Azuma no Tabi　東の旅

My really, really long post on the Classical Japanese Verb

2005-11-27T20:32:00.000+09:00

I have to thank Matt for his excellent posts on this. If there were any boxes on the Big Chart I had only half-memorized before now, those days are gone forever. Staring and staring, and this is what I've come up with.

Matt divides the verb up into three, like Gaul:

Consonant Stems - omoh(u), sak(u), and so on, all six stems are merely variations on the vowel added to the root. [yodan, NA-hen, and RA-hen]
Dual Stems - vowel roots ending in I or E, but taking a U in the renyoukei, rentaikei, and izenkei [kami ni-dan, shimo ni-dan, SA-hen, KA-hen]
Vowel Stems - vowel roots constant throughout the six stems
[kami ichi-dan, shimo ichi-dan]

This classification is traditional and sensible, and I accept it. So I thought of lots of ways to try and neaten or simplify the charts we know and love in ways that didn't rely on good knowledge of modern Japanese. Alas, not much progress. So I stepped back and thought on the three classes I started with.

Consider the V-class. Now it makes up the majority of Japanese verbs, but it started out really small back in the day. For E-roots there's only 蹴る keru. And for I-roots a mere 11 verbs, all monosyllabic roots (excluding obvious compounds). It seemed to me that this class had to be newer than the other two. No-sword's post on keru hints that there were historical reasons leading to its isolation, but when I played around with my dictionary, I found that at least with 干るhiru, there was an earlier hu in the Nara days, a D-class presumably conjugating like E-monosyllables 寝nu, 経hu, and 得u. That is to say,

MZ	RY	SS	RT	IZ	MR
ne	ne	nu	nuru	nure	neyo
hi	hi	hu	huru	hure	hiyo

Perhaps one or more of the eleven kami-iti V-roots had personal reasons like lonely keru for founding the class, but it's clear that it proved popular for other verbs like hu so short they lacked a sense of a definite stem. For similar reasons I'd bet that 寝nu, 経hu, and 得u were the first to join keru. This is where it gets interesting.

The more I looked at the new V-stem class, the more I realized how much it resembled not the D-class, but the C-class. For one, there's a constant unmodifiable root. Second, it also eliminates the distinction between the shushikei and rentaikei, a trend we know eventually led to their fusion in modern Japanese. All the irregular verbs (su, ku, na-row, and ra-row) as well as the older D-roots preserve the SSK and RTK distinction. Only the C- and newer V-roots do not. As a matter of fact, the only reason NA-row irregular verbs exist as such is because they differ from C-roots here:

Root Class	MZ	RY	SS	RT	IZ	MR
NA-row irregular	shina	shini	shinu	shinuru	shinure	shine
C-roots	omoha	omohi	omohu	omohu	omohe	omohe
D-roots	tabe	tabe	tabu	taburu	tabure	tabeyo

I don't know whether C-roots always ignored the distinction, and NA-rows are prickly outliers, or whether NA-rows are the only holdouts (there are only two NA-row verbs, after all) against an innovation that swept the rest of the C-roots. I suspect the latter, but even going against history, if for simplicity's sake, we consider the basic RT ending to be ru, and the IZ re, we find it holds for all verbs of all classes! Even su, ku, and RA-row verbs. In fact, on a fancy, it would make sense if first the RA-verbs dropped an extra RT ru and IZ re, considering that it would lead to a repetitive aruru and arure, and the C-roots followed suit just in time for the beginning of recorded written Japanese.

So, first step in a unified chart: (1)SS = +u; (2)RZ = +uru, and IZ = +ure, except for C-roots whose final consonants carry the burden of the U and E on their own. (The NA-row twins being remaining fashionably nostalgic).

