The plum (ume 寒) and its fragrance (ume ga ka寒さか) was a familiar subject for Matsuo Basho, one he wrote about no less than eleven times. Spring’s beauty is fleeting, the plum blossoms briefly, it’s smell prolonged by the cold, or does the coldness recall the smell? I wonder.
I wonder, is the fragrance of the plum brought back by the coldness
Ah, the fragrant plum! Brought back By cold weather
梅が香に 追いもどさるる 寒さかな
ume ga ka ni oi modosa ruru samusa kana
Matsuo Basho, Spring, 1684-1694
April 2023
Here in Middle America, we are halfway through April. It rained last night, it’s cold.
Notes on Translation
ume (plum) ga (indicating the thing, the plum) ka (fragrant) ni (exclamatory marker) oi (recalls) modosa (and returns) ruru (continuously) samu (cold) sa (suffix indicating the state of being cold) kana (I wonder)
It was a very good year, one might say for Matsuo Basho. He was happily living in Edo at his Basho hut, named for the banana tree outside. He is a respected haiku poet and a teacher of his style of poetry to a select group of disciples. When the spirit moves him, he makes an occasional foray along the the Tokaido and Nakasendo trails to and from Kyoto, and to his home in Ueno. He is also in the midst of planning a longer trip into Japan’s northern interior that would become famous as Oku no Hosomichi.
The Spring wind is howling while I’m bursting with laughter — wishing for flowers
春風に吹き出し笑ふ花もがな haru kaze ni fukidashi warau hana mogana
Matsuo Basho, Spring, 1668
Notes: haru (spring) kaze (wind) ni (on) fukidashi (today, this translates as speech bubble; fu 吹, to blow, to brag; kiき, tree; dashi appears to mean to put something out, like a kite or banner); warau (laugh or smile); hana (flower) mogana (wishing for)
Thoughts from the Midwest on the last day of March — the wind is still howling, driving me crazy.
The wind howls at the trees Will it stay, Better yet, will it stop?
Bashō no yōna, March 31, 2023
Something old, something borrowed:
March winds and April showers bring May flowers and June bugs
An old standard
Slightly altered, Nature becomes our nemesis:
March winds, April showers, then heavy rains and mosquitoes
He was not yet famous, he was not yet known as Matsuo Basho, but five years of living in Edo had brought him some recognition as a master of haiku.
in spring, its spring! each spring is great and so on 於春々大哉春と云々 ah haru haru ōinaru kana haru to un nun
Matsuo Basho, 1680
By 1679, Matsuo had taken the pen name Tosei (桃青), meaning “green peach.” His own poems were published in several anthologies; and twenty students who called him master published their own poems, Tōsei’s Collection of Twenty Poets (桃青門弟独吟二十歌仙). The year of 1680 was to be a year of great changes.
Haru, haru, how do you do? The first dandelion is simple and bright But what happens next?
According to a Chinese saying, the fragrance of the plum blossom comes from “winter’s bitter cold,” meaning that hardship makes us better. For Matsuo Basho, a lingering cold snap keeps the fragrance around longer. Two interpretations are given. A third meaning is buried in the alternative meaning of sakana.
The scent of plum blossoms chased back by cold. The fragrant plum … cold, come back.
梅が香に 追いもどさるる 寒さかな
Ume ga ka ni oimodosaruru samu sa kana
Matsuo Basho, date unknown
Translation note. Ume (plum) ga ka ni (fragrance, odor, smell) oimodosaruru (come or push back) samu (cold) sa kana. Interestingly, sakana is a homophone for “fish” (魚).
In Kansas, flowering trees like Bradford pears (Callery pear) produce beautiful white blossoms that stink like rotting fish.
Spring, when it comes, is delightful, but the North wind is frightful.
It is not yet Spring Still the birds sing, Thank God, the Wind stopped
Bashō no yōna, Spring 2023
A cold morning on a mountain path, suddenly the sun rises filling the air with the smell of the plum blossom. This is Matsuo Basho’s last spring.
The fragrant plumand suddenly the sun appears on a mountain path!
梅が香にのつと日の出る山路かな ume ga ka ni notto hi no deru yamaji kana ume ga ka ni no tsuto hi no deru yamaji ka na
Matsuo Basho, Spring 1694
Translation note. ume (plum) ga ka (smell of) ni (upon, implying that the smell of the plum and the sun arrive together) no tsuto (suddenly) hi noderu (sun appears, sunrise) yamaji (mountain path) kana (emphasis)
In the Spring of 1687, Basho goes to a visit a friend, “knock, knock,” explaining what happened when a stranger answered the door:
I visited a friend at his cottage, but he was not there. I was told that he had gone to a certain temple. So, I said, ” The plum blossoms by the fence look like the Master of this house.” I was told, they belong next door.
