Shigure no Hyakunin Isshu

Top Columns Apps Japanese Hyakunin Isshu Poem List

Waka Techniques:
Honkadori (Allusive Variation)

Honkadori, literally “taking from a base poem,” is a technique in which a poet borrows a phrase or two from a famous older poem (the honka, or “base poem”) and builds a new poem around them. The older poem stays in the background, so the new poem carries two layers of meaning at once.

To modern readers this may look like copying, but it was the opposite. Educated readers knew the famous poems by heart, so the moment they heard the borrowed words, the old poem came to mind, and the pleasure lay in spotting what had been kept and what had been changed. Think of a jazz musician who quotes a well-known melody and then improvises on it, or of T. S. Eliot weaving lines from Shakespeare and Dante into The Waste Land: the reader is meant to recognize the source, and the new work gains depth from it.

The technique flourished most in the age of the Shin Kokin Wakashū (early 13th century). Fujiwara no Sadaie (Teika), who compiled the Hyakunin Isshu, set out guidelines for it in his books on poetry, Kindai Shūka and Eiga no Taigai:

  • Borrow only a little: no more than two of the five lines (ku), or two lines plus a few syllables if you move them to a different place in the poem.
  • Change the theme: if the base poem is about one of the seasons, write about love or another subject instead.
  • Borrow from the classics: not from poems by poets of your own day.

Some of the poems below were written long before Sadaie’s time, and even later poets did not always follow his guidelines to the letter.

In each diagram, the base poem is on the left and the new poem on the right, one line (ku) per row. Words taken from the base poem are highlighted, and lines connect the rows where they appear: a level line means the words stayed in the same place, and a slanting line means they were moved. Tap or click a heading to open the poem’s page. The romaji under each line follows the old kana spelling of classical poetry, so it is not always read as written: for example, shirotahe is read shirotae, and omofu is read omou.

Hyakunin Isshu Poems That Later Poets Borrowed From

Poem 1: Emperor Tenji → Izumi Shikibu

Base poem: Emperor Tenji

秋の田のakinotano かりほの庵のkarihonoihono 苫をあらみtomaoarami 我が衣手はwagakoromodeha 露にぬれつつtsuyuninuretsutsu

New poem: Izumi Shikibu

秋の田のakinotano 庵に葺けるihorinifukeru 苫をあらみtomaoarami もりくる露のmorikurutsuyuno いやは寝らるるiyahaneraruru
Base poem
By the rice fields, in a makeshift hut with a loosely woven roof, my sleeves are wet with the night dew.
New poem
The roof of my hut by the autumn rice field is loosely woven, so how could I sleep with the dew dripping through? (Shoku Gosen Wakashū)

What changed: In Emperor Tenji’s poem, the dew quietly soaks the speaker’s sleeves as the night goes on. Izumi Shikibu keeps the same hut and the same rough roof, but turns the ending into a frank complaint: with the dew dripping in, how could anyone sleep?

Poem 1: Emperor Tenji → Master of the Left Capital Akisuke

Base poem: Emperor Tenji

秋の田のakinotano かりほの庵のkarihonoihono 苫をあらみtomaoarami 我が衣手はwagakoromodeha 露にぬれつつtsuyuninuretsutsu

New poem: Akisuke

秋の田にakinotani 庵さす賤のihosasushizuno 苫をあらみtomaoarami 月とともにやtsukitotomoniya もり明かすらんmoriakasuran
Base poem
By the rice fields, in a makeshift hut with a loosely woven roof, my sleeves are wet with the night dew.
New poem
The farmer who builds a hut by the autumn rice field has a rough, loosely woven roof, so he will keep watch all night long, together with the moonlight shining in. (Shin Kokin Wakashū)

What changed: Akisuke (Poem 79) replaces the dew with moonlight, which leaks in through the gaps in the roof. The word mori can be heard two ways: moru, “to leak in” (the moonlight), and moru, “to keep watch” (the farmer). And while Emperor Tenji speaks as “I,” Akisuke pictures the farmer from outside: “he will keep watch.”

