Kobun Vocabulary: Advanced (classical Japanese)

The core sense of おぼゆ (oboyu) is 'to be felt or recalled spontaneously, without an act of will'. Being pulled along by the modern word 覚える (oboeru, to memorise) and translating it as 'to memorise' is the classic way to lose the mark. It can also mean 'to resemble', but here the writer is thinking of his mother, so the spontaneous reading fits. Remembering that the word contains the spontaneous element ゆ (yu) keeps this fixed.

In classical Japanese ながむ (nagamu) centres on 'to sink into thought and stare blankly', and translating it with the modern 眺める (nagameru, to gaze) loses marks. A subdued setting such as spring rain or idleness settles it as brooding. The homophone 詠む (nagamu, to chant a poem aloud) is also tested, but there is no poem here. It is also very common as a pun pairing 眺め (nagame, gazing) with 長雨 (nagame, long rain).

はづかし (hazukashi) is peculiar to classical Japanese in that it praises the other person: they are so splendid that YOU feel small. Translating it as the modern 'embarrassed' is a frequent loss of marks. The context 心にくき人 (kokoronikuki hito), a person of quiet distinction, is the decisive clue. Get into the habit of reading it as 'splendid' whenever it appears in an appraisal of a person.

らうたし (rautashi) expresses the 'cuteness' of something small and weak that makes you want to protect it. It comes from 労はりたし (itawaritashi, wanting to care for), and appears constantly in descriptions of infants and small animals. The trap is らうがはし (raugawashi, noisy), which begins the same way. Examiners also test how it differs from うつくし (utsukushi) and うるはし (uruwashi), so sort the 'cute' adjectives out as a set.

In classical Japanese うつくし (utsukushi) centres on 'lovable, because it is small', and translating it as the modern 'beautiful' is an extremely common way to lose marks. Well-ordered beauty is handled by うるはし (uruwashi). A baby sparrow or an infant, that is, something small, is the decisive clue. Fixing it with the 'utsukushiki mono' section of Makura no Soshi makes it certain.

In classical Japanese おどろく (odoroku) centres on 'to notice with a start, to wake up', and rendering it as the modern 'to be surprised' misses the point. Here the sound of the wind makes the poet notice that autumn has come. おどろかす (odorokasu) means 'to make someone notice, to wake someone'. The attached れ (re) being spontaneous is often asked at the same time.

The most frequent sense of classical かなし (kanashi) is written 愛し and means 'dear, so lovable one cannot bear it'. The sense 悲し (sad) also exists, but the phrase 思ひし子 (omohishi ko), the child he doted on, describes affection while the child was alive, so 'dear' is right. Making the reader decide between affection and grief from context is the standard exam design. Remember it as a word with the two faces 愛し and 悲し.

つれづれなり (tsurezure nari) means 'having nothing to do, bored, at a loose end'. It is famous from the opening of Tsurezuregusa, but when the exact sense is asked, candidates often pick a 'continuous' answer. Misreading the character 連 (tsure, to accompany) as 'in company' is the classic trap. Be able to paraphrase it in one word as idleness or boredom.

念ず (nenzu) has two senses, 'to pray' and 'to endure, to hold back'; with tears as the object, 'to hold back one's tears' is certain. The trick is to judge by the object: a deity means 'pray', an emotion means 'endure'. Assuming only 'pray' because of the modern 念じる (nenjiru) loses the mark. It is a standard two-sense discrimination item.

はかなし (hakanashi) is 果か (haka, aim or result) plus 無し (nashi, none), giving 'unreliable, empty, slight'. In a passage on impermanence, 'unreliable and empty' is the settled translation. はかなくなる (hakanaku naru) as a euphemism for 'to die' is also frequent, so watch for it in translation questions. Knowing it shares the element はか (haka) with はかどる (hakadoru, to make progress) makes it easy to remember.

Classical やがて (yagate) means 'at once, just as it is', the exact opposite in time-feel to the modern やがて (before long). Here the face is imagined the very moment the name is heard. Misreading a time lag into it causes chain failures in the content-matching questions too. You may memorise it mechanically as: classical yagate equals immediately.

The root sense of ゆかし (yukashi) is 'the heart wants to go that way', so it is translated as 'wanting to see, hear or know' according to context. Confusing it with the modern ゆかしい (refined, graceful) or with 'nostalgic' is the classic mistake. Here the curiosity is about the inner sanctuary he did not see, so 'wanting to see'. The situation mirrors the priest of Ninnaji in Tsurezuregusa, and the choice of English wording is itself examined.

