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Sei Shōnagon was born a little over a thousand years ago (965 is a likely date). She was a Court Lady and lady-in-waiting to Empress Sadako during the last decade of the tenth century. This was at the very height of the Heian culture. Her father was a provincial official but best known as a scholar and poet. Otherwise not much is known about her family, but as a lady at the court, she was highly educated in various arts and in writing.

She wrote poems and lyrical observations on court life. Her most famous literary work is a collection of short texts and poems called The Pillow Book, which she wrote for her own amusement before going to sleep.

Japanese court ladies of the Heian era wore their hair very long, only cut at the sides of their faces in a layered fashion, with the longer hair sometimes worn tied back. This hairstyle was known as suberakashi (垂髪), and was sometimes worn with an ornament on the forehead. Some of the elaborate hairstyles were fashioned perhaps once a week, since they were so elaborate, then were preserved by sleeping on a wooden box that served as a pillow, keeping the hair from getting mussed. Journals could be kept in such a wooden pillow box (see images a few posts to the right), and it is possible that Sei Shōnagon kept her journal in such a pillow box.

Encyclopedia Brittanica says on this topic: "Other diaries of the Heian period (794–1185) indicate that such journals may have been kept by both men and women in their sleeping quarters—hence the name." You can find a more elaborate speculation about why the book might have been called The Pillow Book on this blog.

The book is a form of diary or journal written in the form of lists with subjects such as visiting shrines, belief in reincarnation, writing haiku poems, the etiquette of receiving a lover, things that are embarrassing and things that are moving, beautiful things, and the etiquette of sending elegant letters with symbolic gifts attached such as blossom sprigs attached, contemplating in beautiful rock gardens, or admiring the moonlight and the stillness of the lakes, the quality of snow, abhorrent things, embarrassing things, all kinds of courtly anecdotes, some courtly gossip, and the gentle plum trees in spring.

Today, The Pillow Book of Sei Shōnagon is considered one of the greatest works of Japanese literature alongside its contemporary, The Tale of Genji by Murasaki Shikibu. The Tale of Genji was the first novel ever written. You could call the work of Sei Shonagon one of the earliest lyric memoirs, and you can almost call Sei Shōnagon herself a forerunner of today's blogger. It is extraordinary that, in a part of the world noted for male ascendancy, both these masterpieces should have been written by women.

MONDAY, AUGUST 25

MASTER CLASS and WORKSHOP
Eating Strawberries in the Dark: the Lists of Sei Shōnagon
with Nynke Salverda Passi
Time: 1:30 - 3:30 PM CT

The Pillow Book of Sei Shōnagon is one of the greatest works of Japanese literature alongside its contemporary, The Tale of Genji by Murasaki Shikibu. You could call the journals of Sei Shonagon one of the earliest lyric memoirs while The Tale of Genji was the first novel ever written. It is extraordinary that, in a part of the world noted for male ascendancy, both these masterpieces should have been written by women.

Sei Shōnagon was born a little over a thousand years ago (965 is a likely date). She was a Court Lady and lady-in-waiting to Empress Sadako during the last decade of the tenth century. This was at the very height of the Heian culture. Her father was a provincial official but best known as a scholar and poet. Otherwise not much is known about her family, but as a lady at the court, she was highly educated in various arts and in writing.

At the time, ladies at the court had elaborate hairdos that made it necessary to sleep on a wooden box to preserve their hair; this box was where personal items such as journals could be kept. This is why we now refer to Shōnagon’s journals as The Pillow Book. The Pillow Book is the first of a typically Japanese form of writing, which includes some of the country’s most valued literature: zuihitsu (隨筆), or "following the brush", a form characterized by loosely connected essays, fragmented thoughts, and casual observations in a spontaneous and unfiltered style, conveying Shonagon’s personality and immediate impressions of her surroundings. The books offer a fascinating record of Court life: an anecdote here, a prescription for conduct there, a lilting roll call of names, rivers, flowers, a subtle comment on some custom, a whimsical reflection, or a formal record or observance. In this generative workshop, we’ll read some of Sei Shōnagon work and use her lists as a leaping off point to examine our own lives and experiences with a fresh eye in the form of lists.

About Soul Bone™ Literary Center

Soul Bone™ intersects writing with creative process, spirituality, connection, and healing in tiny, winged courses that lift the spirit.  Soul Bone™ is founded and directed by Nynke Passi, who also is the director of MIU's MFA in Creative Writing. You can find information about both at the end of this Padlet handout (scroll right).

In this movie, Nagiko admires Sei Shōnagon and trys to make her own pillow book through her life. This movie describes what the freedom of women is and a nice example of Shōnagon followers. Nagiko escapes from Kyoto to Hong Kong without telling her husband, and she gets a job as a fashion model. She looks for lovers who will fulfill her dreams.

Peter Greenaway's erotically-charged homage to the art of calligraphy follows a young woman who seeks pleasure with men who write on her, and the revenge she seeks on a man who exploited her father. Official Selection - Cannes Film Festival.

This movie is not a direct retelling of Sei Shōnago's life but is inspired by it.

Things That Make One’s Heart Beat Faster

Sparrows feeding their young.
To pass a place where babies are playing.
To sleep in a room where some fine incense has been burnt. To notice that one’s elegant Chinese mirror has become a little cloudy. To see a gentleman stop his carriage before one’s gate and instruct his attendants to announce his arrival. To wash one’s hair, make one’s toilet, and put on scented robes; even if not a soul sees one, these preparations still produce an inner pleasure. It is night and one is expecting a visitor.
Suddenly one is startled by the sound of raindrops, which the wind blows against the shutters.

(Sei Shōnagon, The Pillow Book (枕草子, Makura no Sōshi), Translated by Ivan Morris)

PROMPT #1:

Write your own list about things that make your heart beat faster. Try to pack in at least one thing that is controversial, contradictory, or unexpected.

As stated before, a striking feature of The Pillow Book are 164 delightfully personal lists interspersed throughout the work. Shōnagon enumerates the hateful or depressing, the annoying or awkward; she details the elegant, adorable, splendid, or rare. She lists “Poetic Subjects,” “Things That Arouse a Fond Memory of the Past,” “Things Without Merit,” and “Things That Give a Pathetic Impression.” Some lists are brief, with two or three items; others are extensive and detailed. The lists are quirky, always engaging and revelatory of Shōnagon’s personality and thoughts.

Examples are a list of depressing things that includes a dog howling in the daytime, sleeping in a room where a baby has died, no fire in the house on a cold day, rain on the last day of the year, a friend failing to send a reply poem. A list of repulsive things might include the inside of a cat's ear, the back of a piece of sewing, hairless baby mice tumbling out of their nest, and a husband failing to care for his sick wife. She also can be very opinionated. A list on unsuitable things includes an observation that snow, something beautiful, is falling on the roofs of common houses, the sight of an older pregnant woman, a woman eating a sour plum. And there is hilarity: the list of infuriating things includes items such as a secret lover who snores, guests who arrive when you are busy, and someone interrupting a story. There are anecdotes, philosophical observations, memories, names of rivers or under garments, whimsical comments, personal opinions, sensory details, and tiny glimpses of courtly life all woven together into a tapestry that becomes more than the sum of its parts and brings us into another world as if all of these things happened yesterday. We feel and can see and hear everything and get to witness through Shonagon's eyes and ears and pen.

