which is key to this technique.

With the practitioner described in terms of the waterfall, the closing lines of the poem appear to introduce the opponent. Once again, the opponent takes the form of an inanimate rock standing in the path of the dynamic, flowing practitioner. The line states that no rock can stand against water, when water flows in the way described in the opening lines. The term arasou (争う) is used in modern Japanese to mean “compete with,” but it can also mean to struggle against or resist an opposing force. This could be taken to mean that the waterfall wears down the rock over time, but it seems more likely that it is describing the powerful torrent rushing around a rock standing in its way, without the flow being blocked.

Mibu no Tadamine

A brief look at some other poems featuring waterfalls may clarify and elaborate on some of the imagery in the Eishin-ryū tanka.
 

The following is a love poem by the early Heian poet Mibu no Tadamine (late 9th century-early 10th century). Because of the era this tanka was written in, the term tagitsu here refers to fast-flowing rapids, not a cascading waterfall. However it is a classic example of the image of fast-flowing water in Japanese poetry. It conveys turbulence and rushing speed.

たぎつ瀬に根ざしとどめぬ浮草の
浮きたる恋も我はするかな

Tagitsu se ni
Nezashi todomenu
Ukikusa no
Ukitaru koi mo
Ware wa suru ka na

Like a floating weed in the fast-flowing rapids
That cannot put down roots
I let myself be swept along by this turbulent love

Here the poet is being helplessly swept along by his feelings, like a plant in rushing rapids. In the Eishin-ryū tanka however, the opponent is depicted as something far more static: a rock. Rather than sweeping the opponent this way and that, it seems more likely that the conveyed image is of the practitioner ‘flowing’ around him.

The following poem is famous as part of the Hyakunin Isshu poetry anthology (77), and was also collected in the Shika Wakashū (229). It was written by the retired Emperor Sutoku (1119-1164). This poem formed part of early rakugo, a kind of comic storytelling.

瀬をはやみ岩にせかるる滝川の
われても末に 逢わむとぞ思ふ

Se o hayami
Iwa ni sekaruru
Takigawa no
Waretemo sue ni
Awan to zo omou

The rushing rapids are divided by a rock
But further down the waterfall
I know the river will unite again

The poem describes the passion of two lovers in terms of the rushing rapids of the waterfall. Although they are parted, the intensity of their love means that they are sure to be united again in the future.

Nunobiki Waterfall, by Hiroshige

In the Eishin-ryū tanka, one might at first be tempted to interpret the “waterfall” as the practitioner stepping in and dropping to his knee when delivering kirioroshi. In the case of Shinden-ryū, one might think of the sword thrust as being the fall (and this might carry a little more weight). However I believe these are quite limited interpretations. Rather, I would look at the waza as a whole, including the initial breaking of the opponent’s grip, gaining distance, drawing the sword and delivering the thrust. This entire motion, although it is essentially linear and not vertical, may be described in terms of the flowing, seething and tumbling waters of a waterfall. It is fast and powerful, but also very fluid, relaxed and smooth. The practitioner moves unhindered from the opponent’s initial attempt to hold him back (grabbing the saya), flows quickly and smoothly (gaining distance with taisabaki and drawing his weapon) and rushes onwards to strike the opponent directly (the stab). Even following the thrust, the practitioner continues to move forward prior to the final kirioroshi. The feeling of an unhindered, continuous flow is communicated in the image of the waterfall flowing – not just falling through space, but rushing down a rocky surface in a seething torrent.
 

Please bear in mind that I am a beginner in the fields of both iai and translation, and that this basic look at the tanka may contain errors. As always, I leave it to those more experienced and knowledgeable than myself to find the deeper meaning in the poem.

Any comments and constructive criticisms are very welcome.

Hachihon-me: Namigaeshi

The Sea Off Satta, by Hiroshige

Namigaeshi is the eighth technique in Hasegawa Eishin-ryū. It closely resembles the immediately preceding technique, Urokogaeshi. The tanka that accompanies the technique reflects this similarity.

Namigaeshi (浪返) means “the retreating motion of a wave.” A common phrase is yosete wa kaesu nami (寄せては返す波), meaning “waves breaking on the shore and retreating.” This image correlates fairly well with the physical movement of the waza. However, if we look at the dōka for this technique, it appears to run contrary to the image of the retreating wave. At first, this seems to present a problem when relating the tanka to the technique, but a little exploration of the imagery here offers some possible explanations.

In the tanka below, the image of a wave washing unstoppably over high obstacles is used as a metaphor for the motion of the practitioner.

Below is the waza Namigaeshi as it appears in Musō Shinden-ryū:

An attack from the rear is met with a 180 degree turn towards the opponent and a horizontal nukitsuke, whilst keeping the body relatively low. This is followed by a step in, and a kneeling kirioroshi to finish off the repelled attacker. The waza is essentially the same as Urokogaeshi, but this time the practitioner is responding to an attack from directly behind, rather than from 90 degrees to their left.

浪返

あかしがた瀬戸越す波の上にこそ
いわをも岸もたまるものかわ

Namigaeshi

Akashigata
Seto kosu nami no
Ue ni koso
Iwao mo kishi mo
Tamaru mono ka wa

Even the high rocks
And cliffs that tower over
Akashi’s shoreline
Cannot contain the waves that
Roll in from across the strait

The poem itself is fairly straightforward. It describes waves crossing the Seto Inland Sea between Awaji Island and Akashi. In the poem, the large rocks and cliffs that lie in this region offer no barrier to the waves that cross the strait, which swell up to wash over any obstacles.

Scene of Akashi from the Tale of Genji, by Toyokuni

Akashigata refers to the bay of Akashi, in modern-day Hyōgo prefecture. This area features prominently in Japanese literature. In the Tale of Genji, Genji flees from the capital and lives in the area around Akashi and Suma for two years. In the novel, the word Akashi is used as a play-on-words, to suggest “illumination” or “cleansing,” reflecting Genji’s future return to the capital. In the novel the waves on the shore are used as a metaphor: Genji describes messengers returning to Kyoto from Akashi as “retreating waves.”
 

There is a rich tradition of the bay of Akashi appearing in Japanese poetry. Descriptions of the strait often focus on the waves themselves as they roll in and out, but also commonly touch on the mist hanging over the bay, the reflection of the moon on the sea and the flocks of plover (chidori、千鳥) that fly above the waves. In The Tale of the Heike, we find the poem:

有明の月もあかしの浦風に波ばかりこそよると見えしか

Ariake no
Tsuki mo Akashi no
Urakaze ni
Nami bakari koso
Yoru to mieshika

Akashi at night is as bright as the day
Waves roll in with the sea breeze
Illuminated in the light of the morning moon

There is some wordplay here – the word Akashi is, as mentioned above, a homophone for “illuminate,” and the word for the waves rolling in (yoru) is play on the word for “night.” In other words, the moon is so bright that the only “night” (yoru) the speaker can see is in the breaking (yoru) waves.

However, this poem does not have very much in common with the Eishin-ryu tanka: it has been included simply to give a sense of the kind of poetry that has been written about this area.

As outlined above, we can see that although the title of the Eishin-ryū tanka might be translated as “retreating wave,” the imagery of the poem describes a wave surging forward. The movement of the practitioner, stepping back, seems also to run counter to the movement of the wave in the poem. However, if we look in more depth at what is implied by namigaeshi, some possible solutions to this apparent contradiction emerge.

Although namigaeshi describes a retreating wave, what I believe is implicit here is that the wave draws back from the rocks and cliffs, but the receding motion is accompanied by a swell before the wave surges forward again. Kaesu can also describe something turning over or repeating – emphasising the feeling of a “rolling” wave, washing in and out repeatedly. As we saw with Urokogaeshi, the word kaeshi can mean “resistance,” and in the case of waves or wind it can also be used to mean “resurgence,” (after temporarily falling still).

Therefore namigaeshi could be thought of as a wave initially retreating from an obstacle, but then rolling back and swelling up to crash forwards again. This feeling is emphasised by the phrasing in the poem: the final line, tamaru mono ka wa, takes the form of a rhetorical question. If translated more directly, the line reads, “can the rocks and cliffs contain the wave? [No, in fact they cannot.]“

This interpretation of namigaeshi, if it is correct, seems not only to describe some of the practitioner’s movements in more detail but also highlight the crux of the technique and how it relates to the tanka.

Map of the Seto Inland Sea – the Strait of Akashi is directly to the north of the island

The feeling and message of the poem, if not the imagery, is clearly very similar to that of Urokogaeshi. The final line suggests that the rocks and cliffs will be overcome, but the poem does not describe the event explicitly. In the same way, the final line of Urokogaeshi suggests that the carp will successfully scale the waterfall, but does not describe the actual leap of the fish. Both tanka describe resisting or pushing against an obstacle, and then merely state that the the carp/the wave (i.e. the practitioner) will prevail against the rushing waterfall/the cliffs of the strait (i.e. the opponent).
 

It may be worth noting that the word for strait (seto, 瀬戸) used above can be an abbreviation of the form setogiwa (瀬戸際), a metaphor for “the critical moment.” The word used for crossing the strait (kosu, 越す) can mean “to overcome,” or “to survive through.” Therefore, a possible interpretation of this phrase is “to pass through the critical moment” – perhaps meaning that by resisting and surviving the key moment in which the struggle is decided, the practitioner will overcome the opponent, regardless of how strong they appear.

The retreating movement of the wave – as emphasised in the title of the poem – could be seen as a metaphor for the turn, rise and nukitsuke – in other words, the method by which the practitioner overcomes the opponent’s attempts to suppress him. From the subject of the poem, it seems implied that when the wave comes to the rocks and cliffs, it rolls back, swells up and crashes down over them. If we look at the movement of the practitioner, he is not repelled by the opponent, but turns around (perhaps reflecting a wave’s “rolling” motion) and rises (the swell) while stepping back with his left foot and drawing his sword (the wave drawing back temporarily). Having risen against the opponent and successfully driven back his attack, the practitioner is poised to move forward and “wash over” him.

