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.

Plop Plop

Katsu Katsu

I am not abandoning Matsuo Basho, but looking over his shoulder as he reads from a book of poetry by the 12th century Saigyo Hoshi (西行法師). Saigyo was both poet and wandering Buddhist monk whose travels inspired Basho’s own journeys.

山深み岩にしたたる水とめむかつかつ落つる橡ひろふほど
yama fukami / iwa ni shitataru / mizu tomemu / katsu-katsu otsuru / tochi hirofu hodo

Deep in the mountains,
Water from rocks, drip drop,
Me, gathering chestnuts
Falling plop-plop
Saiygo, [Sankashū, Collection from a Mountain Home, 1290]

And what, dear reader, do you suppose Basho thought when he read the words “katsu-katsu?” — “kerplunk,” a pond and a frog, that’s the sound of water.

Late November

It is late November in the Midwest where, much to the delight of squirrels, spiny chestnuts, prickly tot the touch, are falling all about in my backyard, such that two dogs are loathe to play. Later, out for a peaceful walk, I am in the woods where the plop-plop of falling walnuts surprise my dogs.

Katsu-katsu (かつかつ) a word shouted out in Zen Buddhism to induce a state of Enlightenment. Also, an onomatopoeic phrase to indicate clicking, clopping; clacking, plop-plop. Tochi (橡), chestnuts.

gathering chestnuts, tochi hirofu hodo

How Interesting

Ten Years

Almost ten years had passed by.

Five years since Records of a Weather-Exposed Skeleton (1684), a journey west to Kyoto and Nara. One year since A Visit to Sarashina Village, a journey to Nagano and moon viewing at the rice fields, 1688.

Ten years since Matsuo Basho left Edo, crossing the Sumida River, taking up residence in a simple cottage, away from the crowds. If this hut was like Minomushian, the Iga retreat Basho occasionally used, it was a simple house with a couple of tatami mat and a sliding divider between the bedroom and living/dining area. A garden space surrounded the house and perhaps an indoor garden that could be viewed from inside. Outside, there was a banana tree, a gift of a disciple, and the origin of the name Basho (banana plant).

Almost ten years had past, and Basho was again feeling restless.

Like his idol, Saiygo, the 12th c. Japanese monk and poet, Basho wished to travel again. This time with his neighbor and friend, Kawai Sora (河合曾良), who would accompany him on his most famous journey, Oku no Hosomichi, in the spring of 1689.

おもしろやことしの春も旅のそら
omoshiro ya kotoshi no haru mo tabi no sora

how interesting!
this spring, I shall go
traveling on the Road (with Sora)
Matsuo Basho, Edo, 1689

After this, Matsuo Basho had one more trip. His last.

Omoshiro ya

Omoshiro ya, おもしろや, how interesting, or fun.

There is not much interesting about this haiku except for its connection with Sora, Basho’s traveling companion on the Oku no Hosomichi. The two took their famous journey to the northern interior of Japan in the spring of 1689. Tabi no Sora, 旅のそら (旅の空), literally, a Journey under the Sky, meaning on the open road.

Of course, the homophone “sora” may just be a coincidence. Life is full of them

More omoshiro:

How, pray tell, does rain become snow?

面白し雪にやならん冬の雨
omoshiroshi / yuki ni ya nara n / fuyu no ame
how interesting / snow is / winter’s rain (winter, 1687)

In summer the ancient art of catching sweet fish is done using lanterns to attract the fish and cormorant birds to dive in the water and swallow the fish. A noose around the bird’s neck prevents it from swallowing the fish.

おもしろうてやがて悲しき鵜舟哉
omoshirō te / yagate kanashiki / u-bune kana
how exciting / then sad / fishing with cormorant (summer, 1688)

Shortly before he died.

おもしろき秋の朝寝や亭主ぶり
omoshiroki / aki no asane ya / teishu buri
how pleasant / asleep on a summer’s afternoon / like the lord of the house (autumn, 1694)

On the Road Again

On the road again
Just can’t wait to get on the road again
On the Road Again, Willie Nelson

Traveling seems to be in our DNA. We take vacations, we change jobs, we move. And children move away from their parents. The human population covers the world. Traveling is in our genes.

Basho, like Jack Kerouac and other literary figures, was on the road a lot. Inbspired by the poet Saiygo, Basho made as many as five travels within Japan that became the subject of books or travelogues.

“Live, travel, adventure, bless, and don’t be sorry.”
生きて、旅して、冒険して、祝福して、後悔しないでください。
On the Road, Jack Kerouac, 1957

Remembering

Memory is fundamentally remembering what once mattered — Be it happy or sad. In some cases it can be a peaceful refuge, in the following cases a unending lonely nightmare.

Saiygo copied this one down from the Emperor Horikawa’s collection of poetry.

Where once we met,
The garden fence now lies in ruins.
Flowering there,
Only wild violets in the grass

mukashi mishi/ imo ga kakine wa/ arenikeri/ tsubana majiri no/ sumire nomi shite
100 Poems in Emperor Horikawa’s Collection, 11th c.

A similar but earlier poem by the poet Sōjō Henjō 僧正遍照,

The path to my hut is overgrown,
and all but disappeared,
still I wait,
but she no longer cares for me

我やとはみちもなきまてあれにけりつれなき人をまつとせしまに
Waga yado wa/ michi mo naki made/ arenikeri/ tsurenaki hito o/ matsu to seshi ma ni
Sōjō Henjō 僧正遍照, Japanese poet, Buddhist priest, 9th c.

The following poem would indicate that Saiygo joined in the conversation about long parted lovers.

through parted clouds
the discerning moonlight
didn’t visit —
from the sky
it did not appear
anybody was waiting?
Saiygo, Japanese poet, Buddhist priest, 12th c.

Saiygo looks back

ひさに経て我が後の世を問へよ松跡しのぶべき人も無き身ぞ
Hisa ni tate
waga ato no yo o
toieyo Matsu ato shinobubeki
hito mo naki mi zo

After a long time,
everlasting pine,
will the world ask after me?
Saiygo, on looking at an ancient pine tree at the site of Kobo Daishi’s birth

Will You Remember Me

A literal translation of Saiygo’s poem goes like this: Long living pine, covering my corpse, mourning for me, I ask, are we everlasting, is there one to remember me when I am gone? Translations may vary, but the essence of the poem is the universal question —
Will you remember me?

Persona

Kōbō Daishi (弘法大師), 9th century Buddhist monk, calligrapher, and poet. The Grand Master who helped to spread Buddhism throughout Japan. Saigyō Hōshi (西行法師), was a 12th century poet and author, a Samurai warrior who became a Buddhist monk, took to wandering, and writing travelogues to accompany his poetry. Matsuo Bashō (松尾芭蕉), 17th century haiku master on which this blog is based.

Kobo Daishi was to Saiygo, what Saiygo was to Basho, what Basho is to us. A voice from the distant past. A hope, I think, that our voice lives on. That we will be remembered?