The technique of Zuihitsu

A Japanese hybrid form that can be traced back to Sei Shōnagon’s 10th-century text The Pillow Book, zuihitsu is often translated from the Japanese as “following the brush.” This capacious genre incorporates nonfiction, musings and confessions, poetry, and miscellany to create a spontaneous, layered text. In her poetry collection The Narrow Road to the Interior (W.W. Norton, 2008), Kimiko Hahn writes that “the sense of disorder” is “integral” to the form of zuihitsu. 

Other examples of zuihitsu include Essays in Idleness by Kenkō, translated by Donald Keene (Columbia University Press, 1967. Tsurezuregusa is a collection of essays written by the Japanese monk Kenkō between 1330 and 1332. The work is widely considered a gem of medieval Japanese literature and one of the three representative works of the zuihitsu genre, along with The Pillow Book and the Hōjōki. You can read more about Kenko and his works here.

More contemporary examples include: “Zuihitsu” by Jenny Xie from her collection Eye Level (Graywolf Press, 2018); “False Dawn” by Khadijah Queen; and anthologies including The Columbia Anthology of Japanese Essays: Zuihitsu from the Tenth to the Twenty-First Century (Columbia University Press, 2014) and The Land We Saw, the Times We Knew: An Anthology of Zuihitsu Writing from Early Modern Japan (University of Hawai'i Press, 2018).

You can read more here on the website of the Poetry Foundation.

You can read the whole history of zuihitsu here.

You can read more about what zuihitsu is on the website of the Poetry School here.

• Born: 966 or 967

• Birthplace: Unknown

• Died: c. 1013

• Place of death: Possibly near Kyoto, Japan

  
  

Early Life

No direct biographical or historical records about Sei Shōnagon have survived; information is fragmentary or conjectural about her life before and after her service at the imperial court, and about possible relationships, marriages, or children. Hints are embedded in her work Makura no sōshi (c. 994-c. 1001; Pillow Book, 1929; best known as The Pillow Book of Sei Shōnagon, 1967, or The Pillow Book) and in comments by contemporaries, especially her literary rival, Murasaki Shikibu.

Sei Shōnagon was born into the Kiyohara family, descendants of the Emperor Temmu (r. 673-686) and a family of some distinction, although by Shōnagon’s lifetime, its influence was primarily literary. Her father, mentioned only once in her work, was Kiyohara no Motosuke, provincial governor of Higo, a poet whose work appears in several imperial anthologies, a scholar, and one of the compilers of Gosen wakashū (951; later collection of poetry). Her great-grandfather, Fukuyabu, was also a celebrated poet. Sei Shōnagon was apparently raised in a literary family, and evidence in her work points to an education in Japanese and Chinese literature. About her childhood and early years, there is no information.

Even Shōnagon’s name is something of a mystery: Sei is the Sinified (meaning: made more Chinese) reading of kiyo, the first character of her family name, and Shōnagon represents an honorary title, “lesser or minor counselor.” The combination was commonly used to refer to ladies of the imperial court and may have been given to her because a male relation held the title of shōnagon. Shōnagon’s given name may have been Nagiko.

In 983, Sei Shōnagon may have married a government official named Tachibana no Norimitsu; the union may have produced a son, Norinaga. Certainly, Tachibana no Norimitsu is mentioned in The Pillow Book, but its translator, Ivan Morris, thinks it unlikely that Shōnagon was married to him, although the pair may have had an amorous relationship. The relationship or marriage did not survive; one legend about Shōnagon is that she then entered a relationship with another man. Although no specifics are provided, The Pillow Book contains evidence that Shōnagon had other intimate relationships, some of which were pleasant, others regrettable.

Source here.

Some scholars believe that after leaving the court, Shōnagon married Fujiwara no Muneyo, who became governor of Settsu Province, and that she had a daughter, Koma no Myōbu. No definitive information is available on the remaining years of Sei Shōnagon’s life; however, a number of legends have persisted to this day. One tradition claims that she died impoverished and alone; another says that she entered a convent. One scholar suggests that she probably died at Tsukinowa, a suburb of what is now Kyoto, where her father owned a residence. The geographical distribution and prevalence of legends about Shōnagon suggest that she had the means to travel after leaving the court.

The Pillow Book reveals some facets of the personality of Shōnagon, who apparently was a highly intelligent, acutely observant, and well-informed woman whose position as Sadako’s lady-in-waiting afforded unparalleled access to the activities, opinions, attitudes, and concerns of the Heian aristocracy. The book introduces a witty writer who takes pleasure in words and in the language and imagery of poetry, a flamboyant woman who revels in celebrations and festivals and in court pageantry and protocol. Shōnagon’s sensitivity to beauty shines through descriptions of the natural charms of her surroundings, in delineations of colors and textures in clothing, and in notes about harmonious design elements in homes and public buildings. Especially obvious is Shōnagon’s joy in being a member of the court. She adored the imperial family, especially the empress Sadako, and was a favored member of the empress’s inner circle.

Murasaki Shikibu, a contemporary of Shōnagon and the author of Genji monogatari (c. 1004; The Tale of Genji, 1925-1933), was not among Shōnagon’s admirers. In her diary, Murasaki complained that Shōnagon had an excessively good opinion of herself in translation, the criticism is variously rendered “conceit and arrogance” or “self-satisfaction.” Murasaki was introspective and philosophical, and her dislike of the gregarious and showy Shōnagon is not surprising. In general, the criticism should be read as an opinion from a rival whose personality was decidedly different. There may, however, be a germ of truth in Murasaki’s description of Shōnagon.

Scholars and readers who are charmed by the elegance and cleverness of The Pillow Book are frequently taken aback by Shōnagon’s intolerance for those whom she considered beneath her, socially, economically, or intellectually. She writes of women “who are of no more value than a roof tile” and complains that it is annoying “to be disturbed by a herd of common people.” Comments such as these are not uncommon; however, although her elitism is discomfiting, contemporary readers must remember that Shōnagon was a product of her upbringing and historical milieu; her values mirrored those of the courtiers around her.

Although she wrote both prose and poetry, Shōnagon is celebrated for The Pillow Book. Probably begun around 994 while Shōnagon was in Sadako’s service, the work was completed sometime after the writer left the court, possibly around 1001. The Pillow Book is significant in Japanese literature, praised for its linguistic purity, celebrated for its variety, and still widely read more than a thousand years after its composition.

The greatest Heian period (794-1185) literature flowered during the late tenth and early eleventh centuries, the years under Emperor Ichijō, during which Sei Shōnagon and Murasaki Shikibu served successive consorts at the imperial court. Dominated by the great Fujiwara family, those years were noted for their cultural and artistic achievements, for tremendous literary production, and for the development of new genres and literary subjects. The major writers of Ichijō’s reign were women, including Izumi Shikibu, hailed as the era’s greatest poet; Murasaki Shikibu, known for her diary and The Tale of Genji; and Sei Shōnagon.

Evidence in The Pillow Book suggests that its existence was known, and the creation of manuscripts many centuries later speaks to the work’s enduring popularity. So iconic was The Pillow Book in the ensuing centuries that a fourteenth century artist created the Makura no sōshi e-maki, a scroll ornamented with scenes and events from Shōnagon’s book.

The Pillow Book consists of more than three hundred entries (the number varies among manuscripts) covering the years Shōnagon spent at court. As the only work of its kind surviving from the Heian period, The Pillow Book is not only a literary masterpiece but also a vast resource for cultural historians interested in the court of a Heian emperor.