On the same principle of seeking a basic ending with explainable (as opposed to memorized) exceptions, we can say the RYK ends in +i, unless usurped by an existing vowel stem (i.e. E-root V-class verbs). This also works for the "irregular classes". Accepting that though the inherent vowel of 来ku is O (MZ kozu), and of su, E (MZ sezu), they take ki and si in the RYK, this leads me to think that once upon a time, the RYK of the D-class as well may have ended in +i.

Which leads me to the mizenkei. No stem is as weird as the MZK, and the C-roots take the only A on the chart here. There may be no connection with the A of ancient nominal bound forms that survive even today (ama-gutu rain boots, vs. ame rain), but if we assume there is, we can conclude that the MZ stem ending is actually ZERO. The consonant verbs would use the binding A to avoid an impossible consonant cluster, and vowel verbs from ko to se to mi to tabe all get to keep their original inherent vowel. The corollary to this would be that the MZ reveals the original character of the verb most clearly, a fact to take advantage of later.

This leaves only the imperative. At first I was confused by the seeming existence of two different endings: e for C-roots, and yofor the rest. But consider 来ku and su. The ko and se of their MZK's, provisionally accepted by me as the most original form of the verb, reappears only here. Why not, then, consider the imperative ending to be zero as well? A zero-ending imperative has a lot of cross-lingual precedent, after all. I feel further out on thin ice in saying this than anything else, but perhaps C-root e and V-root yo, like later ro, are all the various results of fused emphasis particles. shin- + binding a + i could reasonably become shine. And my chart has ko or koyo for the imperative of 来ku, which lends some support to the idea or an (originally) optional particle.

So, if anyone has read this far, here we have it:

MZ : ZERO
RY : -i
SS : -u
RT : -uru
IZ : -ure
MR : ZERO + emphasis parrticle *i or *yo

With deviations explained thus:

(1) C-stems use the binding a to avoid a consonant cluster in the MZK

(2) C-stems rely on their own final consonant to support the u and e of the RT and IZ. (except the two NA verbs)

(3) All vowel roots (except ku and su) give precedence to their inherent vowel in the RY. Which practically only means, E-roots keep the E.

(4) The non-changing vowel roots of the new V-class give precedence to their native vowels in ALL stems. This has two consequences (1) RT=Vru, IZ=Vre, and (2) to preserve a SS ending in u, they must resort to ru, justified by the precedent of C-roots, which also have identical SS and RT stems.

And that takes care of everything, I believe.

If that looks like all of Japanese verbery devolving from what most closely resembles the irregular su/ku paradigms, I think it's only natural. Two of the most common verbs in the language are likely to preserve older forms and prove more resistant to innovations and simplifications. Heck, even nowadays it's still konai.

Pedagogically, I would suggest the following. The above system is accurate, but requires prior knowlegde of existing verbs to make sense. As a method for generating or recognizing forms, it won't help much if the student only learns the usual SSK, or even the more common RYK. I suggest (yay Classics!) a principal parts system. The MZK provides the most irregular forms of all verbs, and also makes it immediately clear if a verb is a C-root or not by the -a. The only ambiguity there is between D- and V-roots. For that the traditional SS should suffice. This also gives the irregular but very frequent RA-row SS ri. In fact, the only forms unpredictable from these two are the RT and IZ of 死ぬshinu and 往ぬinu, the two NA-row irregular verbs. This should pose little challenge to memorization, I think. My suggestion: the SSK, and the zu-negative, in that order.

Thus,
saku, sakazu [yodan, C-root]
sugu, sugizu [kami-nidan, D-root]
tabu, tabezu [shimo-nidan, D-root]
miru, mizu [kami-ichidan, V-root]
keru, kezu [shimo-ichidan, V-root]
ku, kozu [KA-hen, D-root]
su, sezu [SA-hen, D-root]
ari, arazu [RA-hen, C-root]
shinu, shinazu [NA-hen, C-root *must memorize RT shinuru, IZ shinure]

For those of us who have studied MJ, I think this is useful too, since the big difference after all is in the SSK. ku, not kuru, ari, not aru, tabu, not taberu, and so on.

