The Ainu Songs of the Gods — Ainu Shin'yōshū

Ainu Shin'yōshū — compiled and translated by Chiri Yukie

Chiri Yukie (知里幸恵, 1903–1922) was nineteen years old, an Ainu woman raised inside the Ainu tongue in Noboribetsu and Chikabumi, when she wrote out thirteen kamui yukar — songs in which the gods of the Ainu world sing of themselves in the first person: the owl god who keeps the land, foxes and rabbits, a swamp demon, the sea god who is the whale-giver, the hero Okikirmui, an otter, a frog, and last of all a marsh mussel crying for water. She set down the Ainu in roman letters from the oral tradition of her own family — her aunt Imekanu (Kannari Matsu) was among the great singers — and made her own Japanese translation on the facing page. She died of heart failure in September 1922, the night she finished checking the manuscript; the book was published the following year. Her preface, written six months before her death, is one of the most quietly devastating pages in Japanese letters, and this book is the first written literature of the Ainu by an Ainu hand.

The songs themselves carry burdens — sakehe, the refrains that name each god's music: the owl's falling silver drops, the fox's towa towa to, the frog's tororo hanrok. Most end the same way: a god, having told what wisdom or folly cost him, hands the lesson on. Between them the chants hold a whole world — the window that is sacred, the fire that is a grandmother, the game animals who are guests wearing their bodies like helmets, and the rule beneath all of it: honor what is given, or it ceases to be given.

This edition translates the complete book — preface, all thirteen chants, and Chiri's own cultural notes — working from her romanized Ainu text with her Japanese parallel version consulted throughout as the co-author's guide. The complete Ainu source text follows the translation. English translations of this work exist in print; this rendering is independent of them, made for free reading here (see the Colophon).

Preface
I. The Song the Owl God Sang of Himself — “Shirokanipe ranran pishkan”
II. The Song the Fox Sang of Himself — “Towa towa to”
III. The Song the Fox Sang of Himself — “Haikunterke Haikoshitemturi”
IV. The Song the Rabbit Sang of Himself — “Sampaya terke”
V. The Song the Swamp Demon Sang of Himself — “Harit kunna”
VI. The Song the Young Wolf God Sang of Himself — “Hotenao”
VII. The Song the Owl God Sang of Himself — “Konkuwa”
VIII. The Song the Sea God Sang of Himself — “Atuika tomatomaki kuntuteashi hm hm!”
IX. The Song the Frog Sang of Himself — “Tororo hanrok hanrok!”
X. The Song Young Okikirmui Sang of Himself — “Kutnisa kutunkutun”
XI. The Song Young Okikirmui Sang of Himself — “Tanota hurehure”
XII. The Song the Otter Sang of Himself — “Kappa reureu kappa”
XIII. The Song the Marsh Mussel Sang of Himself — “Tonupeka ranran”
Colophon
Source Text: the Ainu of the thirteen songs

Preface

by Chiri Yukie

Long ago, this wide Hokkaidō was the free heaven-and-earth of our
ancestors. Like children innocent of the world, embraced by the beautiful
great wilderness, they lived out their easy, joyful lives — true darlings
of nature. What happy people they must have been!

In winter, on the land, kicking through the deep snow that buried forest
and field, defying the cold that froze heaven and earth, they crossed
mountain after mountain to hunt the bear. On the summer sea, where cool
breezes swam the green waves, with the songs of white gulls for company,
they floated their little leaf-like boats and fished the whole day long.
In flowering spring, bathed in the soft sunlight, they passed their days
singing with the small birds that never cease their warbling, gathering
butterbur, picking mugwort. In crimson autumn they parted the plume-grass
that the storm-winds combed even, and when the fires of the late
salmon-catch had gone out, with the voices of deer calling their fellows
in the valleys outside, they wove their dreams beneath the round moon.
Ah, what a joyful way to live! The realm of peace — and now it is long
ago. The dream broke, and these many decades this land has been swiftly
transformed: the wild country into villages, the villages into towns,
opening and opening.

The face of nature as it stood from the ancient days has faded almost
unnoticed, and the many people who once lived so gladly in field and
mountain — where have they gone? The few of us kinsfolk who remain can do
nothing but stare, wide-eyed, at the world as it rushes forward. And from
those eyes the shining of the beautiful souls of the people of old —
whose every smallest act was governed by the feeling of the sacred — has
been lost. Full of unease, burning with grievance, dulled and dimmed,
unable to make out the road ahead, forced to lean upon strangers' pity: a
wretched sight. Oh, the perishing ones — that is our name now. What a
sorrowful name we carry!

Our happy ancestors of long ago could never have imagined, not by so much
as a dewdrop, that their own homeland would one day fall into misery such
as this.

Time flows on without pause; the world advances without end. Even from
among us, who bare the shame of the defeated in this fierce arena of
struggle, someday — if only two, or three, strong ones arise — the day
may yet come when we walk abreast of the advancing world. That is truly
our dearest wish; it is what we pray for, morning and night.

And yet — the many words our beloved ancestors used with one another in
their daily rising and lying down, the many beautiful words worn smooth
with long speaking, left behind and handed on — must all of these too
vanish, fleeting, together with the weak things that are perishing? Oh,
that would be too grievous, too dear a thing to lose.

I, who was born an Ainu and grew up inside the Ainu tongue, have set down
here with my clumsy pen, on rainy evenings and snowy nights, whenever
there was a spare hour, one or two of the very smallest among the many,
many tales that our ancestors would gather to tell and delight in
together.

If the many people who know of us will only read it, I shall feel,
together with my race's ancestors, a joy truly without limit — happiness
beyond anything.

— the first day of March, 1922
Chiri Yukie

I. The Song the Owl God Sang of Himself

"Shirokanipe ranran pishkan" — "Silver drops fall, fall, all around"

"Silver drops fall, fall, all around me,
golden drops fall, fall, all around me" —
singing this song
I came down along the river, and passing
above a human village I looked beneath me as I went:
those who were poor in the old days are rich now,
and those who were rich in the old days
seem to have become the poor.

On the shore, human children were playing
with little toy bows and little toy arrows.¹

"Silver drops fall, fall, all around me,
golden drops fall, fall, all around me" —
singing this song
I passed above the children,
and they, running along beneath me,
called out:

"A beautiful bird! A god's bird!
Come on — shoot! Whoever hits it,
whoever takes the god's bird first,
he is the true hero, he is the true strong one!"

So they shouted; and the children of those
who were poor long ago and are rich men now
nocked golden arrows to golden bows and shot at me,
and I let the golden arrows pass beneath me,
I let them pass above me.

Then, in the crowd of children,
there was one child in among them
carrying a plain little bow and a plain little arrow.
I looked at him: by his clothing alone
you could tell him for a poor man's child. But when I
read the depths of his eyes,² he seemed the seed of
noble men — one changeling odd one, mixed into the flock.
He too fitted a plain little arrow to a plain little bow
and aimed it up at me; and the children of those
who were poor long ago and rich men now
burst out laughing at him:

"Oh, how funny — a beggar's brat!
That bird, the god's bird, won't even take
our arrows of gold — and it's going to take
your arrow, a poor boy's plain arrow
of rotten wood?³ Oh yes, that bird,
the god's bird, will be sure to take it!"⁴

So they jeered, and they kicked the poor child
and they beat him. But the poor child
paid them no heed at all, and kept his aim on me.
Watching him, I felt a great pity rise in me.

"Silver drops fall, fall, all around me,
golden drops fall, fall, all around me" —
singing this song, slowly
I drew my great circle across the sky.
The poor child set one foot far and one foot near,
bit down hard on his lower lip, took his aim,
and — hyō! — let fly. The small arrow flew shining
toward me; and I stretched out my hands
and took that small arrow.
Turning, turning as I fell,
I came down cutting the wind.

Then those children ran,
racing one another in a whirl of stinging sand.
The instant I struck the earth, the poor child
was there first of all, and took me up.

Then the children of those who were poor long ago
and are rich men now came running up behind,
and they hurled at him twenty foul words,
thirty foul words, and they shoved
the poor child, and they struck him:
"Hateful brat! Beggar's brat!
You dared to do first what we meant to do first!"
But the poor child covered me over,
pressed me tight against his own belly,
and struggling, struggling, he broke at last
through a gap between them and out —
and then he ran and ran.
Though the children of those who were poor long ago
and are rich men now threw stones and billets of wood,
the poor child paid them no heed at all,
and kicking up sand-spray he ran
until he reached the front of one small hut.
The boy put me in through the first window,⁵
and added his words to it,
telling all that had happened, just as it was.

Out from within the house came an old man
and his wife, shading their eyes with their hands,
and they looked — terribly poor people, yet
in the man was a gentleman's bearing, in the woman a lady's.
When they saw me, the old man bent double
at the waist in astonishment.
He straightened his robe and cinched his belt,
and bowed himself low before me:

"Owl god, great god,
that you have come to the poor house
of poor folk like us — we thank you.
Once we counted ourselves among the well-born,
but now we have become worthless paupers,
such as you see. It is a fearful presumption
to keep the god of the land,⁶ the great god,
as a guest beneath our roof — yet today
the day has already darkened; so tonight
let us lodge the great god here, and tomorrow,
though it be with nothing more than inau,
we shall send the great god home."
So he spoke, and bowed twenty times, thirty times over.

The old woman spread a mat beneath the east window
and set me there. And then they all lay down
and were soon snoring in deep sleep.

I sat between the ears of my own body,⁷
and then, just at the middle of the night,
I rose up.

"Silver drops fall, fall, all around me,
golden drops fall, fall, all around me" —
singing this song, softly,
I flew through that little house,
to the left of the hearth-seat, to the right of the hearth-seat,⁸
with a beautiful ringing sound.
When I beat my wings, all around me
beautiful treasures, the treasures of the gods,
scattered falling with a beautiful sound.
In a moment I filled that little house
with splendid treasures, the treasures of the gods.

"Silver drops fall, fall, all around me,
golden drops fall, fall, all around me" —
singing this song, in a moment
I made that little house over
into a house of gold, a great house.
Within it I made a proud treasure-place,
and I made quickly and hung splendid garments,
and adorned the whole of the inside.
More gorgeously than the houses of the mighty
I adorned the inside of that great house.
And when I had finished, I sat as before
between the ears of my helmet.⁷

I let the people of the house see it in a dream:
that the Ainu nishpa had merely fallen on evil luck
and become a poor man, mocked and tormented
by those who were poor in the old days
and are rich men now; and that I had seen it
and pitied him; and that I am no common god
of low degree, but had lodged in a human house
and bestowed my blessing on it.
This I made known to them.

When that was done, and a little time had passed,
day broke, and the people of the house
rose all together — and rubbing their eyes,
they looked about the room, and all of them
fell back where they sat upon the floor.
The old woman cried aloud and wept;
the old man let great tears fall and fall.
But presently the old man rose,
and came to where I was, and bowed
twenty bows, thirty bows over, saying:

"We thought it but a dream, but a night's sleep —
and instead, truly, we have been given this.
Into our poor, poor, humble house,
that you came at all was gratitude enough —
and you, god of the land, great god,
took pity on our ill fortune
and have given us the greatest blessing
of all your blessings."⁹
So he spoke, weeping as he spoke.

Then the old man cut inau-wood
and shaved beautiful inau and adorned me with them.
The old woman girded herself,
with the little boy to help her,
gathering firewood and drawing water,
making ready to brew the wine, and in no time
six lacquered tubs stood in the seat of honor.

And I talked long with the Fire Grandmother,¹⁰
the old goddess, telling one another
the many tales of the gods.¹¹

When two days or so had passed — since it is
the favorite of the gods — the scent of wine
was already drifting through the house.

