Lake Kahola

lonely dirt road to a distant hill

The past, a day ago

Yesterday, when I was young

Life was so much fun

Leaving Lake Kahola, Chase County Kansas, driving along an old country road, the dogs, too exhausted from their run, lie down in the back of the car, and sleep, hardly a peep can be heard, dreaming of rabbits. I wonder, do they catch their prey, and if they do, then what?

By Night or Day

Haikus are a different way of seeing things, a microcosm of a larger idea, of an emotion or feeling, a postage stamp or a postcard that takes us on a journey by night or day.

We are not leaving Matsuo Basho for good, we are merely taking a sojourn to a hillside in England where the poet William Wordsworth wandered over the hills of Grasmere with his fellow poet, Samuel Coleridge. I have restructured Wordsworth’s famous poem in set of three lines similar to a haiku renga.

From Odes on Intimations of Immortality:

By night or day,
The things which I have seen
I now can see no more…

Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting;
The Soul that rises with us,
our life’s Star, …

Doth the same tale repeat:
Whither is fled the visionary gleam?
Where is it now, the glory and the dream?

Not in entire forgetfulness,
          And not in utter nakedness,
But trailing clouds of glory do we come …

Shades of the prison-house
begin to close
    Upon the growing Boy,

But he beholds the light,
and whence it flows,
  He sees it in his joy …

William Wordsworth, Odes on Intimations of Immortality from Recollections of Early Childhood, 1804

It was a customary practice of Japanese monks, Samurai, and poets to write a poem at the moment of their death. In late fall of 1694, Basho suffered his final illness. Although he did not use the word “dying,” I have included it as this is considered his death poem. Tabi ni yume wa, literally, on a trip, and falling ill. A dream, an incorporeal body, wandering a withered field is a reference to the Noh plays popular in Edo when Basho arrived there as a young man.

旅に病んで 夢は枯野を かけ廻る
tabi ni yande yume wa kareno wo kakemeguru

Sick and dying on my journey
my dreams ever wandering
on this withered field

Matsuo Basho, Death Haiku, 1694

Friends Parting

Friends

A poet with nothing more than a pen, Matsuo Kinsaku, left Kyoto for Edo in 1672, at age 28.

Clouds separating
Like friends or wild geese
— Parting

雲とへだつ友かや雁の生き別れ

Kumo to hedatsu tomo ka ya kari no iki wakare

Matsuo Kinsaku (Basho), 1672

Kumo to (雲とclouds with) hedatsu (へだつseparating) tomo ( friends, but also wisdom) kaya (かや emphasis, but also referring to pampas grass) kari ( wild geese) no iki wakare (の生き別れ who are parting). It has been pointed out by others that kare no wakare has a meaning of a temporary separation. (See Toshiharu Oseko)

Parting

Parting is such sweet sorrow,” said Shakespeare’s Juliet about her kari no wakare, for she expected to see Romeo tomorrow. Matsuo Kinsaku, as he was then, had many partings and hoped for returns. But inevitably some partings are final.

Previously translated three years ago to the day.

The Parting Clouds at George Town, Cayman Islands

Dr Roy

Dr Roy Edison McTaggert

Dr Roy Edison McTaggert’s home by the shore is no more. Demolished in 1991, it made way for shops four tourist from cruise ships. All Grand Cayman asked for in return was a tiny strip of rock known as Dr Roy’s Ironshore.

Seven Mile Beach, looking at George Town

Dr Roy did his part

Pulled some teeth

Then departed

“Dr Roy was a pioneering politician, businessman, dentist, cultural guardian and philanthropist.” He lived a long active life from 1893 to 1991, overseeing the Cayman’s independence and insuring that it remained part of the British Commonwealth.

Upland House replaced

His house

—Ugh

Seven Mile Beach

Matsuo Basho wrote about clouds at night a needed rest from moon viewing.

Clouds come and go,
a rest for all of us
— moon viewing

And this one about friends departing, a wild goose because we are all lonely wanderers flying far and wide.

like a cloud in the wind


a wild goose and his friend

too soon depart

Finally, a nod to Joyce Kilmer and his well known tree poem.

I think that I shall never see

A poem lovely as a cloud.

A cloud whose ever changing shape

Against the ocean’s blue horizon

Towers to the heavens

A cloud that smiles at God all day,

And lifts her leafy arms to pray,

Until it rains

Is it God that cried

That we have half forgotten

Why we were begotten

Crested Butte, Colorado

A mountain

Like a dinosaur tooth

Crested Butte

Crested Butte
Colorado, September 2022

Crested Butte, September 2022

Late in the day, much too late, the wife and I were hiking a short trail outside Crested Butte, past the ghost town of Gothic. The trail marker said half mile to Judd Falls. A Japanese couple returning from the hike to Judd Falls said hello. And in that strange language that people from different cultures try to talk, told us it was getting dark and too far. As we would learn, they were right, the sign was wrong. Judd Falls was much further and darkness fell as we walked.

The hike, the mountain, the golden Aspen, the falls, the friendly Japanese couple, all reminded me of Basho’s many walks.

A fox, no two

Waiting on a path

For who

Gothic, Colorado

Early next morning we rose as the earth awoke.

Clouds part

Like sheets on a bed

As the mountain rises

In an Aspen grove

Fluttering leaves do gossip

I wonder