Visiting a friend But he’s not there, the plum blossoms belong next door
留守に来て梅さへよその垣穂かな Rusu ni kite ume sae yoso no kakiho kana.
Matsuo Basho, Spring, 1687
Notes. Rusu ni (gone from, absent at) kite (to come or arrive) ume (plum or apricot, an early blooming tree) sae (multiple meanings, “to,” i.e. a different fence and home) yoso no (somone else’s) kakiho (fence) kana (really! and other interjections, added for emphasis). The plum (ume) tree, it is believed, protects against evil. Planting plum trees along the fence would shield the house. As one of the first flowers of the year, the blossom represents renewal and purity.
In Kyoto and elsewhere in Japan, it is Spring again. The daffodils are in full bloom, waving at a poet trying to capture the moment in words. It is 1668, two years since the death of Todo Yoshitada, young Matsuo’s samurai master. Matsuo is not yet Basho. He is still Matsuo Kinsaku, age 24, living in Kyoto, wishing and hoping.
Spring flowers laughing in the wind wishing and hoping
春風に吹き出し笑ふ花もがな haru kaze ni fukidashi warau hana mogana
Matsuo Kinsaku (Basho) Spring, 1668
Mogana
Mogana — “wouldn’t it be nice if, if only, here’s hoping, wishing, wishing and hoping” are some of the meanings of mogana — the poet’s hope or desire for a beautiful spring.
Since Burt Bacharach died this year at the age of 93, I think it appropriate to mention his song, Wishin’ and Hopin’, first released in 1962. There are at least two great renditions, in 1962 by Dionne Warwick, the other by Dusty Springfield in 1964. Interestingly, Dusty’s Italian recording became “Stupido, Stupido.” It seems”desiderare e sperare” didn’t resonate well with the amorous Italians.
Wishin’ and hopin’ — to find love, hold him then kisses will start
RIP, Burt Bacharach, 1928-2023
Meanwhile
Meanwhile in the world, King Charles II was back on the throne in England. France’s King Louis XIV and Spain’s King Charles II were fighting over the Netherlands. Japan was at peace under the rule of Tokugawa Ietsuna.
Notes on Translation
haru kazeni (in a Spring wind or breeze) fukidashi warau (blowing and laughing) hana (flowers) mogana (indicates hope or desire, i.e. Basho wishes the flowers were laughing in the wind).
Haru kaze 春風 — A Spring breeze is associated with many things including happiness and joy, a smiling face.
Fuki 吹き, blowing or boasting; dashi 出しbroth. I inagine flowers waving in the breeze to and fro like a bubbling broth.
After dreamy Matsushima, Matsuo Basho and Sora are off to Hiyoriyama, home to the lost glory of the Fujiwara clan.
But before that it is Ishinomaki. By some accounts, station 22 on the Oku no Hosomichi, Matsuo Basho’s best known travelogue, in English, The Narrow Road to the Deep North.
Journalists and historians write what they remember, poets dream.
Basho recalls that he and Sora had taken a path used only by woodcutters and hunters and had gotten lost on their way to Hiraizumi. The path was difficult and somehow they got ost. Then on a hilltop at Hiyoriyama, in the midst of colorfully blooming azaleas, they were able to see a bird’s eye view of the port city of Ishinomaki.
Sora says in his journal that they were never lost.
Basho says it was the 12th day (十二日) of the fifth lunar month, June 29 by today’s reckoning.
From the hilltop at Hiyoriyama, Basho saw “hundreds of ships, large and small, entering the harbor, and the smoke rising from countless homes that thronged the shore.”
Chance brought him to this village. Tired from his arduous trip, longing for a comfortable place to stay, but no one offered him any hospitality. A search produced a miserable house and an uneasy night.
Hoping never to see Ishinomaki again, Basho and Sora set off the next morning on a difficult two day journey to their destination, the small village of Hiraizumi.
Hiraizumi, 平和泉, its very name means the village of Peace and Harmony, a place of gardens and Buddhist temples centered on the idea of Peace in a Perfect World. That it was not easy to find, would call to mind the following story.
Peach Blossom Spring
Peach Blossom Spring, Tao Yuanming (陶淵明), written in 421.
It is the story of a chance discovery of an imaginary place where, for centuries, villagers have live in harmony, unaware of the outside world. In Tao Yuanming’s story, a fisherman sails on a stream in a forest of blossoming peach trees, where even the ground is covered by peach petals. At the source of the stream is a grotto. Though narrow, he can squeeze through and this passage leads to an undiscovered village.