And then they dressed the little boy
in old clothes on purpose,
and sent him out as a messenger to invite
all through the village those who were poor
in the old days and are rich men now.¹²
I watched him go: the boy went into
house after house and gave his message,
and those who were poor in the old days
and are rich men now burst out laughing:

"Well here's a wonder! What sort of wine
can beggars brew, what sort of feast
can they lay, to be inviting people to it?
Let's go and see whatever there is to see,
and have our laugh at it."

So saying, in a great crowd together
they came; and some, from far off,
at the mere sight of the house, were struck
with shame and astonishment and turned home;
and some came as far as the front of the house
and sank down where they stood.
Then the lady of the house came out
and took every one of them by the hand¹³
and led them in; and they all came creeping,
crawling on their knees,
and not one of them could lift his face.

Then the master of the house rose to his feet,
and in a voice lovely as the cuckoo's¹⁴
he spoke. He told them all that had happened:

"Being poor, we could not visit
one another freely as neighbors do;
but the great god took pity on us,
and since we had never held
one evil thought, we were given
this blessing. And so, from this day on,
the whole village is one family.
Let us be friends, let us visit
one another — that is all we ask
of you." So he spoke; and the people
rubbed their hands together over and over,
confessing their wrongs to the master of the house,
and agreed with one another
to be friends from that day.
Me, too, they all worshipped.

And when that was done, every heart grown gentle,
they held a great wine-feast.
And I, talking with the Fire Goddess
and the House God¹⁵ and the goddess
of the sacred hedge,¹⁶ watched
the human beings dance their tapkar
and dance their rimse, and I delighted deep.

When two days, three days had passed,
the feast was ended. Seeing the human beings
all in friendship with one another,
I was at ease in my heart,
and I bade farewell to the Fire Goddess,
the House God, the goddess of the sacred hedge.
And when that was done, I went home
to my own house.

Before I arrived, my house had been filled
with beautiful inau, with fine wine.
So I sent out messengers
to the near gods and the far gods
and invited them, and spread a splendid feast;
and at the feast I told the gods the tale
of my visit to the human village,
the state of that village and all
that had happened there; and the gods
praised me greatly. And when the gods
went home, I gave them beautiful inau,
two apiece, three apiece.

When I look now toward that Ainu village,
all is at peace; the human beings
are all of them friends; that nishpa
stands now at the head of the village.
That child is now a grown man,
with a wife and with children of his own,
a good son to his father and his mother;
and always, always, whenever they brew wine,
at the feast's beginning they send up
inau and wine to me. And I too
sit behind the human beings and forever

keep watch over the country of men.

— so the owl god told his tale.

Chiri Yukie's Notes to Chant I

In the old days, when a boy grew a little, a small bow and arrows
were made and given to him. The child would shoot at trees and birds
in play, and without knowing it grow skilled in archery. ak- is
archery; shinot is play; ponai is a small arrow.
shiktumorke — the look of the eyes. It is said that when you would
know a person's true nature, look at their eyes: that tells you best.
A child who lets his eyes dart about is scolded for it.
achikara — "dirty."
It is said that when a bird or beast is shot down by a man, it is
because it desires the man's arrow, and takes it.
(On the windows.) The rorunpurai, the "window of the seat of
honor," is at the east end of the house; through it the gods pass in
and out, and things of ceremony are passed. It is a sacred window; one
must never peer in through it. (Rendered above as "the first
window.")
kotankorkamui — the god who holds the land, or the village. In the
mountains are nupurikorkamui, the god who holds the mountain (the
bear), and nupuripakorkamui, the god who holds the mountain's east
(the wolf); the owl is placed next after the bear and the wolf. The
kotankorkamui is not a rough, hasty god like the mountain god or the
god of the mountain's east: ordinarily he stays composed, with his
eyes closed, and it is said he opens them only when something truly
grave occurs.
hayokpe — helmet. Birds and beasts, while they are in the
mountains, are invisible to human eyes: each has a house like a
human's and all live in human form. When they come out to the human
village they put on their helmets. The dead body of a bird or beast is
the helmet; the true being is invisible, but sits between the ears of
the body.
eharkiso, the left seat; eshiso, the right seat. The hearth is at
the center of the house, and the side with the sacred window is the
seat of honor. Seen from the seat of honor, the right is eshiso, the
left harkiso. Only men may sit in the seat of honor; a guest of
lower standing than the master keeps back from it. The master and his
wife sit side by side at the right seat; next in rank is the left
seat, and the seat by the west side, toward the door, is lowest.
chikashnukar — when a god is greatly pleased with some human being
and bestows on them, where they least expect it, some great fortune,
the person rejoices, saying ikashnukar an.
apehuchi — the Fire Grandmother. The fire goddess is the most
honored god within the house, and is always an old woman. When the
mountain god, the sea god, or the other gods come as guests to the
house, as this owl did, it is the apehuchi who acts as chief host
and keeps the guests company. One may simply say kamuihuchi, the
goddess-grandmother.
neusar — telling tales with one another. Passing worldly talk back
and forth is also neusar, but usually it means things like
kamuiyukar (songs of the gods) and uwepeker (old tales).
ashke a uk — ashke is finger, hand; a uk, to take: to invite
people when there is a celebration.
(See note 12 — the taking of hands in welcome.)
kakkokhau — the voice of the cuckoo. The cuckoo's voice rings
beautiful and distinct in the ear, so a person who speaks clearly and
is understood by everyone is said to be like the cuckoo.
chisekorkamui — the god who holds the house. The fire goddess is
like the mistress of the house, the house god like the master. He is
male, and is also called chisekorekashi, the old man who holds the
house.
nusakorkamui — the god, an old woman, who holds the nusa, the
hedge of sacred inau. The god of the inau-hedge is always female.
When something strange is about to happen she may appear to human
beings, and then she borrows the form of a snake. So if a snake
appears near the inau-hedge, or near the east window, people say
"surely the grandmother of the inau-hedge has some errand and has
come out" — and they never kill that snake. To kill it, they say,
brings punishment.

II. The Song the Fox Sang of Himself

"Towa towa to"

Towa towa to

One day I went out to the shore
to look for food.
Over the stones, clatter clatter, towa towa to,
over the driftwood, clatter clatter, towa towa to,
and as I went I looked on ahead of me —
and on the shore a whale had come aground,
and the human beings, every one in his finest dress,
were dancing for the sea-catch, leaping for the sea-catch,
cutters of meat and carriers of meat
crossing back and forth, and the headmen
bowing thanks for the sea's good gift,¹
and grinders of knives — the whole beach black with them.
When I saw it, I rejoiced with all my heart.

"Oh, quickly, to get there quickly —
even a little of it, if only they'd let me have that!"
So I thought, and shouting "Ononno! Ononno!"² —
over the stones, clatter clatter, towa towa to,
over the driftwood, clatter clatter, towa towa to —
I went and I went, and I came near and looked:
and — nothing I had dreamed of! —
what I had taken for a beached whale
was the dogs' latrine on the shore,
one great mountain of dung.
That is what I had taken for a whale.
And what I took for the human beings
dancing for the sea-catch, leaping for the sea-catch,
cutting the meat and carrying the meat —
that was the crows,
pecking at the dung, scattering the dung,
flying this way, flying that.
Anger rose in me:

"Dull wretch with the clouded eyes,
wicked wretch with the clouded eyes,
stinker under your tail,
rotter under your tail,
you with the resin oozing behind,
you with the foul water dripping behind —
what a way of seeing things that was!"

And then again,
over the stones, clatter clatter, towa towa to,
over the driftwood, clatter clatter, towa towa to,
running along the sea-edge
I looked ahead of me, and there
was a boat, and in the boat
two human beings exchanging the mourning-rite.³

"Oh my — what disaster has struck,
that they should be doing that? Could it be
someone capsized with his boat?
Quick, quick, let me get closer
and hear the people's news."
So I thought, and raising the man's cry, *hokokse,*⁴
high into the air —
over the stones, clatter clatter, towa towa to,
over the driftwood, clatter clatter, towa towa to —
I went flying to see: and what I had taken
for a boat was a rock on the shore,
and what I had taken for people
was two great cormorants.
Two great cormorants, stretching their long necks
and drawing them in — that, I had seen
as two mourners trading their condolences.

And then again,
over the stones, clatter clatter, towa towa to,
over the driftwood, clatter clatter, towa towa to,
flying like a thing thrown, I went on up the river —
and far upstream, two women
were standing in the shallows, weeping together.⁵ ⁶
I saw it and I started:
"Oh my — what evil has happened,
what black news has come,⁵ that they should stand
weeping on each other so?
Quick, quick, let me arrive
and hear the people's news."
So I thought —
over the stones, clatter clatter, towa towa to,
over the driftwood, clatter clatter, towa towa to —
and went flying to see: and in the middle
of the river stood two fish-weirs,
and the two weirs' stakes, caught by the current,
were rocking, rocking; and that — I had seen it
as two women, bowing their heads and lifting them,
weeping in one another's arms.

And then again, on up the river,
over the stones, clatter clatter, towa towa to,
over the driftwood, clatter clatter, towa towa to,
flying like a thing thrown, I came homeward.
I looked ahead of me —
and how could it be? —
my own house was going up in flame,
and the smoke climbing to the great sky
stood like banked cloud. At the sight
I started out of my wits — terror on terror —
and shrieking the woman's thin cry⁷
I leapt into the air; and from the other side
someone came flying to my side, raising
the alarm-cry⁸ loud — and I looked, and it was my wife,
her face all fright, gasping for breath:

"My lord husband, what is it, what's happened?"

And I looked — and what had seemed
a house on fire was my house standing
just as it always stood. No fire, no smoke.
It was my wife at her pounding and winnowing:
the wind had gusted hard, and the chaff
of the millet she was winnowing whirled up on the wind —
and that, I had seen as smoke.

I had gone out for food and found no food; and worse,
because I shrieked so, my wife
in her fright had flung away the millet,
winnow and all, into the wind —
so tonight there was nothing even to eat.
Full of anger, I threw myself
to the bottom of the bedding and slept.

— so the lord fox told his tale.

Chiri Yukie's notes to Chant II

isoeonkami — iso is the sea's good catch; eonkami, to give
thanks for it. When a whale strands on the shore, it is believed the
great god of the sea has brought it himself and cast it up as a gift
to human beings; at such times the leading men always put on their
finest dress, face the open sea, and bow in worship.
ononno — the word people call out, each in turn, to welcome a
hunter home from sea or mountain with a catch.
uniwente — the rite performed after a great flood, a fire, a
volcano's bursting, or any other calamity; or when someone has been
taken by a bear, drowned in sea or river, or in any way hurt or killed
by an extraordinary thing. The points of spears and swords are touched
together while words of condolence are exchanged. When a village
suffers such a loss, representatives gather from the villages around
to perform the rite — though even two people alone may do it.
hokokse — the man's cry for the gods' help at an uniwente or any
terrible happening: fuohohōi! — men only.
ashur is strange news; ek, to come. When someone traveling far
from the village falls sick or dies, a messenger comes to the person's
home to tell the strange thing; such news-bearing is ashurek, and
the messenger is ashurkorkur, "the one who carries strange news."
Nearing the village, the messenger first raises the hokokse cry;
the villagers, hearing it, answer with loud cries of their own and
come out to the village edge to receive the news.
uchishkar — to weep together: the women's greeting. When women meet
again after long parting, when kin have died, when someone has barely
escaped great danger, women take each other's hands, embrace head and
shoulder, and weep.
matrimimse — the woman's cry. At sudden calamity, or at an
uniwente, a man cries hokokse in a deep voice; a woman cries
hōi, thin and high. A woman's voice rings higher and stronger than a
man's, they say, and reaches the ears of the gods first — so at a
sudden disaster even a man will cry two or three cries in a thin voice
like a woman's.
peutanke — the same meaning as rimimse; this is the everyday
word, rimimse being the more difficult one.

