Month: December 2024

The next to last day of an old year

Kanbun Era, year two, 1662
Matsuo Chūemon Munefusa, as he was then known, not Basho
The a page to the samurai Tōdō Yoshitada, age 18,
in Ueno, in the city of Iga, Mie prefecture

春や来し年や行きけん小晦日
haru ya koshi toshi ya yukiken kotsugomori
.
Spring, is it here?
The next to last day,
of a new year?
— Matsuo Basho, December, 1662

In the lunar calendar, kotsugomori (ん小晦日) is December 29. The Day before New Year’s Eve (December 31st). The penultimate day of the year? How confusing. Winter’s not over, Spring is no where near. Moving ahead, New Year’s Eve, omisoka (大晦日).

A good one for December

Brrr, baby it’s cold outside. This is a good one. A good one for December, or for any month when the temperatures are freezing, the sky is gray, and the wind brisk.

The oil is freezing
The lamplight thinning,
is this my awakening, I wonder
油こほりともし火細き寝覚哉
Abura kōri / tomoshi-bi hosoki / nezame kana
— Matsuo Basho, year unknown

In French?

L’huile gèle
La lumière de la lampe s’éteint,
C’est mon réveil ?
— Matsuo Basho, Francaise, peut-etre

Basho’s Awakening

At what age do we become serious?

Thirty-six is not a bad answer. One has a job, settled down, a few years under the belt, one is figuring things out, wondering, what is the next big step.

Matsuo Basho began his study of Buddhism while in his twenties. In his thirties, he moved to Edo. He enjoyed the Nihonbashi’s night life. He had a gathering of students and disciples. But he began to think there might be more. So, late in December of 1680, at the age of thirty-six, he left the comfort of Edo for the then remote Fukagawa District, across the Sumida River. There he found a small cottage and weathered the winter and awakened as a poet.

He did in time find a new name. Tossing aside Tosei, the unripe peach, for Basho, meaning banana plant. The story is a banana tree was given to him as a gift. It flourished well in the new environment, providing a little shade from the hot sun, but otherwise mostly useless.

I am no expert on the subject but I guess Basho’s oil came from fish or a type of vegetable oil lik canola which comes from rapeseed. Both of these oils would produce a somewhat smoky lamplight. Basho’s awakening would therefore be a little cloudy.

Original Japanese and English Translation

the oil is freezing油こほAbura kōri
the lamplight thinningりともし火細きtomoshi-bi hosoki
is this my awakening?寝覚哉nezame kana

Nezame 寝覚, there is an 11th century Japanese tale called Yoru no nezame, Awakening at Night, but this appears unrelated. There is also the Nezame no toko Gorge (寝覚の床), meaning bed of awakening, on the Nakasendo which Basho must have passed many times.

Four Seasons

Four Seasons, Basho’s Thoughts

There is a progression in thought as one proceeds through the seasons. Spring,a little hazy, and unclear. The summer sun, indeed it’s hot, one seeks the cool water of the ocean. Autumn, it’s still unclear, one is lost as if a bird in the cloud. Winter, the moonlight fades, but still the insects sing, until the moon (the month) itself is gone.

spring has come
a nameless mountain
a fine mist
.
the summer sun
cooling in the western sea
— Mogami River
.
this autumn as
I grow older
(lost) as a bird in a cloud
.
a winter garden
the moon above a slender thread
as insects sing
.
Matsuo Basho, haiku, the four seasons
From 1685 to 1694, when Basho died

Notes on Translation

Spring has come (indeed), a nameless mountain, a fine mist
春なれや名もなき山の薄霞
haru nare ya / na mo naki yama no / usu-gasumi
— Spring 1685,

note. on the way to Nara, a place associated with Saiygo

the hot sun, sinking (flowing) into the sea, the Mogamai River
暑き日を海にいれたり最上川
atsuki hi o / umi ni iretari / Mogamigawa
— Summer, 1689, Oku no Hosomichi

note. Basho had gone by boat down the Mogami River to the western port of Sakata

this fall as I grow older, (I feel like) a bird (lost) in a cloud
この秋は何で年寄る雲に鳥
kono aki ha/ nande toshiyoru/ kumo ni tori
— September, 1694, as he lay dying

note. leaving Edo for the last time in the summer of 1694, Basho went home to Ueno, then to Kyoto, then to Osaka.

a winter garden, as the moon becomes a thread, insects sing
冬庭や月もいとなる虫の吟
fuyu niwa ya / tsuki mo ito naru / mushi no gin
— Early winter, Genroku, the second year (1689).
Late autumn in Iga Ueno (his home town) after finishing the Oku no Hosomichi.

Lost Thoughts

Have you ever had a great thought and let is slip away?

Thoughts drip one by one
Like fresh coffee
Percolating
.
Write it Down
Or its Gone
— Haiku
.
Words on a paper
In my pocket
Gently laundered
— Bashō no yōna, December 2024

Lost and Found

I lost the book long ago, but kept the memory.

Long ago, one summer, between college semesters, while traveling in Europe, I came across a book on a train somebody left. It was a well worn paperback copy of Arthur Koestler’s, The Act of Creation. In a nutshell, the idea was that the creative process consists the interplay of the seemingly unrelated ideas. A left and a right brain sword play. The strike of steel on flint to create a spark of inspiration.

The idea of idea forming held true whether the task was artistic, scientific, or comic. It’s not new unless you look at something from a different point of view. Take an apple, smell it, cut it, cook it or bake it. Let it ferment, you’ve got cider.

The process can occur while brewing a cup of coffee in the morning, or walking the dogs in the park in the afternoon, or lying in bed, trying to sleep, dreaming.

It is a dance between imagination and logic. Let emotion lead and logic follow. One must be willing to play the child and be different.

Loneliness by Saiygo

As Matsuo Basho found inspiration in the writings of the Buddhist monk Saiygo, who wrote, “one must master loneliness.”

“If not for loneliness,
in this mountain village,
where no one comes to visit,
it would be hard to live here.”

とふ人も
tou hito mo
思ひ絶えたる
omotaetaru
山里の
yamazato no
さびしさなくば
sabishisa nakuba
住み憂からまし
sumiukaramashi

Matsuo Basho’s take on winter’s lonliness:

Winter will wither,
The world to one color,
One hears the sound of wind.

When winter has withered (the leaves)
And the world is one color,
One hears the sound of wind.

冬枯れ や .  世は一色に . 風の音
Fuyu gare ya . yo wa hito iro isshoku ni . kaze no oto

Playing with language.

Crudo invierno
(El invierno se marchitará)
El mundo de un solo color
Y el sonido del viento
.
l’hiver a fané (les feuilles)
et que le monde est d’une seule couleur,
on entend le bruit du vent.
.
Wenn der Winter verwelkt hat,
und die Welt ist nur einzige Farbe,
hört man das Geräusch des Windes.
— Spanish, French, and German

Winter comes, but so does Spring. And Spring brings the desire to travel.

“The days and months are eternal travelers. So too are the passing years. Those who steer a boat across the sea, or drive a horse over the earth must endure the weight of years, spend every minute of their lives on the road. A great number of ancients died on the road. I myself have been tempted for a long time by the cloud-moving wind — filled with a strong desire to wander. And wander I must. Alone…”

Matsuo Basho, Introduction to Oku no Hosomichi (paraphrased)

l’hiver a fané (les feuilles)
et que le monde est d’une seule couleur,
on entend le bruit du vent.