The title of Shōnagon’s work may not have been of her choosing. The term “pillow book” was commonly used at the time for an informal journal containing jottings and observations composed in solitude. These books were kept private, probably in small drawers built into wooden pillows, hence the label. Because The Pillow Book consists of pieces, apparently composed spontaneously and irregularly, it is impossible to determine except for some fifty dateable sections when and in what order the entries were written. Extant manuscripts from long after Shōnagon’s death disagree on the arrangement of the various sections in the book.

Several early texts of The Pillow Book exist, but none of them dates back to Shōnagon’s lifetime. As later revisions or editions, these manuscripts vary in the placement of Shōnagon’s entries; yet whatever the order, they each fit into one of several fairly distinct categories: essays on a variety of subjects, essays on emotions and feelings, short observations and musings, and autobiographical vignettes that reveal not only Shōnagon’s life at court but also fragments about her life before she entered Sadako’s service.

Among the prose forms represented in The Pillow Book are short tales, personal narratives, reflections, anecdotes, descriptions of nature, character sketches, vignettes, standard diary entries, prose poems, and commentaries. Also included are sixteen poems, although most scholars agree that Shōnagon’s genius lay in her facility and deftness with prose forms, and that her poetry is, at best, pedestrian. Topics covered in The Pillow Book vary tremendously, appearing random and haphazard; Shōnagon writes about chance encounters, amorous intrigues, politics, ceremonies, festivals, fashion, men, penmanship, and food. She comments on serious subjects: class and gender relations, court attitudes and values, social hierarchies, and the shape of life in her aristocratic universe. Yet she is also playful and informal, describing the emperor playing his flute, lovers’ visits, and the origins of names. She illuminates the lives of women those of her class and those below her their activities, cosmetics, clothing, apartments, pastimes, and even their faces. Her descriptions of the natural world trees, birds, flowers, even insects are delicate and painterlike.

A striking feature of The Pillow Book are 164 delightfully personal lists interspersed throughout the work. Shōnagon enumerates the hateful or depressing, the annoying or awkward; she details the elegant, adorable, splendid, or rare. She lists “Poetic Subjects,” “Things That Arouse a Fond Memory of the Past,” “Things Without Merit,” and “Things That Give a Pathetic Impression.” Some lists are brief, with two or three items; others are extensive and detailed. The lists are quirky, always engaging and revelatory of Shōnagon’s personality and thoughts.

Source here.

The Pillow Book opens a window into a medieval Japanese royal court, revealing glimpses of the human beings behind historical personages such as Emperor Ichijō and his consort Sadako. To the right you can find out more about the writing technique of zuihitsu.

Source here.

Although the Imperial House of Japan had power on the surface, the real power was in the hands of the Fujiwara clan, a powerful aristocratic family who had intermarried with the imperial family; most Emperors of the Heian era had mothers from the Fujiwara family. The economy mostly existed through barter and trade due to the lack of a national currency, while the shōen system encouraged the growth of aristocratic estates that began gradually asserting their independence from Imperial control. Despite a lack of serious warfare or domestic strife during the Heian era, crime and banditry were widespread as the Emperors failed to police the country effectively.

In part due to the lack of strife in this period, which had to do with Japan's isolated position in the world, Heian Japan was one of the periods in history where there was an abundance of culture. It was also a golden age of literature in terms of women writers, who were often cultured ladies in waiting at the court. Murasaki Shikibu wrote The Tale of Genji, the first novel ever written. Sei Shonagon's The Pillow Book is a remarkable forerunner of today's memoir and lyric essay. Izumi Shikibu was a foremost poet of the time. It is remarkable that so many female writers are preserved and created such important works in any period of literature - let alone all in this same period of time in the same place, as happened in Heian Japan.

From Wikipedia. Read more here.

Jūnihitoe Layers

The term jūnihitoe is the common, retroactively-applied name used for women's layered court clothing in Heian period Japan, rather than acting as the formal name for the set of clothes and accessories worn together. Each layer consisted of silk garments, with the innermost garment (the kosode) being made of plain white silk, followed by other layers in different colours and silk fabrics. The outfit could be finished with the addition of a final layer or, for formal occasions, a coat and train.

In the earlier styles of the jūnihitoe, a greater number of layers were worn, the total weight of which could total as much as 20 kilograms (44 lb). Due to this weight, movement could be difficult. Heian ladies commonly slept in the innermost layers of their jūnihitoe, the hakama and kosode, using them as a form of pajamas. Layers could be shed or kept, depending on the season and the nighttime temperatures. By the Muromachi period, however, the number of layers of the dress had reduced considerably.

The layers of the jūnihitoe were referred to with separate names. Hitoe (lit. 'unlined robe') referred to each individual robe layered on top of the kosode, excluding the coat and train layers. Itsutsuginu (五衣) referred to the series of layered robes as a set—typically five differently-coloured layers. The short coat worn on top of the itsutsuginu was known as the karaginu (唐衣), and the long, skirt-like train worn for formal occasions was known as the mō (裳). The last three terms can be combined to give the name for the formal set of jūnihitoe clothing: itsutsuginu-karaginu-mo, a term used since the 19th century.

The layers of the jūnihitoe consist of:

• The undergarments, not considered part of the jūnihitoe proper, are typically a two-piece cotton or silk garment.

• The kosode: a short red or white silk robe of ankle or lower calf length.

• The nagabakama: the formal version of hakama worn by noble women; a very long pleated red skirt, sewn with two split legs.

• The hitoe: an unlined silk robe; usually red, white, or blue-green, although other colors (such as dark red-violet or dark green) very rarely occur.

• The itsutsuginu: a series of brightly coloured robes or uchigi, usually five or sometimes six in number, creating the jūnihitoe's layered appearance. Many more layers of uchigi were worn during the Heian period until the government enacted sumptuary laws, reducing the number of layers worn.

• The uchiginu: a scarlet beaten silk robe worn as a stiffener and support for the outer robes.

• The uwagi: a patterned and decorated silk robe, typically with woven decoration, both shorter and narrower than the uchiginu. The colour and fabric used for the uwagi indicate the rank of the wearer.

• The karaginu: a waist-length Chinese style jacket.

• The mo: an apron-like train skirt, worn trailing down the back of the robe. White with dyed or embroidered adornment.

On less formal occasions, kouchigi (lit. 'small cloak', a shorter brocade robe) were worn over the uchigi or uwagi, intended to raise the formality of an outfit on occasions where the karaginu and mo were not worn. However, karaginu and mowere necessary for the jūnihitoe to be considered the formal attire.

Accessories

An important accessory worn with the jūnihitoe was an elaborate fan, known as a hiōgi, made out of slats of cypress wood, commonly painted and tied together with long silk cords. This was used by women not only to cool down, but also as an important communication device; since women at the Heian period court were not allowed to speak face-to-face to male outsiders, a woman could hold her sleeve up or use her opened fan to shield herself from inquiring looks.

Communication with potential suitors was generally conducted with women sat behind a sudare blind, with the suitor only able to see the sleeves – and thus the layers – of her jūnihitoe. This practice was prominent during the Heian period, and was described in both the works of Murasaki Shikibu and Sei Shonagon.

You can find out more about the dress of ladies in waiting here on Wikipedia.

The so-called Jōgan sub-period, spanning the reigns of two emperors during the second half of the 9th century, was rich in architectural and sculptural projects, largely spurred by the emergence and development of the two branches of Japanese esoteric Buddhism. Two Buddhist monks, Saichō and Kūkai (also known as Kobo Daishi), traveled to China on study missions and, upon their respective returns to Japan, went on to found the two Japanese schools of esoteric Buddhism: Tendai, established by Saichō, and Shingon, established by Kūkai.