Please bear in mind that I am a beginner in the fields of both iai and translation, and that this basic look at the tanka may contain errors. As always, I leave it to those more experienced and knowledgeable than myself to find the deeper meaning in the poem.

Any comments and constructive criticisms are very welcome.

EDITORS NOTE:

Kendo Kyohan
Published in the 41st Year of Meiji (1909)
Approved by Minister of War Terauchi Masatake

COMPLETE REGULATIONS AND GENERAL RULES

First Part
The purpose of kenjutsu is to familiarize oneself with the ways of close combat, the physical strength of the sword as well as mental strength(1) in order to vigorously exhibit the spirit of offense.

Second Part
Kenjutsu is divided in to saber and bayonet.(2)

Third Part
In the practice of kenjutsu follow the directions presented below, unless provided with other rules.

1) Saber: Reserved for officers, non-commissioned officers as well as the rank-and-file.
2) Bayonet: Studied by Infantrymen, Fortress gunners and engineers, officers and junior officers and all soldiers.

Fourth Part
Improvement in kenjutsu depends foremost on the skill of the instructor(3); thus at each level the instructor(4) too must practice with great fervor in order to improve their own skill.

Fifth Part
Kenjutsu should be taught individually. You(5) should be very familiar with the quality of each individual student as well as their physical attributes. Be careful to insure that student is capable of accurate and quick movement and has a full spirit.(6)

If a student is taught incorrect posture at the beginning, bad habits will become ingrained in their style.

Sixth Part
Motivation of students is extremely important in the improvement of their kenjutsu. Therefore, each teacher should attempt to patiently affect this attitude in their students.

Seventh Part
The practice of kenjutsu should always be viewed with the same seriousness as actual combat, with emphasis put on unflinching bravery and courage. At the same time, students should observe and reflect on prior exemplars of kenjutsu.(7)

Eighth Part
In the maneuvers of kenjutsu, make use either the shinai or mokujū and wear protective bōgu.(8)

Ninth Part
Novices should make use of the gunyōjū(9) for practice. They should make use of imaginary opponents for practice. Against these imaginary opponents practice both thrusts and defensive counterattacks. By this practice students will come to understand the use of the gunyōjū.

Tenth Part
A serious practice of the basic movements is performed as follows: start a long distance from a set point, and then move towards that point performing various strikes. Be sure to practice diligently in order to make best use of this exercise. Utilize imaginary opponents to further increase its efficacy.

Eleventh Part
It is useful to have your students practice in difficult situations: at night, on uneven surfaces, practicing against other soldiers or in a variety of other severe circumstances. However, practicing at night can be extremely dangerous, so take care when performing such practices.

Twelfth Part
Just prior to a match one should don the training equipment, taking care to check the fittings.

Thirteenth Part
Before and after either practicing the basics or sparring with an opponent, it is important for both participants to bow to each other with a feeling of gravity.

A bow in kenjutsu occurs as follows: the two competitors, after ensuring that their posture is correct, lean the top halves of their bodies forward while taking care to maintain eye contact with the opponent.(10)

BASIC EXERCISE REGULATIONS

Fourteenth Part
Basic exercises form the foundation of kenjutsu, and as such should be taught with attention to accuracy.

Fifteenth Part
When teaching basic exercises for the first time, teach in a gentle and quiet manner that emphasizes correct understanding of the point of the exercise. Once the student has grasped the meaning of the exercise, gradually increase the speed with which the exercise is performed.

Sixteenth Part
The basic excercises of kenjutsu (cutting, stabbing, defensive techniques, counter-thrusts, counter-cuts, etc) should be practiced several in a row.(11) The teacher should adjust the exercise to fit the context of the student, by either the student along a linear path or allowing him(12) freedom to maneuver. In either case the teacher should hide his intentions and retreat from the student by an appropriate amount after each attack.(13)

Seventeenth Part
Even after a student has learned the basic drills it is often still the case that during practice the teacher will notice bad habits that the student has learned and be forced to correct them. Therefore before and after every practice it is important to review the basics to avoid the ingraining of incorrect form.

Eighteenth Part
When you begin a drill, assume the correct stance(14) and start at a distance of four to five steps. This also applies during tournament matches.

Nineteenth Part
Return to the position of crossing the shinai or mokujū after each time performing a basic drill.(15)

Twentieth Part
Orders given by an instructor are to be followed without fail. It is important to always display clear vigor during practice in following those commands.(16) Even so, when practicing a technique several times in a row, the student should gradually shift their focus from repeating the technique in a regular fashion to internalizing it.(17)

TOURNAMENT(18) REGULATIONS

Twenty-first Part
Tournaments are the primary means of achieving the goals of kenjutsu, particularly when it comes to measuring the level to which students have been passionately studying the art.

Twenty-second Part
A tournament match can be separated in to one of two types: matches where competitors are at an equal level, and matches where one competitor has more practice than the other. An uneven match(19) is best performed after practicing basic techniques so as to allow focus on good basics. An even match should occur once the student has had a chance to practice and to make use of his talents.

Twenty-third Part
The point of the uneven, or teaching match is to instruct the student. The student must learn to judge the techniques of his opponent and counter his maneuvers through appropriate use of basic techniques. The student must be coached with particular emphasis towards the development of an aggressive style so as to move decisively and catch the opponent unawares.(20)

Twenty-fourth Part
During a teaching match the teacher should attack various weaknesses in the guard of the student (or the student should give the openings to the teacher), and the student should defend himself and perform a counter-attack. In this way, the student will learn the correct application of technique and at the same time develop a spirit of strong offense.

Twenty-fifth Part
Even after a student has progressed to the point of participating in even matches they should still engage in teaching matches as a way to measure their progress in sparring ability.

Twenty-sixth part
An even match is a form of mutual practice for both students where they may test the various offensive and defensive techniques they have learned. Victory or defeat should be decided by the correct and spirited use of techniques as well as the confidence and spiritual poise of the participants.

Twenty-seventh part
In order to have a successful even match the teacher must whenever possible explain to both participants key points about their technique, covering things like missed opportunities, mistakes, bad habits in their form, etc.

Twenty-eighth Part
A key concept of kenjutsu is “the one who acts first wins.” Therefore, it is vital to not lose the chance to infer the intention of the opponent’s movements.(21)

Twenty-ninth Part
When attacking, act with resolute bravery, as though you were prepared to die. If you perform attacks in this manner they will be successful. Furthermore, even after a successful attack you should maintain the mental poise to attack again. Do not give up the mentality of attacking. If you maintain this spirit, you can respond to changes in your opponent’s style.

Thirtieth Part
Generally when defending from an oncoming blow it is important to immediately counterattack. It is better to throw oneself into an attack(22) than to allow the opponent any leeway. By following this injunction you can create hesitation in your opponent and turn his attack back against him, allowing you to take the offensive.

Thirty-first Part
During an even match the teacher is responsible for deciding the victor. Proper judging has a strong effect on the efficacy of the student’s kenjutsu. Therefore, the teacher is enjoined to pay scrupulous attention to matches in order to ensure the student is able to attain proficiency and understanding of the goals of kenjutsu.

Thirty-second Part
The natural shout(23) that arises with the energetic spirit of performing an attack is quite valuable. However, shouting for no reason(24) should be avoided.

Thirty-third Part
A student who drops his mokujū or shinai is open to attack by his opponent. However, the opponent is limited to one attack only before a halt is called to the match.

Thirty-fourth Part
When a match is decided the contestants should return to the fixed positions they took at the beginning of the match and either sheath their shinai(25) or stand at attention with their mokujū.

Thirty fifth Part
No strikes outside the permitted group are to be allowed during a match. When an attack lands outside the allowed targets the attacker may apologize with a call of “yogiri.”(26)

Thirty-sixth Part
A teacher begins the tournament with the call of “hajime.”(27) The match may be temporarily suspended by the teacher with the call of “matte.”(28) Either the teacher or student may, in the case of an incident during the match that they feel requires a halt to be called, may request such a halt by calling “shibaraku.”(29)

GUNTŌJUTSU(30)

Basic Movements
Slashing and Thrusting Attacks

Thirty-seventh Part
Acceptable areas for slashing attacks are listed below. (See first diagram)

Men(31)
Sayū-dō(32)
The area from the elbows down to the wrist.(33)

These are the strikes performed in basic practice.

Thirty-eighth Part
Acceptable areas for thrusting attacks are listed below. (See first diagram)
The throat.(34)

Sheathing the Shinai

Thirty-ninth Part
Take an unmoving posture and hold the shinai in the left hand just below the base of the hilt guard. Turn the cutting edge of the shinai so it faces down, and angle the tip of the shinai down and on a diagonal. (See Diagram 2)

Fortieth Part
The process of moving from sheathed position into the basic stance. (See Diagram 3)

The associated command is: kamae-tō.(35)
Keep your head facing forward, and point your right foot forward as well. Turn your torso to the left and grip the handle of the shinai in your right hand as if your hand has frozen to it.(36)

Set your right foot forward roughly half a step. Distribute your body weight evenly between your feet, and bend both your knees slightly. At the same time, separate your left hand a distance from your body, and hold the sword forward with your right hand allowing your elbow to bend slightly. Keep your fist roughly in line with your fist(37) and, keeping the blade of the sword facing down, point the tip of the sword roughly at the eyes of your opponent. Keep your upper body straight, and keep your torso directly underneath your hips. At all times, keep focus on your opponent’s eyes.(38)

Forty-first Part
Relaxing into a sheathed position from a stance (Command: sagetō (39))
Turn your body forward, bring your left heel into line with your right heel, and sheath your sword.

