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OGURA HYAKUNIN ISSHU — POEM No. 22 of 100

Fuku kara ni

“The Storm on the Mountain” — Fun'ya no YasuhideSource: Kokinshū, Autumn II · 249
吹くからに 秋の草木の しをるれば
むべ山風を 嵐といふらむ
Fuku kara ni aki no kusaki no shiorureba
mube yamakaze o arashi to iuran
The moment it blows, the autumn grasses and trees wither —
so that must be why a mountain wind is called a storm.
Fuku kara ni jacket art

Music Video

ミュージックビデオ

The Story

歌のものがたり
Fun'ya no Yasuhide plays a scholar's game with a straight face: the kanji for 'storm' (arashi) can be split into 'mountain' and 'wind,' and the word echoes arasu, 'to lay waste.' Watching an autumn gale strip the fields, he pretends to discover why the word was coined. It is wit built on wordplay — the ninth-century equivalent of a perfectly timed pun — yet the image it leaves behind, a mountain wind bending a whole landscape at once, is anything but a joke.

Lyrics

歌詞
Japanese

吹くからに(文屋康秀・百人一首22番)/Garu JP

吹き下ろす風 ひと吹きごとに

秋の草木が うなだれていく

山から風と 書いて嵐

なるほど よく言ったもんだ

しおれた野原を 見渡しながら

言葉の謎が ひとつ解ける

吹くからに 秋の草木の

しおるれば 音を立てて

むべ山風を 嵐というらん

荒らしていくから 嵐なんだと

吹くからに 秋の草木の

しおるれば 音を立てて

言葉あそびで 謎を解いて

笑ってみせた 歌人がいた

心ない声の ひと吹きごとに

うつむいていく 人がいる

うわさ 陰口 冷たい目

なるほどこれも 嵐なんだ

枯らすつもりの 言葉の風に

折れそうな日も あるけれど

吹くからに 心の草木は

しおれても 根っこは残る

嵐が運ぶのは 枯れ葉だけじゃない

荒れた土にも 次の芽が出る

言葉ひとつで 人は枯れて

言葉ひとつで また生き返る

だったらわたしも 吹くのならば

種を運ぶ 風になりたい

千年前の しゃれの効いた

三十一文字も 風に乗って

吹くからに 秋の草木の しおるれば

むべ山風を 嵐というらん

吹くからに 時代の野原を

吹き抜けて 今日まで届く

言い得て妙な その一言は

嵐より長く 生き残った

草木は毎年 生え変わるけど

言葉は千年 枯れないままで

だから選ぼう 口に出す風を

枯らす風より 育てる風を

吹くからに 世界は揺れる

だとしても 顔を上げて

むべ山風を 嵐というらん

名前をつければ 怖くないから

種を乗せた 風に変えて

笑ってみせよう あの歌人みたいに

嵐というらん…… 嵐というらん……

English

Fuku Karani (Funya no Yasuhide, Hyakunin Isshu No. 22) / Garu JP

The wind sweeps down, and with every gust

The autumn grasses bow their heads

Mountain and wind, written together, spell "storm"

Well said, indeed — I have to admit

Gazing out across the withered field

One riddle of words comes untangled

The moment it blows, the autumn grasses

Wither and bend with a rustling cry

So they must call this mountain wind a storm

Because it ravages — that's why it's called the storm

The moment it blows, the autumn grasses

Wither and bend with a rustling cry

He solved the riddle with a play on words

A poet who smiled as he sang

With every gust of heartless voices

Someone lowers their head

Rumors, backbiting, cold stares

I see — this, too, is a storm

Words meant to wither me

Some days they nearly break me, and yet

The moment it blows, the grasses of the heart

May wither, but the roots remain

The storm carries more than dead leaves

Even ravaged soil sends up new sprouts

A single word can wither a person

A single word can bring them back to life

So if I too am going to blow

Let me be a wind that carries seeds

A witty poem from a thousand years ago

Thirty-one syllables, riding the wind

The moment it blows, the autumn grasses wither

So they must call this mountain wind a storm

The moment it blows, across the fields of time

It sweeps on through and reaches us today

That one perfectly spoken line

Has outlived every storm

Grasses grow anew each year

But words stay green a thousand years

So let us choose the wind we breathe out

A wind that grows things, not one that withers

The moment it blows, the world may shake

Even so, lift up your face

So they must call this mountain wind a storm

Once you give it a name, it cannot scare you

Turn it into a wind that carries seeds

And smile — just like that poet did

So they must call it the storm... the storm...

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