Among the many ideas and objects that they had brought back from China was the Mandala of the Two Worlds, a pair of mandalas that represent the central devotional image of Japan’s schools of esoteric Buddhism. Comprised of the “Womb World Mandala” (mandala of principle) and the “Diamond World Mandala” (mandala of wisdom), the Mandala of the Two Worlds was first assembled as a pair by Kūkai’s teacher in China. One such pair, still housed in Kūkai’s temple in Kyoto (Tōji, the “eastern temple”) represented a blueprint for countless mandalas made in Japan over the centuries.

It is believed that the consequential trip to China of Saichō and Kūkai was enabled by a member of the Fujiwara, the family that gives the name of one of the Heian sub-periods. The influence of the Fujiwara clan was paramount in the Japanese political and artistic world of the 9th and 10th centuries. Their power was bolstered by the ever-growing shōen system and ensured by their control of the imperial line, as Fujiwara daughters were married to imperial heirs.

You can find a more elaborate introduction here (by Dr. Sonia Coman):

https://smarthistory.org/heian-period/

More on The Tale of Genji

A favorite subject for late-Heian-period yamato-e was the Tale of Genji (Genji monogatari 源氏物語), written in the first years of the 11th century and attributed to a lady-in-waiting at the imperial court, Murasaki Shikibu. A complex novel that focuses on the romantic interests and entanglements of the prince Genji and his entourage, the Tale also provides a fascinating entryway into Heian-period court life, complete with the aesthetic principles and practices that resided at its core.

The earliest illustrations of the Tale came in handscroll format. Surviving fragments exemplify the yamato-e mode of narrative painting: illustrations by episode interspersed with passages of text; roofless buildings, multiple viewpoints (typically both frontal and from above), and schematic renditions of faces ( hikime kagihana 引目鈎鼻, literally translated as “drawn-line eyes, hook-shaped nose.”)

A brief review of the Heian period cannot be complete without mention of the development of Japanese poetry, waka in particular. Waka was an integral part of the Tale of Genji, and Murasaki Shikibu came to be known as one of the 6 immortal poets (all of whom were from the Heian period).

Permeating the spirit of Heian-period Japanese poetry and the imagery it inspired was a heightened sense of refinement, expressed in elegant verse, stylized visual motifs, precious materials, and embellished surfaces.

The Insei rule—the third and last of the Heian sub-periods —refers, literally, to the imperial practice of ruling from within a (monastery) compound. During Insei, cloistered emperors had a higher degree of political control. It was during this period that a sense of aesthetic and ethical congruence developed, according to which the beautiful and the good are intrinsically interconnected.

Murasaki Shikibu kept a diary as well as writing The Tale of Genji. It is interesting to note that her novel has an idealized version of courtly life while her diary dealt with very real struggles and problems facing a lady in waiting at the time.

Read and see more pictures at the bottom of the page here.

You can read or download the book for free here.

In spring it the dawn that is most beautiful. As the light creeps over the hills, their outlines are dyed a faint red and wisps of purplish cloud trail over them.

In summer the nights. Not only when the moon shines, but on dark nights too, as the fireflies flit to and fro, and even when it rains, how beautiful it is!

In autumn the evenings, when the glittering sun sinks close to the edge of the hills and the crows fly back to their nests in threes and fours and twos; more charming still is a file of wild geese, like specks in the distant sky. When the sun has set, one’s heart is moved by the sound of the wind and the hum of insects.

In winter the early mornings. It is beautiful indeed when snow has fallen during the night, but splendid too when the ground is white with frost; or even when there is no snow or frost, but it is simply very cold and the attendants hurry from room to room stirring up the fires and bringing charcoal, how well this fits the season’s mood! But as noon approaches and the cold wears off, no one bothers to keep the braziers alight, and soon nothing remains but piles of white ashes.

brazier (n): a metal container for hot coals to heat a room

2. Especially Delightful is the First Day

Especially delightful is the first day of the First Month, when the mists so often shroud the sky. Everyone pays great attention to his appearance and dresses with the utmost care. What a pleasure it is to see them all offer their congratulations to the Emperor and celebrate their own new year!

I remember one occasion when I visited the Palace to see the procession of blue horses. Several senior courtiers were standing outside the guard-house of the Left Division; they had borrowed bows from the escorts, and, with much laughter, were twanging them to make the horses prance.

Looking through one of the gates of the Palace enclosure, I could dimly make out a garden fence, near which a number of ladies, several of them from the Office of the Grounds, went to and fro. What lucky women, I thought, who could walk about the Nine-Fold Enclosure as though they had lived there all their lives! Just then the escorts passed close to my carriage – remarkably close, in fact, considering the vastness of the Palace grounds – and I could actually see the texture of their faces. Some of them were not properly powdered; here and there their skin showed through unpleasantly like the dark patches of earth in a garden where the snow has begun to melt. When the horses in the procession reared wildly, I shrank into the back of my carriage and could no longer see what was happening.

courtier (n): a person who is often in attendance at the court of a king or other royal personage

procession (n): a line of people or objects

13. Depressing Things

A dog howling in the daytime. A red plum-blossom dress in the Third or Fourth Months. A lying-in room when the baby has died. A cold, empty brazier. An ox-driver who hates his oxen. A scholar whose wife has one girl child after another.

A letter arrives from the provinces, but no gift accompanies it. It would be bad enough if such a letter reached one in the provinces from someone in the capital; but then at least it would have interesting news about goings-on in society, and that would be a consolation.

One has sent a friend a verse that turned out fairly well. How depressing when there is no reply-poem! Even in the case of love poems, people should at least answer that they were moved at receiving the message, or something of the sort; otherwise they will cause the keenest disappointment.

Someone who lives in a bustling, fashionable household receives a message from an elderly person who is behind the times and has very little to do; the poem, of course, is old-fashioned and dull. How depressing!

Persistent rain on the last day of the year.

A white under-robe in the Eighth Month.

provinces (n): the parts of the country outside the capital or large city

16. Things That Make One’s Heart Beat Faster

Sparrows feeding their young. To pass a place where babies are playing. To sleep in a room where some fine incense has been burnt. To notice that one’s elegant Chinese mirror has become a little cloudy. To see a gentleman stop his carriage before one’s gate and instruct his attendants to announce his arrival. To wash one’s hair and put on a scented robe; even if not a soul sees one, these preparations still produce an inner pleasure.

It is night and one is expecting a visitor. Suddenly one is startled by the sound of rain-drops, which the wind blows against the shutters.

17. Things That Arouse a Fond Memory of the Past

Dried hollyhock. The objects used during the Display of Dolls. To find a piece of deep violet or grape-colored material that has been pressed between the pages of a notebook.

It is a rainy day and one is feeling bored. To pass the time, one starts looking through some old papers. And then one comes across the letters of a man one used to love.

Last year’s paper fan. A night with a clear moon.

19. Oxen Should Have Very Small Foreheads

Oxen should have very small foreheads with white hair; their underbellies, the ends of their legs, and the tips of their tails should also be white.

I like horses to be chestnut, piebald, dapple-grey, or black roan, with white patches near their shoulders and feet; I also like horses with light chestnut coats and extremely white manes and tails – so white, indeed, that their hair looks like mulberry threads.

I like a cat whose back is black and all the rest white.

The driver of an ox-carriage should be a big man; his graying hair should have a slightly reddish tint, and his face should be ruddy. He should also look intelligent.

Attendants and escorts should be slim. I prefer gentlemen also to be on the slender side, at least when young. Stout men always strike me as sleepy-looking.