Poem 2: Empress Jitō → Fujiwara no Yoshitsune

Base poem: Empress Jitō

春過ぎてharusugite 夏来にけらしnatsukinikerashi 白妙のshirotaheno 衣ほすてふkoromohosutefu 天の香具山amanokaguyama

New poem: Yoshitsune

雲晴るるkumoharuru 雪の光やyukinohikariya 白妙のshirotaheno 衣ほすてふkoromohosutefu 天の香久山amanokaguyama
Base poem
Spring has passed and summer seems to have come — white robes are said to be hung out to dry on the heavenly Mount Kagu.
New poem
On heavenly Mount Kagu, where white robes are said to be hung out to dry in summer, the clouds have now cleared, and the light of the snow shines like those white robes. (Akishino Gesseishū)

What changed: Yoshitsune (Poem 91) keeps the whole second half of the empress’s poem but moves it from summer to winter: the “white robes” are now the snow shining on Mount Kagu after the clouds clear. By borrowing a summer poem for a winter scene, he may have wanted to give his poem a feeling that goes beyond time and season.

Poem 3: Kakinomoto no Hitomaro → Retired Emperor Go-Toba

Base poem: Hitomaro

あしびきのashibikino 山鳥の尾のyamadorinoono しだり尾のshidariono ながながし夜をnaganagashiyoo ひとりかも寝むhitorikamonemu

New poem: Go-Toba

桜咲くsakurasaku 遠山鳥のtohoyamadorino しだり尾のshidariono ながながし日もnaganagashihimo あかぬ色かなakanuirokana
Base poem
As long as the trailing tail feathers of the mountain bird — through these long, long nights, must I sleep alone?
New poem
Cherry blossoms bloom on the distant mountains. Even if I gaze at them all day long, a day as long as the drooping tail of the copper pheasant, I never tire of their color. (Shin Kokin Wakashū)

What changed: In Hitomaro’s poem, the long tail measures a long, lonely night. Go-Toba (Poem 99) uses the same image for a long spring day spent gazing at cherry blossoms without ever tiring of them. He wrote it for a folding screen celebrating Fujiwara no Toshinari’s 90th birthday, and it is thought to carry a wish for his teacher’s long life.

Poem 6: Middle Counselor Yakamochi → Mibu no Tadamine

Base poem: Yakamochi

かささぎのkasasagino 渡せる橋にwataseruhashini おく霜のokushimono 白きをみればshirokiomireba 夜ぞふけにけるyozofukenikeru

New poem: Tadamine

かささぎのkasasagino 渡せる橋のwataseruhashino 霜の上をshimonoueo 夜半にふみわけyohanifumiwake ことさらにこそkotosaranikoso
Base poem
Looking up at the Milky Way that magpies wing across — its white shimmer seems to be scattered frost. The night deepens.
New poem
Treading at midnight through the frost on the steps of your hall, like the bridge the magpies make, I have come here to you on purpose. (Yamato Monogatari)

What changed: Yakamochi’s poem is a quiet look at the winter night sky. Tadamine borrowed it on the spot: when Minister of the Left Fujiwara no Tokihira suspiciously asked whether Tadamine’s drunk master had just stopped by on his way somewhere, Tadamine turned the magpie bridge into the steps of Tokihira’s hall and answered, “We came on purpose.” The Yamato Monogatari says his quick wit eased the mood.

Poem 23: Ōe no Chisato → Kamo no Chōmei

Base poem: Chisato

月みればtsukimireba ちぢにものこそchijinimonokoso 悲しけれkanashikere わが身一つのwagamihitotsuno 秋にはあらねどakinihaaranedo

New poem: Chōmei

ながむればnagamureba 千々にもの思ふchijinimonoomofu 月にまたtsukinimata わが身ひとつのwagamihitotsuno 峰の松風minenomatsukaze
Base poem
When I look at the moon, a thousand thoughts rise up and fill me with sadness. Yet this autumn is not mine alone.
New poem
As I gaze at the moon that fills me with a thousand thoughts, the lonely wind in the pines on the peak blows, as if for me alone. (Shin Kokin Wakashū)

What changed: Chōmei, the author of An Account of My Hut (Hōjōki), wrote on the theme “Wind in the Pines Before the Moon.” He keeps Chisato’s “a thousand thoughts” and “I alone,” moves the moon to the third line, and adds something new at the end: the wind in the pines on the peak, which seems to blow for him alone.