をかし (okashi) centres on an alert, bright appreciation of a thing: 'charming, tasteful'. Translating it as 'comical' or 'strange' from the modern おかしい (okashii) loses marks. The comic sense does exist, but with the moon and mist being praised, 'charming' is the only choice. It is standard to test it against the more subdued あはれなり (aware nari).

つとめて (tsutomete) is a noun meaning 'early morning', or 'the next morning' after some event. Answering 'with effort' by association with the verb 努む (tsutomu) is the classic trap. Fixing it with 'winter is best in the tsutomete' from Makura no Soshi lets you answer instantly. When the previous night has been described, 'the next morning' is more precise, and that distinction is also tested.

Classical ののしる (nonoshiru) centres on 'to make a loud noise, to be talked about', and translating it as the modern 'to abuse verbally' loses the mark. With a crowd gathering, 'to make a din' settles it. 世にののしる (yo ni nonoshiru) means 'to be famous throughout the world'. It is the flagship example of a verb whose meaning has shifted, and appears very early in vocabulary books.

Besides 'to be negligent', おこたる (okotaru) means 'for an illness to improve, to take a turn for the better', and in a passage about illness the latter is certain. Thinking only of the modern 怠る (okotaru) leaves the sentence making no sense. Picture it as 'the illness slackens its grip' and it is easy to keep. Organise it together with other illness vocabulary such as いたつく (itatsuku) and れいならず (rei narazu).

あはれなり (aware nari) centres on quiet, heartfelt emotion: 'deeply moving'. Deciding it means 'pitiable' because of the modern 哀れ (aware) is the classic mistake; it is a many-sided word that can also mean 'dear' or 'sad' depending on context. Here the feeling is aroused by dusk and geese, so 'deeply moving in a quiet way'. Always hold it against the brighter をかし (okashi).

あさまし (asamashi) centres on 'to be astonished at something unexpected', whether good or bad. Translating it as the modern あさましい (asamashii, base, mean) is the most frequent way to lose the mark. Knowing it derives from the verb あさむ (asamu, to be astonished) keeps the true sense. That it is used for pleasant surprises too is the decisive difference from modern usage, and a standard context-judgement item.

ありがたし (arigatashi) is 有り (ari, to exist) plus 難し (gatashi, hard), that is 'hard to exist, hence rare, unusual'. Translating it with the modern sense of gratitude loses marks on a very frequent word. It can extend to 'so rare as to be admirable'. The set way to fix it is 'arigataki mono' in Makura no Soshi, meaning 'things that are rare'.

The root of ゆゆし (yuyushi) is 忌々し (yuyushi), touching what is sacred or ill-omened, so it swings between 'ill-omened', 'extreme' and 'splendid in degree'. Modifying 大事 (daiji, a grave matter) here, it expresses extremity of degree. Because it is used both favourably and unfavourably, judging by context is exactly what examiners aim at. Picture it as 'so intense it must not be touched' and it sorts itself out.

わりなし (warinashi) is 理 (kotowari, reason) plus 無し (nashi, none): 'contrary to reason, hence hopeless, excessive'. Answering 'not worth the trouble' because of the character 割 (wari, ratio) is the classic trap. The context expresses extremity of degree, so lost in thought that she cannot even answer. Breaking it down as ことわりなし (kotowari nashi) is the shortest route to remembering it.

さうざうし (sauzaushi) means 'something that ought to be there is missing, so it feels empty and lonely'. Because it sounds like the modern 騒々しい (sozoshii, noisy), translating it as 'noisy' is the commonest failure, and the meaning is close to the opposite. The sense of loss after the blossom has fallen is the decisive clue. You may chant it as: not noisy, but lonely.

こころもとなし (kokoromotonashi) means 'impatient at the waiting, uneasy'. Being pulled by the modern 心もとない (kokoromotonai, unreliable) makes you pick a subtly wrong answer. In a scene of waiting for a reply, 'impatient' settles it. It is often set together with the near-synonym おぼつかなし (obotsukanashi), so learn the pair.

すさまじ (susamaji) centres on 'disappointing, dreary, an anticlimax'. Translating it as the modern すさまじい (susamajii, tremendous) reverses the evaluation and loses the mark, which is why it separates candidates. The house of a man whose hopes were dashed is the decisive context. Learning it whole as 'susamajiki mono' in Makura no Soshi, meaning 'things that are a let-down', is the safe route.

The root of めざまし (mezamashi) is 'so unexpected it wakes you', and the exam favourite is the reproachful sense: displeasure at presumptuous conduct from someone of low rank. Translating it with the positive modern sense of 目覚ましい (mezamashii, remarkable) loses the mark. The famous instance is the opening of Genji Monogatari, where the Kiritsubo Consort is disparaged as a mezamashiki mono. The direction of the gaze, from a superior down to an inferior, is the key.