I like page-boys to be small. They should have beautiful hair that hangs loosely, lightly touching their necks. Their voices must be attractive and their speech respectful; for these are the marks of an adept page.

21. A Preacher Ought To Be Good-Looking

A preacher ought to be good-looking. For, if we are properly to understand his worthy sentiments, we must keep our eyes one him while he speaks; should we look away, we may forget to listen. Accordingly an ugly preacher may well be the source of a sin…

29. Elegant Things

A white coat worn over a violet waistcoat.

Duck eggs.

Shaved ice mixed with liana syrup and put in a new silver bowl.

A rosary of rock crystal.

Wisteria blossoms. Plum blossoms covered with snow.

A pretty child eating strawberries.

31. In the Seventh Month

In the Seventh Month, when there are fierce winds and heavy showers, it is quite cool and one does not bother to carry a fan. On such days I find it pleasant to take a nap, having covered myself with some clothing that gives off a faint smell of perspiration.

32. Unsuitable Things

A woman with ugly hair wearing a robe of white damask.

Hollyhock worn in frizzled hair.

Ugly handwriting on red paper.

Snow on the houses of common people.

This is especially regrettable when the moonlight shines down on it.

An elderly man who has overslept and who wakes up with a start; or a greybeard munching on some acorns that he has plucked. And old woman who eats a plum and, finding it sour, puckers her toothless mouth.

A woman of the lower classes dressed in a scarlet trouser-skirt. The sight it all too common these days.

A handsome man with an ugly wife.

An elderly man with a black beard and a disagreeable expression playing with a little child who has just learnt to talk.

40. Travelling in My Carriage One Day

Travelling in my carriage one day, I passed a gentleman’s house where I saw someone (probably a servant) spreading straw mats on the ground. I also noticed a young boy of about ten, with long, attractive hair hanging loosely down his back, and a child of about five whose hair was piled up under his jacket and whose cheeks were plump and rosy. The child held a funny little bow and a stick of some sort. It was quite adorable. How I should have liked to stop my carriage, pick them both up, and take them along!

As I continued on my way, I presently came to another house. They were burning incense, and the air was redolent with its scent.

redolent (adj.): having a pleasant smell

62. Annoying Things

One has sent someone a poem (or a reply to a poem) and, after the messenger has left, thinks of a couple of words that ought to be changed.

One has sewn something in a hurry. The task seems finished, but on pulling out the needle one discovers that one forgot to knot the end of the thread. It is also very annoying to find that one has sewn something back to front.

It is annoying when a messenger delivers a letter to a person not meant to see it. If he simply admitted his mistake, it would not be so bad. But when he begins insisting that he merely carried out orders, it is really infuriating. If I were not afraid that someone might see me I should rush up and strike him.

While entertaining some visitors, one hears some servant chatting without any restraint in one of the back rooms. It is embarrassing to know that one’s visitors can overhear them. But how to stop them?

A man whom one loves gets drunk and keeps repeating himself.

To have spoken about someone not knowing the he could overhear. This is embarrassing even if it be a servant or some other completely insignificant person.

To hear one’s servants making merry. This is equally annoying if one is on a journey and staying in cramped quarters or at home and hears the servants in a neighboring room.

Parents, convinced that their ugly child is adorable, pet him and repeat the things he has said, imitating his voice.

An ignoramus who is the presence of some learned person put on a knowing air and converses about men of old.

A man recited his own poems (not especially good ones) and tells one about the praise they have received – most embarrassing.

ignoramus (n): an extremely ignorant person; a fool

64. Surprising and Distressing Things

While one is cleaning a decorative comb, something catches in the teeth and the comb breaks.

A carriage overturns. One would have imagined that such a solid, bulky object would remain forever on its wheels. It all seems like a dream – astonishing and senseless.

A child or grown-up blurts out something that is bound to make people feel uncomfortable.

One of the bowmen is an archery contest stands trembling for a long time before shooting; when finally he does release his arrow, it goes in the wrong direction.

66. It Was a Clear, Moonlit Night

It was a clear, moonlit night a little after the tenth of the Eighth Month. Her Majesty, who was residing in the Empress’s Office, sat by the edge of the veranda while Ukon no Naishi played the flute for her. The other ladies in attendance sat together, talking and laughing; but I stayed by myself, leaning against one of the pillars between the main hall and the veranda.

“Why so silent?” asked Her Majesty. “Say something. It is sad when you do not speak.”

“I am gazing into the autumn moon, “ I replied.

“Ah yes,” she remarked. “That is just what you should have said.”

veranda (n): a large, open porch

pillar (n): a large column to support a building

67. One Day When There Were Several People in the Empress’s Presence

One day when there were several people in the empress’s presence, including many senior courtiers and young noblemen, I was leaning against a pillar, chatting with some of the other women.

Suddenly Her Majesty threw a note at me. “Should I love you or should I nor?” it said. “What will you do if I cannot give you first place in my heart?”

No doubt she was thinking of recent conversations when I had remarked in her hearing, “If I do not come first in people’s affections, I had just soon not be loved at all; in fact I would rather be hated or even maltreated. It is better to be dead than to be loved in second or third place.

Yes, I must be first.” Hearing this, someone had said, “There we have the Single Vehicle of the Law!” and everyone had burst out laughing.

Now the Empress gave me a brush and some paper. I wrote the following note and handed it to her: “Among the Nine Ranks of lotus seats even the lowliest would satisfy me.”

“Well, well,” said the Empress, “you seem to have lost heart completely. That’s bad. I prefer you to go on thinking as you did before.”

“My attitude depends on the person in question,” I replied.

“That’s really bad,” she said, much to my delight. “You should try to come first in the affections of even the most important people.”

123. During the Hot Months

During the hot months it is a great delight to sit on the veranda, enjoying the cool of the evening and observing how the outlines of objects gradually become blurred. At such a moment I particularly enjoy the sight of a gentleman’s carriage, preceded by outriders clearing the way. Sometimes a couple of commoners will pass in a carriage with the rear blinds slightly raised. As the oxen trot along, one has a pleasant sense of freshness.

On a very dark night it is delightful when the aroma of smoke from the pine-torches at the head of the procession is wafted through the air and pervades the carriage in which one is travelling.

124. One Has Carefully Scented a Robe

One has carefully scented a robe and then forgotten about it for several days. When finally one comes to wear it, the aroma is even more delicious than on freshly scented clothes.

125. When Crossing a River

When crossing a river in bright moonlight, I love to see the water scatter in showers of crystal under the oxen’s feet.

126. Things That Should Be Large

Priests. Fruit. Houses. Provision bags. Inksticks for inkstones.

Men’s eyes: when they are too narrow, they look feminine. On the other hand, if they were as large as metal bowls, I should find them rather frightening.

Round braziers. Winter cherries. Pine trees. The petals of yellow roses.

Horses as well as oxen should be large.

127. Things That Should Be Short

A piece of thread when one wants to sew something in a hurry.

A lamp strand.

The hair of a woman of the lower classes should be neat and short.

The speech of a young girl.

137. Clouds

I love white, purple, and black clouds, and rain clouds when they are driven by the wind. It is charming at dawn to see the dark clouds gradually turn white. I believe this has been described in a Chinese poem that says something about “the tints that leave at dawn”.

It is moving to see a thin wisp of cloud across a very bright moon.

143. To Feel That One is Disliked by Others

To feel that one is disliked by others is surely one of the saddest things in the world, and no one, however foolish, could wish such a thing on himself. Yet everywhere, whether it be in the Palace or at home in the bosom of the family, there are some people who are naturally liked and others who are not.

