A Fiasco

French Revolution

There have been three successful French Revolutions (1789, 1830, and 1848) and quite a few unsuccessful ones.

A Fiasco!
from the get go to the end
— French Revolution

Bashō no yōna, November 2023

While taking a class on Modern French History at his local university, Basho no yona, the author of this blog about Matsuo Basho, and everything Basho, and some things added, got to thinking about making haiku.

Haiku-ing, a verb, turning a tiny moment in time from a prose statement into three lines of verse, creating a haiku.

Try it,
making two things something quite new,
haikui-ing for fun

Bashō no yōna, November 2023

Deep in Bamboo

From Nozarashi kikô
Jokyo, year 1, Autumn, 1684,
Matsuo Basho, age 41

Beating a cotton bow
comforting like a lute,
deep in the bamboo.

綿弓や琵琶になぐさむ竹の奥
watayumi ya biwa ni nagusamu take no oku

Matsuo Basho, Nozarashi kikô, Autumn 1684

Deep in a Bamboo Grove

By the late fall of 1684, Tokugawa Yoshimune (徳川 吉宗), the great grandson of Tokugawa Ieyasu (徳川家康), the founder of the Tokugawa shogunate , would become the eighth shōgun. Matsuo Basho lived in Edo, the capital of the shogunate, but by now he had removed himself from the city, across the river, to a little cottage in the quiet Fukagawa District.

Basho has finally taken on the nom de plume, Basho, (formerly Tosei, the unripe peach); he is a little gray around the temples, in the prime of his life, at the top of his career, embarking on the first of his travels — Nozarashi kikô, 野ざらし紀行 (Travelogue of Weather-Beaten Bones).

Basho writes:

“Entering Yamato province, at a place called ‘Amid the Bamboo Groves’ (Take no uchi) at a city called Katsuragi … Because this was my companion Chiri’s birthplace, we rested several days in a house deep within a bamboo grove.”

The 12th century poet/monk Saigyo spent three years in Yamato province. Basho visited his memorial on this trip. Basho made this trip the year after his mother’s death, and a stop included his hometown.

[The above English translation quote comes from the website of Dr. Gabi Greve, Daruma Museum, Japan. Another site in Japanese, Yamanashi, contains a discussion of the travelogue, but does not mention Chiri. In the prior entry, Basho writes of returning to Iga Ueno (his hometown) for the first time in nine years. For the peaceful bamboo grove, Basho likely had in mind the poem of the Tang dynasty poet Wang Wei.]

Basho, a Recluse

The life of a recluse often played on the mind of Matsuo Basho. The 12th century monk/poet Saigyo likely inspired Basho to leave Edo with its flashy art district, Nihonbashi, and move south, across the Sumida River, to the distant and remote Fukagawa District. There he lived alone, or sometimes taking in guests, composing, becoming Matsuo Basho. Basho because of the banana tree growing beside his cottage, weathering the storm, good for nothing but providing shade from the sun.

The symbol of bamboo is a pervasive one in Japanese, as well as Chinese, literature. Common and ordinary, bamboo could represent the people bowing to the will of the emperor. More often, bamboo represented the anonymity of being lost in a crowd. Thus, we have the story of the Seven Sages of the Bamboo Grove. Chinese scholars, poets, and musicians of the Three Kingdom Period who retreated to a bamboo grove to be far from the watchful eye of the imperial court.

Poets of the Tang dynasty, like Wang Wei, would play upon this theme of retreat, of solace, of peace. Basho would often tell his disciples, “Learn about pines from the pine, and about bamboo from the bamboo.” This means the poet must immerse himself, of herself, in Nature to understand its mysteries, its beauty.

Notes on Translation

The retreat belonged to Kiemon Aburaya, a village headman in Katsuragi (Nara prefecture), near Mt. Yamato. The poet Saigyo is associated with this area. The haiku is likely a poem of greeting to Keimon, Basho’s host.

watayumi (the process of beating raw cotton into cotton using a bow made of bamboo) ya (exclamation) biwa (biwa, the Chinese lute) ni (in) nagusamu (comforting one’s worries) take (bamboo) no oku (deep within, the original meaning of this character 奥 referred to somewhere far removed and out of sight.)