いとほし (itohoshi) centres on 'pitiable, poor thing', and from there also develops the sense 'lovable'. Answering 'dear' straight away from the image of the modern 愛おしい (itoshii) is wrong in a scene of starving children. The iron rule is to put 'pitiable' first whenever the context is hardship or a weaker party. Learn it beside the near-synonym いたはし (itawashi).

As a rule, る and らる (ru, raru) attached to verbs of feeling or perception such as 思ふ (omou, to think), 偲ぶ (shinobu, to long for) and 泣く (naku, to weep) are spontaneous, meaning something happens of itself. 思ひ出でらる (omohi-ide-raru) is 'it comes back to me of its own accord'. Learn the tests as a set: the passive usually has an agent marked by に (ni), the potential usually carries a negative below it, and the respectful use has a noble as its subject. Of the four readings, overlooking the spontaneous one costs the most marks.

The subject is the Emperor, a noble, and the action 召す (mesu, to summon) is a noble's act, so this る (ru) shows respect: 'he deigns to summon'. Work through る and らる in this order: (1) noble subject, respect; (2) attached to a word of feeling, spontaneous; (3) an agent marked by に present, passive; (4) accompanied by a negative, potential. The different attachment of the perfective auxiliary り (ri), to the irrealis of sa-row irregular verbs and the realis of quadrigrade verbs, is targeted alongside.

The agent is stated explicitly with に (ni) in 盗人に (nusubito ni, by a thief), so it is passive, 'the robe is taken from him', and that is certain. When sorting the four readings of る and らる, the fastest procedure is to look first for an agent marked by に. Some misread the thief as the subject and choose respect, but respect is never used for a non-noble. Get into the habit of finding your grounds inside the sentence.

It attaches to a noun or particle and the sentence closes with the attributive form ける (keru), so it is the binding particle なむ (namu), giving emphasis. Sort なむ in four branches: (1) attached to an irrealis form, final particle expressing a wish; (2) attached to a continuative form, perfective ぬ plus conjectural む; (3) otherwise, with an attributive ending, binding particle; (4) 死なむ (shinamu) or 往なむ (inamu), na-row irregular irrealis plus む. Neglect the attachment test and the mark is gone.

行か (ika) is the irrealis of a quadrigrade verb, so this is the final particle なむ (namu) that attaches to the irrealis and expresses a wish, 'I want you to go'. In the first half, やみなむ (yaminamu) attaches to a continuative form and is therefore perfective ぬ (nu) plus conjectural む (mu), 'it will have stopped'. Setting the two side by side in one sentence is the peak exam pattern. Since the attachment alone, irrealis or continuative, decides it mechanically, everything rests on your ability to identify inflected forms.

As a rule, に (ni) in the shapes にあり (ni ari) or にはあらず (ni wa arazu) is the continuative of the assertive なり (nari), giving 'he is not a person of the capital'. The marker is that あり (ari), 侍り (haberi) or 候ふ (soro) follows, possibly with a binding particle such as は (wa) or も (mo) in between. For the continuative of perfective ぬ (nu), what precedes is a continuative form and what follows is き (ki), けり (keri) or たり (tari). Identifying に is the single most important grammar theme, and dropping this にはあらず type opens a wide gap.

The preceding 散り (chiri) is a continuative form and the past auxiliary けり (keri) follows, giving the shape にけり (nikeri), so it is the continuative of the perfective ぬ (nu) and certain: 'the blossom has all fallen'. The quickest way is to learn the patterns にき (niki), にけり (nikeri) and にたり (nitari) as perfective. The decisive difference is that the assertive attaches to a noun or an attributive form. Since dropping the 'has done' nuance in translation costs marks, keep the two together in mind.

As a rule けり (keri) inside a waka is exclamatory, 'how it is', expressing the emotion of noticing for the first time that the capital is the brocade of spring. けり in the narrative voice is basically hearsay past, 'it is said that', and that division of labour is frequently tested. This use is called the keri of realisation, and the iron rule is to suspect exclamation first in poems and speech. Answering 'past' spreads the loss into the poem-interpretation questions.

飛ぶべからず (tobubekarazu) means 'cannot fly', and べし (beshi) accompanied by a negative very often carries the potential sense. べし has six readings, conjecture, volition, potential, necessity, command and appropriateness, decided by the person of the subject and by context. Because the logic runs 'no wings, therefore cannot fly', it is easy to waver towards necessity, but the standard move is to consider the potential first when a negative is involved.