I imagine that there can be nothing so delightful as to be loved by everyone – one’s parents, one’s master, and all the people with whom one is on close terms.

144. Men Really Have Strange Emotions

Men really have strange emotions and behave in the most bizarre ways.  Sometimes a man will leave a very pretty woman to marry an ugly one.

Sometimes, too, a man will become so fascinated by a girl whom he has heard favorable reports that he will do everything in his power to marry her even though they have never even met.

I remember a certain woman who was both attractive and good-natured and who furthermore had excellent hand-writing. Yet when she sent a beautifully written poem to the man of her choice, he replied with some pretentious jottings and did not even bother to visit her. She wept endearingly, but he was indifferent and went to see another woman instead. Everyone, even people who were not directly concerned, felt indignant about this callous behavior, and the woman’s family was much grieved. The man himself, however, showed not the slightest pity.

pretentious (adj.): acting like one is important

indifferent (adj.): without interest or concern

indignant (adj.): angry; resentful

callous (adj.): insensitive; unsympathetic

146.  It is Absurd of People to Get Angry

It is absurd of people to get angry because one has gossiped about them. How can anyone be so simple as to believe that he is free to find fault with others while his own foibles are passed over in silence? Yet when someone hears that he has been discussed unfavorably he is always outraged, and this I find most unattractive.

If I am really close to someone, I realize that it would be hurting to speak badly about him and when the opportunity for gossip arises I hold my peace. In all other cases, however, I freely speak my mind and make everyone laugh.

foible (n): a flaw or weakness

148. Pleasing Things

Finding a large number of tales that one has not read before. Or acquiring the second volume of a tale whose first volume one has enjoyed. But often it is a disappointment.

Someone has torn up a letter and thrown it away. Picking up the pieces, one finds that many of them can be fitted together.

I realize that it is very sinful of me, but I cannot help being pleased when someone I dislike has a bad experience.

I am more pleased when something nice happens to a person I love than when it happens to myself.

I am most pleased when I hear someone I love being praised or being mentioned approvingly by an important person.

Source for these last list pages (WordPress) here.

One is in a hurry to leave, but one’s visitor keeps chattering away. If it is someone of no importance, one can get rid of him by saying, “You must tell me all about it next time”; but, should it be the sort of visitor whose presence commands one’s best behaviour, the situation is hateful indeed.

One finds that a hair has got caught in the stone on which one is rubbing one’s inkstick, or again that gravel is lodged in the inkstick, making a nasty, grating sound.

Someone has suddenly fallen ill and one summons the exorcist. Since he is not at home, one has to send messengers to look for him. After one has had a long fretful wait, the exorcist finally arrives, and with a sigh of relief one asks him to start his incantations. But perhaps he has been

exorcizing too many evil spirits recently; for hardly has he installed himself and begun praying when his voice becomes drowsy. Oh, how hateful!

A man who has nothing in particular to recommend him discusses all sorts of subjects at random as though he knew every thing.

An elderly person warms the palms of his hands over a brazier and stretches out the wrinkles. No young man would dream of behaving in such a fashion; old people can really be quite shamless. I have seen some dreary old creatures actually resting their feet on the brazier and rubbing them against the edge while they speak. These are the kind of people who in visiting someone’s house first use their fans to wipe away the dust from the mat and, when they finally sit on it, cannot stay still but are forever spreading out the front of their hunting costume or even tucking it up under their knees. One might suppose that such behaviour was restricted to people of humble station; but I have observed it in quite well-bred people, including a Senior

Secretary of the Fifth Rank in the Ministry of Ceremonial and a former Governor of Suruga.

I hate the sight of men in their cups who shout, poke their fingers in their mouths, stroke their beards, and pass on the wine to their neighbours with great cries of “Have some more! Drink up!” They tremble, shake their heads, twist their faces, and gesticulate like children who are singing, “We’re off to see the Governor.” I have seen really well-bred people behave like this and I find it most distasteful.

To envy others and to complain about one’s own lot; to speak badly about people; to be inquisitive about the most trivial matters and to resent and abuse people for not telling one, or, if one does manage to worm out some facts, to inform everyone in the most detailed fashion as

if one had known all from the beginning - oh, how hateful!

One is just about to be told some interesting piece of news when a baby starts crying.

A flight of crows circle about with loud caws.

An admirer has come on a clandestine visit, but a dog catches sight of him and starts barking. One feels like killing the beast.

One has been foolish enough to invite a man to spend the night in an unsuitable place - and then he starts snoring.

A gentleman has visited one secretly. Though he is wearing a tall, lacquered hat, he nevertheless wants no one to see him. He is so flurried, in fact, that upon leaving he bangs into some thing with his hat. Most hateful! It is annoying too when he lifts up the the blind that hangs at the entrance of the room, then lets it fall with a great rattle. If it is a head-blind, things are still worse, for being more solid it makes a terrible noise when it is dropped. There is no excuse for such carelessness. Even a head-blind does not make any noise if one lifts it up gently on entering and leaving the room; the same applies to sliding-doors. If one’s movements are rough, even a paper door will bend and resonate when opened; but, if one lifts the door a little while pushing it, there need be no sound. One has gone to bed and is about to doze off when a mosquito appears, announcing himself in

a reedy voice. One can actually feel the wind made by his wings and, slight though it is, one finds it hateful in the extreme.

A carriage passes with a nasty, creaking noise. Annoying to think that the passengers may not even be aware of this!

If I am travelling in someone’s carriage and I hear it creaking, I dislike not only the noise but also the owner of the carriage.

One is in the middle of a story when someone butts in and tries to show that he is the only clever person in the room. Such a person is hateful, and so, indeed, is anyone, child or adult, who tries to push himself forward. One is telling a story about old times when someone breaks in with a little detail that he happens to know, implying that one’s own version is inaccurate - disgusting behaviour!

Very hateful is a mouse that scurries all over the place.

Some children have called at one’s house. One makes a great fuss of them and gives them toys to play with. The children become accustomed to this treatment and start to come regularly, forcing their way into one’s inner rooms and scattering one’s furnishings and possessions. Hateful!

A certain gentleman whom one does not want to see visits one at home or in the Palace, and one pretends to be asleep. But a maid comes to tell one and shakes one awake, with a look on her face that says, “What a sleepyhead!” Very hateful.

A newcomer pushes ahead of the other members in a group; with a knowing look, this person starts laying down the law and forcing advice upon everyone - most hateful.

A man with whom one is having an affair keeps singing the praises of some woman he used to know. Even if it is a thing of the past, this can be very annoying. How much more so if he is still seeing the woman! (Yet sometimes I find that it is not as unpleasant as all that.)

A person who recites a spell himself after sneezing. In fact I detest anyone who sneezes, except the master of the house.

Fleas, too, are very hateful. When they dance about under someone’s clothes, they really seem to be lifting them up.

The sound of dogs when they bark for a long time in chorus is ominous and hateful.

I cannot stand people who leave without closing the panel behind them.

How I detest the husbands of nurse-maids! It is not so bad if the child in the maid’s charge is a girl, because then the man will keep his distance. But, if it is a boy, he will behave as though he were the father. Never letting the boy out of his sight, he insists on managing everything. He regards the other attendants in the house as less than human, and, if anyone tries to scold the child, he slanders him to the master. Despite this disgraceful behaviour, no one dare accuse the husband; so he strides about the house with a proud, self-important look, giving all the orders.

