Amid the buzzing discussion of everyone in the hall.
A childish, milky little voice suddenly rang out.
"Mama, what's a Sedōka?"
This question made the other visitors and the professor-judges all look over as well.
The mother hurriedly scooped up her child and gave a little apologetic bow toward everyone.
"Sorry, I disturbed everyone's discussion."
At this point, a professor who had studied the subject looked around and saw that most of the visitors present were puzzled too.
In the end he merely waved a hand and gave a slight smile.
And so he simply began explaining it to everyone.
Besides waka, the Man'yōshū also collected a small amount of Chinese poetry and prose.
Among the waka, the poetic forms were chiefly divided into Chōka and Tanka, and after those, the Sedōka.
The Chōka is basically fixed in the form [5-7-7-5-7-7], while also preserving the forms of older songs such as [5-7-5-7...5-7] or [5-7-5-7...5-3-7].
The length of a Chōka can range anywhere from seven lines to one hundred forty-nine lines.
The chanted form of the Sedōka, [5-7-7-5-7-7], is commonly seen in folk songs, with the first half and the second half corresponding to each other in a question-and-answer format; later it evolved into an independent form.
After hiragana appeared, the ancient poetry collection Kokin Wakashū, compiled by Ki no Tsurayuki of Japan and others, was basically dominated by Tanka.
From then on, so-called waka basically referred specifically to Tanka, while Chōka and Sedōka were gradually phased out.
The form of the Tanka is [5-7-5-7-7]. Unlike the Chōka and Sedōka, the composition of Tanka continued to flourish unabated even after the Man'yō era.
In very early times there was already the practice of splitting a single waka apart and having two people compose it together.
The form of a waka is [5-7-5-7-7]; splitting it into [5-7-5] and [7-7] yields an upper and a lower verse, two parts.
The first person composes the [5-7-5] lines, and the second person then adds on the [7-7] lines, and while at it appends another [5-7-5] line; the next person does likewise, on and on without end—and this became what is called [Renga].
The later game of [karuta cards] originates from this, except that the waka chosen are drawn mainly from the Ogura Hyakunin Isshu.
Moreover, [Uta-awase] also arose in the same period: the participants were divided into left and right sides, composed on a prescribed poetic theme, and invited guests to judge which was superior and which inferior.
The "Kōhaku Uta Gassen" (the [Red and White Song Battle]) that Japan holds every New Year's Day to this day also originates from this.
During the era when Renga flourished, there was also Renga composed specifically for comic effect, called [Haikai no Renga], which was likewise a representative of the popular townsfolk culture of the time.
In the course of its development, Haikai gradually broke free from the linked-verse form and gave rise to a poetic form centered on the [hokku]—that is, the first verse of a linked sequence, in the [5-7-5] form.
All things considered, this is the true precursor of the later [haiku].
As the opening verse leading off a Renga, the hokku was broadly required to be complete and to contain a seasonal word, which is basically consistent with the core of the haiku.
The master who proposed making the haiku independent from Haikai was [Masaoka Shiki].
From then on, works of the Edo period and earlier are generally called Haikai, and those from the Meiji period onward are called haiku.
The [Saint of Haiku], [Matsuo Bashō], actually—so if you examine it closely—was revered by later generations as the Saint of Haikai rather than the Saint of Haiku.
However, Haikai, which placed its emphasis on humor, did not disappear either.
In the Edo period, renowned for its commoner culture, Haikai also changed its guise and, in the form of [Senryū], merged into the popular culture of the age.
And unlike haiku, Senryū can be said to have no constraints whatsoever.
It uses colloquial speech, requires no seasonal word, and even disregards metrical requirements; apart from the limit on the number of syllables, it is truly the very byword for doing as one pleases.
Many of the [5-7-5] meme-style lines written in kanji on the internet nowadays should, strictly speaking, actually be counted as [Senryū] rather than [haiku].
But in this world, famous figures like [Masaoka Shiki] never appeared, so this world has not yet developed the concept of [haiku].
Nor is there [Senryū].
The development of the Tanka stopped merely at [Haikai], and has been stuck marking time in place right up to the present.
This is also a problem that gives the professors researching poetry in university faculties of letters a headache nowadays.
Because everyone understands one truth: under contemporary society, poetry like that can no longer be produced.
So poetry is dead!
And yet at this moment Tsushima Kagami had actually written a Sedōka in imitation of the waka in the Man'yōshū.
Its meter and format were impeccable.
No—rather than calling it an imitation, it would be better to say it was utterly natural, a waka that should have belonged in the Man'yōshū all along.
Brimming with the flavor of antiquity!
The Japanese have always revered the ancient; at school, if you so much as managed to write a sentence with a few more kanji in it, you'd be called a [classical-style young gentleman].
To say nothing of this being the Yomiuri Calligraphy Exhibition, which is centered on upholding and venerating the classical and the traditional.
At the very least, the professors, judges, and calligraphy-association members present, as well as the visitors with even a bit of cultural cultivation, were every one of them so excited their faces flushed red.
After this professor's explanation, the onlooking visitors gradually came to understand the sheer worth of this waka and the weight of history within it.
Once again the crowd couldn't help but break into applause—compared with the last time, when they had merely followed the mood of the crowd in blind conformity.
This time it was clearly far more an admiration and emotion that came from the heart.
"My, I never imagined there was so much intricacy to the waka of the Man'yōshū."
"I didn't understand a bit of it in class."
At this point Sayuri said in a low voice to Yukinoshita Shizuku.
Yukinoshita Shizuku laughed as well.