The Chestnut

Autumn 1691, 4th year of Genroku
Basho, age 47

It is late November and the Maple leaves have turned red and gold, while the Chestnut leaves, once mostly green, begin to turn yellow and brown. The cold wind knocks the leaves and chestnuts to the ground.

This haiku has little meaning unless you imagine fuke as a nod to a fortuitous event, the wind; and domo, a shorter way of saying ‘arigato,’ a polite way of saying, ‘thank you’ to the wind for the chestnuts blown down from the tree.

The autumn wind
shakes down
bright green chestnuts

秋風の吹けども青し栗の毬
aki kaze no fuke domo aoshi kuri no iga

Matsuo Basho, Autumn 1691

aki kaze (autumn wind, breeze) no (particle showing connection) fuke domo (blowing, falling down) aoshi (deep green color) kuri no iga (Chestnuts)

Like in England, in Japan, chestnuts are a favored fall food. Strangely, here in the US, not so much, despite that great song by Mel Torme, The Christmas Song, about chestnuts roasting on an open fire. While in Europe and Japan, the winter season finds street vendors roasting chestnuts in hand-cranked drums, then shoveling them into paper holders for kids from one to ninety-two.

Staying Grounded

It feels good to walk in your backyard in one’s bare feet. It is one way of staying grounded. I have a Chestnut tree in my backyard and the sharp spiny chestnuts remind me this life, this day, this moment, I am not dreaming.

aki kaze no fuke domo aoshi kuri no iga, 秋風の吹けども青し栗の毬

Reflecting

Reflecting,
Being and becoming Matsuo Basho,
Haiku

Bashō no yōna, November, 2023

Reflections on Matsuo Basho

Bashō no yōna, the author of this blog on the life and haiku of Matsuo Basho, finds himself reflecting. Reflecting on how a young Japanese boy, the son of a samurai, turned farmer, then became servant to his samurai lord, then student of poetry, disciple, then teacher, and finally master. It is, indeed, a process, becoming Matsuo Basho.

Haiku is a peculiarly Japanese art form that consists of three lines, with five syllables in the first line, seven in the second, and five in the third. Seventeen syllables in all, usually containing a seasonal word (kigo) that serve as a memory allusion. Similar and different from Proust’s Madeline and tea. The seasonal idea is both physical and temporal. We are in the spring, summer, fall or winter of our lives. We are also cold or warm. It may be a bright summer day, or a cold windy day in November, like it is here.

Most importantly, in a well formed haiku, one finds a cutting word, kiru, the juxtaposition of two ideas, that when combined, create a unique sensory experience.

This is demonstrated in Basho’s best known haiku, which combines a leaping frog and and old pond, creating the sound of water.

古池や 
蛙飛び込む 
水の音

Furu ike ya
kawazu tobikomu
mizu no oto

A leaping frog,
In an old pond,
Says, Kerplunk!

Bashō no yōna

[Note. Here, Basho follows the rules of haiku with the five, seven, five pattern. The seasonal word is the summer frog, and the cutting word ‘ya’ gives us an exclamation which I, in my translation, moved to the end. There is also an anthropomorphic process at work, an act of creation, in that Basho makes the water speak, mizu no oto, the sound of water.]

Why Haiku?

Mostly because it is fun. A child can enjoy it, and an adult can once again become a child.

The fun in reading Basho’s haiku is that it causes us to look at our surroundings in a different way. The fun in translating his haiku is that one observes that no two translators look at Basho’s creations in the same exact manner. This shouldn’t surprise us. Basho’s haiku is undoubtedly his work, but it is our unique experience.

Reading and writing,
Transforming, creating, ah!
— the fun of haiku

Bashō no yōna, on the Great Plains of America, Fall, 2023

Enjoy!

Pawnee Prairie Park in Kansas