Forty-second Part: Advancing and Retreating

Advance or retreat is dependent upon how you want to expand or contract the distance between yourself and the opponent. In either case maintain your stance and move using both your legs while keeping them fairly rigid. Keep your feet close together and move quickly, keeping your steps light.

When advancing move your right foot directly in the appropriate direction and keep your left foot a fixed distance to the rear. When retreating, use the opposite approach. Depending on the situation, there may be cases in which your left foot will pass your right; in this case keep your right foot to the rear by a fixed distance. As before, when retreating reverse this pattern.

Forty-third Part: Crossing the swords

The point at which swords cross is the distance of roughly one handgrip from the tip. Usually, the enemy’s sword presses against the left side of yours.(40) (See Diagram Four)

Striking and Thrusting

Forty-forth Part
When striking, from the basic guard raise your sword overhead, quickly advance forward one step, and at the same time fully extend your elbow and quickly strike downwards.

After striking, immediately return to guard (follow the same practice for thrusting.)

Forty-fifth Part
When thrusting, from the basic guard quickly advance forward one step, and at the same time fully extend your elbow and quickly push your sword forward at the opponent.

Forty-sixth Part: Strikes to the Men(See Diagram Five)
Command: Men wo utte(41)
To attack the head, keep your sword in front and swing up above your head, cutting down on to the enemy’s face.

Forty-seventh Part: Thrusting (See Diagram Six)
Command: Tsuke.(42)
From the left or right side of the enemy’s sword, thrust towards the enemy’s throat.

Forty-eighth Part: Cuts to Sayū Dō (See Diagrams Seven and Eight)
Command: Sayū-dō wo utte(43)
Bring your sword forward to the left or right, raise it over your head, turn the blade to the right or left and strike the left or right torso of your opponent.

Defensive Techniques and Counter Attacks

Forty-ninth Part
To defend against a strike, from the basic stance quickly block the opponent’s blade using the blade of your own sword.

Fiftieth Part
To perform a countercut, sweep the enemy’s attack aside as described above and, taking advantage of the weakness of their guard thus created, use the power from your block to launch in to a strike.

Fifty-first Part
Defensive sweeps and counterattacks for the Men
Commands:
First: Men wo fusege(44), Second: Men wo utte
To defend against a cut to the head, bring your first up and to the right, about on line with the top of your head, and keeping the sword roughly level block the attack. The counter –cut should be to the men target.

Fifty-second Part
Defending against a thrust and counter-attacking (See Diagram 10)
Commands:
First: Tsuki wo fusege(45), Second: Men wo utte
Block the thrust using the left or right side of the sword. The counter-attack should be to the men target.

Fifty-third Part
Defending the left and right torso and counter-attacking (See Diagrams 11, 12)
Commands:
First: Migi/Hidari-dō wo fusege(46), Second: Men wo utte
Bring down your left or right fist and, at the appropriate moment, bring the tip of your sword up diagonally to sweep aside the attack. The counter-attack should be to the men target.

Fifty-forth Part
Always follow the established match regulations for any match.

Fifty-fifth Part
The usual method for using a sword is in the right hand. However, skilled students may, according to the situation use both hands or the left hand.

1. The characters used here, kiryoku 気力, could also be rendered as “spiritual strength.” Specifically, the connotation is one of the mental strength necessary to win a fight, and thus the characters could also be rendered as “morale.” It is also a contrast with tairyoku 体力, or physical strength, indicating that strength beyond the purely physical is important in kenjutsu.
2. Jūkendō 銃剣道, or “gun kendō” is practiced to this day, though it lags far behind standard forms of kendō in popularity.
3. The term used for teacher is 教官(kyōkan).
4. The word here is literally “captain,” keeping with the military nature of the text.
5. No pronoun is used in the original Japanese text (a fairly common occurance in Japanese). For ease of understanding, certain phrases have been adjusted to the English second person.
6. The terms used here,気勢(kisei) and充実 (jūjitsu), are terms used to indicate spiritual strength much like kiryoku.
7. This idea is expressed in a single verb(kagamu) meaning, essentially, “to reflect on previous examples.” It has since fallen out of common use.
8. Bōgu is the term for protective gear worn by practitioners of kendō. The original design of bōgu dates back to the mid Edo Period.
9. The meaning of this term is unclear, but it appears to be a term for a practice saber, much like a shinai is a type of practice-oriented katana.
10. This emphasis on eye contact is a hold-over from more traditional swordsmanship. A swordsman who did not maintain eye contact with his opponent would leave himself open to a surprise attack.
11. Much like suburi, the rote drills that make up most of basic practice in kendō
12. The male pronoun kare is not used in the text. However, since women were prohibited from serving in the military, and since English does not allow for omission of the subject in the same way as Japanese, I have inserted the third person masculine pronoun in to certain sentences.
13. If the teacher does not retreat, the forward momentum of certain techniques will carry both partners in to close proximity, preventing the continuation of the exercise.
14. “Stance” in English martial arts parlance refers to a set position of the body so as to enable specific types of techniques. Depictions of various kenjutsu stances will be included later in the text.
15. A reference to ma’ai, or distance. When two shinai are crossed both combatants are within striking distance of one another. This distance is the point from which all techniques begin.
16. The verb used in the original Japanese is not “display,” but rather “to vocalize” (hasshō suru 発唱する, a verb no longer used in modern Japanese). This is most likely a reference to strong kiai, a concept that is reviewed in the analysis of this text.
17. This injunction is strongly in line with the observations on Japanese military swordsmanship recorded by F.J. Norman. This focus on, to borrow his phrase, “loose play” will be discussed to greater effect in the analysis of this text.
18. “Tournament” here is a translation of 試合 (shiai), which also has the meaning of match. Thus, kendō no shiai could mean both a tournament composed of several matches as well as the individual matches themselves.
19. Literally kyōshū shiai (教習試合) or “match for teaching and learning”).
20. The literal translation of this phrase is “an aggressive posture that catches the opponent off guard through a spirit of decisive action.”
21. The English translation can seem rather unclear on this point. In essence, by inferring how the opponent will move a student can then attack in such a manner as to prevent the opponent from attacking. In modern kendō this technique remains very popular, and is known as debana-waza (出ばな技).
22. A more literal translation of the original Japanese is to “discard the self,” indicating a heedless attack designed to create fear in the opponent.
23. Shouting is a common accompaniment to an attack in kendō and most other budō. The compound usually used to express the concept is 気合 (lit. “expression of the spirit”) which is not used here.
24. With a connotation of “excessively.”
25. The shinai, being bamboo, has no sheath in the manner of a real sword. Instead, the shinai is held just above the hilt-guard with the pommel facing outwards and angled up.
26. From the verb yogiru (過る), meaning “to pass; to overshoot.”
27. From the verb hajimeru (始める), meaning “to start.”
28. From the verb matsu (待つ), meaning “to wait.”
29. Shibaraku (暫く) means roughly, “one moment; a short moment.”
30. Saber Combat.
31 The top of the head. A legal hit in modern kendō.
32. The left and right sides of the torso. A legal hit in modern kendō.
33. In modern kendō, this target zone has been halved in size, and is referred to as kote (小手). The term used in this text is mae-hiji (前臂).
34. Thrusting attacks to the throat remain a part of modern kendō, where they are referred to simply as tsuki (突き), meaning “a thrust.”
35. Literally, “prepare the sword.” The same command is used in modern kendō.
36. Dropping the shinai remains a foul in modern kendō and would be even more of a concern in a one-handed fighting style.
37. As opposed to angling the wrist up, which is essential to the basic stance of kendō.
38. This stance is radically different from the one used in kendō, and more strongly resembles a fencer’s sideways stance than anything traditional to Japanese swordsmanship.
39. Literally, “lower the sword.”
40. As in modern kendō and in Western fencing.
41. “Strike the head.”
42. The imperative form of tsuku, meaning “to thrust.”
43. “Strike the left and right torso.”
44. “Protect the head.”
45. “Protect against the thrust.”
46. “Protect the left or right torso.”

近代デジダルライブラリー
Please note that the original Japanese text and pictures are in the public domain.

Nanahon-me: Urokogaeshi

Carp, by Hiroshige

Urokogaeshi is the seventh technique in Hasegawa Eishin-ryū, and is much simpler than the preceding three in terms of its execution.

In the past, I have seen the name of this waza translated as “Dragon Turn” on several websites. This seems to me like a mistranslation that has spread because many people do not understand the original Japanese. The word uroko (鱗) does not mean dragon, and although kaeshi (返) can mean ‘turn’ – as in ‘turn over’ or ‘turn back’ – the tanka below suggests another meaning. I can certainly see how the word ‘turn’ could be applied to this waza, especially as both it and Namigaeshi involve a physical turn around, but kaeshi does not normally express a rotation. As I will explain below, in the case of urokogaeshi I would rather emphasise ‘repel,’ or ‘push back.’ Kaeshi can also refer to a swift reversal in direction, and to turning an attack by an opponent into an counterattack of one’s own.

Uroko being translated as ‘dragon’ is less easy to fathom. Uroko means ‘scales’ – most commonly those of a fish. In fact, the word uroko itself is a metaphor for ‘fish.’ In particular, as in the case of this particular tanka, it refers to carp – koi in Japanese. As I explore below, it is possible that ‘dragon’ is extrapolated from a myth associated with the the carp described in the poem. However, although it would be foolish to ignore this connection, I still believe “Dragon Turn” is most likely a simple mistranslation.

Below is the waza Urokogaeshi as it appears in Musō Shinden-ryū:

An attack is met with a 90 degree turn towards the opponent and a horizontal nukitsuke, whilst keeping the body relatively low. This is followed by a step in, then a kneeling kirioroshi to finish off the repelled attacker.