"Sayuri, you'd better not let Akane-senpai hear you say that."
"Otherwise you'll definitely have another subject added to your studies."
Hearing this, Sayuri couldn't help giving a shiver, then hugged Yukinoshita Shizuku's arm and said coquettishly.
"Ahaha, but I'm only telling you, Shizuku."
"You wouldn't go tattling on me, right~"
Yukinoshita Shizuku gave Sayuri a helpless glance, and in the end doted on her by patting Sayuri on the head.
Then she looked again toward Tsushima Kagami, surrounded by everyone at the center.
At this point everyone remembered Tsushima Kagami off to the side, and all of them turned their gazes toward him.
The reporters from several TV stations nearby also signaled their cameramen to give the shot to Tsushima Kagami.
At this moment Professor Ogasawara also looked at Tsushima Kagami and asked with a complicated expression.
"Kagami-kun, how did you write this waka?"
The moment Professor Ogasawara said this, the professors and judges behind him all nodded as well, and the nearby Professor Kosaka and Chairman Taniguchi, too, looked at Tsushima Kagami in anticipation of what sort of brilliant remarks he might come out with.
But Tsushima Kagami merely thought for a moment and said outright.
It was just because of that clap of winter thunder a moment ago.
These verses suddenly surfaced in my mind.
As for the Man'yōgana, I'd gained a bit of an understanding of it back when I was studying.
It just so happened that this time the verses matched up with the Man'yōgana, so I used it.
I just subconsciously wrote it out directly.
Pure luck, that's all.
As Professor Ogasawara listened to Tsushima Kagami's words, the excited look in his eyes gradually dimmed.
"I've been doing poetry research for several decades."
"I've also tried to revive the waka."
"But I've never once written a single decent waka."
"I never imagined that today, here, I'd watch a high schooler like you—"
"—write, right under the noses of so many of us professors, a waka that is certain to be passed down through the ages just like the waka in the Man'yōshū!"
"It truly makes one ashamed."
As Professor Ogasawara said this, the professors beside him also felt a mix of complicated emotions.
It felt as though the authority they'd built up over these few decades had been so easily trampled underfoot by a single high schooler.
A performance like Tsushima Kagami's could no longer be described with words like genius or talent.
It was as if the deity who governed poetry had suddenly possessed him, and that was how this waka had been written.
Thinking of this, the crowd couldn't help but feel a little better.
Everyone looked at that right hand of Tsushima Kagami's, the one that had just been holding the writing brush.
The same single thought flashed in all their minds at once.
Perhaps this is what's called the [Divine Move]?
At this point Tsushima Kagami also looked at everyone with a smile.
"Professor Ogasawara and the professors still hard at work are our elders and the leading authorities in their respective fields."
"Their contributions go without saying."
"The progress in every field is inseparable from the efforts of the professors present."
"It isn't as though one casual waka from a high schooler like me can overturn the academic achievements everyone has diligently researched over decades."
"And besides."
"As the saying goes: a good piece of writing is wrought by nature itself; a skilled hand merely chances upon it."
"Sometimes one does, here and there, blunder into writing a good piece by accident."
"But it's only a chance coincidence."
"There's no guarantee one could ever have such an experience again afterward."
"So it really is purely a stroke of luck, no match for the years of diligent effort each of you professors has put into your own fields of specialty."
Everyone enjoys being carried in the sedan chair of flattery; listening to Tsushima Kagami ceaselessly complimenting them like this.
The professors' faces and moods improved a great deal as well.
"Indeed, sometimes I too have a flash of inspiration and write an essay far above my usual level."
"To this day I've never again been able to write anything on the same level as that piece."
At this point one professor spoke up in agreement, sharing his own experience.
And everyone, mulling it over, recalled that they too had indeed had such moments.
Professor Ogasawara, meanwhile, turned Tsushima Kagami's words over and over in his mind.
"A good piece of writing is wrought by nature itself; a skilled hand merely chances upon it."
"Good, how good!"
Professor Ogasawara, as if seized by a fit of obsession again, suddenly grabbed hold of Tsushima Kagami's shoulders.
Staring fixedly at him with both eyes, he slowly spoke.
"Kagami-kun, you're a high schooler who came here from Tokyo on a school trip, correct?"
Tsushima Kagami had no idea why Professor Ogasawara was suddenly asking about this.
But seeing him gripping his arm so tightly, as if it were pinned in place, Tsushima Kagami could only reply.
"Yes."
Professor Ogasawara raised an eyebrow.
"Then how does Kagami-kun feel about Kyoto?"
The moment these words came out, the nearby Professor Kosaka knit his brows, feeling a faint sense of foreboding in his heart.
"It's quite nice too."
"Then would you have any interest in applying to our Kyoto University?"
The instant Professor Ogasawara's words were out, Professor Kosaka was about to walk over and object.
But just as he took one step.
A voice suddenly came from beside him.
"As a Tokyoite, Kagami-kun should of course apply to our University of Tokyo!"
Professor Kosaka turned to look—it was Professor Murakami, who was likewise from the University of Tokyo.
Professor Kosaka nodded in agreement at this.
Then Professor Murakami continued.
"Kagami-kun, would you have any interest in applying for my linguistics track?"
"I heard you say you'd merely gained some interest in and understanding of the Man'yōgana."
"And yet you could write such a perfect classical waka."
"I'd say you have quite a talent for linguistics!"
Professor Kosaka, whose expression had just eased, immediately grew anxious again.
Before he could even protest, yet another professor immediately called out.
"Kagami-kun, how about coming to our Waseda Faculty of Letters!"
"A full scholarship!"
____
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