As a rule む (mu) with the speaker as subject, the first person, is volitional, 'let me do it', and the opening call いざ (iza, come now) supports volition. Sort む by person: first person volition, second person invitation or appropriateness, third person conjecture. The sentence imitates the famous passage about the acolyte in Uji Shui Monogatari. If you waver between volition and invitation, decide by asking whether the speaker will do it or is getting the other party to do it.

The iron rule of bound endings is that the binding particle こそ (koso) is answered by a realis form, and the realis of the lower bigrade verb 出づ (izu) is 出づれ (izure). Because ぞ (zo), なむ (namu), や (ya) and か (ka) bind to the attributive, choosing 出づる (izuru) is the commonest error. Learning the exception first, 'only koso takes the realis', is the safe route. Questions on the bound form also appear in written answers, so an accurate conjugation table is the foundation.

や (ya) and か (ka) are binding particles of question and rhetorical question, and they make the ending attributive. Here it is a genuine question, 'which mountain is nearest to heaven', and the final 近き (chikaki) is the attributive of a ku-class adjective. Whether it is rhetorical depends on context, but the option saying 'conclusive' is wrong, so the item can be settled. Asking for the meaning of the binding particle and the inflected form of the ending together is the standard exam shape.

知ら (shira) is an irrealis form, so this is the attributive ぬ (nu) of the negative ず (zu), which attaches to the irrealis: 'there is nobody who does not know him'. Attached to a continuative form it would be the conclusive of the perfective ぬ. Check ぬ twice over: by attachment, irrealis or continuative, and by whether a noun or particle follows or the sentence ends. The perfective has no attributive ぬ, since its attributive is ぬる (nuru), so conjugation-table knowledge alone can also settle this classic separator.

The し in 見し人 (mishi hito) attaches to the continuative 見 (mi) and is followed by the noun 人 (hito), so it is the attributive of the past auxiliary き (ki): 'the person I saw long ago'. Sort し in this order: (1) followed by a noun and attached to a continuative form, past き; (2) removable without changing the sense, adverbial particle; (3) forming an action with を (wo), sa-row irregular. The irregular conjugation of past き itself, attributive し and realis しか (shika), is also frequent, so recite it until it is automatic.

Quadrigrade 給ふ (tamau) is a respectful supplementary verb meaning 'deigns to' or 'is pleased to'. It shows deference to the agent of the action, here the lord. The same 給ふ in the lower bigrade conjugation is humble, 'to take the liberty of', and turns up inside speech in forms such as 思ひ給ふる (omoi tamauru). The iron rule is to tell quadrigrade from lower bigrade by the inflectional ending, and this distinction is both the doorway to keigo questions and a frequent one.

奉る (tatematsuru) is humble and means 'to present, to offer up', showing deference to the receiver of the action, the Chugu. Learn it first as the humble counterpart of 与ふ (atau, to give). However, 奉る also has respectful uses meaning 'to be pleased to wear, to be pleased to ride', and in contexts of wearing, riding or eating it becomes respectful, which is an advanced trap. Here a letter is being presented, so humble is certain.

Used like a supplementary verb to speak politely to the listener or reader, 侍り (haberi) is polite language, corresponding to a courteous 'it was'. 侍り also has a humble main-verb use meaning 'to be in attendance', and in a context such as 宮に侍り (miya ni haberi) it is humble. Telling main verb from supplementary verb is the standard question here. Noting that polite language consists of only two words, 侍り (haberi) and 候ふ (soro), speeds the sorting up.

The source of the deference is fixed mechanically: the author in narrative, the speaker in dialogue. 給ふ (tamau) is respectful, so its target is the agent of the action, the Chujo. Hence 'from the author to the Chujo'. Solve it together with the rule of direction: respectful language points at the agent, humble language at the object, polite language at the listener or reader. Confusing the source with the target is the commonest way to lose the mark.

Inside dialogue the source of keigo is not the author but the speaker, here the lady-in-waiting. 申す (mosu) is humble, so the deference goes to the object of the action, the Emperor. Hence 'from the lady-in-waiting to the Emperor'. Answering 'from the author' by reflex in dialogue is the commonest loss, so make it a habit to check first whether the line is narrative or speech. Confirm at the same time that humble language points at the person receiving the action.

奉り給ふ (tatematsuri tamau), stacking humble then respectful, honours both the object, the receiving Himegimi, and the agent, the Chunagon, at the same time: deference in two directions. The order is fixed, humble first and respectful second. Doubled keigo such as せ給ふ (se tamau) is respectful plus respectful and honours only the one agent, so mixing the two up is the biggest trap. This is the theme that separates candidates most in written answers where each word must be taken apart and its target named.