歳時記 (Japanese Haiku: A Topical Dictionary) — 秋 Autumn — 時候 The Season作者複数 (Various)Japanese Haiku: A Topical Dictionary歳時記Various作者複数Meiji Period to Present明治以降Poetry韻文Japanese日本語Text本文さいじきJapanese Haiku: A Topical Dictionary 歳時記 さいじき Various 作者複数 さくしゃふくすう
新涼【しんりょう】shinryō(しんりやう), new coolness (early autumn)
秋涼【しゅうりょう】shinryōautumn coolness
秋涼し【あきすずし】aki suzushiautumn is cool
二百十日【にひゃくとおか】nihyakutōka(にひゃくとをか), 210th day [from 立春【りっしゅん】 the first day of spring] (mid autumn)
厄日【やくび】yakubibad luck day / disaster day [related to frequency of 野分【のわき】 nowaki, equinoctial storms, at this time of year]
秋彼岸【あきひがん】akihiganAutumn Higan / autumn equinoctial week [the week of which the autumn equinox is the center; see 彼岸 【ひがん】 higan in Spring] (mid autumn)
秋の暮【あきのくれ】aki no kureautumn dusk / autumn twilight [this form also means "the close/end of autumn"] (all autumn)
秋の夕【あきのゆう】aki no yūautumn evening
"Autumn dusk" or "autumn evening twilight" (秋の夕暮【あきのゆうぐれ】aki
no yūgure) has been a favored topic of Japanese poets since it was singled out for comparison
with "spring dawn" (春の曙【はるのあけぼの】haru no akebono) by Sei
Shōnagon in her classic The Pillow Book (『枕草子』, c. 1001). Indeed
it has figured much more frequently in waka and haiku than spring dawn, and is the focal image of a number
of acclaimed verses. With the coming of autumn, the days grow shorter and, as the expression "well-bucket
nightfall" (釣瓶落とし【つるべおとし】tsurube-otoshi) suggests,
the sun seems to sink quickly from the twilight sky. In Sei Shōnagon's words, "one gives a start
at the sound of the wind and the cries of insects." These images became closely associated with autumn
dusk and its power to evoke a sense of the passing of time and the evanescence of life. Perhaps this
is why so many poets have left verses in which autumn dusk becomes the occasion for autobiographical
reflections.
A related expression, "the end of autumn" or "twilight of autumn" (暮の秋【くれのあき】kure no aki), refers to the end of the whole season rather than of an autumn day,
and has not been as popular in haiku as the corresponding expressions for "the end of spring" (暮の春【くれのはる】kure no haru and 暮春【ぼしゅん】boshun).
この道や行く人なしに秋の暮
芭蕉
kono michi ya yuku hito nashi ni aki no kure
this road . . .
with no one going by
autumn dusk
Bashō
秋の暮大魚の骨を海が引
西東三鬼
aki no kure taigyo no hone o umi ga hiku
autumn dusk:
the bones of a large fish
pulled by the sea
Saitō Sanki
触れるもの皆実をこぼし秋の暮
桜井霧峰人
fureru mono mina mi o koboshi aki no kure
everything I touch
spills fruit to the ground
autumn dusk
Sakurai Muhōjin
干し魚の歯に刺されたる秋の暮
鍵和田子
hoshi uo no ha ni sasaretaru aki no kure
pierced by the tooth
of a dried fish
autumn dusk
Kagiwada Yūko
我が肩に蜘蛛の糸張る秋の暮
富田木歩
waga kata ni kumo no ito haru aki no kure
on my shoulder
a spider's thread sticks
autumn dusk
Tomita Moppo
This author, because of his bad legs and inability to walk as a child, and through having a weak constitution,
had to endure going through life as if sleeping. The poem, with the preface "Sick in Bed" (病臥), expresses
the thought of being resigned to his fate upon seeing a spider draw its silk across his shoulder.
夜長【よなが】yonagalong night(s) (all autumn)
長き夜【ながきよ】nagaki yolong night(s)
Properly speaking, the longest night is that of the winter solstice (around 21 December by the Gregorian calendar), but "long night(s)" as an autumn topic is based less on the calendar than on poetic sensibility: the contrast with summer's brief nights. At night-work or reading a book in the pleasant climate of autumn, one keenly feels the lengthening nights.
Just as "long day(s)" (日永【ひなが】 hinaga) is by convention a spring topic, "short night(s)" (短夜【みじかよ】 mijikayo) a summer topic, and "short day(s)" (短日【たんじつ】 tanjitsu) a winter topic, so "long nights" is firmly associated with autumn.
山鳥の枝ふみかゆる夜長かな
蕪村
yamadori no eda fumikayuru yonaga kana
a copper pheasant's
feet fidget on the branch--
this long night
Buson
一燈を残し夜長の仕事終ふ
高濱年尾
ittō o nokoshi yonaga no shigoto ou
leaving one lamp
lit I end the work
of a long night
Takahama Toshio
よそに鳴る夜長の時計数へけり
杉田久女
yoso ni naru yonaga no tokei kazoekeri
distant strikings
of a clock in the long night--
I counted each
Sugita Hisajo
夜長人たのしみて書く手紙かな
楠目橙黄子
yonagabito tanoshimite kaku tegami kana
this letter
of one who enjoyed writing
the whole long night
Kusume Tōkōshi
北山の夜の長さを杉育つ
細見綾子
kitayama no yoru no nagasa o sugi sodatsu
northern mountains
the length of the nights
raises the cedars
Hosomi Ayako
狂女なりしを召使はれて夜長し
平畑静塔
kyōjo narishi o meshitsukawarete yoru nagashi
once a madwoman
now made an orderly--
long nights
Hirahata Seitō
The author is a psychiatrist. This verse may refer to a woman who, after being treated in a hospital for mental illness, was employed by the same institution to run errands. The poet seems to be thinking of the woman, having spent her youth thus confined, now growing older within the same surroundings. The topic "long nights" is deeply resonant.