Poem 32: Harumichi no Tsuraki → Fujiwara no Sadaie

Base poem: Tsuraki

山川にyamagahani 風のかけたるkazenokaketaru しがらみはshigaramiha 流れもあへぬnagaremoahenu 紅葉なりけりmomijinarikeri

New poem: Sadaie

木の葉もてkonohamote 風のかけたるkazenokaketaru しがらみにshigaramini さてもよどまぬsatemoyodomanu 秋の暮れかなakinokurekana
Base poem
The weir of fallen maple leaves, caught by the mountain wind across the stream — the water cannot flow through.
New poem
The wind has blown the leaves together into something like a weir, yet even so, the end of autumn flows on without stopping. (Shūi Gusō)

What changed: “A weir the wind has built” was Tsuraki’s own fresh image, which is why Sadaie (Poem 97), the compiler of the Hyakunin Isshu, was drawn to it. In Tsuraki’s poem the weir of leaves holds back the stream; in Sadaie’s, even such a weir cannot hold back the end of autumn.

Poem 51: Fujiwara no Sanekata Ason → Izumi Shikibu

Base poem: Sanekata

かくとだにkakutodani えやはいぶきのeyahaibukino さしも草sashimogusa さしも知らじなsashimoshirajina もゆる思ひをmoyuruomohio

New poem: Izumi Shikibu

けふもまたkefumomata かくや伊吹のkakuyaibukino さしも草sashimogusa さらば我のみsarabawarenomi 燃えや渡らむmoeyawataramu
Base poem
I cannot even tell you how I feel — like the smoldering fire of ibuki wormwood, my hidden love quietly burns.
New poem
Will you say such cold things again today? Then I alone will keep burning, like the mugwort of Ibuki. (Shin Kokin Wakashū)

What changed: Sanekata’s poem pours out his overflowing love directly. Izumi Shikibu keeps the burning mugwort of Ibuki but writes with a generous heart, ready to keep the fire burning alone until the one she loves turns to her.

Poem 56: Izumi Shikibu → Attendant to Empress Inpu

Base poem: Izumi Shikibu

あらざらむarazaramu この世のほかのkonoyonohokano 思ひ出にomohideni いまひとたびのimahitotabino 逢ふこともがなafukotomogana

New poem: Inpu’s Attendant

いかにせむikanisemu 今ひとたびのimahitotabino 逢ふことをafukotoo 夢にだに見てyumenidanimite 寝覚めずもがなnezamezumogana
Base poem
I may not be long for this world. As a memory to take beyond — let me meet you just one more time.
New poem
What shall I do? I want to meet you once more, even if only in a dream, and never wake from that sleep. (Shin Chokusen Wakashū)

What changed: Izumi Shikibu asks to meet her lover once more as a memory to take beyond this world. The Attendant to Empress Inpu (Poem 90) moves “once more” and “meeting” up to the second and third lines, keeps the wishful ending -mogana (“if only”), and adds a new twist: she would meet him in a dream and never wake.

Hyakunin Isshu Poems Built on an Older Poem

Poem 90: Minamoto no Shigeyuki → Attendant to Empress Inpu

Base poem: Shigeyuki

松島やmatsushimaya 雄島の磯にojimanoisoni あさりせしasariseshi 海人の袖こそamanosodekoso かくは濡れしかkakuhanureshika

Hyakunin Isshu poem: Inpu’s Attendant

見せばやなmisebayana 雄島のあまのojimanoamano 袖だにもsodedanimo ぬれにぞぬれしnurenizonureshi 色はかはらずirohakaharazu
Base poem
Would even the sleeves of the fisherfolk who fish on the rocky shore of Ojima at Matsushima be as wet as my sleeves, soaked with tears? (Goshūi Wakashū)
New poem
I wish I could show you — these sleeves of mine, soaked through and through with tears that never change color, never dry.

What changed: Her poem is said to have been written as a reply to Shigeyuki’s. He said only the fisherfolk’s sleeves could be as wet as his; she answers that even those sleeves, soaked through, never changed color. The poem does not say it, but readers understood that her own sleeves had changed color, stained by “tears of blood,” which in poems of the time meant the deepest grief.