III. The Song the Fox Sang of Himself

"Haikunterke Haikoshitemturi"

Haikunterke Haikoshitemturi

On the cape of the land, the cape of the gods,
I sat enthroned, high on its crown.

One day I went outside and looked:
the sea lay calm and wide, and out on it
Okikirmui, Shupunramka, and Samayunkur
had gone to sea, three in one boat, hunting.
And when I saw it, the evil heart I own
came seething up in me.

Along this headland, the cape of the land,
the cape of the gods, far up its spine and far down,
I ran light-footed, loose-hipped, and I barked —
*pau! pau!*¹ — heavy-toned, like hard sticks
snapping one by one; and glaring, glaring
up at this river's source, I called out
the storm-fiend. And at my call, from the river's
wellhead a violent wind, a whirlwind,
came pouring down, and the instant it struck the sea,
this sea turned over: the upper sea went under,
the under sea came up. Okikirmui and his kin
in their hunting boat, out where the offing-people's sea
and the shore-people's sea meet — mid-ocean —
were caught in the sudden fury and spun
clean around among the waves. Great seas like mountains
came toppling over the boat. And then
Okikirmui, Samayunkur, and Shupunramka
raised their voices in the rowing-shout and rowed.
That little boat was flung like a dead leaf flying,
each moment on the point of turning over —
and yet, marvelous to see, the human beings
were strong, and the little boat
went sliding through the wind
along the tops of the waves.

I saw it, and the evil heart I own
came seething up again.
Light-footed, loose-hipped, I ran and ran;
heavy-toned, like hard sticks snapping,
pau! pau! I barked, and spent my whole strength
cheering on the fiend of the storm.
And at last — at last — Samayunkur,
the blood streaming over his hands and under them,
dropped where he sat, worn out.
Seeing it, I hid a smile.

And again I set to it:
light-footed, loose-hipped, running,
heavy-toned, like hard sticks snapping, barking,
cheering the storm-fiend on.
Okikirmui and Shupunramka, the two together,
each calling courage to the other, rowed bravely on —
until, at some moment, Shupunramka,
the blood streaming over his hands and under them,
dropped where he sat, worn out. Seeing it,
secretly I laughed.

And again, light-footed, loose-hipped,
I leapt and ran; heavy-toned, like hard sticks
snapping one by one, I barked and spent my strength.
But Okikirmui — in him no sign of tiring,
a single thin garment wound about his body,
rowing on. At length, beneath his hands,
the steering-oar he held snapped through.
Then he sprang across to dead-tired Samayunkur,
seized the oar he had held, and all alone
he rowed. I watched, and the evil heart
that is my nature came seething up.
Heavy-toned, like hard sticks snapping, barking,
light-footed, loose-hipped, running,
I spent my strength hallooing for the storm.
And in time Samayunkur's oar too
snapped through. Okikirmui sprang
across to Shupunramka, seized his,
and rowed with the strong oar bravely on.
But the waves broke that one too.

And then Okikirmui stood up
full height in the boat, and in the raging wind —
when never once had I dreamed a human being
could find me out — he fixed his gaze
on the very center of my eyes, high
on the cape of the land, the cape of the gods.
Over the face that till now had been so mild
a color of wrath came out; he worked at
his sea-pouch,² and when I saw what he drew from it —
a little bow of mugwort,
and a little mugwort arrow.³
I hid a laugh at that.

"Whatever a human being does, is it anything to fear?
And a little mugwort arrow — what could that be for?"

So thinking, along this headland,
the cape of the land, the cape of the gods,
far up its spine and far down, light-footed,
loose-hipped, I ran; heavy-toned, like hard sticks
snapping one by one, pau! pau! I barked,
singing the praises of the fiend of the storm.
And in the midst of it the arrow Okikirmui loosed
came flying — and struck fast
in the scruff of my neck.
And after that I knew nothing of what became of me.

When I came to myself,
the weather was very fine, the sea lay wide
and empty — Okikirmui's hunting boat was nowhere.
And — what was this? — from the crown of my head
to the tips of my feet I burned with pain, as birchbark
curls and shrivels in fire. Never had I dreamed
a little arrow shot by a human being
could torture me so. Writhing, flailing arm and leg,
along this headland, the cape of the land, the cape
of the gods, far up and far down, screaming and weeping,
writhing in my agony, day and night alike, living
awhile and dying awhile — until I knew
nothing at all.

And when I came to myself,
I was sitting between the ears of a great black fox.⁴

When two days or so had passed, Okikirmui
came walking like a very god, and smiling,
and this is what he said:

"Why, what a fine sight! The black fox god
who keeps watch on the cape of the land, the cape
of the gods, had a good heart, a god's heart —
and so he died a death fine to look upon."

So saying, he took up my head
and carried it to his house; and my upper jaw
he made the foundation of his own privy,
and my lower jaw the foundation-stone
of his wife's privy;⁴ and my body rotted away
where it lay, into the earth together.
And after that, night and day alike,
tormented by the foul stench, I died
a worthless death, an evil death.

I was no mere god of low degree —
but because the heart I carried was an utterly
evil heart, I died a death worth nothing,
an evil death. And so,
you foxes who live from now on:
never, never carry an evil heart.

— so the fox god told his tale.

Chiri Yukie's notes to Chant III

pau — the word that imitates the fox's bark.
pushtotta — a bag-shaped thing carried when going out to hunt at
sea, holding fire-tools, medicines, and other small necessities. The
piuchiop and karop serve the same use but are made of cattail or
woven elm-bark, so they are used on land; the pushtotta is made of
bear hide, seal hide, or other pelts, so it lets no water through and
goes to sea.
noya ai — the mugwort arrow. Mugwort is a plant the Ainu honor.
Struck by a mugwort arrow, they say, a demon cannot rise again — it is
what demons fear most — so it is counted among the necessities when
one travels far.
Originally a man's privy and a woman's privy were separate. ashinru
and eosineru both mean the privy.

Among foxes, the black fox is held the most honored. The capes that
jut into the sea are mostly the domain of black foxes, and the black
fox, they say, will not let people hear its voice unless something
truly momentous occurs.

Okikirmui (Okikurumi), Samayunkur, and Shupunramka are cousins;
Shupunramka the eldest and Okikirmui the youngest, they say.
Shupunramka, gentle and shy, has no tales of his own; Samayunkur is
short-tempered, shallow in wisdom, hasty, mean-spirited, and a
weakling; but Okikirmui is wise like a god, deep in compassion, and
full of courage — a great man, and so his tales are all but without
number.

IV. The Song the Rabbit Sang of Himself

"Sampaya terke"

Sampaya terke

Over two valleys, over three valleys, leaping and leaping,
playing all the way, I followed after my elder brother
up into the mountains.
Every day, every day, I followed my brother and watched:
wherever a human being had set a spring-bow¹ ready,
my brother would break it — and I would laugh at it;
that was our custom. So this day again
I went to see — and what I never once
had dreamed:
my brother, caught in the spring-bow, screaming and weeping.

I started with fright, and to my brother's side
I leapt; and my brother, weeping,
said to me:

"Listen, little brother. Run now, run from here,
and when you reach the back of our village,
cry out with a great voice:
'My brother is caught in the spring-bow — hu, ohohoi!'"

I heard him,
and answered yes, yes — and then,
over two valleys, over three valleys, leaping and leaping,
playing all the way, I came down
and reached the back of our village.
And only there did I remember at last
that my brother had sent me as a messenger.
I opened my mouth to raise the great cry —
and what my brother had told me to say, what he had
sent me to do — I had utterly forgotten it.
I stood rooted there and tried to remember;
no use, none at all.
And then again,
over two valleys, over three valleys,
leaping backward, dancing backward,
I came to the place where my brother had been,
and looked — and no one was there.
Only my brother's blood clung about the place.

(Here the tale leaps to another mouth.)

Ketka woiwoi ketka, ketka woi ketka

Every day, every day I went to the mountains,
breaking the spring-bows the human beings set,
and making my sport of it — that was my custom.
Then one day, in the old place, a spring-bow
stood set again — and beside it a little spring-bow
of mugwort, set ready.
I looked at it:
"And this thing — what could this be for?"
I thought; and because it amused me,
I gave it just one small touch — and made to run —
and before I knew what had happened,
into that bow I was jammed
past any bearing.
The more I struggled to escape,
the tighter it gripped me; there was nothing
to be done, and I was weeping there
when something came flying to my side —
and look: it was my little brother.
I rejoiced, and I charged him to carry the news
to all our kin; and after that,
however long I waited — not a sound.

I was weeping still when a person's shadow
fell beside me. I looked:
a human youth, beautiful as a god,
smiling; and he took me up
and carried me off somewhere. And look:
the inside of a great house, filled
brim-full with the treasures of the gods.
The youth kindled a fire,
set a great kettle over it, drew down the sword
that hung there² — and chopped my body,
hide and all, into pieces, filled the kettle
with me, and thrust his head down under it,
again and again, kindling up the flame.
Somehow, some way, I meant to escape;
I watched for a gap in the human youth's guard —
but the youth never once
took his eyes from me.

"If the kettle boils and I am boiled away,
mine will be a nothing death, a worthless death,
an evil death." So I thought,
and I watched and watched for the youth's guard to slip,
and at the last gasp —
I turned myself into a single slice of meat,
and mixing myself into the rising steam
I climbed to the kettle's rim, leapt down
to the left seat of the hearth, and in the same
breath burst out the door. Weeping,
leaping, gasping for breath I fled,
and came home to my own house,
and stroked my chest to think
how close a thing it was.

And when I looked back on it all:
the one I had taken for a mere human being,
a mere youth, was Okikirmui,
strong as a god himself.
Because I thought them spring-bows set by mere
human beings, I made my mischief day after day —
and Okikirmui, greatly angered, meant
to kill me with the little mugwort bow. But I too
am no god of low degree, and had I died
a nothing death, an evil death, my kinsfolk
would have been lost in trouble and confusion.
He took pity on that,
and so, by his grace, though I fled,
he did not pursue me.

Know this, then: in the old days the rabbit
had a body great as a deer's;
but because I made mischief such as this,
we were made small — small as one slice
of Okikirmui's meat.
And all our people after this
will be of that same body, I suppose.
You rabbits who live from now on:
never, never make such mischief.

— so the rabbit chief taught the children, and died.

Chiri Yukie's notes to Chant IV

To set an amatsupo (crossbow), that is, a "set bow" — a trap-bow
left ready and triggered by the prey.
The sword. This is not the sword used in war: it is the one that
hangs, in ordinary times, above the heaped treasures at the right
seat of the house. It is never used in battle, but it is used at
the uniwente and rites of that kind.

V. The Song the Swamp Demon Sang of Himself

"Harit kunna"

Harit kunna

One day, the weather being fine,
I lay in my swamp with only my eyes and mouth
above the mire, watching —
when from far down toward the shore
came the sound of human voices talking.
I looked: two young men coming together.
The one who walked ahead — hero-like, a hero's bearing
on him, beautiful as a god; but the one behind,
when I looked at him, was an ill-favored,
bad-colored man; and talking of something
they came on, and passed along the edge of my swamp,
and just as they came before me, the bad-colored man
who walked behind stopped short, and stopped again,
covering his nose:

"Ugh, the stink! What a foul swamp, a wicked swamp —
passing in front of it, how filthy! What can it be,
to reek like this?"

That was all I heard — and I was angry
past knowing whether I was in my body or out of it.
Out of the mud I burst. Where I leapt up,
the earth split, the earth tore open. Gnashing
my tusks I charged hard after them — and the one
who had walked ahead, the instant he saw me,
doubled back the way a fish flips round,
ducked under the bad-colored man's armpit,
and was gone, clean away.
The pale man I chased two lengths, three lengths,
caught him at once, and swallowed him
down from the head.