I hate people whose letters show that they lack respect for worldly civilities, whether by discourtesy in the phrasing or by extreme politeness to someone who does not deserve it. This sort of thing is, of course, most odious if the letter is for oneself, but it is bad enough even if it is addressed to someone else.

As a matter of fact, most people are too casual, not only in their letters but in their direct conversation. Sometimes I am quite disgusted at noting how little decorum people observe when talking to each other.

It is particularly unpleasant to hear some foolish man or woman omit the proper marks of respect when addressing a person of quality; and, when servants fail to use honorific forms of speech in referring to their masters, it is very bad indeed. No less odious, however, are those masters who, in addressing their servants, use such phrases as “When you were good enough to do such-and-such” or “As you so kindly re marked”. No doubt there are some masters who, in describing their own actions to a servant, say, “I presumed to do so-and so”!

Sometimes a person who is utterly devoid of charm will try to create a good impression by using very elegant language; yet he only succeeds in being ridiculous. No doubt he believes this refined language to be just what the occasion demands, but, when it goes so far that everyone bursts out laughing, surely something must be wrong.

It is most improper to address high-ranking courtiers, Imperial Advisers, and the like simply by using their names without any titles or marks of respect; but such mistakes are fortunately rare.

If one refers to the maid who is in attendance on some lady-in waiting as “Madam” or “that lady”, she will be surprised, delighted, and lavish in her praise.

When speaking to young noblemen and courtiers of high rank, one should always (unless Their Majesties are present) refer to them by their official posts. Incidentally, I have been very shocked to hear important people use the word “I” while conversing in Their Majesties’ presence. Such a breach of etiquette is really distressing, and I fail to see why people cannot avoid it.

A man who has nothing in particular to recommend him but who speaks in an affected tone and poses as being elegant.

An inkstone with such a hard, smooth surface that the stick glides over it without leaving any deposit of ink,

Continued below.

Ladies-in-waiting who want to know everything that is going on.

Sometimes one greatly dislikes a person for no particular reason - and then that person goes and does something hateful.

A gentleman who travels alone in his carriage to see a procession or some other spectacle. What sort of a man is he? Even though he may not be a person of the greatest quality, surely he should have taken along a few of the many young men who are anxious to see the sights. But

no, there he sits by himself (one can see his silhouette through the blinds), with a proud look on his face, keeping all his impressions to himself.

A lover who is leaving at dawn announces that he has to find his fan and his paper. “I know I put them somewhere last night,” he says. Since it is pitch dark, he gropes about the room, bumping into the furniture and muttering, “Strange! Where on earth can they be?” Finally he discovers the objects. He thrusts the paper into the breast of his robe with a great rustling sound; then he snaps open his fan and busily fans away with it. Only now is he ready to take his leave. What charmless behaviour! “Hateful” is an understatement.

Equally disagreeable is the man who, when leaving in the middle of the night, takes care to fasten the cord of his headdress. This is quite unnecessary; he could perfectly well put it gently on his head without tying the cord. And why must he spend time adjusting his cloak or hunting

costume? Does he really think someone may see him at this time of night and criticize him for not being impeccably dressed?

A good lover will behave as elegantly at dawn as at any other time. He drags himself out of bed with a look of dismay on his face. The lady urges him on: “Come, my friend, it’s getting light. You don’t want anyone to find you here.” He gives a deep sigh, as if to say that the night has

not been nearly long enough and that it is agony to leave. Once up, he does not instantly pull on his trousers. Instead he comes close to the lady and whispers what ever was left unsaid during the night. Even when he is dressed, he still lingers, vaguely pretending to be fastening his

sash. Presently he raises the lattice, and the two lovers stand together by the side door while he tells her how he dreads the coming day, which will keep them apart; then he slips away. The lady watches him go, and this moment of parting will remain among her most charming memories.

Indeed, one’s attachment to a man depends largely on the elegance of his leave-taking. When he jumps out of bed, scurries about the room, tightly fastens his trouser-sash, rolls up the sleeves of his Court cloak, over-robe, or hunting costume, stuffs his belongings into the breast of his robe and then briskly secures the outer sash - one really begins to hate him.

PROMPT #2:

Write a list of hateful things that includes very small and petty observations but also big things that irk you and yet that touches upon love and tenderness.

If you want to read more of Sei Shonagon's The Pillow Book, consider responding to her lists with your own lists, or with musings on how her experiences and feelings and observations relate to things you know from your own life. Weave her ideas and your own words together into a dialogue, forming your own commentary on the time and place you live in - and what you know, see, observe, think, and feel.

Here you can find an example of a blog where someone gives a personal take on Shonagon's reflections section by section (WordPress).

Things I wish had never been said.

Things I wish had been said.

Things more embarrassing than nudity.

Red things. Blue things. Yellow things.

Things to put off as long as possible.

Things to do as soon as possible

I remember a clear day.

Regrettable things. Unforgettable things.

Annoying things. Graceful things.

Things that take your breath away.

Things that give a pathetic impression.

Things not worth doing.

Things worth more than gold.

Rare things.

Things that cannot be compared.

Things that fall from the sky.

Things that fall slowly.

When I make myself imagine.

Things that are hard to say. Things easy to say.

Patterns.

Things that should be large. Small things.

One day I passed a handsome man.

Holy things.

Tumultuous things. Serene things.

One day the sky, which until then had been clear…

Songs. Trousers. Deities. Under-robes.

Things to die for.

Acid things and sweet things.

Things that last only a day.

Make Up Your Own List Idea

Write to a list idea you make up yourself or that you choose from above or from any of the excerpts in this handout!

LIST POETRY

Lists can be inserted anywhere into poems. There also are list poems.

A list poem is exactly what it sounds like: a poem that lists things, kind of like an inventory. Think Howl by Allen Ginsberg. Think Mille et un sentiments by Denise Duhamel. Think Joe Brainard’s I Remember.* In case you’re not familiar with these works, here are short excerpts:

• from Howl: “I saw the best minds of my generation… / who poverty and tatters and hollow-eyed and high… / who bared their brains to Heaven under the El… / who passed through universities with radiant cool eyes hallucinating Arkansas… / who were expelled from the academies for crazy…”

• from Mille et un sentiments: “170. I feel like it’s all too much, all these commitments… / 171. I feel like even the laundry is too much sometimes… / 174. I feel as though he’ll never forgive me… / 175. I feel as though I shouldn’t be forgiven… / 416. I feel open to bribing the muse… / 417. I feel open to begging… / 418. I feel open to melodrama and understatement.”

• from I Remember: “I remember that woman who was always opening refrigerators… / I remember a plate that hung on the wall above the TV set that said, ‘God Bless Our Mortgaged Home’… / I remember the shadows of feet under the cracks of doors. And closeups of doorknobs turning… / I remember prophylactic machines in gas station bathrooms.”

Some definitions of List Poetry:

• Robert Lee Brewer (Writer’s Digest) says, “A list poem (also known as a catalog poem) is a poem that lists things, whether names, places, actions, thoughts, images, etc.”

• Dr. Patricia Stohr-Hunt (The Miss Rumphius Effect) says, “A list poem is a carefully crafted list, catalog, or inventory of things.”

• The State Library of New South Wales gets more specific in its definition: “The poem is created by a list of images or adjectives that build up to describe its subject. They are very deliberately organised and are not simply random lists of images. The last line of a list poem is usually strong, and is an important element of the poem as list poems often conclude with a startling or surprising image.”