Poem 91: Kokin Wakashū → Gokyōgoku Regent and former Chancellor of the Realm

Base poem: anonymous

さむしろにsamushironi 衣かたしきkoromokatashiki 今宵もやkoyohimoya 我を待つらむwareomatsuramu 宇治の橋姫ujinohashihime

Hyakunin Isshu poem: Yoshitsune

きりぎりすkirigirisu 鳴くや霜夜のnakuyashimoyono さむしろにsamushironi 衣かたしきkoromokatashiki ひとりかも寝むhitorikamonemu
Base poem
Spreading only her own robe on a straw mat, is she waiting for me tonight too, lonely and alone, the Lady of Uji Bridge? (Kokin Wakashū)
New poem
On a cold, frosty night, the cricket cries. Lying alone with one sleeve folded beneath me — how lonely it is.

What changed: Yoshitsune borrowed in order to layer images on top of each other. In the Kokin Wakashū, the Lady of Uji Bridge was a symbol of “a beloved woman”; later, under the influence of The Tale of Genji, she took on the darker image of “a fragile figure wasting away alone.” His poem blends the classic elegance of the base poem with that loneliness.

Poem 92: Izumi Shikibu → Sanuki, attendant to retired Emperor Nijō

Base poem: Izumi Shikibu

わが袖はwagasodeha 水の下なるmizunoshitanaru 石なれやishinareya 人に知られでhitonishirarede かわく間もなしkawakumamonashi

Hyakunin Isshu poem: Sanuki

わが袖はwagasodeha 潮干に見えぬshihohinimienu 沖の石のokinoishino 人こそ知らねhitokososhirane かわくまもなしkawakumamonashi
Base poem
My sleeves are like a stone under the water. Wet with the tears I shed in secret, they never have time to dry. (Izumi Shikibu-shū)
New poem
My sleeves are like a rock hidden beneath the tides — unseen by others, they are never dry.

What changed: Izumi Shikibu likens her tear-soaked sleeves to a stone under the water. Sanuki keeps the beginning and the end, and places the stone far out at sea, where it stays hidden even at low tide. Written on the theme “love compared to a stone,” her poem became so famous that she was called “Sanuki of the stone in the offing.”

Poem 95: Saichō → Former Senior High Priest Jien

Base poem: Saichō

阿耨多羅anokutara 三藐三菩提のsanmiyakusanbodaino 仏たちhotoketachi わが立つ杣にwagatatsusomani 冥加あらせたまへmyougaarasetamahe

Hyakunin Isshu poem: Jien

おほけなくohokenaku 憂き世の民にukiyonotamini おほふかなohofukana わがたつ杣にwagatatsusomani 墨染の袖sumizomenosode
Base poem
O Buddhas of supreme wisdom (anokutara sanmyaku sanbodai), grant your unseen blessing (myōga) to this mountain where I stand. (Shin Kokin Wakashū)
New poem
How bold it is of me — yet I spread my ink-black sleeves to shelter the people of this troubled world.

What changed: Saichō, the founder of the Tendai school, is said to have written his poem when he built the main hall of Enryaku-ji on Mount Hiei, praying for the Buddhas’ blessing on “this mountain where I stand.” Jien, who headed the Tendai school at Enryaku-ji four times, takes up the founder’s words and turns them into a vow: to shelter the people of a troubled world with his black monk’s sleeves.

Princess Shikishi (Poem 89): a poem based on The Tales of Ise

Base poem: The Tales of Ise

ゆく蛍yukuhotaru 雲のうへまでkumonouhemade 往ぬべくはinubekuha 秋風吹くとakikazefukuto 雁に告げこせkarinitsugekose

New poem: Princess Shikishi

秋風とakikazeto 雁にやつぐるkariniyatsuguru 夕暮のyufugureno 雲近きまでkumochikakimade ゆく蛍かなyukuhotarukana
Base poem
Fireflies flying off, if you can go as high as the clouds, tell the wild geese that the autumn wind is blowing.
New poem
Are you going to tell the wild geese that the autumn wind is blowing? Fireflies, flying up so high in the evening that you almost reach the clouds. (Fūga Wakashū)

What changed: This is not Princess Shikishi’s Hyakunin Isshu poem but another of hers. She uses almost every key word of the base poem — fireflies, clouds, autumn wind, wild geese, telling — but turns their order upside down, so the lines in the diagram cross. The base poem asks the fireflies to carry a message to the geese; she watches the fireflies rise toward the clouds at dusk and wonders whether they are on their way to deliver it.

Other Waka Techniques