鱗返

瀧の波瀬のぼる鯉のうろつくは
水せき上げておつることなし

Urokogaeshi

Taki no nami
Se noboru koi no
Urotsuku wa
Mizu sekiagete
Otsuru koto nashi

A carp swims upstream
Against the rapids of the
Rushing waterfall
Its struggle swells the water:
It will not be washed back down

In the poem above, the fish’s movement is described using the word urotsuku (うろつく), meaning to wander or mill about aimlessly. It also means to linger in a particular area. I have therefore translated this as ‘struggle’ to imply the carp pushing against the current, without making progress forward but also without being swept away. Its struggle causes the water to be repelled, thus allowing the carp to progress onwards.

However, there is an alternative that I think ought to be considered. Although I wrote in my first article that I would be translating the tanka as they appear in Jisaku Kamo’s book Musō Jikiden Eishin-ryū Iaidō, I feel that one particular variation is important enough to look at here.

In the variation in question, the word urotsuku is instead replaced with urokuzu (うろくづ), which is an old pronunciation of uroko. This certainly ties in with the name of the waza, and on analysis seems to make much more sense, both grammatically and thematically. Following consultation with a professional teacher of Japanese language, it seems quite possible that urotsuku is a misprint. However, I am in no position to judge definitively whether the version above is mistaken, or if both are equally valid. If we take the word to be urokuzu, the poem instead translates as:

A carp swims upstream
Against the rapids of the
Rushing waterfall
Water swells against its scales:
It will not be washed back down

I personally far prefer this version. Ultimately, the overall image of the poem changes little, but I think it is well worth considering both versions. In my following analysis I will try to cover both possible interpretations, but it should be noted I am leaning towards the second version.

The swelling of the water (mizu sekiagete) describes the water rising around the carp, repelled by its scales as it fights against the current. The term sekiageru in Japanese refers to water rising against an object – say, a rock – that the current cannot shift, and also implies a reverse in current that occurs when the flow is blocked. Thus the tanka above implies that the carp’s resistance to the current swells the water, weakening the flow and thus allowing it to continue its journey upstream.

The final line of the tanka, otsuru koto nashi, is interesting. Otsuru is an older form of ochiru (落ちる), to fall. Koto nashi states that such a thing does not occur. This could simply be taken to mean that the carp is not washed back down by the current. However it could also be taken to mean that the carp will leap the waterfall, although this is not stated explicitly.

Carp Streamer, by suneko on Flickr

The carp is a celebrated fish in Japan, and every year carp banners may be seen all over the country on Children’s Day. These banners are put on display to express the wish for sons to grow up healthy and strong. Under the Edo period caste system (shinōkōshō, with samurai at the top, followed by farmers, then craftsmen, with merchants at the bottom), only bushi were permitted to display these banners; when the caste system came to an end in the Meiji period, the custom became popular with the wider populace.

The image of the carp as a strong, powerful and determined creature comes from China, and the legend of the carp ascending the Dragon Gate (登龍門 in Japanese). As mentioned at the start of this article, this legend is clearly alluded to in the tanka above. I will recount it in brief here.

In the middle of the Yellow River, on the border between the neighbouring provinces of Shānxī and Shǎnxī, lies the Dragon Gate. Here a powerful waterfall that gushes from a rift in the mountain that lies in the path of the river. The channel through the mountain was supposedly cut by the semi-mythical ruler Yǔ the Great, who founded the Xia dynasty circa the 21st century BCE.

Carp transforming into a dragon

In spring each year, many carp swim upstream and gather beneath the Dragon Gate, struggling against the current. It is said that in the rare event that a carp manages to leap over the waterfall, it will metamorphose into a dragon and continue to rise into the air. The legend is a metaphor for struggling hard against almost overwhelming odds and overcoming them to achieve great success.

This metaphor appears in the History of the Later Han (後漢書), compiled in the 5th century, although the legend itself is much older. Here, the image of the carp is used to describe the bureaucrats who were selected for their skill by the governor Li Ying. When selected, these people were said to have “leapt the dragon gate” – their hard work and ability had paid off. The same is still said of students passing their exams today.

The Eishin-ryū tanka seems to be equating the practitioner with the carp and the attacking opponent with the current. The practitioner turns 90 degrees and rises slightly – this is perhaps alluded to in the poem by the description of the water “swelling up” against the fish’s scales as it turns against the current. The fish in the poem is moving to meet the current head on: likewise, the practitioner deliberately turns to face the attacking opponent while holding his ground.

The practitioner steps back with the left leg when he makes the first cut, but keeps the right leg in position, thus he does not retreat, but holds his ground, resisting the attack despite the step to the rear. He puts pressure on the opponent and refuses to be pushed back.

With the opponent’s attack repelled, the practitioner pushes forward and cuts them down – this perhaps could be seen as the carp ‘leaping the waterfall’ – something that is not stated in the poem, but is alluded to. Rather, the poem itself is concerned with the defensive resistance that leads up to and allows the practitioner to make this final cut.

As always, this a very basic attempt at translating and contextualising the tanka, done by a beginner in both the fields of iai and translation. I leave any deeper analysis to those more experienced and knowledgeable than myself. Comments and constructive criticisms are much appreciated.

Roppon-me: Iwanami

Boat Navigating Rocks in Izu Province, by Hokkei

Iwanami is the sixth technique in Hasegawa Eishin-ryū. As with the previous two waza, it differs slightly between Musō Jikiden Eishin-ryū and Musō Shinden-ryū. Again, however, the basics of the technique remain largely similar. Once more, I will cover the technique as it appears in both Jikiden and Shinden.

Iwanami (岩波 or 岩浪) literally means ‘rock wave.’ It refers to a wave that swells and breaks against rocks, and is a fairly common image in Japanese poetry. These waves are often depicted as being powerful or fast-moving, and caused by a strong current in a river. In the Eishin-ryū tanka, the image of one of these waves striking a boat is used to express overwhelming speed and power.

Below is the waza as it appears in Musō Shinden-ryū.

As the reasoning behind the waza again varies slightly between Jikiden and Shinden, I will introduce a version of the waza for both schools. My description of the Shinden waza is adapted from the Japanese edition of Musō Shinden-ryū Iaidō by Shigeyoshi Yamatsuta (Airyūdō, 2002).

Muso Jikiden Eishin-ryu:

The practitioner is sat to the right of an opponent. Both are facing the same direction. The opponent begins to threaten (for example, by moving to draw his sword).* The practitioner lifts his hips, steps straight back and draws his sword at the same time. He steps back in and turns to face the opponent while bringing the sword alongside his right leg, the tip pointing at the opponent and with the left hand supporting the blade. Dropping down to a kneeling position, the practitioner stabs the opponent in the chest. He then steps out to the side and drags them to the floor in a similar manner to Oroshi. The opponent is finished with a deep kirioroshi to their back.

* An alternative interpretation of this waza is that the practitioner is assassinating the opponent, and is in fact the one who initiates the attack.

Muso Shinden-ryu:

The practitioner is sitting to the right of his opponent, very close. The opponent moves to either control the practitioner’s tsuka or draw his own sword, and turns towards the practitioner. The practitioner takes a large step back (only slightly raising his hips), pulling the saya off the sword and resting the sword tip on the fingers of the left hand, still at his left hip. The practitioner turns 90 degrees to face the opponent, while turning the sword over and bringing it across the body so that the tip points at the opponent. With the left hand supporting the back of the blade, he stabs the opponent in the chest. Pulling the sword out again, he places the blade on the opponent’s back and pulls him down in the same manner as in Oroshi. Bringing the sword into jōdan, he finishes the opponent with a deep cut to their back.

The tanka for Iwanami describes this waza in terms of the speed and power of a wave striking a boat.

岩浪

行く舟の梶とりなほす間もなきは
いわほの波の強くあたれば

Iwanami

Yuku fune no
Kaji torinaosu
Ma mo naki wa
Iwao no nami no
Tsuyoku atareba

When the boat is struck
Powerfully by a wave
Crashing on the rocks
There is no time in which to
Steer the vessel to safety

In the tanka above, we can see that the iwanami strikes a boat with such speed and force that it is is overwhelmed before the steersman can compensate and change course. This clearly describes the opponent being unable to react fast enough to respond to the practitioner’s attack, and subsequently being dragged to the floor.

The tanka contains several images that are worth exploring. The first of these is yuku fune no (行く船の), which is a “pillow word” – an epithet occuring in Japanese poetry. It describes a boat travelling along, and expresses progress or passage. In the case of this tanka the moving boat seems to be a metaphor for the opponent sitting alongside the practitioner. His “passage” in this case could perhaps be interpreted as his movement, or simply his continued existence.

Another important image in the tanka is kaji torinaosu (梶取りなほす). Kaji, usually written as 舵, refers to the rudder of a boat in modern Japanese. Originally, the word usually referred to oars used to paddle a boat. From the middle ages onwards however, the word’s second meaning, ‘rudder,’ became prominent. Kaji tori refers either to rowing or steering a boat: in this case, its combination with the word naosu and relationship with the epithet yuku fune no suggest correction of the boat’s course. The form torinaosu also, however, implies taking hold of or shifting one’s grip upon the tiller or oar. This might possibly be interpreted as a metaphor for grasping one’s sword.

Ma mo naki (間も無き) is a very important element of the tanka. This phrase has several meanings, but the one I feel is relevant here is as above, “no time/opportunity/opening to…”. This is the element of the tanka that describes the speed with which the thrust of the sword must be made.

The phrase used to indicate the wave crashing on a rock in this tanka is iwao no nami (いわほの波). This is essentially the same as iwanami, although iwao implies a much larger, towering and imposing rock than iwa. This may or may not be significant, but it does suggest a particularly imposing dignity and commanding presence (堂々). Much of the imagery that appears in the Eishin-ryū tanka conveys a similar feeling.
 

Ki no Tsurayuki

Let us take a brief look at the use of iwanami in other poems and literature.
 