And then I turned and chased the other with all
the speed in my body, and came to the human village,
the great village, and reached its rear.
And look — from the other side,
the Fire Grandmother, the goddess-crone, in her red robe,
her six robes belted, six robes thrown over her shoulders,
leaning on her red staff, came flying at my side:

"Now then, now then! What business brings you
to this Ainu village? Go back at once — back at once!"

So saying she raised her red staff, her metal staff,
and beat it down upon me, and from the staff
flames rained over me like falling rain.
But I paid it no heed at all;
gnashing my tusks I chased that man,
and the man ran through the village
like a hoop that rolls and rolls. I leapt after him,
and the great earth split, the great earth tore.
The whole village was in uproar — one dragging
his wife by the hand, one dragging his child,
weeping, screaming, fleeing — a village boiling over.
But I paid it no heed at all, flinging up
my blizzard of earth; and the Fire Grandmother,
running at my side, sent her terrible flames
whirling over me.

And in the midst of it, the man dove
into one of the houses — and in the same instant
leapt out again.
I looked: a little bow of mugwort, a little arrow
of mugwort fitted to the string — and from over there,
smiling, smiling, he took his aim at me.
Seeing it, I wanted to laugh:

"A little mugwort arrow like that — since when
do such things make anyone suffer?"

So thinking, gnashing my tusks,
I went to swallow him down from the head —
and in that moment the man shot me
hard and true in the throat.
And from then on I knew nothing
of what became of me.

When I came to myself and looked,
I was sitting between the ears of a great dragon.
The village people had gathered, and the young man
I had chased was directing them in a great voice;
and they chopped my carcass all to little pieces,
carried it to one place, burned it,
and threw the ashes away behind the mountain crags.

Only now, seeing it at last: the one I had taken
for a mere human being, a mere youth,
was Okikirmui, the hero of the gods.
A fearsome evil god, a demon god — that is what I was —
dwelling too near the village of human beings;
and Okikirmui, for the village's sake,
provoked my anger, made me chase him,
and killed me with the mugwort arrow.
And the pale man I had swallowed first,
whom I took for a human being — that was
Okikirmui's own dung, shaped by him into a man
and brought along beside him.

Because I was a demon god, I am banished now
to the under-world, the utterly evil country;
and from now on the country of human beings
will hold no danger and no hindrance.
A fearsome demon god I was — and beaten
by the stratagem of a single human being,
now I die a worthless death, an evil death.

— so the demon of the swamp told his tale.

VI. The Song the Young Wolf God Sang of Himself

"Hotenao"

Hotenao

One day, being bored, I went down to the shore
and was playing there, when a little man
came along; and when he went downriver
I went downriver too, and when he came upriver
I went upriver, and barred his way.
And when it had come to six times downriver
and six times upriver, the little man
let his native temper show in his face, and said:

"Pii tuntun, pii tuntun!
You brat, you wicked brat — if that's your game,
then unriddle me this: the old name and the
now-name of this cape!"

I heard him, and laughing I answered:

"And who could fail to know the old name
and the now-name of this cape!
In the old days, when there were mighty gods
and mighty men, this cape was called
the Cape of the Gods; but now the age
has withered, and so it's called
the Cape of the Inau — that's what!"

At that, the little man said:

"Pii tuntun, pii tuntun!
You brat — if truly you talk like that,
then say me the former name and the now-name
of this river!"

I heard him, and I answered:

"And who could fail to know the former name
and the now-name of this river!
In the old, mighty age, this river was called
Swift-Current; but now the world has withered,
and it's called Slow-Current — that's what!"

At that the little man said:

"Pii tuntun, pii tuntun!
If truly you talk like that,
then let us unriddle each other's origins!"

I heard him, and this is what I said:

"And who could fail to know your origin!
In the great old days Okikirmui went to the mountains,
and when he built his hunting lodge he made
a hearth-frame of alder wood; and that hearth-frame,
sitting by the fire, dried out through and through,
till when Okikirmui stepped on the one end,
the other end tipped up. Okikirmui was angry at it,
carried that hearth-frame down to the river,
and threw it away.
And the hearth-frame went floating off downstream
and came out into the sea, and the gods watched it
beaten from the far sea-wave to the near sea-wave;
and because it was a thing made by the hands
of Okikirmui the revered, it seemed to the gods
too great a waste that it should drift about useless,
lost, and rot away in the salt water. So by the gods
that hearth-frame was made into a fish, and named
Inunpe-pecheppo — the Hearth-Frame Fish.
But that hearth-frame fish does not know
its own origin, and so it wanders about
disguised as a man.
And that hearth-frame fish — is you."

At my words the little man's face changed color
and changed again as he listened; then:

"Pii tuntun, pii tuntun!
And you — you're nothing but a little
wolf cub — that's what!"

And the moment the words were out he leapt —
splash! — into the sea.
I watched after him: one small red fish,
working its tail fin, went far, far out
toward the offing, and was gone.

— so the young wolf god told his tale.

VII. The Song the Owl God Sang of Himself

"Konkuwa"

"Konkuwa

In the old days, when I spoke, my voice
rang like the middle of the grip
of a bow wound with cherry bark;
that is how I used to speak.
But now I am grown feeble, now I am grown old.
Even so — if there were only someone eloquent,
someone sure of himself as a messenger,
I would charge him with a message of five
matters and a half, to carry up to heaven."

So I said, beating time on the lid
of the hooped lacquer vessel; and at the doorway
someone said:
"Who beside me is eloquent enough, and sure
enough of himself for a messenger?"
I looked — it was a young Crow.
I brought him into the house, and then,
beating time on the lid of the hooped vessel,
I began to teach him the message
he was to carry; and on the third day,
while I was speaking the third matter, I looked —
and the young Crow was dozing
behind the hearth-frame. It touched my temper;
I struck the young Crow down, feathers and all,
and killed him.

Then again, beating time on the lid
of the hooped vessel, I said:
"If there were someone sure of himself
as a messenger, I would charge him
with a message of five matters and a half
to carry up to heaven."
And someone again, at the doorway:
"Who beside me is eloquent enough to go
as messenger to heaven?"
I looked — it was the mountain Jay.
I brought him in, and again, beating time
on the lid of the hooped vessel, I spoke
the five-and-a-half matters; and on the fourth day,
while I was telling the fourth matter,
the mountain Jay was dozing behind the hearth-frame.
Anger took me; I struck the mountain Jay down,
feathers and all, and killed him.

Then again, beating time on the lid
of the hooped vessel:
"If there were someone eloquent, sure of himself
as a messenger, I would send with him
five matters and a half, up to heaven."
And someone entered with a modest, reverent bearing;
I looked — a young Water-Ouzel,¹ beautiful
in his aspect, and he took his seat
at the left of the hearth. And so,
beating time on the lid of the hooped vessel,
I spoke the five-and-a-half matters, by night
and by day alike. And look — the young Water-Ouzel,
no trace of weariness in him, listened on;
and counting the days and nights, on the sixth day,
the moment I finished speaking, he rose
out through the smoke-hole and was gone to heaven.

The heart of the message was this: famine
had come upon the human world, and the human beings
were at the point of starving. And when I looked
into the reason, it was this: in heaven,
the god who governs the deer and the god
who governs the fish had taken counsel together
and resolved to send out no deer
and to send out no fish; and whatever the other
gods said to them, they turned a deaf face —
so that when the human beings went hunting
to the mountains there were no deer, and when
they went fishing to the rivers there were no fish.
I saw it, and my anger rose, and so I sent
my messenger to the Deer God and the Fish God.

Many days passed; then a faint sound
came from the sky, and someone entered.
I looked: the young Water-Ouzel, lovelier now
than before, bearing himself with a hero's dignity,
and he began to deliver the answering message.

The reason the Deer God and the Fish God of heaven
had sent no deer and no fish until this day
was this: when the human beings took a deer,
they beat the deer's head with a stick, and when
they had skinned it they left the deer's head
lying in the mountain groves; and when they took
fish, they beat the fish's head with a rotten stick
to kill it. So the deer went home naked and weeping
to the Deer God, and the fish went home
to the Fish God with rotten sticks in their mouths.
The Deer God and the Fish God were angry,
took counsel together, and sent out no deer
and no fish. But hereafter, if the human beings
would handle deer and fish with proper honor,
they would send out deer, they would send out fish —
so the Deer God and the Fish God had spoken;
all this he set out in full.

I heard it, and I gave the young Water-Ouzel
my praise; and when I looked — truly,
the human beings had been handling
the deer and the fish carelessly.
So I taught them, in their sleep, in dreams,
never to do so again; and the human beings too
saw that they had done wrong, and from then on
they made their fishing gear beautiful
as inau-shavings and took fish with that;
and when they took a deer they adorned
the deer's head beautifully and honored it.
And so the fish, rejoicing, went to the Fish God
with beautiful shaved wands in their mouths,
and the deer, rejoicing, went home to the Deer God
with their foreheads newly shaven.
The Deer God and the Fish God rejoiced at it,
and sent out fish in plenty, sent out deer in plenty.
And the human beings now live with nothing
to trouble them, nothing of hunger;
I saw it, and my heart was set at ease.

As for me — I am old now, feeble now,
and I had long thought to go to heaven;
but with famine in the human land I keep,
and the human beings on the point of starving,
I could not leave them so and go.
So I stayed until this day. But now
there is nothing left to weigh on me; I have set
the strongest of the strong, a young hero,
in my place to keep the human world —
and now, at last, I go up to heaven."

— so the old god who keeps the land — the owl —
told his tale, and went to heaven.

Chiri Yukie's note to Chant VII

katken — the water-ouzel (river dipper). From of old it has been
honored as a bird of very good omen.

VIII. The Song the Sea God Sang of Himself

"Atuika tomatomaki kuntuteashi hm hm!"

Atuika tomatomaki kuntuteashi hm hm!

Six tall brothers, six tall sisters,
six short brothers, six short sisters
reared me; and I — beside the piled-up
treasures they built me a high seat, and on
that high seat I sat, carving scabbards,
graving scabbards; that alone
was the work I lived by.

Every day, when morning came, my brothers
shouldered their quivers and went out
with my sisters; and when evening came
they returned worn-faced, with nothing;
and my sisters, tired as they were, made
the meal and set my tray before me,
and when they had eaten and cleared away,
my brothers turned busily to fletching arrows.
When the quivers were full, being tired out,
they slept, and their snores rolled loud.
Next day, while it was still dark,
they all rose; my sisters cooked and set
my tray; and when all had eaten, again
they shouldered the quivers and were gone.
And again at evening, worn-faced, empty-handed,
home; the sisters cooking, the brothers
fletching — the same forever.

One day my brothers and my sisters
shouldered their quivers and went out again.
I sat carving at my treasures awhile; then
I rose from the high seat, took my little bow
of gold and my little arrows of gold, and went
outside to look: the sea lay wide and calm,
and to the sea's east, to the sea's west,
whales were playing, splash on splash.
And there, at the sea's east, the six tall sisters
joined hands in a ring; the six short sisters
drove the whales into the ring; and the six
tall brothers and six short brothers
shot at the whales in the ring — and under
the whale went their arrows, and over
the whale went their arrows.
Day after day after day, this
is what they had been doing.

I looked out to the sea's very middle:
a great whale and her calf, mother and child,
playing up and down, splash on splash.
So from far off, I fitted a little gold arrow
to the little gold bow, aimed, and shot —
and with one arrow, at one stroke,
I drove through mother and calf together.
Then I cut one whale across the middle
and threw the half into my sisters' ring;
and the whale and a half that remained
I tucked beneath my tail, and made
for the country of human beings; and coming
to the village of Otashut, I pushed
the whale and a half up onto the village shore.

