Posted by John Fiorillo on January 06, 1999 at 03:33:28:
In Reply to: Re:Sencho title translation posted by Hans Olof Johansson on January 05, 1999 at 15:56:17:
Hello, Hans Olof,
I’ve looked at the Senchô print and found that it supported my first idea for translating the series title (which I would also read as you have suggested, namely, "Keisei senryû awase"), and there are two translations that I suggest would be equally valid:
(1) "A Comparison of Courtesans as the Source of Fashion"
This is based on reading the characters for "senryû" as, literally, "fountainhead" + "style" and thus together meaning "source of fashion." The elaborate robes worn by the courtesan Sugatano in the picture you posted would certainly support this interpretation. While DJM’s suggestion that the character "sen" means "springs or rivers" is not very far from the mark, the more accurate reading would be "source" or "fountainhead." In addition, the second character (ryû) means "style" and is very frequently used in countless Japanese print and series titles as the second part of the word "fûryû" (meaning "up-to-date," "fashionable" or "stylish"), so I have no doubt that its use in Senchô’s series title was intended to mean "fashion."
(2) "A Comparison of Courtesans with Senryû"
This is based on reading the characters for "senryû" in Senchô’s print as a pun on different characters sounding the same but written differently, which would mean, literally, "willow river." That meaning probably is not important, however, because as you have already said, it really alludes to the humorous verse form known as "senryû." Also as you suggested, the drawing of the open book illustrated with comical figures and verses clearly supports this connection.
DJM’s pointing out that the first character in Senchô’s name is the same as the character in the series title is a nice connection as well.
A brief note on senryû for those who are not familiar with them:
Senryû were in either 14- or 17-syllable poetic forms. Their subject was generally about human weakness and vanity. They were named after Karai Senryû (1718-1790), were written by vast numbers of Japanese amateur versifiers and a few professionals (the latter were often judges in poetry contests), and were judged in numerous senryû competitions and anthologized in many different volumes of selected senryû from 1750 until well into the Meiji period. The best examples are almost universally from the eighteenth century. For those interested in learning more, I would recommend finding the volume by R.H. Blyth: Edo Satirical Verse Anthologies(Tokyo: Hokuseido Press, 1961). Some senryû can be quite sharp, others sarcastic, still others refreshingly perceptive. A mildly amusing example of the oblique but highly observant humor sometimes found in senryû can be found in Blyth, p. 108, taken from vol. 7 of the Mutamagawa anthology (1754) and is perhaps appropriate for our discussion here about fashion:
The sash being tied,/ It gives life / To her hips (Koshiobi wo / shimeru to koshi ga / ikite-kuru)
One can see the spark of the versifier’s recognition (and possibly lust) as the young woman’s form is given "life" as she walks after wrapping her waist with her obi. The moment is simply but nicely captured.
A note on the ambiguity of ukiyo-e print and series titles:
The Japanese language has so many homonyms that it lends itself naturally to word play and punning. There is also a centuries-old poetic and literary tradition that incorporates various sophisticated techniques for multiple layers of meanings. Ukiyo-e print designers, poets, and publishers developed their own brand of word play for their print designs partly derived from the traditions they inherited and partly from their own creative sense of what the language (and their audience) could bear. My understanding is that those who translate ukiyo-e print and series titles do so with the understanding that various interpretations are sometimes possible. Often a literal translation is impossible and we are left with only nuances and suggestions. It is certainly frustrating at times, but when we can identify the multiple meanings it brings more to our appreciation of the print.
Actually, I find the kyôka poems on surimono to be the most difficult – they often require an expert in older Japanese poetic and linguistic forms to get an accurate idea of what the poets really intended.