A famous tanka featuring iwanami is the following love poem from the Kokin Wakashū (471), written in the Heian period by Ki no Tsurayuki (紀貫之), author of the Tosa Nikki:
 
吉野川岩波高く行く水の
はやくぞ人を思ひそめてし
 

Yoshinogawa
Iwanami takaku
Yuku mizu no
Hayaku zo hito o
Omoisometeshi

Yoshino River
Rushes quickly around rocks
And waves billow up;
My thoughts turn to you as fast
As the river’s rapids flow

Here we can see the rapid flow of the river creating waves that crash against the rocks. In this case, the waves appear as a result of the speed of the river.

Another poem that illustrates the power of the wave can be found in the following poem by Fujiwara no Shunzei (藤原俊成) from the Senzai Wakashū (1274), compiled at the end of the Heian period.

貴船川玉散る瀬々の岩波に
氷を砕く秋の夜の月

Kibunegawa
Tama chiru seze no
Iwanami ni
Kōri o kudaku
Aki no yo no tsuki

In autumn moonlight
Waves breaking upon rocks in
Kibune River
Scatter glistening spray
And smash apart floating ice

This poem expresses the turbulence felt from unrequited love. The ‘spray scattering’ is a play on words referring to an unsettled spirit (「魂を散る」) and the ice being smashed refers to the heart being battered and broken. The iwanami in this case refers to the sudden and powerful emotional impact, and the complete disarray the author feels. In a similar way, the Eishin- ryū tanka expresses the psychological and physical impact of the strike throwing the opponent into disarray.

One final point I wish to raise here is how the motions of the sword in Musō Jikiden Eishin-ryū seem to reflect the shape of the wave.

When the practitioner draws his sword, he stands, brings it round to his right side and draws it back so the tsuka is held behind him and the kissaki is only protruding a little in front of his knee. The practitioner is bent at the waist at an almost 45 degree angle. The sword tip is likewise pointing downwards at a 45 degree angle. When the practitioner drops his hips and stabs the opponent, he straightens his waist and moves the sword through 90 degrees – the tsuka ends up at the knee, and the kissaki is now pointing upwards at a 45 degree angle. This can be seen in the rough diagram below.

Blade movement for Iwanami’s thrust

The motions of the sword in drawing back and stabbing forward in this way seem to mimic the shape and movement of the tanka’s wave. The wave swells (drawing back) and then rolls forward in an instant to strike the boat (stabbing). The shape of the thrust is to my mind similar to the trough of a wave.

As readers of previous articles will have realised, in all the Eishin-ryu tanka the practitioner’s movement is described by the subject of the poem. In this case the practitioner moves with the suddenness and speed of a crashing wave striking a boat. Both the wave, and the practitioner’s thrusting sword, are unforeseen and powerful forces that overwhelm their victims in an instant, before they can even begin to react.

Please note that I am a beginner in the fields of both iai and translation, and that basic look at the tanka may well contain errors. As always, I leave it to those more experienced and knowledgeable than myself to find the deeper meaning in the poem.

Comments and constructive criticisms are very welcome.

Gohon-me: Oroshi

‘Blowing Snow’ – by Shreyans Bhansali on Flickr

Oroshi, or Yamaoroshi, is the fifth technique in Hasegawa Eishin-ryū. Like Ukigumo, this technique varies somewhat in execution between Musō Jikiden Eishin-ryū and Musō Shinden-ryū. However the essential point of the waza remains the same.

Another similarity between Oroshi and Ukigumo is that Oroshi also contains some clear grappling elements. As with most, if not all of the Eishin-ryū waza, Oroshi may be interpreted in a number of ways in order to adapt it to different situations. In particular, this applies to the grappling elements. Different sensei teach different interpretations of Oroshi as their “standard,” and some sensei (my own for example) will teach more than one version. For simplicity’s sake I will only describe general versions of the technique for both Jikiden and Shinden.

Oroshi – in the context of the waza – has a very specific meaning. It literally means ‘wind blowing down from the mountain,’ and it is an image that appears often in Japanese poetry and literature. It is a word linked to Autumn and Winter – although apparently not a kigo, or seasonal word – and it is implied that the wind is cold and brisk. In Japanese, there are a number of related words pronounced oroshi, the root of all of which is the verb orosu, ‘to lower.’ The character for oroshi in this case – 颪 – is unique. It is a kokuji; a ‘Chinese’ character that was in fact devised in Japan. The lower part of the character is 風, ‘wind.’ The upper part is 下, ‘descend, lower, beneath.’

Oroshi often appears appended to the names of mountains, in order to identify the winds that come from those mountains. Ibuki oroshi (伊吹颪) and Hie oroshi (比叡颪) are examples of this. The Hanshin Tigers baseball team even has a theme song called Rokko Oroshi (六甲おろし) – literally, ‘the wind blowing down from Mt. Rokko.’ A generic form is yama oroshi. This means the same thing as oroshi, but contains a neat five syllables – handy for Japanese poets!

The tanka for Oroshi, interestingly, doesn’t contain the word oroshi at all. However it clearly describes such a wind. The key image in the tanka is a powerful sweep from high to low, swiftly overwhelming any attack.

Below is the waza as it appears in Musō Shinden-ryū. Musō Shinden-ryū and some branches of Musō Jikiden Eishin-ryū call this waza ‘Yamaoroshi’ (see above).

As with Ukigumo, the execution and riai is slightly different for Jikiden and Shinden. As before, I will introduce a version of the waza for both schools, adapting my description of the Shinden waza from the Japanese edition of Musō Shinden-ryū Iaidō by Shigeyoshi Yamatsuta (Airyūdō, 2002). As I do not personally study Musō Shinden-ryū, I will mainly look at the tanka from a Jikiden perspective. However I hope that Shinden practitioners may also find something interesting here.

Muso Jikiden Eishin-ryu:

The practitioner is sitting to the left of his opponent. The opponent suddenly moves to grab the practitioner’s tsuka. The practitioner moves his tsuka out of the way in a circular motion and strikes the face of the opponent with the tsukagashira.* He then draws the sword and, dropping his hips, cuts migi kesa with the sword striking the point between the shoulder and neck of the opponent (the kataguchi). Placing his hand on the back of the sword, the practitioner pulls the opponent to the floor, face down. He then performs furikaburi into the same high hassō-like position as in Ukigumo, before straightening up, assuming jōdan and finishing off the downed opponent with a deep kirioroshi.

* As a brief example of the grappling variations mentioned above, the circular evading motion of the tsuka here can also be used to break the grip of an opponent who has grabbed the tsuka, or throw him.

Muso Shinden-ryu:

Nakayama Hakudo’s Yamaoroshi

The practitioner is sitting to the left of his opponent. The opponent moves to draw his sword, and the practitioner turns to the right and strikes the opponent’s right hand with his tsuka before stamping on the opponent’s thigh. He then twists his hips and, with his foot still on the opponent’s thigh, draws his sword, striking the opponent across the chest with the blade. Placing his left hand on the back of the blade, he pulls the opponent to the floor, face up. Raising the blade so its tip is pointing upwards, the practitioner straightens up, assumes jōdan and makes a deep cut to the downed opponent’s body.

颪

高嶺より吹き下す風強ければ
麓の木々に雪もたまらず

Oroshi

Takane yori
Fukiorosu kaze
Tsuyokereba
Fumoto no kigi ni
Yuki mo tamarazu

The powerful wind
Blowing down from the high peak
Is so powerful
No snow can settle upon
The trees at the mountain’s base

This is a relatively straightforward tanka. The image is very clear: a powerful wind blows down from the mountain, clearing the snow from the trees at the base. We can see the winter imagery here too – as one might reasonably assume, ‘snow’ is a seasonal word (kigo) for winter. The image of the oroshi scattering or dispersing things may be found in other Japanese poems. The following is from the chapter ‘Yūgiri’ in The Tale of Genji:

山おろしいと烈しう、木の葉の隠ろへなくなりて

Yamaoroshi ito hageshiu, ko no ha no kakuroe nakunarite

A powerful wind blowing down from the mountain stripped the trees bare of their leaves.

The yamaoroshi stripping leaves from trees is a common image in Japanese poetry. The chapter Yūgiri takes place in autumn, and as mentioned above oroshi is an autumn or winter wind. In this case, the dying leaves are all swept away on the wind. The Eishin-ryū tanka contains a similar image, but rather than the leaves being scattered, it is the winter snow. Other classical Japanese poems might feature pine needles, or fallen autumn leaves being scattered by the wind.

Another famous example of this image may be found in the following tanka from the Shinkokin Wakashū (591), written by Minamoto no Saneakira in the 10th century:

ほのぼのと有明の月の月影に
紅葉吹きおろす山おろしの風

Honobono to
Ariake no tsuki no
Tsukikage ni
Momiji fukiorosu
Yamaoroshi no kaze

In the faint glow from the wan morning moon;
Autumn leaves are blown down
By the mountain wind

Fujiwara no Masatsune

This poem uses the same imagery of scattered leaves as the Genji poem above (although the poem pre-dates The Tale of Genji). This poem has a lonely feeling, and the wind here does not come across as such a mighty force. In the following poem, however, written by Fujiwara no Masatsune (1170-1221), the mountain wind – specifically the mountain wind blowing from Mt. Hira down to Lake Biwa – is a little closer to that of the Eishin-ryū tanka:

峰寒き比良の山おろし雪散りて　
汀吹きしく比良の山風

Mine samuki
Hira no yamaoroshi
Yuki chirite
Migiwa fukishiku
Hira no yamakaze

A great wind blows down
From Mount Hira’s freezing summit
Scattering the snow;
The breeze at the water’s edge
Is the wind of Mount Hira

Oroshi hip movement

In the context of Eishin-ryū, the Oroshi tanka seems quite straightforward to interpret. The waza begins with the practitioner raising his hips and ‘floating’ them. After striking the opponent, the practitioner then sweeps forward and down, dropping the hips low and putting pressure on the opponent with his sword. There is a very definite movement downwards, pressing onto the opponent with the body weight. This hip movement from high to low may be seen in the photos to the left.