Feedback wo o-negai shimasu!

Pillars in the Stream

2005-11-21T21:37:00.001+09:00

十七日のつとめて、立つ。昔、しもつさの国に、まののてうといふ人住みけり。疋布（ひきぬの）を千むら、万むら織らせ、さらさせけるが家の跡とて、深き河を舟にて渡る。昔の門の柱のまだ残りたるとて、大きなる柱、河の中に四つたてり。人々歌読むを聞きて、心のうちに、

「朽ちもせぬ　　この河柱　　残らずは　　昔の跡を　　いかで知らまし」

On the morning of the 17th, we left. Long ago in Shimōsa there was a man they called "Rich Man Mano." They said the place where we crossed the deep river by boat was the very spot of the house where he had a hundred, a thousand, innumerable bolts of cloth woven and bleached. There were four huge pillars still in the river they said were the old door posts. While the others were composing poetry, I thought to myself,

"Were it not for these river-pillars still standing so long, how would we know anything about the past?"

Question: Does anyone know anything about the traditional manufacture of clothing? 織るoru definitely implies the weaving he had his hired help do, Mr. Mano, but 晒すsarasu? Is there some reason to expose newly woven cloth to the elements? "Bleach" doesn't quite satisfy me.

Notes: This "mura", acting as a kind of measuring word for counting vast, vast quantities of cloth, apparently comes from the mure/mura for "crowd, flock". I guess that makes sense, though I wish I had a better sense of the deep, deep original meaning of the word.

Departure (ch.1) continued

2005-11-20T13:54:00.000+09:00

門出したるところは、めぐりなどもなくて、かりそめの茅屋（かやや）の、しとみなどもなし。簾（すだれ）かけ、幕などひきたり。南ははるかに野の方見やれる。ひむがし西は海近くて、いと面白し。夕霧立ち渡りて、いみじうをかしければ朝寝（あさい）などもせず、方々見つつ、ここを立ちなむことも哀れに悲しきに、同じ月の十五日、雨かきくらし降るに、境を出でて、しもつさの国のいかたという所に泊まりぬ。庵など浮きぬばかりに雨降りなどすれば、恐ろしくて寝（い）も寝られず、野中に岡だちたる所に、ただ木ぞ三つたてる。その日は雨にぬれたる物どもを乾し、国にたちおくれたる人々待つとて、そこに日を暮しつ。

The place we had departed for (in Imatachi) had not the slightest fencing shrubbery. It was no more than a thatch-roofed hut for temporary shelter, without even a shitomi. There was just the barest screen, and a bit of curtain. To the south, one could see fields stretching into the distance. On the east and the west, the sea was nearby--very pleasant. In the eveing, the mists would rise and envelop us, and it was all so interesting I could never sleep late, always looking here and there, feeling sad and thinking it a pity we would eventually have to leave this place too. But on the fifteenth of the same month, on a day dark with pouring rain, we crossed the border and camped at a place called Ikata in the country of Shimotsusa (later and now, Shimōsa). It rained so hard it felt like our little shack might float away at any moment, and I was so afraid I could hardly sleep.

In the middle of the fields, we came across a small rise with a mere three trees. We spent that day drying our clothes soaked from the rain, and deciding to wait for those who had set out after us, we stayed there for the night.

How about that? A day after Matt's post on inu, it pops up not once, but twice in the next section of Sarashina I translate. First in 朝寝asa-i, "sleeping late (in the morning)", then in 寝も寝られずi mo nerarezu, "unable to sleep". Have to love coincidence

Other thoughts:

This place, Ikata, is thought by my book to be a mistake for Iketa, especially considering that there are records of an old neighborhood name 池田 Ikeda in modern Chiba City, near the 寒川(Samugawa??) area, right around where she should have been at this point in her journey. The connection seems very plausible to me, but not the part about the mistake. Especially in place names, there's a not uncommon a-mutation in Japanese compounds. For example,

風見　kaze + mi > Kazami (name)
金物　kane + mono > kanamono (old school word for "metals" before the upstart neo-sinic 金属)
白木　shiro + ki > shiraki (unvarnished wood, esp. for the construction of a Shinto temple, thanks 広辞苑!)

