soumei na
wise
I had never seen these two characters together like this. And I included the な na because it's important for me to remember which nouns use の no when becoming adjectival and which use な.
Thursday, March 19, 2020
Thursday, March 12, 2020
改め婆
aratamebabaa
literally, the old woman who confirms accuracy
For the first time, I will employ a visual aid.
During the Edo Period (1615 to 1867 CE), most women were not allowed to travel freely on their own outside of their community. It was therefore not unheard of for women to dress as men to travel somewhere, or to flee from somewhere.
But if you traveled on any of the main highways that connected cities in Japan (most readers might know of the Tokaido, the route between Edo (now Tokyo) and Kyoto that ran along the coast, but there were many others), you would need to stop at the stations along the route (and there were 53 such stations on the Tokaido between Edo and Kyoto). The shogunate used the stations, known as 関所 sekisyo in Japanese, to check on the movement of goods and people, and at a certain point in history, to check on the gender of travelers. Persons appearing as young men needed to present themselves before an old woman, officially employed by the shogunate, so that she could review the equipment, as it were, and give them leave to travel on.
Imagine putting that on your résumé!
Oh, and let’s have one more look at that old woman, as she peers intently through her eyeglass (optics were introduced by the Dutch):
For the first time, I will employ a visual aid.
But if you traveled on any of the main highways that connected cities in Japan (most readers might know of the Tokaido, the route between Edo (now Tokyo) and Kyoto that ran along the coast, but there were many others), you would need to stop at the stations along the route (and there were 53 such stations on the Tokaido between Edo and Kyoto). The shogunate used the stations, known as 関所 sekisyo in Japanese, to check on the movement of goods and people, and at a certain point in history, to check on the gender of travelers. Persons appearing as young men needed to present themselves before an old woman, officially employed by the shogunate, so that she could review the equipment, as it were, and give them leave to travel on.
Imagine putting that on your résumé!
Oh, and let’s have one more look at that old woman, as she peers intently through her eyeglass (optics were introduced by the Dutch):
Wednesday, March 11, 2020
躊躇
tyuutyo
hesitation, indecision, waffling, vacillation
It's a simple enough concept, but I think the characters are amazingly beautiful (in their complexity). Interestingly enough, both of the characters can be used for the same verb, ためらう tamerau, written as 躊う, 躇う, or even as 躊躇う, meaning to hesitate or waver.
It's a simple enough concept, but I think the characters are amazingly beautiful (in their complexity). Interestingly enough, both of the characters can be used for the same verb, ためらう tamerau, written as 躊う, 躇う, or even as 躊躇う, meaning to hesitate or waver.
Tuesday, March 10, 2020
写本
syahon
manuscript, codex
It crossed my mind earlier today that I didn't actually know if there was a Japanese term for a manuscript, in the sense of a book copied by hand by trained calligraphers, and not in the sense of the original text which editors sink their teeth into when producing a book today (which, in Japanese, is 原稿 genkou, meaning somewhat literally, original copy or posting). As a long-time fan of illustrated manuscripts (from the Latin for written by hand), or codices (the plural of codex, Latin for ledger, adopted in the middle ages to refer to manuscripts as well), I wondered about the Japanese. I was happy to see that 写本 is used. That first character is also used in verbs like 写る and 写す (uturu and utusu) which refer to the act of copying, or transfering, or even describing. We see it in compounds like 写経 syakyou (the hand-copying of Buddhist sutras, which is why 写本 makes so much sense to me) and 写真 syasin (photograph, which is fascinating, because for us, based on its Greek roots, a photograph is writing with light, where as for Japanese, a photograph is a copying of truth). And let me end today's adventures in pedantry here.
It crossed my mind earlier today that I didn't actually know if there was a Japanese term for a manuscript, in the sense of a book copied by hand by trained calligraphers, and not in the sense of the original text which editors sink their teeth into when producing a book today (which, in Japanese, is 原稿 genkou, meaning somewhat literally, original copy or posting). As a long-time fan of illustrated manuscripts (from the Latin for written by hand), or codices (the plural of codex, Latin for ledger, adopted in the middle ages to refer to manuscripts as well), I wondered about the Japanese. I was happy to see that 写本 is used. That first character is also used in verbs like 写る and 写す (uturu and utusu) which refer to the act of copying, or transfering, or even describing. We see it in compounds like 写経 syakyou (the hand-copying of Buddhist sutras, which is why 写本 makes so much sense to me) and 写真 syasin (photograph, which is fascinating, because for us, based on its Greek roots, a photograph is writing with light, where as for Japanese, a photograph is a copying of truth). And let me end today's adventures in pedantry here.
Monday, March 9, 2020
免疫不全
men'eki huzen
Immuno-compromised
One aspect of the terrible fact that King County is now leading the US in COVID-19 cases is that my husband and I are sharing many more news reports. I hadn't realized that there was a simple Japanese term for immuno-compromised, but as written, it makes perfect sense. 免疫 men'eki is immunity or your immune system and 不全 huzen means imperfect or incomplete.