The speed and power of the practitioner’s movement, smashing into the opponent and disrupting his offensive before it has time to form, may be seen in the mountain wind blowing aside the snow.

Pulling the opponent to the floor might be seen as a continuation of this. Like the metaphor of clouds settling on the mountain peaks and smothering them in Ukigumo, the blowing away of the snow could easily extend to the dragging of the opponent to the ground (the snow cannot remain on the trees; it is carried away by the wind).

A very simple interpretation, yes: but the image of the mountain wind has great power. It is a mighty force that sweeps the snow ahead of it, just as the practitioner blasts down into – and through – the opponent in this waza.

This is only a very basic, beginner’s translation and contextualisation. As always, I leave it to those more experienced and knowledgeable than myself to find the deeper meaning in the poem.

Comments and constructive criticisms are very welcome.

Yonhon-me: Ukigumo

‘浮き雲 / a floating cloud’ by furbychan on Flickr.

Ukigumo is the fourth technique in Hasegawa Eishin-ryū. The execution varies somewhat between Musō Shinden-ryū and Musō Jikiden Eishin-ryū, but the movement and feeling involved are much the same.

It is well-known that Hasegawa Eishin was an expert yawara (jūjutsu) practitioner. There is even a Hasegawa-ryū yawarajutsu that claims descent from him. The Hasegawa Eishin-ryū contains a good deal of grappling techniques, or techniques that may be effectively adapted for use in grappling, and Ukigumo is a prime example of this. Even without adapting the basic ‘situation’ usually used to describe the waza, there are several clear grappling elements. The nukitsuke here may be treated not so much as cutting through but as applying the sword to the opponent. The sword is then used to take the opponent to the ground, where they are killed with a cut to a vulnerable area of the body.

Ukigumo means ‘floating cloud’ or ‘drifting cloud.’ It is an enduring image in Japanese poetry, notably appearing in a famous passage in the Tale of Genji. The Chinese word fúyún (浮雲), adopted into Japanese as fuun, has approximately the same meaning. The floating cloud is a metaphor for being restless and changeable. As with other imagery we have seen, it can also mean something ethereal or ephemeral that is liable to move or vanish.

Below is the waza as it appears in Musō Shinden-ryū.

As mentioned above, the execution and riai of the waza differ slightly between Jikiden and Shinden. There are two major reasons for this: firstly, Jikiden comes from Tanimura-ha Eishin-ryū and Shinden comes from Shimomura-ha; secondly, Nakayama Hakudo is known to have adapted the waza to some extent when he formulated Musō Shinden-ryū.

Oe Masamichi’s Ukigumo

For completeness’ sake I will describe the waza as it appears in both schools. My description of the Eishin-ryū Ukigumo comes from my own training, whereas my description of the Shinden-ryū version is adapted from the Japanese edition of Musō Shinden-ryū Iaidō by Shigeyoshi Yamatsuta, a first-generation student of Nakayama Hakudo.

Muso Jikiden Eishin-ryu:

The practitioner is sat in a line: there is one person sat between the practitioner and his opponent on his right. The opponent moves to grab the practitioner’s tsuka, and the practitioner evades by standing and stepping to the rear left. He then steps in and crosses his left leg over the right. He raises his tsuka high and moves the saya close to his body, to move it out of the way of the middle person. The practitioner then lowers the tsuka and, pushing it left to ensure the middle person moves out of the way, he draws his sword, twisting his hips and dropping them low to make a shallow cut into the opponent’s shoulder. Placing his left hand on the back of the sword, he kneels and drags his opponent to the floor, face down. Raising the sword into furikaburi*, he steps on the opponent’s sword arm, sleeve or hakama, assumes jōdan no kamae and cuts deep into their back.

* Note that this furikaburi is out to the side in a kind of high hassō position. However this position is quite different to the usual kendo-style hassō.

Nakayama Hakudo’s Ukigumo

Muso Shinden-ryu:

The single opponent is sat directly to the practitioner’s right. As above, the opponent attempts to grab the practitioner’s tsuka. The practitioner evades by standing and opening the body to the left. He then steps back in, without raising the tsuka, crosses his legs and draws the sword while twisting his hips, striking the opponent’s chest and right arm. Kneeling, the practitioner places one hand on the back of the sword and drags the opponent to the floor, face up. Returning the sword along the same line, he assumes jōdan no kamae, treads on the opponent’s arm or sleeve and cuts the torso.

As you can see, these waza are very similar, but differ slightly in execution because the reasoning behind them is a little different. In either case, however, the following tanka may still be relevant.
 

浮雲

麓より吹上げられし浮雲は
四方の高嶺を立ちつつむなり

Ukigumo

Fumoto yori
Fukiagerareshi
Ukigumo wa
Yomo no takane o
Tachitsutsumu nari

Floating clouds are blown
From the base of the mountains
Up to their summits
Rising to envelop each
Of the lofty mountain peaks

Firstly, a few notes on the language used.

The word ‘ukigumo’ itself is loaded with meaning. It is famously the title of Japan’s first modern novel, written in 1888 by Futaba Tei. It is a metaphor for not being tied down, and wandering – both physically and emotionally – “wherever the wind takes you.” This has an air of melancholy and loneliness to it, and when it is used in this way the word is often written 憂き雲: a play-on-words, literally meaning ‘melancholy cloud.’

In the Eishin-ryū tanka, there is an explicit description of a move upwards from a low position. This is in contrast to the tanka for Oroshi, which I will examine in my next article, but otherwise the two contain quite similar imagery in their opening lines. In the tanka above, clouds are blown by the wind from the base of the mountains. They settle from above upon the peak of each mountain, hiding them from view.

The word yomo (四方) used here is rather archaic. It means ‘all directions,’ or ‘surrounding.’ The kanji are usually read shihō in modern Japanese, although the form yomo persists in some idiomatic phrases, such as yomoyama (四方山, ‘all kinds of things’). It is this word that indicates more than one cloud is described, as it indicates that many separate peaks are enveloped.

In The Tale of Genji, written c.1004AD, the chapter ‘Aoi’ famously contains the following poem. Whilst many English translations are available, the ones I have been able to find are all nicely contextualised by the surrounding text; therefore to make sense of this poem in isolation I will make a crude translation myself.

雨となりしぐるる空の浮雲を　
いづれの方とわきてながめむ

Ame to nari shigururu sora no ukigumo o
Izure no kata to wakite nagamemu

How can I find the plume of ash from her funeral pyre
Hidden amongst the floating clouds in this sky of showers?

Ise-no-Taifu

As we can inference from this, a floating cloud is a concealing cloud, an enveloping cloud – as clearly suggested in the Eishin-ryū tanka. This idea is strengthened if we look at other poems in which floating clouds appear. The following is by Ise-no-Taifu (c.989-c.1060), from the Shin Kokinwakashū (1500).

浮雲は立ちかくせども隙もりて
空ゆく月の見えもするかな

Ukigumo wa
Tachikakusedomo
Suki morite
Sora yuku tsuki no
Mie mo suru ka na

Floating clouds may move
To obscure the moon from sight
Yet we may still catch
Glimpses of it through the rifts
As it traverses the sky

There is also the relationship between the cloud and the mountain. A floating cloud is not fixed or held in any way and may move about the mountain, resting at different heights, depending on the whims of the wind.

The following is one of the shihai poems found on the Kanmon Nikki, which was written between 1416 and 1448 by Gosu Kōin. The paper on which these poems were written was reused to write the diary. As Japanese paper was valuable, it was often turned over and reused in this way. Writing that survives on the back of reused paper is known as shihai writing (紙背文書).

うきぐもは
ふもとのしぐれ
みねのゆき

Ukigumo wa
Fumoto no shigure
Mine no yuki

Floating clouds bring
Showers to the mountain’s foot
And snow to its peak

Here, the clouds are changeable, not just in their movements, but also in their behaviour. This poem in fact suggests the clouds’ behaviour changes to fit their location, although this understanding may not necessarily stretch to how the image is thought of in Eishin-ryū.

Let us look at one more poem to contextualise Ukigumo, by Fujiwara no Ariie (1155-1216) from the Shinshūi Wakashū.

木の葉散るむべ山風のあらしより
時雨になりぬ峰の浮雲

Ko no ha chiru
Mube yamakaze no
Arashi yori
Shigure ni narinu
Mine no ukigumo

The great mountain wind
Scatters the trees’ falling leaves
And brings floating clouds
That will not break in shower
To the peak of the mountain

Again, concealing clouds that are blown about on the wind, just as the leaves are. The floating clouds rise to envelop the peak of the mountain.

Armed with a little more knowledge about the nature of floating clouds in Japanese poetry, let us now break down the Eishin-ryū tanka and examine it in a little more detail.

Low floating cloud – by arbyreed on Flickr

The floating clouds are blown upwards upon the wind from the base of the mountain. This could be seen both as the movement of the tsuka and hands, and as the practitioner’s body movement from the seated position to the high kamae taken before nukitsuke. The evasive movement between the seated position and the kamae could further be compared to the floating cloud in that the movement is indirect; like a cloud buffeted on the wind. This movement also removes the tsuka from the reach of the opponent; we have already seen that the floating cloud is a metaphor for something ethereal and evasive.

Iwata Norikazu notes in his book Koryū Iai no Hondō (Ski Journal, 2002) that Ukigumo is a waza of contrasts – highs and lows, peaks and troughs, grandness and subtlety. This not only describes the movements of the waza but also the feeling, and is, I feel, alluded to in the tanka above.