And so on. I find it most commonly in last names, and though I've never noticed a 田 triggering it, I don't see why it couldn't happen. Anyone know any examples of a-mutation before 田?

And while we're on derivations, notice the ultra-cool evidence of the origins of higashi "east". Supposedly from 日向風(hi-mu-kasi) "(the direction of) the sundwards wind", so old the mu hadn't become ku-ified yet.

Name Change

2005-11-11T22:02:00.000+09:00

Well, as it seems this is becoming a blog more generally about Classical Japanese, which is fine with me, I decided to change the name. I still plan to keep the Sarashina Nikki translation as the central project, but at least this way I can update more easily.

Also, a revelation: koso is ということ！
Today when I was flipping through one of those machine-toting Goro-gorogo study aids I mentioned before, this hit me on the first page, from Tsuredzure-gusa:

（原文）家居のつきづきしく、あらまほしきこそ、仮の宿りと思へど、興あるものなれ
（現訳）住まいがぴったりで、理想的だっつのぁ、仮の宿としか思われんかもしんねーが、貴重なもんじゃ
（英訳）The dwelling in perfect harmony, temporary shelter that it may be, is a very precious thing.

Before, besides stopping to note that koso was the trigger for izenkei in the associetaed verb, I've pretty much read through it without taking it very seriously. The modern sense is too heavy-handed, and ignoring it rarely impedes understanding, but today it came to me. Koso is the ancient equivalent of "...to iu koto wa". Wa is the marker for comparison-emphasis (This is great, not that!), and koso is for independent highlighting emphasis (This, this is great!)

This clears up so much. More examples tomorrow.

My Tools

2005-11-10T21:39:00.000+09:00

Amida asks me about my tools, online resources and the like. What am I using for this translation, exactly?

Well, today in Mito after another pointless and much begrudged ALT meeting, I went to Kawamata Shoten to pick up 平家物語 Heike Monogatari, which I've wanted to start reading in the original for a while. Of course I found it in the ubiquitous high school study aids section. Which raises a related point.

I first thought of Classical Japanese like Latin, which I majored in. The dead ancestor of a robust modern tongue whose speakers need special training to decipher it, kept alive by the flowering of culture it knew in its heyday as a spoken medium. The little I was able to find on it in the States sort of affirmed this view. There was the translated grammar of Ikeda, and a newer work by Akira and someone else I can't recall now. I assumed, not too far-fetchedly, that these were the tip of an iceberg awaiting me in the original when the Jet program finally bought me a ticket here. I was wrong.

When I first got here, I spent many a Tokyo afternoon after a long train ride from Ibaraki scouring bookstores on my own and pestering polite but annoyed store attendants to find this imputed treasure trove. Over and over again I was merely taken to the same high school study aids section I went to today. After a while I had to realize the truth: that despite it being a sort of natural cultural treasure, the classical language of Japan is by far and large mostly the preoccupation of high school students forced to study it for their entrance examinations.

I knew it was a compulsory subject before I came here, but I was sure I'd find more scholarly works as well. A grammar, I thought, the world for just one thick weapon-sized grammar. But...you just can't find them in bookstores. I persist in believing they do exist, and I know there are scholars of the langauge as such, not just as a vehicle for literature, but you can't get your hands on their works at even the biggest bokstores of the capital.

