Matsuo Basho was not so much of a philosopher as he was a poet, an observer of life. Still, one cannot be an observer of the grand and small things of life and not slip into philosophical musings.

Take the Dao de Ching (by Laozi), for example, or the Analects of Confucius. Both Chinese in origin, but also deeply human. Basho never speaks directly of either, but it is clear he was familiar with both. From Laozi, the author of the Dao, Basho adopts a curious insight into his surroundings.

Let us look, for example, at the Introduction to his most famous book, Oku no Hosomichi, the journey into Japan’s northern interior, a five-month trip Basho took along with his neighbor Sora, as a companion.

From the Introduction:

“月日は百代の過客にして、行かふ年も又旅人也。舟の上に生涯をうかべ馬の口とらえて老をむかふる物は、日々旅にして、旅を栖とす。古人も多く旅に死せるあり。

“The months and days are eternal travelers. The years that come and go are too. Those who pass their lives afloat on boats, or face old age leading horses tightly by the bridle, their journey is their life, their journey is their home. And many are the old men who meet their end upon the road.

And I myself, moved by the wind driven clouds, am filled with a strong desire to wander.“

— Matsuo Basho, Introduction to Oku no Hosomichi, 1689

Wander, he and Sora did, on foot, by boat, on horse, through rain and shine, through fields and over mountains, to the ineffable beauty of islands of Matsushima, down the Mogami to where the sun made the ocean bright orange, a never ending journey that ended in Ogaki, near where Basho had spent his student days.

Can we say that Basho was also Confucian? Not much, I would say. Not one for rituals. Not one for learning facts. Not acquainted with the bow and arrow, or the chariot. Somewhat familiar with history, and the ancient poems (Du Fu was a favorite). No, Basho was more of an anti-Confucian. A free spirit who adapted the rules to fit his needs. A teacher, that is for certain, but not willing to instruct the ruler as Confucius sought to do. Basho’s focus was on the common man, on his relationship with the world.

In the pantheon of today’s poets where do we place Matsuo Basho. More of a Robert Frost, a Mary Oliver, less of a Ginsberg, the Beat poets (Basho did not have a beef with life) with their cutting social commentary; if a comic, then like Ray Romano, or Jerry Seinfeld. Let’s not get political. There is too much else to talk about.

A literary wanderer

All of this thinking leads me forever forward, like the words in Basho’s Introduction. Forward to modern poets with whom I am not familiar with.

To a website of Colorado State University (which my son attended, though that is not here nor there) and its English Department, and a list of modern poets, who have something to say.

To Cathy Park Hong, a Californian, a child of Korean parents, (does that matter, are we not all the same, you and I, no matter where we were born?) An excerpt (is it not Basho like?)

[Query: When one says “not Basho, or not Basho like, does one mean not like Basho, or exactly like Basho? Oh, to discern the meaning of words. Are we not like the cucumber beetle (see the image) that kills my plants, crawling towards the center, and killing what we seek?]

“all I wanted was snow
to snuff the sun blades to shadow spokes,
muffle the drum of freeways,
.
but this smart snow
erases nothing,
seeps everywhere,
.
the search engine
is inside us,
the world … our display…”

— from Engines Within the Throne

Excerpt from Engines Within the Throne by Cathy Park Hong, modified to make it haiku like. My apologies to Cathy.

One does not adhere to rigid form and meter? But is that not the message of Laozi and the Dao. Study and learn, Confucius would add.

Basho blazed new trails and so should we, if we study and learn, forever becoming.