Cloud enveloping mountain peak – by goodmami on Flickr

High in the air, the floating clouds settle upon the mountain peaks on all sides. This ‘enveloping’ could be seen to represent the application of the sword and subsequent pressure on the opponent to pull him down to the ground. Once on the ground the opponent may be incapacitated by treading on his body or clothes. This smothering of the opponent could well be referred to by the ‘enveloping’ of ‘every surrounding peak’ described in the poem. It may also describe the feeling of bearing down on the opponent, engulfing him and his spirit.

The movement in this waza is complex and sees the practitioner moving back and forth, up and down: the depth of movement in this technique is another aspect that suggests the image of floating clouds. The practitioner is swift, and moves lightly and unpredictably in this waza. He is free to move, wholly unrestrained by the opponent.

This is only my basic interpretation, and it may well contain errors – as always, I leave it to those more knowledgeable and more experienced than myself to find the deeper meaning in the poem.

Any constructive criticism or comments are very welcome.

Sanbon-me: Inazuma

Thunderbolts in the Rain over Hashidate, by Utagawa Kuniyoshi

The name of the third technique in the set, Inazuma, means “lightning.” The waza consists of stepping back and cutting into the wrist(s) of an opponent as they commit to a strike from jōdan. Like Tora no Issoku, this is followed by a kneeling kirioroshi.

Below is the waza Inazuma as it appears in Muso Shinden-ryū.

Speed and timing here is important, as the maai is very close: the nukitsuke is made as the opponent is swinging their sword.

稲妻

諸共に光と知れど稲妻の
後なる雷のひびきしられず

Inazuma

Morotomo ni
Hikaru to shiredo
Inazuma no
Ato naru kami no
Hibiki shirarezu

They may see the light
That flashes in the moment
That the lightning strikes
But they will not know the roar
Of the following thunder

This is one of the most straightforward tanka to translate; however this does not mean that it’s necessarily easy to interpret. The implied meaning of “lightning” in Japanese is similar to English: it can mean an extremely fast movement (‘as quick as lightning’), or a very short interval (‘in a flash’). The root of the word inazuma itself literally means “spouse of the rice plant.” In ancient times, flowering rice would ripen following autumn lightning storms. It was thought that the lightning caused the rice to bear fruit.

There is a host of words for thunder in Japanese, and the one used here, “naru kami,” is a form that rarely appears in modern Japanese. “Naru” (鳴る) is to make a noise (to roar, rumble, boom, ring etc.). Kami (神) is a spirit or god. The word can be written several ways, including 雷, 鳴神, 鳴雷 and 雷神. In modern Japanese, the word for thunder is almost always “kaminari,” which comes from the same root and has a standard spelling of 雷.

However, the meanings of “inazuma” and “kaminari” are not quite as clear-cut as those of the English words “lightning” and “thunder.” Strictly speaking, inazuma refers to lightning in the sky during a rainstorm or shower, and cannot be used to describe thunder; kaminari/narukami (and related words) refer not only to the sound of thunder, but also to lightning that strikes the ground (a “thunderbolt.”) If we keep these in mind when relating the poem to the waza, suddenly the words begin to describe the movements in more detail: inazuma could be the first cut, coming from nowhere to strike a high point on the opponent; narukami could be the second cut, coming downwards to strike the opponent on the floor.

The following is a famous tanka that features inazuma as a central image. It is an anonymous love poem from the Kokinwakashu (548), written in the early 10th century:

秋の田の穂の上を照らす稲妻の　
光の間にも我や忘るる

Aki no ta no
ho no he o terasu
inazuma no
hikari no ma ni mo
ware ya wasururu

Though it was as brief
As the lightning that flashes
In the sky above
The rice in the autumn fields
I will not ever forget

Although this does not necessarily have a connection to the Eishin-ryū tanka, it does show how the concept of lightning is used as a metaphor in poetry – to characterise something sudden and ephemeral.

A famous line from the Nō drama Kumasaka uses lightning as a metaphor for something intangible, or too fast to capture.

取らんとすれども陽炎稲妻水の月かや姿は見れども手に取られず
(Like heat haze, lightning, or the moon on water. You may see it but it is impossible to hold it in your hand.)

A final phrase of note is Shiden Issen (紫電一閃), a four-character idiom that literally means a flash (一閃) of purple lightning (紫電). This phrase is used to refer to the flash of light on steel when drawing or wielding a sharp sword. Lightning as a metaphor for a swift nukitsuke or kiritsuke is far from unusual.

The Eishin-ryū tanka is possibly describing the high speed of the nukitsuke, and the intent to kill the opponent with the first cut. It may also describe the shape of the waza – lightning in the sky (nukitsuke) followed by a thunderbolt striking the ground (kirioroshi). The opponent may see the flash of steel, but by then it will be too late.

As always, comments and constructive criticism are welcome.

Nihon-me: Tora no Issoku

Tiger Amongst Bamboo by Kano Sansetsu

The name of the second technique in the set, Tora no Issoku, means “tiger’s step” or “tiger’s foot” – either could be applicable, I feel. The waza contains an element present in all three schools (or teaching levels) that make up Musō Jikiden Eishin-ryū. This element is sunegakoi, a sweeping block to protect the knee from a horizontal cut. The outer forms of Tora no Issoku and its more advanced counterpart, simply called Sunegakoi, are almost identical. Although “sunegakoi” literally means “enclosing the shin,” in standard Japanese, in Tosa dialect the word “sune” means “knee,” not shin. Senior sensei have told me that this is an important distinction to be aware of.

Below is the waza Tora no Issoku as it appears in Muso Shinden-ryū, where it is known as “Tora Issoku.”

The practitioner responds to a threat from the front by standing and taking a step back. The opponent then directs his attack to the right leg, and the practitioner responds by blocking the incoming sword with a sweeping sunegakoi motion. With the opponent’s sword knocked away, the practitioner swiftly kneels and delivers a kirioroshi.

虎一足
猛き虎の千里の歩み遠からず
行くより速くかえる足びき

Tora no Issoku

Takeki ko no
Senri no ayumi
Tōkarazu
Yuku yori hayaku
Kaeru ashibiki

A fierce tiger
Will travel a thousand leagues
In no time at all
Yet its pace is faster still
Upon its return journey

This is a difficult tanka to interpret without some context and knowledge of Japanese. The English translation above may seem not to match the waza particularly well. Breaking it down, however, some things become clearer.

First, some notes on the translation and language used in the tanka.

I have chosen to transliterate 虎 (tiger) here as its Chinese-style reading, “ko” rather than the usual Japanese-style reading, “tora,” as this fits with the syllabic structure of the poem. It is possible that this transliteration is incorrect; however, either way the meaning remains the same.

“Takeki ko” above has the same kanji and meaning as “mōko” (猛虎). Mōko means “ferocious tiger,” and is a metaphor for a person with a strong and fierce spirit. The word “tiger” in Japanese alone is synonymous with ferocity, so this is a particularly emphatic phrase.

The “thousand leagues” in the translation above is “1000 li” (千里) in the original Japanese. Li is an old measurement of distance that came to Japan from China, although the lengths of Japanese and Chinese li were not the same. In Japan one li was originally equivalent to 300 paces, but the definition varied considerably. During the Edo period the official length of one li was set at nearly 4km, although this rule was only enforced fully during the Meiji period. The li was thought of as a ‘long’ measurement of distance based on how far a person could walk in a fixed period; hence, I used “league” rather than “mile” or some other more precise measurement.

“No time at all,” is tōkarazu (遠からず), literally “as if it is not far at all,” and refers to how quickly the tiger completes the journey. However the same word also implies “soon,” indicating that an action will take place before much time has elapsed. This might imply that the tiger does not pause before embarking on its “return journey.”

“Ashibiki” (足びき) is related to the phrase “ashi o hiku” (足を曳く) and has several meanings, including “to walk,” “to stop travelling,” and “to make a return journey.” It may also suggest pulling (hiku, 引く) the foot (ashi, 足) back. In the context above, “ashibiki” is modified by “kaeru” (かえる), “to return.”

The above tanka is not particularly redolent of other poems I have encountered. However it does have clear links to at least two Japanese proverbs, or kotowaza:

虎は千里行って千里還る
Tora wa senri itte senri kaeru

This phrase means “in a single day, a tiger can travel 1000 li from its starting point and complete a return journey.” It is a metaphor for fierce energy and vigour. The phrase may also be used to refer to a parent thinking of their children (the tiger will make a long journey, but is sure to return to its den at night to look after its cubs).

It is clear that the Eishin-ryū tanka is a variation on this phrase. There is another proverb that is possibly related:

虎を千里の野に放つ
Tora o senri no no ni hanatsu

Literally, “to set a tiger loose in a wide field,” this proverb means to leave a dangerous element unchecked.

The Eishin-ryū tanka unsurprisingly seems to be comparing the energy, determination and speed required in this waza to that of a fierce tiger. Indeed, I’ve been taught to present myself as confident and threatening in this waza – “like a tiger” – even while stepping back.

As always, comments and constructive criticism are welcome.

Musō Jikiden Eishin-ryū and Musō Shinden-ryū are the two most widely-studied schools of iaido in the world. Both were derived from Hasegawa Eishin-ryū, which was founded by Hasegawa Chikaranosuke Eishin during the Edo period. Two generations later, the ryūha moved to Tosa, where it was transmitted until the modern era. Eishin, the seventh-generation shihan of Hayashizaki Jinsuke’s Shinmei Musō-ryū, was responsible for adapting that school’s battō techniques for the uchigatana, as well as creating a number of waza himself. The waza he created are today collected in both Musō Jikiden Eishin-ryū and Musō Shinden-ryū at the Chūden level, in the set of techniques known as Tatehiza no Bu. This set may also be referred to simply as ‘Eishin-ryū’ or ‘Hasegawa Eishin-ryū.’