Then, swimming slowly home
across the sea, I heard something
running at my side, out of breath;
and I looked — the sea-gull.
Panting, it said:

"Tominkarikur, Kamuikarikur, Isoyankekur!¹
Valiant god, great god —
why have you given so great a sea-gift
to the mean humans, the wicked humans?
The mean humans, the wicked humans are hacking
your great sea-gift with axes, jabbing it
with sickles, shaving it away! Valiant god,
great god — quick, take the great gift back!
Give them ever so much of the sea's bounty,
and the mean humans, the wicked humans
feel no thanks at all — see how they treat it!"

I heard it and laughed, and this
is what I said:

"I gave it to the human beings; it is
their own now. What is it to anyone
if the humans jab their own property
with sickles or shave it with axes?
Let them eat it as freely as they please —
and what of it?"

The sea-gull hung there, out of countenance;
but I paid it no heed at all, and swimming
slowly over the sea, just as the day
was darkening I came to my own sea.
And look — my twelve brothers, my twelve
sisters, unable between them to carry
that half whale home, were still dawdling
at the sea's east, all shouting together
at the work. I was fairly astonished.
I paid them no heed, went home,
and took my seat on the high floor.

Then I turned and looked back
toward the human world: around the whale
and a half I had beached, fine men
and fine women in their best dress
were dancing for the sea-gift, leaping
for the sea-gift; and on the dune behind,
fine mats were spread, and on them
the headman of Otashut village, six robes
belted and six robes over his shoulders,
crowned with the noble crown of the gods,
the crown of the ancestors, the god-given sword
at his hip, beautiful as a god himself,
lifted his hands high and bowed in worship.
The human beings wept
for joy of the sea's gift.

And this was what the gull had called
"the humans jabbing my whale with axes
and sickles": the headman first, and all
the village, had brought out the sacred swords
they hold most precious of all their treasures
since the old days, and with these
they were cutting the meat and carrying it.

And still my brothers and sisters
showed no sign of coming home.

When two days, three days had passed, something
seemed to show at the window; I turned
to look: on the sill of the sacred east window
stood a metal cup filled to the brim
with wine, and across it lay a libation-wand
dressed with shaved inau,¹ and the wand,
pacing back and forth, delivered
its message as a envoy speaks:

"I am of Otashut village.
Though it is a fearful liberty, I offer
this wine to you." — And it set out in full
how the headman of Otashut, in the name
of all the village, gave me thanks:
"Tominkarikur, Kamuikarikur, Isoyankekur,
great god, valiant god — who but you
would have pitied us, when famine so gripped
our village that nothing more could be done,
and food was at its end? That you gave
our village its life — for this, truly,
we thank you. Rejoicing in the sea's gift,
we have brewed a little wine, and joined
to it a small inau, and offer the great god
our thanks in return." — All this
the inau-dressed wand, pacing back
and forth, declared.

At that I rose, took up the metal cup,
lifted it in honor; and opening the lids
of the six wine-tubs in the seat of honor,
I poured a little of the good wine into each,
and set the metal cup back on the window.
That done, I sat down again on the high seat,
and when I looked, the cup and the wand
were gone. And I carved my scabbards,
graved my scabbards — until at some point
I raised my face and looked:
the house was filled with beautiful inau;
white cloud-wisps trailed through the house,
and white lightning went flickering
between them. Ah, I thought — beautiful.

Then, another two days, three days on,
at last, outside the house, my brothers
and sisters came shouting, hauling
that whale home; I could only marvel.
I watched them come in: brothers and sisters
worn to nothing, their faces withered.
And coming in, and seeing the crowd of inau,
they were astounded, and bowed
over and over and over.
Meanwhile the six wine-tubs of the eastern seat
stood full to overflowing, and the scent
of wine — the gods' best delight —
drifted through the house.

Then I adorned the house with the beautiful inau,
invited the far gods and the near gods,
and spread a great feast. My sisters
boiled the whale and served the gods,
and the gods clicked their tongues with pleasure.
When the feast was at its height I rose
and told it all in order: how famine
had come on the human world, and pitying them
I beached the sea-gift; how, when I dealt well
with the human beings, the evil gods envied it,
and the sea-gull came slandering them to me;
how the headman of Otashut gave me thanks
in such-and-such words, and how the wand
with its inau came as messenger — I told it
all at length; and the gods together
nodded and nodded as one,
and gave me their praise.

And then again the feast rose high; the sound
of the gods dancing here, stamping there,
made beautiful music; some of my sisters
went round among the seats with the flagon,
pouring; some joined the goddesses
and sang with beautiful voices.
Two days, three days, and the feast closed.
To the gods I gave beautiful inau,
two and three apiece, and the gods bent
double at the waist, bowing over and over,
and each went home to his own house.

Since then, as ever, I live
with my six tall brothers and six tall sisters,
my six short sisters and six short brothers;
and whenever the human beings brew wine,
each time they send wine to me,
and inau come to my house.
Now the human beings want for no food
and are troubled by nothing, living
in peace — and so
my heart is at ease.

Chiri Yukie's note to Chant VIII

(kike-ush-pashui) — a libation-wand dressed with shaved inau,
used when offering wine to the gods. This kike-ush-pashui, they say,
acts as the human being's deputy: it goes to the god and delivers what
the human wishes to say. An ordinary undressed wand is called iku
pashui, the feast-wand.

(The song's opening address — Tominkarikur Kamuikarikur Isoyankekur,
"He who is wrapped in treasure-light, wrapped in god-light, who lands
the sea's bounty" — is the honorific by which gull and villagers alike
call the sea god.)

IX. The Song the Frog Sang of Himself

"Tororo hanrok hanrok!"

Tororo hanrok, hanrok!

One day I was leaping about the meadow-grass
at my play, and I saw
a house standing; so I went to the doorway
and looked in: inside the house, beside
the piled-up treasures, a high seat;
and on the high seat a young man
bent over a scabbard, carving it.
So I thought I would play a trick on him,
and sitting on the threshold I sang out:
"Tororo hanrok, hanrok!"
And the young man raised the hand that held
the blade, and looked at me, and smiled:

"Is that your yukar? Your song of joy?
I'd gladly hear more."

I was delighted, and I sang:
"Tororo hanrok, hanrok!"
And the young man said:

"Is that your yukar? Your sakehau?
I'd gladly hear it nearer."

Hearing that, glad at heart, I hopped
up onto the hearth-frame at the lower seat,
and sang: "Tororo hanrok, hanrok!"
And the young man said again:

"Is that your yukar? Your sakehau?
I'd gladly hear it nearer still."

At that I grew truly happy, and hopped
to the corner of the hearth-frame
by the seat of honor, and sang:
"Tororo hanrok, hanrok!" —
when all at once! — the young man sprang
to his feet, snatched up a great burning brand,
and hurled it — the sound of it striking
seemed to slam shut the whole world
before my body — and from then on
I knew nothing of what became of me.

When I came to myself and looked:
at the edge of the refuse-heap a frog
lay dead with its belly swollen,
and between its ears I was sitting.
And when I looked well: what I had taken
for a mere human's house was the house
of Okikirmui, the one strong as a god —
and not even knowing it was Okikirmui,
I had played my trick on him.

Now I die this worthless death, this evil
death for it. So, you frogs
who live from now on:
never, never play tricks on human beings.

— said the swollen frog, and died.

X. The Song Young Okikirmui Sang of Himself

"Kutnisa kutunkutun"

Kutnisa kutunkutun

One day I went off to play
toward the river's source; and at the source
a little man, building a weir of walnut wood,
was driving stakes, bending
and bending at the waist.
He saw me, and said:

"Who's that? My nephew! — come lend me a hand."

I looked: a walnut weir it was,
so walnut water, murky water,
came seeping down it; and the salmon,
swimming up and meeting the walnut water,
hated it, and turned back weeping.
Anger rose in me: I snatched away
the stake-maul the little man held,
and the blow I struck to the middle
of the little man's back rang out — pon!
I broke the little man through the middle
of his back, killed him outright,
and stamped him down to the under-world.
Then I took hold of that walnut stake
and shook it, and listened: it seemed to reach
down past the farther side
of the six under-worlds.¹
So I called up the strength of my back
and the strength of my whole body,
broke that stake off at the root,
and stamped it down into the under-world.

From the river's head a clean wind
and clean water came flowing free —
and the murk went back the way it came, weeping.
The salmon revived in the clean wind
and the clean water, and in a great
riot of laughter and play, splash
on splash, they came swimming up.
I saw it, and my heart was set at ease,
and I went home along the stream.

— so young Okikirmui told his tale.

Chiri Yukie's note to Chant X

iwan poknashir — the six under-worlds. Beneath the earth there are
six tiers of worlds, and demons of every kind live in them.

XI. The Song Young Okikirmui Sang of Himself

"Tanota hurehure" — "This sand, red, red"

This sand, red, red

One day I went up along the stream to play,
and I met the demon's child.
The demon's child is always fair of form
and fair of face. He wore a black robe,
and carried a little walnut bow
with little walnut arrows; and seeing me,
smiling, smiling, he said:

"Young Okikirmui, let's play!
Watch now — I'll cut off the root
of the fish for good."

And he set a little walnut arrow
to the little walnut bow and shot it
toward the river's source — and from the source
walnut water, murky water, came flowing out;
and the salmon, coming up and hating
the walnut water, turned back weeping
and drifted away downstream. And the demon's
child stood smiling at it, smiling.

I saw it, and anger rose in me;
I set a little silver arrow to my little
silver bow and shot it to the river's source —
and from the source silver water, clean water,
came flowing out; and the salmon that had gone
weeping down the stream revived
in the clean water, and laughing aloud,
romping and playing, splash on splash,
they came back up the river.

Then the demon's child let his native temper
show in his face:

"If that's really how you'll have it —
then watch me cut off the root of the deer."

And he set a little walnut arrow
to the little walnut bow and shot it
at the vault of heaven — and from the mountain
groves a walnut wind, a whirlwind, blew,
and out of the mountain groves the stag herds
apart, and the doe herds apart again,
were swept up on the wind, and rose
in a long clean line far up into the sky.
The demon's child stood smiling.

Seeing it, my temper flared;
I set a little silver arrow to the little
silver bow and shot it after the deer herds —
and down from heaven a silver wind,
a clean wind, came blowing, and the stag herds
apart, and the doe herds apart again,
were blown gently down onto the mountain groves.

Then the demon's child, his native temper
plain in his face:

"Insolent!¹ If that is really
how you'll have it — then let us try
our strength against each other!"

And so saying he threw off his outer robe.
I too stripped to a single thin garment,
and I grappled him, and he grappled me.
And then we wrestled, each throwing the other
under and being thrown, over and under, over
and under — and how strong the demon's child was
astonished me. But at long last
I called up the strength of my back
and the strength of my whole body,
heaved the demon's child high
onto my shoulders, and dashed him down
on the mountain crag — the crash of it
rang out. I killed him outright and stamped him
down to the under-world; and after the sound,
everything fell still.

That done, I came home along the stream;
and in the river the salmons' laughing voices,
their playing voices, came clamoring up,
splash on splash; and in the mountain groves
the stags' and does' laughing voices,
their playing voices, filled every quarter,
and here and there and everywhere
they were feeding at their ease.
I saw it, and my heart was set at ease,
and I came back to my own house.

— so young Okikirmui told his tale.

Chiri Yukie's note to Chant XI

achikara — "dirty"; it carries also the sense of absurd,
insolent.

In this tale, Okikirmui's father and the father of the demon's child
once fought a very fierce war, and so young Okikirmui and the young
demon's child are enemies to each other. The story of that war of the
fathers is told at length in another tale.

XII. The Song the Otter Sang of Himself

"Kappa reureu kappa"

Kappa reureu kappa

One day, playing along the stream,
I swam on down, and came to the mouth
of Samayunkur's water-drawing path;
and Samayunkur's younger sister, beautiful
as a god, was coming down it, a pail
in one hand and in the other
a bundle of cattail rushes.¹
At the river's edge I put out
just my head, and said:

"Have you a father?
Have you a mother?"²

The girl started, her eyes darting round,
and when she found me, a color of anger
came over her face:

"Oh! the hateful flat-head, the wicked
flat-head, mocking people so! Dogs! —
cho, cho…"

And great fang-baring dogs³ came pelting
out at her call, and seeing me, gnashed
their teeth. I dove in fright to the river's
bottom, and straight along the bottom
I fled away downstream.