星月夜【ほしづきよ】hoshizukiyostarlit night [concept seems to be "stars-for-moon night"] (all autumn)
さやけしsayakeshibright and fresh / refreshing / crisp
This refers to the crisp, cool days of autumn. As the season turns and the air becomes clear, everything becomes more distinctly visible. The relatively lower humidity during the day is refreshing, too. The term "clear coolness" refers especially to the lower temperatures of such days.
爽やかに山近寄せよ遠眼鏡
日野草城
sawayaka ni yama chikayose yo tōmegane
through crisp air
it brings the mountains near:
the telescope
Hino Sōjō
夢のあと追うて晴なり爽やかに
阿部みどり女
yume no ato oute hare nari sawayaka ni
chasing remnants
of a dream--the sky clears
and becomes crisp
Abe Midorijo
さやけくて妻とも知らずすれちがふ
西垣脩
sayakekute tsuma to mo shirazu surechigau
so bright and fresh
even my wife's unknown--
passing each other
Nishigaki Shū
昆布一丈爽やかに漁婦たもとなし
古舘曹人
konbu ichijō sawayaka ni gyofu tamoto nashi
ten feet of kelp--
in the freshness the fisherwoman
has no sleeves
Furutachi Sōjin
さわやかにおのが濁りをぬけし鯉
皆吉爽雨
sawayaka ni ono ga nigori o nukeshi koi
in the coolness
a carp frees himself
from muddied water
Minayoshi Sōu
Startled by something, a carp swirls around and is covered in the muddied water it raises. But a moment later, the carp moves quietly on and the mud settles back to the bottom of the pool. The sense of autumn's freshness is enhanced.
身に入む【みにしむ】mi ni shimu(to) penetrate/sink/soak into (one's) body / (to be) deeply moved by [frequently translated as "pierce", the verb here more suggests the way dye goes into cloth; classically refers to an emotional response to the chill of autumn and associated aesthetics] (all autumn)
秋深し【あきふかし】aki fukashiautumn (is) deep (late autumn)
深秋【しんしゅう】shinshūdeep autumn
秋さぶ【あきさぶ】(秋寂ぶ)aki sabu, autumn gets lonely [etymologically "autumn rusts", but long poetical use has altered the meaning; still, some hint of color comes through]
秋闌ける【あきたける】aki takeruautumn (is) advanced [alternate orthography and pronunciation: 秋闌くる【あきたくる】 aki takuru]
This topic refers to that time in late autumn when the colors of the season are everywhere apparent, "winter is near" (冬近し【ふゆちかし】 fuyu chikashi), and all of the natural world is imbued with a sense of evanescence.
The three months of autumn are sometimes referred to in haikai as "early autumn" (初秋【しょしゅう】 shoshū), "mid autumn" (仲秋【ちゅうしゅう】 chūshū), and "late autumn" (晩秋【ばんしゅう】 banshū). (Approximately August, September, October; see the note on the calendar.) Mid autumn has something of the beginning of the feeling of the "fullness of autumn", and the term "deep autumn" signifies nearly the end of the season. (See the related entry "autumn dusk" (秋の暮【あきのくれ】 aki no kure.)
秋深き隣は何をする人ぞ
芭蕉
aki fukaki tonari wa nani o suru hito zo
autumn deep
the neighbor-what
is it he does?
Bashō
秋深しふき井に動く星の数
幸田露伴
aki fukashi fuki-i ni ugoku hoshi no kazu
deep autumn--
moving in the deep well
countless stars
Kōda Rohan
秋深きことにこと寄せ話すかな
星野立子
aki fukaki koto ni koto yose hanasu kana
autumn deepens
that gives us something
to talk about
Hoshino Tatsuko
画家去りて白樺のこる秋深し
大島民郎
gaka sarite shirakaba nokoru aki fukashi
an artist departs
the white birches remain
deep autumn
Ōshima Tamirō
秋深し奥に問ひつつ小商ひ
鍵和田子
aki fukashi oku ni toitsutsu koakinai
autumn is deep . . .
in the interior a tradesman
asks on and on
Kagiwada Yūko
彼一語我一語秋深みかも
高濱虚子
kare ichigo ware ichigo aki fukami kamo
his one word
my one word--must be
the depths of autumn
Takahama Kyoshi
This verse is perhaps referring to a close friendship in which the exchange of a single word is enough to satisfy the heart-felt need for talk. The subject of this terse conversation may have been the deepening of autumn, or the sense that the ageing of the year is symbolic of the speaker's own predicament.
There may also be an echo of a famous poem by Kyoshi's master, Masaoka Shiki (正岡子規):
九月尽【くがつじん】kugatsujin(くぐわつじん), end of the ninth (lunar) month [that is, early November Gregorian; however, in some recent haiku it seems to mean "end of September", contrary to the original feeling of "the end of autumn"] (late autumn)
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