Tatehiza no Bu today consists of ten waza, all but one of which is performed from the half-kneeling tatehiza position. In this position one kneels with one leg as in seiza, whilst the other is placed with the foot alongside the knee of the first. This seated position is said to come from the correct posture for kneeling in armour.

It is perhaps little-known outside Japan that Eishin-ryū has an accompanying set of nine short poems (tanka), each corresponding to one of the Tatehiza no Bu waza. It is not unusual for koryu (be they martial or otherwise) to transmit certain teachings via poems, referred to as dōka (道歌). These poems usual carry a moral message in an easily-digested format. Eishin-ryū is no exception, and contains many dōka with moral messages. The nine poems corresponding to the waza, however, metaphorically outline the basic movements of each, and perhaps more importantly they describe the feeling (心持) with which each waza should be performed.

I may be mistaken, but as far as I am aware these tanka have yet to be translated into English. Therefore, a while ago I attempted a series of tentative translations on my blog. This was a fun project but was really only meant as translation practice. However the interest many people have shown in the tanka recently prompted me to return to them and try to improve my translations. I found I had made several major errors in my previous work, and that the Japanese source I had been using also contained a couple of mistakes. This time, hopefully, I will be able to put together a better set of translations. There are a number of variations on the tanka, but for simplicity’s sake I will be translating the ones that appear in Musō Jikiden Eishin-ryū Iaidō by Jisaku Kamo (Airyudo, 1999).

Tanka usually have 31 syllables, in a 5-7-5-7-7 structure. Although I was caught out a couple of times when I first tried translating these poems, I am now satisfied that the Eishin-ryū tanka do not break this rule. In my translations, I will attempt to keep this syllabic structure, but where this is difficult I will abandon structure in favour of an accurate translation.

I will be presenting my translations in several articles, with following articles tackling more than one tanka each. Due to the length of the introduction, this first article will only cover my translation and analysis of the first tanka: Yokogumo.

Ippon-me: Yokogumo

Mist and Cherry Blossom at Yoshino-yama

The first technique in the set, Yokogumo, is the most fundamental. It takes the form of a horizontal drawing cut (yokoichimonji nukitsuke) followed by a downwards cut (kirioroshi). The waza as it appears in Musō Shinden-ryū can be seen in the video below:

Yokogumo can be translated as ‘trailing clouds,’ or ‘bank of clouds,’ and refers to low-hanging clouds that span the sky. It is often used in reference to the eastern sky at sunrise. The image of the Eishin-ryū tanka is of cherry blossom appearing to be a cloud; perhaps petals blown in a line across the sky by a storm. Its relation to the motions of the waza are clear. Tanka often reference previous classics, and this is no exception: for details, see the notes following the poem.

横雲

おく山は嵐吹くかや三吉野の
花は霞の横雲の空

Yokogumo

Okuyama wa
Arashi fuku ka ya
Miyoshino no
Hana wa kasumi no
Yokogumo no sora

Deep in the mountains
A storm is surely raging－
In Miyoshino
The blossom is a mist of
Trailing clouds across the sky

Firstly, Japanese poetry contains words associated with season (kigo, 季語). The poem above contains words associated with spring: hana (literally ‘flowers,’ here it specifically means cherry blossom) and kasumi (mist – autumn mist is kiri) are the two most obvious, but it may be worth noting that yokogumo no sora (a sky of trailing clouds) appears in a spring-themed poem by Fujiwara Teika from the Shinkokin Wakashū.

A key word in this tanka is ‘Miyoshino.’ Miyoshino refers to Yoshino, in particular Mt. Yoshino, in present-day Nara prefecture (historically, Yamato-no-kuni). “Miyoshino” is written here as 三吉野, literally “three Yoshino.” However the origin of the word is 御吉野, which is an honorific form of “Yoshino.” The pronunciation of the honorific as “mi” carries a sense of admiration for the beauty (美) of the mountain. Both forms of writing Miyoshino may be used.

Yoshino is famous for two main reasons: firstly, it is renowned for beautiful cherry blossom (sakura), which is the origin of the cherry blossom trees planted on Arashiyama in Kyoto. Secondly, it is the place where Minamoto no Yoshitsune and Shizuka Gozen supposedly parted following the Genpei War. It is also known as a misty place, and the sight of the cherry blossom in the mist is breathtaking.

It may be interesting to note that the word for “mist” used here (kasumi) is reflected in the name of the first waza of Muso Jikiden Eishin-ryū’s Okuiai, Kasumi. This waza bears several outer similarities to Yokogumo.

Yoshitsune and Shizuka under cherry blossom

Yoshino features prominently in a wide range of traditional Japanese arts. In Nō drama, it is the setting for such plays as Futari Shizuka, Yoshino Shizuka and Yoshino Tennin. Please understand that my following translations of lines from the Nō plays are extremely rough and only intended to give a vague sense of what they say.

A line in Futari Shizuka describes Miyoshino thus: “One would think the flowers are clouds. If one does not draw closer, they appear to be clouds.” (花をも雲と思ふべけれ。近く来ぬれば雲と見し。)

Yoshino Shizuka contains the lines: “That sky. In the mists of Miyoshino. A waterfall of petals. A waterfall of petals in the mist. Those that fall are white clouds.” (そなたの空を。三吉野の霞のうちの。花の滝。霞のうちの花の滝。落ちゆくかたは白雲の。)

Futari Shizuka and Yoshino Shizuka are both, as their titles suggest, based upon the story of Shizuka Gozen and Minamoto no Yoshitsune. A third play, Yoshino Tennin, tackles a different theme. In the play, a man from the city (Kyoto) travels to Mt. Yoshino to see the cherry blossom. There he encounters a woman who turns out to be a celestial being (Tennin). In final part of the play, as the character disappears upon a cloud of cherry blossom, the chorus recites the following lines:

Miyoshino, with mist trailing low overhead;
The mountains of Yoshino are coloured with cherry blossom
Ride upon a cloud of petals
Ride upon a cloud of petals
Without knowing the destination.
(霞もたなびく三吉野の
吉野の山桜うつろふと見えしが
また咲く花の雲に乗り
また咲く花の雲に乗りて
行方も知らずぞなりにける)

The “mist trailing low” (kasumi mo tanabiku) and the “cloud of blown petals” (fuku hana no kumo) fit the same imagery as the Yokogumo tanka (cherry blossom, clouds of petals, low-hanging mist).

Of course, these dramas are far from the only appearances of Miyoshino in Japanese literature. I am merely scraping the surface here. I will now introduce some much older poems that the Eishin-ryū tanka echoes significantly.

Saionji Kintsune

Saionji (Fujiwara) Kintsune was a poet of the late Heian/early Kamakura period. He was a court noble and minister who became a monk, and is also known as Nyūdōsaki Daijōdaijin (literally, the Grand Minister before he entered the priesthood). He wrote the following poem about Miyoshino, which appears in Gyokuyō (194). I cannot find an English translation, so I will make a rough one myself.

ほのぼのと 花の横雲 明けそめて
桜に白む 三吉野の山

Honobono to
Hana no yokogumo
Akesomete
Sakura ni shiramu
Miyoshino no yama

Flowers like trailing clouds
Illuminated faintly
In the growing light
The mountains of Yoshino
Are white with cherry blossom

“Hana no yokogumo” is linked to the more common phrase hana no kumo, which is a metaphor for (cherry blossom) flowers that from a distance appear to be clouds. A similar image appears in the Eishin-ryū tanka, but there it is “hana wa kasumi no yokogumo no sora” (“flowers are a sky filled with trailing clouds of mist”).

Saigyō

Saigyō (西行) was another famous Japanese poet of the same period. His poetry is marked by an appreciation of natural beauty and a sense of loneliness.

Saigyō, who lived for part of his life as hermit on Mt. Yoshino, was particularly enamoured with the cherry blossom there. He wrote a considerable number of poems on the subject.

Although I there are many poems that I could have chosen to look at here, I will only examine two. Again, I will make rough translations myself, as I have been unable to find English versions of these.

Firstly, this poem from the Sankashū　(987):

空はるる雲なりけりな吉野山
花もてわたる風と見たれば

Sora haruru
Kumo narikerina
Yoshinoyama
Hana mote wataru
Kaze to mitareba

When I saw the clouds
Clearing from the sky above
Yoshino’s mountains－
They looked like they were flowers
Carried upon the wind

In this poem, Saigyo describes how the clouds clearing from above the mountains of Yoshino appear to be the petals of the cherry blossom blown on the wind. The poem for Yokogumo above contains a similar image of the clouds appearing as a “mist of petals” carried upon the winds of a storm.

The other of Saigyō’s poems that I will look at also comes from the Sankashū (1454):

吉野山高嶺の桜咲きそめば
かからんものか花の薄雲

Yoshinoyama
Takane no sakura
Sakisomeba
Kakaran mono ka
Hana no usugumo

When cherry trees
Begin to blossom upon
Mount Yoshino’s peak
Do the flowers not lie like
Thin clouds upon the mountain?

Again, flowers appearing as hazy clouds across the peak of Mt. Yoshino make an appearance. This distinctive image is clearly reflected in Yokogumo.

The tanka for Yokogumo itself seems to suggest the flowers of Yoshino drawing a horizontal line across the sky, appearing as hazy, low-hanging clouds. It may also refer to flowers carried upon the wind of a storm, into the sky, forming a literal cloud of petals. A third possible interpretation is a combination of the two: low, trailing clouds in the sky appear as if they are carrying the flowers away on the wind. Whichever interpretation is made, fundamentally this seems to be a reference to the nukitsuke of the waza (like a low-hanging cloud bank) and a certain level of “haziness” desired.

This is of course a very basic interpretation, and I make no pretense to understand the waza in enough depth to make a comprehensive analysis. However, I hope that this series of articles will offer some background on the poems that describe the desired feeling of each waza, and allow readers to reflect on how they relate to their own training. The process of translation has certainly given me a new way of looking at the waza.