A lot of reasons for this, of course. Lack of customers, obviously, lack of consumers for the stuff. Though there certainly is a large body of available work ON classical literature to be had. And the texts are easily available through Iwanami bunko at prices to make the Western Classicists weep. Imagine: Homer for five bucks! Agh!
But I think it mianly comes down to the fact that for all the world of pain that the study is for high school kids, it really is much closer to modern Japanese than Latin to English, or even its own contemporary Italian. Or Ancient to Modern Greek for that matter. Or Old English to Modern. It takes training to learn to read, true, but I've come to feel that for actual readers and consumers of the Classical Japanese past, it's close enough not to merit a mediating scholarly apparatus in the form of grammars and the like. When I read it, I know it feels like I'm retranslating it into Modern Japanese terms in my head, though that's dangerous at times, where I assume the current meaning for an originally very different word.

So what do I do? Well, I line up with the kids and buy the same odd vocabulary books with machine-gun toting anime characters, "grammars" by "Madonna", which in Japanese terms means something like "attractive vibrant young woman", here referring to a teacher, and most of all, most of all, the texts annotated for grammar line by line that I've come to love. It's using them that has taught me what I know of the language for the most part.

And this, along with the Iwanami Bunko version based on the Fujiwara Teika text of Sarashina Nikki, with help from the various pieces of my garishly illustrated collection, is what I am using for this project.

Have faith, reader(s?)!

2005-11-09T23:26:00.000+09:00

Well, off to a roaring start on this blog, I see. I could beg of being at school past nine for like four of the last six days, and an entire weekend gone with more of the same, but that won't get me anywhere. Nothing to ward off the swift swoop of the digital slipper but to update, though.

mata asu kakamu

Why not?

2005-11-01T23:43:00.000+09:00

Left school after nine again, no time for any translation, unfortunately, but per suggestion, I thought I'd add some thoughts on the language of the parts I've translated so far.

One was the incredible continuity you see in Japanese.

I thought this when I saw (chapter 1, first paragraph]：

物語といふ物のあんなるを、いかで見ばやと思いつつ, ...
I heard people saying there were these things called "tales", and wanting so much to read them, ...

I learned the -baya of mibaya there as being equivalent to the desiderative -tai, as in 行きたい, "I want to go". But when I translated this section, I thought it was strange that baya didn't seem to have an obvious connection to the mizenkei -ba meaning "if" like the modern ba. Checking the pocket electronic dictionary I would probably grab after my wallet in the next Big Earthquake, I was pleased to learn it did.

広辞苑 Koujien, sort of a Webster's with no remaining competition, derives it from the same -ba plus ya", an exclamatory particle like yo or na nowadays. Which means that rather than a fixed ending without much independent meaning like tai, baya was just the ancient echo of the modern ～ばいいな, a very common expression for desire that literally means, "if X was so-and-so, that would be swell". That same ba has now reemerged on the izenkei with a parasitic re, and ya has died out, but even a thousand years later, the nature of the language, its subconscious idiomatic tendencies and imperatives haven't changed very much at all in a lot of ways.

2 Futoi-gawa 太井川 Futoi River

2005-10-30T22:38:00.000+09:00

(Not done yet with Kado-ide, but in order to figure out how to link these chapters one to the other...)

そのつとめて、そこをたちて、下総の国と、武蔵との境にてある太井川といふが上の瀬、まつさとの渡りの津に泊まりて、夜一夜、舟にてかつがつ物など渡す。

We left the place at dawn. On the upper shoals of the Futoi River, which divides Shimosa from Musashino, we made camp by the ferry of Matsusato Crossing and little by little sent our various things over in the boat, all through the night.

To be continued...

