Myriad Birds:A Playful Poetry Contest (Momo chidori kyōka-awase), 2 vols.

Vol a, cover

Vol. a, spread 1 of 10 Now, be it the mating calls of myriad birds in spring, or the cries of migrating birds in autumn—do they not equally console the heart and delight the ear? This being so, Kitagawa [Utamaro] has taken up his brush to color in their feathers of five hues, and to capture the attitudes of flocking birds in brocade prints of the east (where poets say birds do cry). And marveling at the blossoms on Asuka Hill (where poets say birds do fly), moved by the moon over the Sumida River of black-headed gulls, we have added playful poems and made one volume. In doing this we aim to preserve the tracks of the birds forever. And yet on reflection perhaps I stick my neck out too far while my bill is still green and only my proud cockscomb red. Heedless of the complaints of big birds who, looking at the eggshell pages of Akamatsu no Kinkei [Golden Cockerel on the Red Pine] and other morning squawkers, ask that the cock will not announce the dawn of the raven-black night, shall I not nest down in the mugwort thicket with the tiny wren?

Vol. a, spread 2 of 10 Just by the eaves a warbler cries out "ha ha," as if laughing so maybe he's spying on my lover and me. I found your bed empty as a hollow walnut shell, leaving me alone and crushed by the weight of love, heavy as a "mountain" sparrow

Vol. a, spread 3 of 10 It's a lesson to you that even the skylark soaring in the heavens comes down to earth when night falls. Like a dappled quail I coo and coo, hoping to woo you, but you don't fall for me as millet falls from a stalk.

Vol. a, spread 4 of 10 As rumors spread saying that my romance has rotted away, I'll be a woodpecker pecking to pieces their tittle-tattle. My love affair is secret, but the bean-turner bird, with its big mouth, no doubt split the beans and squealed her name.

Vol. a, spread 5 of 10 My heart no longer dances as it did on the night we met, but now I feel the sadness of a wagtail whose open love is blocked by probing eyes. Like the copper pheasant crying out in tears, I cannot bear the sadness night after night of not seeing your reflection in the mirror.

Vol. a, spread 6 of 10 When we first met you cooed in response, like a pheasant, but now when I saw something you just fold your wings. I wish to become a swallow living in an evergreen tree, so that I too could forever enjoy feelings of love for you, the one whose sash I untied.

Vol. a, spread 7 of 10 After a lover's quarrel I've now been kicked out of her room with three futon, which hurts like a black eye - pain a "white-eye" cannot know. I never promised to let you care for me and feed me by hand, even so our love can only last till the tit's birdfeed runs out.

Vol. a, spread 8 of 10 Unable to fall asleep I await all night through the one I long for, and read sutras, idly as a snipe, but the loneliness only deepens. Since your ambition is as lofty as that of Taiho the massive bird of legend, even if I love you, a wren cannot hope to fly so high.

Vol. a, spread 9 of 10 Your dimples like the "white-cheeks" bird are so charming, I wish I could use sticky birdlime to capture your love. Though the mouth of a sachet of cloves can be sealed shut, the tongue of the cockerel cannot be stopped at dawn.

Vol. a, spread 10 of 10

Vol. b, spread 1 of 9 Now, you may ask, what is the style of comic poetry composed in the east [Edo] that has come down to us? It is to be found in the playful spirit of anthologies from the Anthology of Poems Ancient and Modern (Kokin wakashū) and Later Anthology of Poems (Gosen wakashū) to Poems Sung in the the East (Gogin wagashū). And it should be said that poetic epithets [for Edo] such as “where the birds do cry” (tori ga naku) are just ideal for this volume. On this occasion, with birds as the theme, taking the poems we released as decoys, some thirty-odd were selected for use. The woodpecker lived up to his illustrious name and quickly carved these onto printing blocks with great skill. I pray that they will serve as an amusement through the night—long as a crane’s legs—I, Akamatsu Kinkei [Golden Cockerel on the Red Pine], whose talents are as stunted as the legs of a lapwing. And as for this morning-squawker’s drunken ramblings, I am a mere egg—not at all like the men of old who expected one to crow at dawn [i.e., pay heed to the time].

Vol. b, spread 2 of 9 Even these "bull" finches whose name implies "lies," make love on their perch at night, but you make excuses why you aren't in the mood. Along with all the birds that laugh and cry all day, I try to wheedle you, but you lend me no ear just like the stoic owl.

Vol. b, spread 3 of 9 More than the crow who spreads juicy gossip after a romantic fling, I detest the spoonbill heron whose big mouth never closes. As could be expected of a bird called a "shag," he bemoans the rumors that arise as quickly as he dives making ripples across the river.

Vol. b, spread 4 of 9 In name alone is the "horse bird" a beast of burden, since it cannot bear, as I do, the onerous weight of love. The color of my head, makes me appear to you as an old "sparrow of forty," so when I hinted at an affair your snub was hard to swallow.

Vol. b, spread 5 of 9 Even when we need canes to hobble about like pigeons, our love life will never change, and together we'll gobble up beans to celebrate the New Year. Your fickle feelings of love, restless as a flock of sparrows suddenly taking flight, will lead to secret romances and rumors will start to fly.

Vol. b, spread 6 of 9 Love is blind, they say, but is it because you have an owl's eyes that you come only at night but can't be seen by day? Whether I woo you clumsily, with the gawky cawing of a jay, or cry my heart out to you, it only falls on deaf ears.

Vol. b, spread 7 of 9 Let us exchange vows that you and I will be reborn on the same lotus leaf, and we'll be forever close, as joined wings of kingfishers. As he waits for his love letter to be sped in its delivery across land by a duck, he remains a slave to love as though trapped in birdlime.

Vol. b, spread 8 of 9 How vexing! My love has been left to wither away, as I'm stabbed in the back by that shrike in the grass. If I were a hawk rumors would spread, as rapidly as little birds taking flight, if I preyed on them for food and love.

Vol. b, spread 9 of 9