And so I came to the mouth of Okikirmui's
water-drawing path, and put out just my head,
and looked: and Okikirmui's younger sister,
beautiful as a god, came down, a pail
in one hand and in the other a bundle
of cattail rushes. And I said:

"Have you a father?
Have you a mother?"

The girl started, her eyes darting round,
and when she found me, a color of anger
came over her face:

"Oh! the hateful flat-head, the wicked
flat-head, mocking people so! Dogs! —
cho, cho…"

And the great dogs came pelting out.
Seeing them I remembered the time before,
and half-laughing to myself I dove
for the river's bottom to flee —
and what I never dreamed the dogs would do,
they did: gnashing their fangs they plunged
after me to the very bottom of the river,
dragged me up onto the land, and my head
and my body were bitten and torn, bitten
and torn — until at last
I knew nothing of what became of me.

When I came to myself and looked,
I was sitting between the ears
of a great otter.

Samayunkur and Okikirmui have
no father and have no mother — I knew it,
and still I made that wicked mockery;
so punishment fell on me, and I was killed
by Okikirmui's dogs, and die
a worthless death, an evil death.
You otters who live from now on:
never, never make such mockery.

— so the otter told his tale.

Chiri Yukie's notes to Chant XII

kinatantuka — a bundle of cattail. Cattail is woven into mat-like
floor coverings; but if it is woven bone-dry it goes badly, so it is
moistened a little before use. That will be why the woman in this
tale is carrying it to the river.
i-okapushpa — to speak the names of someone's dead parents or kin,
or to talk of them casually, is called i-okapushpa and is deeply
disliked; likewise digging out what someone has kept hidden and
telling everyone, or speaking to a person's face of past deeds they
cannot bear to hear.
nimakitara — "the fang-barers": the dogs. When people go hunting
they take dogs, and what the beasts of the mountain fear most of all
is to be set on by a dog with its teeth bared — so they give dogs
this name, and fear them.

XIII. The Song the Marsh Mussel Sang of Himself

"Tonupeka ranran"

Tonupeka ranran

Under the fierce sunlight the place where I lay
had dried to nothing, and I was at the point of death.

"If only someone would give us water to drink —
would save us! Water! Water!" we cried and wept;
and from far down toward the shore a woman
came, a basket on her back.
We wept on; and she passed beside us,
and looked at us:

"Absurd marsh mussels, wicked marsh mussels!
What are they crying about, with all
this tiresome noise?" she said —
and she trampled us, kicked us flying
with the tips of her feet, crushed us
shells and all, and went on
far up toward the mountains.

"Oh, it hurts — oh, misery — water! water!"
we cried and wept; and from far down
toward the shore another woman came,
a basket on her back. And we cried:
"If only someone would give us water
and save us! — oh, it hurts, oh, misery —
water! water!" — so we wept and called.
And the girl, beautiful and noble
as a god, came to my side and looked at us:

"Oh, the poor things! In this terrible heat
the marsh mussels' bed has dried right up,
and they are craving water. What can have
happened here? — they look as though
they had been trampled…"

And so saying she gathered us all up,
laid us in a butterbur leaf,
and set us in a clean pool.
In the pure cold water we came back
wholly to ourselves, and grew strong indeed.

Then, and only then, we searched out
who those women were: and the hateful woman,
the wicked woman who had come first
and trampled us, was Samayunkur's
younger sister; and the young girl,
the gentle one who pitied us
and gave us our lives, was Okikirmui's
younger sister.

Because Samayunkur's sister was so full
of wickedness, I withered her millet field;
and Okikirmui's sister's millet field
I made bear richly. That year Okikirmui's
sister brought in a great harvest;
and knowing it had come about
through me, she picked the ears
of her millet with a marsh-mussel shell.
And from then on, every year, when
the human women pick the ears of millet,
they use the marsh mussel's shell.

— so a marsh mussel told his tale.

Colophon

The work. アイヌ神謡集 (Ainu Shin'yōshū), compiled and translated from Ainu into Japanese by Chiri Yukie; first published by Kyōdo Kenkyūsha, Tokyo, 10 August 1923. This edition's witness is the Aozora Bunko digital text (card 44909; input Tsuchiya Takashi, proofing Suzuki Kōji, 2008), whose base text is the Iwanami Bunko edition (1978; 35th printing 2004), parent text the 1923 first edition. The work is in the public domain.

The translation. The English above is translated from Chiri Yukie's romanized Ainu text, with her own Japanese parallel version consulted throughout as the co-author's guide — a two-layer process this colophon states plainly. Her sixteen notes to Chant I and all later notes are hers, translated in full; translator's clarifications appear in parentheses within notes where marked. The sakehe refrains are kept in Ainu and glossed at first occurrence. No gap has been filled: where the Aozora witness has a defect (a small number of rare-glyph images in the Japanese layer), the Ainu text — which is unaffected — was the basis.

Prior translations, honestly named. This is not the first English translation. Complete English renderings exist in print: Sarah M. Strong, Ainu Spirits Singing (University of Hawai‘i Press, 2011) and Benjamin Peterson, The Song the Owl God Sang (2013); Kyoko Selden and others have translated portions. None of these was consulted; the present rendering is independently derived from the source text, and its purpose is to make the complete work freely readable beside its Ainu original.

Prepared for the Good Work Library by the New Tianmu Anglican Church with AI-assisted research, transcription, translation, and editorial work.

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Source Text: the Ainu of the thirteen songs

Chiri Yukie's romanized Ainu, complete, as given by the witness; her facing Japanese translation is part of the same witness and is identified in the Colophon. The preface, which she wrote in Japanese, is given first in her Japanese.

序 (Preface)

序

　その昔この広い北海道は，私たちの先祖の自由の天地でありました．天真爛漫な稚児の様に，美しい大自然に抱擁されてのんびりと楽しく生活していた彼等は，真に自然の寵児，なんという幸福な人だちであったでしょう．

　冬の陸には林野をおおう深雪を蹴って，天地を凍らす寒気を物ともせず山又山をふみ越えて熊を狩り，夏の海には涼風泳ぐみどりの波，白い鴎の歌を友に木の葉の様な小舟を浮べてひねもす魚を漁り，花咲く春は軟らかな陽の光を浴びて，永久に囀ずる小鳥と共に歌い暮して蕗とり蓬摘み，紅葉の秋は野分に穂揃うすすきをわけて，宵まで鮭とる篝も消え，谷間に友呼ぶ鹿の音を外に，円かな月に夢を結ぶ．嗚呼なんという楽しい生活でしょう．平和の境，それも今は昔，夢は破れて幾十年，この地は急速な変転をなし，山野は村に，村は町にと次第々々に開けてゆく．

　太古ながらの自然の姿も何時の間にか影薄れて，野辺に山辺に嬉々として暮していた多くの民の行方も亦いずこ．僅かに残る私たち同族は，進みゆく世のさまにただ驚きの眼をみはるばかり．しかもその眼からは一挙一動宗教的感念に支配されていた昔の人の美しい魂の輝きは失われて，不安に充ち不平に燃え，鈍りくらんで行手も見わかず，よその御慈悲にすがらねばならぬ，あさましい姿，おお亡びゆくもの……それは今の私たちの名，なんという悲しい名前を私たちは持っているのでしょう．

　その昔，幸福な私たちの先祖は，自分のこの郷土が末にこうした惨めなありさまに変ろうなどとは，露ほども想像し得なかったのでありましょう．

　時は絶えず流れる，世は限りなく進展してゆく．激しい競争場裡に敗残の醜をさらしている今の私たちの中からも，いつかは，二人三人でも強いものが出て来たら，進みゆく世と歩をならべる日も，やがては来ましょう．それはほんとうに私たちの切なる望み，明暮祈っている事で御座います．

　けれど……愛する私たちの先祖が起伏す日頃互いに意を通ずる為に用いた多くの言語，言い古し，残し伝えた多くの美しい言葉，それらのものもみんな果敢なく，亡びゆく弱きものと共に消失せてしまうのでしょうか．おおそれはあまりにいたましい名残惜しい事で御座います．

　アイヌに生れアイヌ語の中に生いたった私は，雨の宵，雪の夜，暇ある毎に打集って私たちの先祖が語り興じたいろいろな物語の中極く小さな話の一つ二つを拙ない筆に書連ねました．

　私たちを知って下さる多くの方に読んでいただく事が出来ますならば，私は，私たちの同族祖先と共にほんとうに無限の喜び，無上の幸福に存じます．

　　大正十一年三月一日

知里幸惠

I. Shirokanipe ranran pishkan

Kamuichikap kamui yaieyukar,

“Shirokanipe ranran pishkan”

“Shirokanipe ranran pishkan, konkanipe

ranran pishkan.” arian rekpo chiki kane

petesoro sapash aine, ainukotan enkashike

chikush kor shichorpokun inkarash ko

teeta wenkur tane nishpa ne, teeta nishpa

tane wenkur ne kotom shiran.

Atuiteksam ta ainuhekattar akshinotponku

II. Towa towa to

Chironnup yaieyukar,“Towa towa to”

Towa towa to

Shineanto ta armoisam un nunipeash kusu

sapash.

Shumatumu chashchash, towa towa to

nitumu chashchash, towa towa to

sapash kor shietok un inkarash awa

armoisam ta hunpe yan wa

ainupitoutar ushiyakko turpa kane

isoetapkar iso erimse ichautar irurautar

utasatasa nishpautar isoeonkamip

III. Haikunterke Haikoshitemturi

Chironnup yaieyukar,

“Haikunterke Haikoshitemturi.”

Haikunterke Haikoshitemturi

Moshiresani kamuiesani tapkashike

chiehorari okayash.

Shineanto ta soita soineash inkarash awa,

pirka neto netokurkashi teshnatara, atuisho kata

Okikirmui Shupunramka Samayunkur

repa kushu resoush wa paye korokai. Shirki chiki

chikor wenpuri unkosankosan.

Tapanesannot moshiresani kamui esani

tapkashike too heperai too hepashi

koshneterke chikoikkeukan matunitara

nitnepause

IV. Sampaya terke

Isepo yaieyukar,“Sampaya terke”

Sampaya terke

Tu pinnai kama re pinnai kama terkeash kane

shinotash kor yupinekur oshi ekimun payeash.

Keshtoanko yupinekur oshi payeash ingarash ko,

Ainupito kuare

V. Harit kunna

Nitatorunpe yaieyukar,“Harit kunna”

Harit kunna

Shineanto ta shirpirka kusu

chikor nitat otta chishikihi newa chiparoho patek

chietukka wa, inkarash kane okayash awa

to opishun ainukutkesh sarasara.

Inkar ash awa tu okkaipo usetur ka rarpa kane.

Hoshki ekpe, rametoksone rametokipor

eipottumu niunatara, kamuishirine okaiko,

iyoshi ekpe chinukar ko, katuhu ka wenawena

rerek okkayo newa, hemantaokaipe eukoitakkor

arki aine, chikor nitat samakehe kushpa,

unpekano arki aike, iyoshino ek rerek ainu

ashash kane iki etuhu kishma,

“Hm, shirun nitat wen nitat, kotchake akush awa

ichakkere neptapteta wen huraha okaipeneya?”

ari hawean.

Inu newa chikip ne korka, okayash humi ka

chierampeutek turushkinrane unkohetari.

Yachitum wa soyoterkeash, terkeashko

toi yasashke toi pererke. Chinotsephumi

taunatara, nerokpe chitoikonoshpa, ikiash awa,

hoshki ekpe weninkarpo kitek

chepshikiru ekannayukar, rerek ainu

tempokihi kush wa, too hoshkino kirawa isam.