One aspect of the terrible fact that King County is now leading the US in COVID-19 cases is that my husband and I are sharing many more news reports. I hadn't realized that there was a simple Japanese term for immuno-compromised, but as written, it makes perfect sense. 免疫 men'eki is immunity or your immune system and 不全 huzen means imperfect or incomplete.
Sunday, March 8, 2020
パートナー
paatonaa
partner
As is the case in English, this term’s meaning can vary in context. I’ve only rarely encountered it in business contexts, but it’s not unheard of to talk about a client or a company that you work together with as a パートナー. I also sometimes encountered it in musical contexts, when I was performing in choruses in Japan, to refer to accompanists. But the most common use of パートナー within the circles I run in is within the romantic partner context. I know that in English, my fellow rainbow dwellers began to use partner, or sometimes life partner, in the 1980s to start reminding society at large of the permanence and significance of our relationships, and although the frequency of its use diminished as, here in the United States, domestic partnership and marriage became legal and recognized, it is still commonly used in Japan (in part because marriage rights have not yet been won). But there are a variety of ways to refer to one’s romantic partner in Japanese, in relationships that exist outside of marriage. 相棒 aibou is somewhat casual, but also intimate, depending on context, and can refer to a buddy, a compatriot, or a romantic partner. 愛人 aizin and 恋人 koibito refer to lovers and paramours, and can be used both to refer to the person you are committed to, but also to someone you are involved with outside your committed relationship. I tend to use 旦那 danna (husband) to refer to my husband, but because Japanese does not have marriage equality yet, it can ring odd. People expect that because I use that word, that there must be a wife for my husband, so I admit the challenge. Personally, I don’t like パートナー, because it has a cold feel to me. To judge by the way it is used by my coevals in Japan, however, that feeling is unwarranted.
As is the case in English, this term’s meaning can vary in context. I’ve only rarely encountered it in business contexts, but it’s not unheard of to talk about a client or a company that you work together with as a パートナー. I also sometimes encountered it in musical contexts, when I was performing in choruses in Japan, to refer to accompanists. But the most common use of パートナー within the circles I run in is within the romantic partner context. I know that in English, my fellow rainbow dwellers began to use partner, or sometimes life partner, in the 1980s to start reminding society at large of the permanence and significance of our relationships, and although the frequency of its use diminished as, here in the United States, domestic partnership and marriage became legal and recognized, it is still commonly used in Japan (in part because marriage rights have not yet been won). But there are a variety of ways to refer to one’s romantic partner in Japanese, in relationships that exist outside of marriage. 相棒 aibou is somewhat casual, but also intimate, depending on context, and can refer to a buddy, a compatriot, or a romantic partner. 愛人 aizin and 恋人 koibito refer to lovers and paramours, and can be used both to refer to the person you are committed to, but also to someone you are involved with outside your committed relationship. I tend to use 旦那 danna (husband) to refer to my husband, but because Japanese does not have marriage equality yet, it can ring odd. People expect that because I use that word, that there must be a wife for my husband, so I admit the challenge. Personally, I don’t like パートナー, because it has a cold feel to me. To judge by the way it is used by my coevals in Japan, however, that feeling is unwarranted.
Thursday, March 5, 2020
兎角亀毛
tokaku kimou
A Budhhist expression for things that do not exist. Literally: horns on a hare, hair on a tortoise
I really love the imagery here. This will remain one of my favorite four-character aphorisms, although admittedly I have a lot of them.
I really love the imagery here. This will remain one of my favorite four-character aphorisms, although admittedly I have a lot of them.
Wednesday, March 4, 2020
月経
gekkei
menstruation
I wasn’t quite expecting this word to show up in an article on COVID-19, but in addition to panic buying of toilet paper (which I believe the Japanese have been doing since the OPEC oil scares of the early 1970s), there is panic buying of women’s hygiene products, including sanitary napkins and tampons. Admittedly, menstruation is not a common topic in a household of two gay men, though I had been aware of the term, 生理 seiri, for menstruation. I also admitted to some confusion as to why the 経, sometimes written 經 in older texts, was used. Because interpreted literally, 月経 means monthly sutra. Taken together with the fact that one term for menopause is 閉経 heikei, which can literally mean the closing of the sutra, there seems to be a poetic connection between the sutras and the female external reproductive anatomy, perhaps in that both are to be thoughtfully contemplated (if one is so inclined and I am admittedly not).
I wasn’t quite expecting this word to show up in an article on COVID-19, but in addition to panic buying of toilet paper (which I believe the Japanese have been doing since the OPEC oil scares of the early 1970s), there is panic buying of women’s hygiene products, including sanitary napkins and tampons. Admittedly, menstruation is not a common topic in a household of two gay men, though I had been aware of the term, 生理 seiri, for menstruation. I also admitted to some confusion as to why the 経, sometimes written 經 in older texts, was used. Because interpreted literally, 月経 means monthly sutra. Taken together with the fact that one term for menopause is 閉経 heikei, which can literally mean the closing of the sutra, there seems to be a poetic connection between the sutras and the female external reproductive anatomy, perhaps in that both are to be thoughtfully contemplated (if one is so inclined and I am admittedly not).
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