• And the synopsis for Read, Recite, and Write List Poems by Joann Early Macken reminds us of these list poem qualities: “List poetry includes a number of forms that rely on parallel structure, repetition and line breaks.”

Source of the above, plus a list of examples can be found here.

Catalog Poems on The Poetry Foundation website here.

Catalog Poems to Read:

• Chen Chen, "When I Grow Up I Want to Be a List of Further Possibilities"

• Ross Gay, "Catalog of Unabashed Gratitude"

• Rebecca Lindenberg, "Catalogue of Ephemera"

• Kate Potts, "Catalogue of Strange Fish"

Questions to consider in writing, or in discussion with others:

• In each poem, look for patterns in the items the poet lists. Are there different types of items listed? How do these items change from the beginning to the end of the poem?

• In each poem, the poet expresses something about themselves or the world through the form of the list. What is the connection between the list and the speaker of the poem?

• Does the list change how you think about the items?

  
  

List Poem Prompt
Compose a catalog poem. You can choose to list big, important things, such as what you are grateful for or what is possible. Or you can choose to list small, less serious things, such as your favorite snacks, what annoys you, the animals you think look the most ridiculous. After you write a first draft, look through what you’ve written to see if there are patterns in the items you list. Are the items more specific or general? How is the first item different from the last item listed? Did any items surprise you, or that you found strange?

You can also use lists to generate back story on your characters.

And you can use lists to construct the details of your settings, the worlds where your stories are staged.

Fiction prompt

Use a story or chapter of a novel you already wrote and use lists to deepen the story. You can insert them into the story, you can write them to gather back story on one or more of your characters, or you can use them to make the world of your story come to life in more detail. If you want, you can also write a new story and experiment with lists before writing or in the story itself.

In creative nonfiction, lists are a stylistic technique, or literary device, used to present a series of images, details, or facts to evoke a sense of place or character and can add structure to an essay. Lists are not just informational but also serve aesthetic purposes, providing rhythm, emphasis, and a feeling of immersion for the reader within a true story.

In hermit crab essays they can be a device that structures your piece. A hermit crab essay uses an existing, sometimes more formal structure to hold emotional content, for example: the seasons, train schedules, math, the four directions, hours, day and night, names of trees or plants, locations, or anything else you can think of.

In other forms of lyric essays, they can be inserted, riff off of a more narrative structure, augment a narration or characterization or setting as in fiction, and so much more. There simply is no limit to how you can use lists in your creative nonfiction pieces, whether they be flash (very short pieces), personal essays, lyric essays, or memoirs.

In travel writing, lists can provide descriptions of experiences, sights, and sounds can be presented as lists to immerse the reader in a new culture or environment.

In literary journalism, lists are useful as well. Reports on real-world subjects often use lists to present complex information or multiple viewpoints in an engaging format.

Biographies, like memoir or personal essay or fiction, can also use lists to help paint a more nuanced portrait of a subject.

Read more here: "To Do or Not to Do: on the Comfort of the List Essay" from Brevity Blog

List Prompt in Creative Nonfiction

Of course Sei Shonagon's lists were creative nonfiction - observations from a life. So read some more of Shonagon's lists and make a list of names or subjects of lists that appeal to you.

Then consciously write some lists, and be sure to vary between sensory detail, bigger philosophical ideas, abstraction and the concrete, humor and something deep, touching, moving, or even painful, contrasts, opposites, or other dynamic juxtapositions that will generate energy as you write. Be sure to include all five senses!

Sei Shōnagon was a Japanese poet, diarist, and courtier to Empress Consort Teishi of the Heian period (794–1185). Shōnagon wrote The Pillow Book (枕草子, Makura no sōshi), the earliest known text written in the zuihitsu genre. The Pillow Book is a collection of Shōnagon’s reminiscences, observations, and musings on courtly life, personal thoughts, anecdotes, and poetry. Because of its original prose style, The Pillow Book is considered a masterpiece of classical Japanese literature and a detailed source on Japanese court life during the Heian period.

Shōnagon also wrote short poems referred to as waka, now known by the term tanka. Shōnagon’s waka were included in Goshūishū (approximately translated as Later Collection of Gleanings) compiled by Fujiwara no Michitoshi in 1086 at the behest of Emperor Shirakawa. One of Shōnagon’s waka is included in Ogura Hyakunin Isshu (approximately translated as One Hundred Poems by One Hundred Poets) compiled by Fujiwara no Teika and published as an illustrated book in 1680. A popular English translation of this anthology is One Hundred Poets, One Poem Each: A Treasury of Classical Japanese Verse (Penguin Classics, 2018) by Peter MacMillan.

English translations of The Pillow Book include The Pillow-Book of Sei Shōnagon, translated by Arthur Waley (George Allen & Unwin Ltd., 1957); The Pillow-Book of Sei Shōnagon, translated and edited by Ivan Morris (Columbia University Press, 1991); and The Pillow Book, translated by Meredith McKinney (Penguin Classics, 2007).

You can read more on the website of The Poetry Foundation here.

Who Is There

If, when people call at the house,

I tell my girls to reply,

The lady, sir, is not at home,

Don't think it just a lie;

For the truth is, I no longer know

Whose there when I say I.

-Sei Shonagon (translation Graeme Wilson)

Who Is There

If, when people call at the house,

I tell my girls to reply,

The lady, sir, is not at home,

Don't think it just a lie;

For the truth is, I no longer know

Whose there when I say I.

-Sei Shonagon (translation Graeme Wilson)

You can read more on the website of The Poetry Foundation here.

Prompt #4

Write about your opinions, beliefs, dreams, feelings, and thoughts, making random jottings and lists. Then write a very short poem about the ephemeral nature of who you truly are, the fluidity and/or expansive consciousness-element of your Being with a capital B. Once you have written these things, see if you can make a list mixing these diverse elements together into one list poem or essay that draws on contrasts, bringing together opposites.

Completed in 1053, the Phoenix Hall was sponsored by a member of the Fujiwara family—Fujiwara no Yorimichi—a pious believer in yet another type of Buddhism, known as Pure Land. This occurred at a time when many imperial villas like the Byōdō-in were converted into Buddhist temples. Having spread to Japan through the efforts of the monk Hōnen, the Pure Land School of Buddhism taught that enlightenment could be achieved by invoking the name of Amida, the Buddha of infinite light. Practitioners engage in the ritualistic invocation of Amida’s name—the nenbutsu 念仏—hoping to be reborn in Amida’s Pure Land, or the Western Paradise, where they can continue their journey towards enlightenment undisturbed.

The Amida sculpture in the Phoenix Hall at Byōdō-in is the only work still extant by Jōchō, an influential sculptor who was awarded remarkable distinctions, worked on various commissions from the Fujiwara family, and organized fellow sculptors into a guild. Jōchō’s Amida at Byōdō-in reflects the sculptor’s yosegi-zukuri 寄木造 technique, in which the sculpture is formed from multiple joined pieces of wood.  This technique was different from the ichiboku-zukuri 一本造 technique, according to which the sculpture is carved out of a single block of wood.

During the Heian period, the style known as yamato-e (大和絵 or 倭絵) is born. Understood as “Japanese” as opposed to “Chinese” or otherwise “foreign,” yamato-e encompasses a wide range of technical and formal characteristics but refers to specific formats—folding screens (byōbu 屏風) and room partitions (shōji 障子)—and specific choices of subject matter—landscapes with recognizably Japanese features and illustrations of Japanese poetry, history, mythology, and folklore.

You can find a more elaborate introduction here (by Dr. Sonia Coman):

https://smarthistory.org/heian-period/