Rerek ainu tutem retem chinoshpa ko

chioshikoni, kitaina wano chioanruki.

Tataotta nea okkayo chitoikonoshpa, sapash aine

Ainu kotan poro kotan oshmakehe akoshirepa.

Ingarash awa unetunankar,

Ape Huchi Kamui Huchi hure kosonte iwan kosonte

kokutkor kane, iwan kosonte opannere,

hure kuwa ekuwakor kane, Unteksamta chitursere.

“Usainetapshui nep ekar kusu tan ainu kotan

ekosan shiri tan, hetak hoshipi, hetak hoshipi!”

itak kane hure kuwa kani kuwa unkurkashi

eshitaiki, kuwatuika wa otuwennui orewennui

unkurkashi wenaptoshinne chiranaranke.

Kipne korka senneponno chiekottanu,

chinotsephum taunatara kor, nea ainu

chitoikonoshpa ko nea ainu, kotantum peka

pashno karip shikopayar. Oshi terkeash ko

toi yasashke toi pererke. Kotanutur haushitaiki

mattek ampap, potek ampap, urayayaisere,

ukirarep shirpop apkor hawash korka,

senneponno chiekottanu, wen toiupun

chishiokote, Kamui Huchi unteksama ehoyupu ko

wen nuiikir unenkata patkepatke.

Rapokita nea okkayo shine chise chiseupshor

korawoshma hontomota soyoterke.

Inkarash awa, noya ponku noya ponai uweunu

unetunankar sancha otta minakane yokoyoko,

shirki chiki chiemina rushui.

“Enean pon noyaai neike auninpe tan?” ari

yainuash kane chinotsephum taunatara,

kitaina wano chiruki kushu ikichiash awa,

rapoketa nea okkayo chiokshutu peka

unshirkochotcha, pateknetek nekonneya

chieramishkare.

Hunakpaketa yaishikarunash, ingarash awa

poro chatai ashurpeututta okayash kane okayash.

Kotankor utar uwekarpa, nea chinoshpa okkaipo

aripawekur tenke kane, chirakewehe ukotata,

shine aniun rurpa wa uhuika wa nepashuhu

kimuniwa iwaoshmake kochari wa isam.

Tap eashir ingrash ko, oyachiki, yayan ainu

useokkaipo ne kuni chiramu awa,

Okikirmui kamui rametok ne awan.

Ashtoma wen kamui nitne kamui chine kiwa,

ainu kotan koehangeno okayash wa,

Okikirmui Kotan eyam kusu, unshimemokka

unshinoshpare wa, noyaai ari unraike ruwe

nerokokai. Orowa, hoskino chioanruki

rerekainu anak, ainune kuni chiramu awa,

oyachiki Okikirmui eosomap ainune kar wa,

tura wa ek ruwe ne awan.

Nitne kamui chinea kushu, tane anakne

poknamoshir arwen moshir un aunomante kusu,

tewano anak ainu moshir nep akoeyampe ka

isam, aeerannakpe ka isam nankor.

Ashtoma nitne kamui chinea korka,

shine ainupito chinupurkashure unekarkar,

tane anakne toi rai wen rai chiki shiri tapan.

ari nitatorun nitne kamui yayeyukar.

［＃改ページ］

VI. Hotenao

Pon Horkeukamui yaieyukar,

        “Hotenao”

Hotenao

Shineantota nishmuash kusu pishta sapash,

shinotash kor okayash awa, shine ponrupneainu

ek koran wakusu, hepashi san ko hepashi chietushmak,

heperai ek ko heperai chietushmak.

Ikichiash awa, hepashi iwanshui

heperai iwanshui ne ita ponrupneainu

kor wenpuri enantuika eparsere, eneitaki:――

“Pii tuntun, pii tuntun!

tan hekachi wen hekachi eiki chiki,

tan esannot teeta rehe tane rehe

ukaepita eki kushnena!”

Hawash chiki chiemina kor itakash hawe

ene okai:――

“Nennamora tan esannot teeta rehe

tane rehe erampeuteka!

Teeta anak shinnupur kusu

tapan esannot ‘Kamuiesannot’ ari

ayea korka tane anakne shirpan kusu

‘Inauesannot’ ari aye ruwe tashi anne!”

itakash awa ponrupneainu eneitaki:――

“Pii tuntun, pii tuntun!

Tan hekachi, sonnohetap ehawan chiki

tapan petpo teeta rehe tane rehe

ukaepita eki kushnena.”

hawash chiki itakash hawe ene okai:――

“Nennamora tapan petpo teeta rehe

tane rehe erampeuteka!

teeta kane shinnupurita tapan petpo

‘Kanchiwetunash’ ari ayea korka

tane shirpan kushu ‘Kanchiwemoire’ ari

aye ruwe tashi anne!”

itakash awa ponrupneainu ene itaki:――

“Pii tuntun, pii tuntun!”

sonnohetapne ehawan chiki,

ushinritpita aki kushnena!”

hawash chiki itakash hawe eneokai:――

“Nennamora eshinrichihi erampeuteka!

otteeta Okikirmui kimta oman wa,

kucha karita keneinunpe kar aike

ne inunpe apekar wa sattek okere,

Okikirmui oararkehe oterke ko oararkehe

hotari. Newaanpe Okikirmui rushka kushu

ne inunpe pet otta kor wa san wa,

oshura wa isam ruwe ne.

Orowano ne inunbe petesoro mom aineno,

atuioro oshma, tu atuipenrur re atuipenrur

chieshirkik shiri kamuiutar nukar wa,

aeoripak Okikirmui tekekarpe neeno

yaierampeutek wa mom aineno atuikomunin

aenunuke kusu, kamuiutar orowa

ne inunbe cheppone akar wa ‘Inunpepecheppo’ ari

arekore ruwe ne.

Awa, ne inunpepecheppo, yaishinrit

erampeutek wa ainune yaikar wa iki koran.

Ne inunpepecheppo ene ruwe tashi anne.”

itakash awa, pon rupneainu iporohoka

wenawena ikokanu wa an aine

“pii tuntun, pii tuntun!

eani anak Pon Horkeusani ene ruwe tashi

anne.”

itakkeseta atui orun terke humi chopkosanu,

oshi inkarash awa, shine hure cheppo

honoyanoya wa too herepashi

oman wa isam.

ari pon Horkeukamui isoitak.

［＃改ページ］

VII. Konkuwa

Kamuichikap Kamui yaieyukar,

       “Konkuwa”

“Konkuwa

Teeta kane itakash hawe karinbaunku

kunum noshki chauchawatki korachitapne

itakash hawe okai awa,

tane rettekash tane onneash ki humi okai.

Newaneyakka nenkatausa pawetokkor wa,

sonko otta yayotuwaship an yakne,

kanto orun sonkoemko eiwansonko

chieuitekkarokai.” ari

kutoshintoko putakashike chioreporep kor

itakash awa, apa otta kanakankunip

“Nen unmoshma sonko otta pawetokkor wa

yayotuwashi ya.” ari, itak wakusu

inkarash awa Pashkurokkayo ne kane an.

Chiahunge wa, orowano kutoshintoko

puta kashike chioreporep kor

Pashkurokkayo chiuitek kushu,

ne sonko chiye aine rerko shiran,

resonko patek chiyerapokta ingarash awa,

Pashkurokkayo inumbeoshmak

koherachichi. Shirki chiki wenkinrane

unkohetari Pashkurokkayo

chirapkokikkik, chiraike wa isam.

Orowano shui kutoshintoko putakashike

chiorep kor,

“Nenkatausa sonko otta yayotuwaship

an yakne kanto orun sonkoemko eiwansonko

chieuitekkar okai.” ari.

itakash awa, hemanta shui apa orun

“Nen unmoshma pawetokkor wa

kanto orun auiteknoine anpe okai hawe.”

itak wakushu, ingarash awa Metoteyami

ne kane an.

Chiahunke wa orowano shui

kutoshintoko puta kashike chiorep kor

sonkoemko eiwansonko chiye wa

inererko shiran, inesonko chiyerapokta

metoteyami inumpe oshmak koherachichi.

Chirushka kushu Metoteyami chirapkokikkik

chiraike wa isam.

Orowano shui kutoshintoko puta kashike

chiorep kane,

“Nenkatausa pawetokkor wa sonko otta

yayotuwaship an yakne kanto orum

sonkoemko eiwansonko chikore okai.”

itakash aike, kanakankunip

oripak kane shiaworaye, inkarash awa

Katkenokkayo

VIII. Atuika tomatomaki kuntuteashi hm hm!

Repun Kamui yaieyukar,“Atuika

tomatomaki kuntuteashi hm hm!”

Atuika tomatomaki kuntuteashi hm hm!

Tanneyupi iwan yupi tanne sapo iwan sapo

takne yupi iwan yupi takne sapo iwan sapo

unreshpa wa okayash ko chiokai anak

ikittukari chituyeamset amset kashi

chiehorari, kepushpenuye shirkanuye

chikokipshirechiu, neambe patek

monraike ne chiki kane okayash.

Keshtoanko kunnewano chiyuputari

ikayop se wa chisautari tura soyunpa wa,

onumananko semiporkan toine kane

nepka sakno hoshippa wa, chisautari

shinki shiri shuke kiwa unkoipunpa,

okaiutar nakka ipe wa iperuwoka chishiturire ko,

orowano chiyuputari aikarneap kotekkankari,

ikayop shik ko, opittano shinkipne kushu,

hotke wa etorohawe meshrototke.

Ne shimkeanko kunnenisat pekernisat

ehopunpa, chisautari shuke wa unkoipunpa,

opittano ipeokere ko too shui ikayop se wa

paye wa isam. Shui onumananko

semiporkan toine kane nepka sakno arki wa,

chisautari shuke, chiyuputari aikar kane

hempara nakka ikichi kor okai.

Shineantota shui chiyuputari chisautari

ikayop se wa soyunpa wa isam.

Ikorkanuye chiki kor okayash aine

amset kata hopunpaash konkani ponku

konkani ponai chiukoani, soineash wa

inkarash awa, netokurkashi teshnatara,

shiatuipa wa shiatuikesh wa humpeutar

shinotshirkonna chopopatki ko,

shiatuipata tanne sapo iwan sapo sai kar ko,

takne sapo iwan sapo sainikor un humpe okeupa,

tanne yupi iwan yupi takne yupi iwan yupi

sainikor un humpe ramante ko neanhumpe

chorpoke aikush enkashi aikush.

Keshtokeshto eneanikichi kikor okairuwe

nerokokai. Inkarash ko atuinoshkita

shinokorhumpe upokorhumpe heperai hepashi

shinot shiri chopopatki, chinukar wakushu

otuimashir wa konkani ponku konkani ponai

chiuweunu chitukan awa earai ari

shineikinne upokorhumpe chishirko chotcha.

Tataotta shinehumpe noshki chituye

humpearke chisautari sainikorun

chieyapkir, orowano humpearke etuhumpe

chiishpokomare, ainumoshir

kopake un yapash aine Otashut kotan

chikoshirepa, humpearke etutumpe

kotanrakehe chikooputuye.

Taporowa atuiso kata moireherori

chikoyaikurka omakane, hoshippaash wa

arpaash awa, kanakankunip

hesehawe taknatara, unpishkani ehoyupu,

ingarash awa atuichakchak ne kane an.

Tashkan tuitui kor ene itaki:――

“Tominkarikur Kamuikarikur Isoyankekur

kamuirametok pasekamui,

nep ekarkushu toyainuutar wenainuutar

kuntuiso ekoyanke ruwetan.

