When evening comes, the autumn wind visits my humble reed-thatched hut, rustling the rice leaves in the field before my gate.
Minamoto no Tsunenobu (1016–1097) was a poet of the late Heian period, a master of court music and versed in Chinese poetry as well—an all-round talent who rose to Major Counselor (Dainagon). This is a topic poem composed on the theme "Autumn Wind at a Farmhouse" at Minamoto no Morokata's villa at Umezu, in the countryside along the Katsura River on the western outskirts of Kyoto. The word "otozurete" (to visit) has its origin in "to make a sound": autumn arrives by sound—a poem that put that sensation into words. Among the Hyakunin Isshu it is a leading example of pure scenic poetry, neither love nor lament.
A courtier from the capital puts himself in a reed-thatched hut at a country villa and lets the wind of the fields wash over him. A wind the capital does not have. In the emphatic particle "zo" of "the autumn wind blows" (akikaze zo fuku) is a quiet thrill: "ah, autumn has come." The sense of release from the clamor of the city lives alongside the loneliness of a summer ending. Lamenting nothing, longing for no one, simply listening to the wind—what a luxury.
Where the original poem knows autumn by the sound of the rice leaves and the autumn wind, we started the lyrics from the question "how do we, today, know that autumn has come?" The answer: the voices of insects at night, and a dusk that comes earlier. The word "visits" in the chorus line "Autumn visits from the window" is the modern form of the original's "otozurete." This is a song in which nothing happens—in a room with no one to say "welcome home," you say "I'm home" to the wind, and celebrate the end of summer alone. That small luxury existed too, in a reed hut a thousand years ago.
夕されば（金葉集/大納言経信・百人一首71番）Garu JP
帰り道の 改札を出たら
空がもう 暗くなっていた
風が少し 軽くなってて
なぜか急ぐのを やめていた
部屋に入れば 置き去りの熱気
ひと夏ぶりに 窓を開けた
夕されば 門田の稲葉
おとづれて 秋風ぞ吹く
虫の声も 冷たさも連れて
窓辺から秋が 訪れる
夏が終わる それだけのこと
それだけで 胸がほどける
都会の風は 熱を吐くばかり
季節の名前を 忘れてた
蝉の声が いつの間にか
鈴の音に 替わっていた
何もしない 何も起きない
それが今夜の 贅沢で
夕されば 門田の稲葉
おとづれて 秋風ぞ吹く
灯りもつけない 部屋の真ん中で
風の音だけ 聴いている
おかえりを 言う人はいないけど
風に向かって ただいまを言う
千年前 都を離れて
葦の小屋で 風を聴いた人
その風は まだ吹いている
同じ音で 同じ冷たさで
夕されば 門田の稲葉 おとづれて
芦のまろやに 秋風ぞ吹く
夕されば 門田の稲葉
おとづれて 秋風ぞ吹く
目を閉じれば 何もいらない
虫の声だけ 聴いていたい
夏が終わって 秋が始まる
それだけのことを 祝おう
芦のまろやに……
秋風ぞ吹く
Out through the ticket gate on my way home
The sky had already gone dark
The wind felt a little lighter
And somehow I had stopped hurrying
Back in my room, the heat of summer left behind
For the first time all summer, I opened the window
When evening falls, the rice leaves at my gate
rustle, and the autumn wind blows through
Bringing the insects' voices and the cool air
autumn arrives through my window
Summer is ending — that's all it is
And that alone loosens something in my chest
The city wind only ever breathed out heat
I had forgotten the names of the seasons
The cicadas' cries, at some point
had turned into the ring of bell crickets
Doing nothing, nothing happening
That is tonight's small luxury
When evening falls, the rice leaves at my gate
rustle, and the autumn wind blows through
In the middle of my room, lights still off
I'm listening only to the sound of the wind
There's no one here to say "welcome home"
so I say "I'm home" to the wind
A thousand years ago, far from the capital
someone listened to the wind in a hut of reeds
That wind is still blowing
with the same sound, the same coolness
When evening falls, the rice leaves at my gate rustle
and through the reed hut blows the autumn wind
When evening falls, the rice leaves at my gate
rustle, and the autumn wind blows through
With my eyes closed, I need nothing else
I just want to listen to the insects sing
Summer ends, and autumn begins
Let's celebrate just that
Through the reed hut...
blows the autumn wind
Yu Sareba (Kin'yo Wakashu / Hyakunin Isshu No.71) Garu JP