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1 Kado-ide 門出 Departure

2005-10-30T01:10:00.000+09:00

あづま路の道の果てよりも、なほ奥つ方生ひ出たる人、いかばかりかあやしかりけむを、いかに思ひ始めける事にか、世の中に物語といふ者のあんなるを、いかに見ばやと思ひつつ、つれづれなる昼間、宵ゐなどに、姉継母などやうの人々の、その物語、かの物語、光る源氏のあるやうなど、ところどころ語るを聞くに、いとどゆかしさまされど、我が思ふままに、そらに、いかでか覚え語らむ。

What a sight I must have been, born and raised beyond even the far end of the eastern highroad like I was! How did it all start? Let me see... I had always wanted to read the things called "tales". On the long, boring days and nights I would hear my sister and stepmother talking about this tale and that tale, about Shining Prince Genji, what he was like and so on--various bits and pieces--and I would feel such curiosity, but they could never remember and tell the stories the way I wanted, with each and every last detail.

いみじく心もとなきままに、等身に薬師仏を作りて、手洗いなどして、人間に密（みそか）に入りつつ、「京に疾（と）く上げ給ひて、物語の多く候ふなる、ある限り見せ給へ」と、身を捨てて額（ぬか）をつき、祈り申すほどに、十三になる年、上らむとて、九月三日門出して、いまたちといふ所に移る。

Filled with a painful longing, I had a Healing Buddha made equal to me in height, and when no one was around I would cleanse my hands and secretly enter the family shrine and pray: "Please let me go up to the capital soon! They say there are so many tales there-- please let me read them all!" I prostrated myself, forehead to the floor. And as I had prayed, in my thirteenth year, the word came: we were to go. We set out on September 3rd, and came to a place called Imatachi.

To be continued...

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いらっしゃい！

2005-10-29T09:49:00.000+09:00

This is a blog devoted to translating 更級日記 Sarashina Nikki.

The Sarashina Diary is the account of a young woman's journey from the provincial backwater of her birth to the flowering cultural center of the capital she had always dreamed of. It is a work of the celebrated 平安 Heian period in Japanese history, a span of a mere hundred, two hundred years about a millenia ago, when in the unlikely soil of the new capital in rude imitation of China's Great Metropolis Chang'an, among a small circle of hereditary aristocrats in one of the more isolated, uncivilized corners of the world--Japan--there arose a culture of refinement and sensibility, of subtle music and a dewy poignance; glorious, unfathomed, fleeting--for which precious astonishment there is no parallel in our collective history.

Today we call that ancient capital Kyoto, and Kazusa(上総の国), our author's birthplace, is the rich and populous Chiba prefecture on the very eastern lip of Tokyo. But a thousand years ago it was simply miyako, "the capital", and the bustling center of modern Japan still a dismal, depressing wilderness for our young heroine. When at the age of thirteen her father's appointment/exile as provincial governor came to a grateful end, her family's recall to court must have appeared a miraculous transfer from the ends to the earth to its center.

But even at a tender age, our narrator was more sensitive than giddy, and from the lonely end of her life's journey when the diary was composed, there was much more to remember in those first steps than the growing excitement of a steady approach to a girl's dream fulfilled...

* * * * * * *

This is my translation, post by post, of the entire work from the classical Japanese. I know there is a no doubt excellent translation by Ivan Morris out there, but you won't see a line of it here. I've never read it, and won't allow myself to until the whole thing is done. I'm sure I'll make mistakes, embarassing red-eyed howlers of them, but I'm only a student, not an expert, and for me, this is above all a learning experience.

Don't worry too much, though. Outside of the rural junior high school where I teach English to the Youth of Japan, I haven't darkened the door of a classroom in almost four years, but my (modern) Japanese is very good, and I have been studying its willowy ancestor on and off for a while. I'll do my best, and I hope you'll enjoy exploring this fascinating cultural moment along with me. At the least, I have faith that the inherent quality of the original will defeat all my best efforts to muck it up.

Please feel free to criticize and comment, especially those of you who know more than me. This is an independent study, and I hunger for feedback. And expect also that though this site came into being solely to translate this work, I'll be posting more than that. Just don't ask me what yet.

Call me Azuma, the first word of the diary, the old poetic word for "east", and the destination of my own journey--here.

よろしくお願いします

Azuma no Tabi 東の旅