Toyainuutar wenainuutar mukar ari

iyoppe ari kuntuiso taukitauki toppatoppa

keurekor okaina, kamuirametok

pasekamui keke hetak kuntuiso

okaetaye yan. Tepeshkeko iso ayanke yakka

toyainuutar wenainuutar

eyairaike ka somokino ene ikichii tan.”

hawokai chiki chiemina, itakash hawe

naikosanu, ene okai:――

“Ainupitoutar chikorparep ne kushu

tane anakne korpe newa anpe Ainupitoutar

yaikota korpe iyoppe ari hene mukar ari hene

tokpatokpa meshpameshpa nekona hene

ene kanrushuii nepkor kar wa epa ko

nekonne hawe?” itakash awa

atuichakchak eramuka patek kane okai korka,

senne ponno chiekottanu atuiso kata

moireherori chikoyaikurka oma kane

tane chipahun kotpoketa chikor atui

chikoshirepa. Inkarash awa

tunikashma wanchiyupi tunikashma

wanchisaha nea humpearke nimpakoyaikush

ukohayashi turpa kane,

shiatuipa ta ukoyaeramushitne kor okai.

Shiyorokeutum chiyaikore.

Senne chiekottanu chiunchisehe

chikohekomo, amsetkashi chiehorari.

Taporowa shioka un ainu moshir chikohosari

inkarash awa, chiyankea humpearke

etuhumpe okarino nishpautar

katkematutar ushiyukko turpa kane

isoetapkar isoerimse, makunhunki

hunki kata okitarunpe sohonewa

kashike ta Otashut kotan kotankornishpa

iwan kosonte kokutkor iwan kosonte

opannere, kamuipaunpe ekashpaunpe

kimuirarire kamuiranketam shitomushi

kamuishirine tekrikikur puni kane

onkami koran. Ainupitoutar chishturano

isoenupetne kor okai.

Neike tapne atuichakchak ainupitoutar

mukar ari iyoppe ari chiyankehumpe

tokpatokpa ari hawokai awa, kotankor nishpa hemem

kotankorutar, hushkotoi wano

ikorsokkarne kor kamui posomi sapte wa

ari icha wa rurpa kor okai.

Orowano chiyuputari chisautari arkishiri

oararisam.

Tutko rerko shiran awa purai orun

chishiksama chiikurure, tampe kusu

ingarash awa, rorunpurai purai kata

kani tuki kampashuikan momnatara,

sakeo kane kashiketa

kikeushpashui

IX. Tororo hanrok hanrok!

Terkepi yaieyukar,

   “Tororo hanrok hanrok!”

Tororo hanrok, hanrok!

Shineantota muntum peka terketerkeash

shinotashkor okayash aine ingarash awa,

shine chise an wakusu apapaketa payeash wa

inkarash awa, chiseupshotta ikittukari

chituyeamset chishireanu. Amset kata

shine okkaipo shirkanuye kokipshirechiu

okai chiki chirara kusu tonchikamani kata

rokash kane.“Tororo hanrok, hanrok!” ari

rekash awa, nea okkaipo tam tarara

unnukar awa, sancha otta mina kane,

“Eyukari ne ruwe? esakehawe ne ruwe?

na henta chinu.” itak wakushu

chienupetne,“Tororo hanrok, hanrok!” ari

rekash awa nea okkaipo ene itaki:――

“Eyukari ne ruwe? esakehawe ne ruwe?

na hankenota chinu okai.”

hawashchiki chienupetne, outurun

inumpe kata terkeashtek,

“Tororo hanrok, hanrok!” rekash awa

nea okkaipo shui ene itaki:――

“Eyukari ne ruwe? esakehawe ne ruwe?

na hankenota chinu okai.” hawash chiki,

shino chienupetne, roruninumpe

shikkeweta terkeashtek,

“Tororo hanrok, hanrok!” rekash awa

arekushkonna nea okkaipo matke humi

shiukosanu, hontomota shi apekesh

teksaikari unkaun eyapkir humi

chiemonetok mukkosanu, pateknetek

nekona neya chieramishkare.

Hunakpaketa yaishikarunash inkarash awa,

mintarkeshta shine piseneterkepi

rai kane an ko ashurpeututta okayash kanan.

pirkano inkarash awa, useainu unchisehe

ne kuni chiramuap Okikirmui kamui rametok

unchisehe neawokai ko

Okikirmui nei ka chierampeutekno

iraraash ruwe neawan.

Chiokai anak tane tankorachi toi rai wen rai

chikishiri tapan na, tewano okai

terkepiutar itekki ainuutar otta irara yan.

ari piseneterkepi hawean kor raiwa isam.

［＃改ページ］

X. Kutnisa kutunkutun

Pon Okikirmui yaieyukar,

    “Kutnisa kutunkutun”

〔Kutnisa kutunkutun〕

Shineantota petetok un shinotash kushu

payeash awa, petetokta shine ponrupnekur

neshko urai kar kushu uraikik neap

kosanikkeukan punashpunash.

Unnukar awa ene itaki:――

“Ehumna? Chikarkunekur unkashui yan.”

ari hawean. Inkarash ko neshko urai

nepne kushu neshko wakka nupki wakka

chisanasanke, kamuicheputar

hemeshpako neshko wakka kowen kushu

chish kor hoshippa. Chirushka kushu

ponrupnekur kor uraikiktuchi

chieshikari, ponrupnekur ikkeunoshki

chikik humi tokkosanu. Ponrupnekur

ikkeunoshki chioarkaye, chioanraike

poknamoshir chikooterke. Nea neshko uraini

chiosausawa inuash aike, iwan

XI. Tanota hurehure

Pon Okikirmui yaieyukar,

     “Tanota hurehure”

Tanota hurehure

Shineantota petturashi shinotash kushu

payeash awa, pon nitnekamui chikoekari.

Neita kusu pon nitnekamui shirka wena

nanka wena, kunne kosonte utomechiu

neshko ponku neshko ponai ukoani,

unnukar awa, sanchaotta mina kane

ene itaki:――

“Pon Okikirmui shinotash ro!

Keke hetak chepshuttuye chiki kushne na.”

itak kane neshko ponku neshko ponai

uweunu petetok un aieak awa,

petetoko wa neshko wakka nupki wakka

chisanasanke, kamuicheputar hemeshpa ko

neshko wakka kowen wa chish turano

orhetopo mom wa paye, pon nitnekamui

newaanpe sanchaotta mina kane an.

Shirki chiki newaanpe chirushka kushu,

chikor shirokani ponku shirokani ponai

chiuweunu, petetok un akash awa,

petetok wa shirokani wakka pirka wakka

chisanasanke, chishturano mom wa paye

kamuicheputar pirka wakka eyaitemka,

wenshinothau wenminahau pepunitara

hemeshpa shiri chopopatki.

Shirki chiki pon nitnekamui korwenpuri

enantuika eparsere:

“Sonno hetap eiki chiki yukshut tuye

chiki kushne na.” itak kane,

neshko ponku neshko ponai uweunu,

kanto kotor chotcha aike kenashso kawa

neshko rera shupne rera chisanasanke,

kenashso kawa apkatopa shinnai kane

momanpetopa shinnai kane rerapunpa,

toop kanto orun rikip shirikan maknatara,

pon nitnekamui sancha otta emina kane an.

Shirki chiki wen kinra ne unkohetari

shirokani ponku shirokani ponai

chiuweunu yuktopa oshi akash awa

kanto orowa shirokani rera pirka rera

chiranaranke, reraetoko apkatopa

shinnai kane momanpetopa shinnai kane

kenashso ka chiorapte.

Shiriki awa pon nitnekamui

kor wenpuri enantuika eparsere,

“Achikarata

XII. Kappa reureu kappa

Esaman yaieyukar,

    “Kappa reureu kappa”

Kappa reureu kappa.

Shineantota petesoro shinotash kor

maash wa sapash kiwa, Samayunkur

kor wakkataru putuhu ta sapash awa,

Samayunkur kot tureshi kamui shiri ne

oattekkor niatush ani oattekkor

kinatantuka

XIII. Tonupeka ranran

Pipa yaieyukar,“Tonupeka ranran”

Tonupeka ranran

Satshikush an wa ottaokayashi ka

sat wa okere, tane anakne raiash kushki.

“Nenkatausa wakka unkure

untemka okai! Wakkapo!” ohai chiraikotenke,

okayash awa, too hosashi shine menoko

saranip se kane arki kor okai.

Chishash kor okayash awa unsama kush

unnukar awa,

“Toi pipa wen pipa, neptap chishkar hawe

iramshitnere okaipe neya?” itak kane

unotetterke unureetursere unseikoyaku,

toop ekimun paye wa isam.

“Ayapo, oyoyo! Wakkapo!” ohai chiraikotenke

okayash awa, too hosashi shui shine menoko

saranip se kane arki kor okai.

“Nenkatausa wakka unkure untemka okai!

Ayapo, oyoyo! Wakkapo!” ohai chiraikotenke,

okayash awa pon menoko kamui shirine

unsamta arki unnukat chiki,

“Inunukashki shirsesek wa pipautar

sotkihi ka satwa okere, wakkaewen hawe

neshun okaine, nekonanep okai ruwe tan,

aotetterke apkor okai.” itak kane

unopitta unumomare, korham oro

unomare, pirka to oro unomare.

Pirka namwakka chieyaitemka,

shino tumashnuash. Otta eashir

nea menokutar shinrichihi chihunara

inkarash awa, hoshkino ek unureeyaku

shirun menoko wen menoko anak Samayunkur

kottureshi newa, unerampokiwen

unshiknure pon menoko kamui moiremat anak

Okikirmui kottureshi ne awan.

Samayunkur kottureshi chiepokpa kushu

kor amamtoi chishumka wa, Okikirmui

kottureshi kor amamtoi chipirkare.

Ne paha ta Okikirmui kottureshi shino harukar.

chirenkaine ene shirkii eraman wa,

pipakap ari amampush tuye.

Orowano keshpaanko ainu menokutar

amampush tuye ko pipakap eiwanke ruwe ne.

ari shine pipa yaieyukar.

［＃改ページ］

🌲

The Ainu Songs of the Gods — Ainu Shin'yōshū

Ainu Shin'yōshū — compiled and translated by Chiri Yukie

Contents

Preface

I. The Song the Owl God Sang of Himself

"Shirokanipe ranran pishkan" — "Silver drops fall, fall, all around"

Chiri Yukie's Notes to Chant I

II. The Song the Fox Sang of Himself

"Towa towa to"

III. The Song the Fox Sang of Himself

"Haikunterke Haikoshitemturi"

IV. The Song the Rabbit Sang of Himself

"Sampaya terke"

V. The Song the Swamp Demon Sang of Himself

"Harit kunna"

VI. The Song the Young Wolf God Sang of Himself

"Hotenao"

VII. The Song the Owl God Sang of Himself

"Konkuwa"

VIII. The Song the Sea God Sang of Himself

"Atuika tomatomaki kuntuteashi hm hm!"

IX. The Song the Frog Sang of Himself

"Tororo hanrok hanrok!"

X. The Song Young Okikirmui Sang of Himself

"Kutnisa kutunkutun"

XI. The Song Young Okikirmui Sang of Himself

"Tanota hurehure" — "This sand, red, red"

XII. The Song the Otter Sang of Himself

"Kappa reureu kappa"

XIII. The Song the Marsh Mussel Sang of Himself

"Tonupeka ranran"

Colophon

Source Text: the Ainu of the thirteen songs

序 (Preface)

I. Shirokanipe ranran pishkan

II. Towa towa to

III. Haikunterke Haikoshitemturi

IV. Sampaya terke

V. Harit kunna

VI. Hotenao

VII. Konkuwa

VIII. Atuika tomatomaki kuntuteashi hm hm!

IX. Tororo hanrok hanrok!

X. Kutnisa kutunkutun

XI. Tanota hurehure

XII. Kappa reureu kappa

XIII. Tonupeka ranran