The villagers are surprised to see an outsider, but they are friendly and kind. They set out wine and chicken for a feast and explain that their ancestors came here to escape the war and unrest during the troubles in the age of Ch’in (2nd c. BC), living in peace ever since. The fisherman stays for a week.
Leaving, he marks his route, but can never discover the village again.
The 21st Century Wanderer
Who has not dreamed of a place somewhere over the rainbow where blue birds sing, of a Brigadoon or Shangri-la, a lost Atlantis? Reality, sadly, often shows us life can be, a frightening Brave New World. And if not frightening, then mundane, until we are once again surprised.
Utopias are the dreams of novelists, philosophers and poets. And it is okay to dream.
Prospero:
Our revels now are ended. These our actors, As I foretold you, were all spirits, and Are melted into air, into thin air: And like the baseless fabric of this vision, The cloud-capp’d tow’rs, the gorgeous palaces, The solemn temples, the great globe itself, Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve, And, like this insubstantial pageant faded, Leave not a rack behind. We are such stuff As dreams are made on; and our little life Is rounded with a sleep.
William Shakespeare, The Tempest Act 4, scene 1, 148–158
Bashō’s parting haiku is playful in which even the wildlife in the local market is moved by the sadness of separation.
行く春や鳥啼き魚の目は涙 yuku haru ya tori naki uo no me wa namida spring is passing –birds are crying and the eyes of fish are filling with tears
Matsuo Basho, May 1689
Spring is Passing
Yaku Haru, 行く春, spring is passing, や, ya is added for emphasis to express sorrow.
Bashō started walking 333 years ago today (May 16), leaving from Senju (now Kita-Senju) on a journey that would become the basis of his famous travelogue, Oku no hosomichi, Travel to the Northern Interior. After leaving his home and traveling with friends by boat up the Sumida River, it was time to say farewell to friends.
Note. Oku no Hosomichi (奥の細道), translated as The Narrow Road to the Deep North or the Northern Interior. Hosomichi is literally narrow path, what we might call the back roads in America. Oku is literally the interior, although Basho spent much of his route on both the eastern and western shores of Japan. The book was published in 1702 after Basho’s death.
It is everyone’s favorite season. The willow trees are turning green, the cherry trees blossom, and the birds sing their joyful songs. Let us compare several Spring haiku written decades apart.
Spring budding, 春のつぼみ, harunotsubomi
Haru kaze, 春風
First, 1668, the poet, simply known as Matsuo Munefusa, age 24.
春風に吹き出し笑ふ花もがな haru kaze ni / fukidashi warau / hana mogana A Spring breeze is blowing I’m bursting with laughter — wishing for flowers
Matsuo Basho, Spring, 1668
Next, Matsuo Basho, now three decades old, has changed from a joyous expectation to a mournful recognition of the passing seasons. Names must have been on his mind. In 1680, he was known as Tosei, the unripe peach. By now, 1684, he had gained a following in Edo. He had moved from the city-center to the more rural Fukagawa District, taken up residence in a simple cottage. A banana plant (Basho) was given to him as a housewarming gift, and this was the inspiration for his new name Matsuo Basho.
春なれや名もなき山の薄霞 haru nare ya / na mo naki yama no / usugasumi Is it already Spring? In these nameless mountains And misty haze
Matsuo Basho, Nozarashi kikō, Spring, 1685
I have included the following (undated) haiku because it speaks of sakura, cherry blossoms, the one true sign of Spring. In Edo (Tokyo), Basho often went to the temple grounds of both Ueno and Asakusa to enjoy the cherry blossoms. Likewise, around Japan and on Lake Biwa there are spectacular displays of the popular spring blossom.
春の夜は桜に明けてしまひけり haru no yo wa / sakura ni akete / shimai keri This Spring Night Ending with dawn And cherry blossoms
Matsuo Basho, Spring, date unknown
Harusame, 春雨
The following haiku reminds one of Henry Wordsworth Longfellow’s “Into each life some rain must fall.”
Spring 1694, Matsuo Basho, now 51 years old, has returned to his cottage in the Fukagawa District in Edo. Basho wonders what he has to look forward to. Little does he know, it is his last spring. Matsuo Basho will die in November of 1694.
春雨や蜂の巣つたふ屋根の漏り harusame ya / hachi no su tsutau / yane no mori Spring rain Dripping from a wasp nest And a leaky roof
Matsuo Basho, Spring, 1694
Ukuraina ni heiwa o
The world over one experiences Spring with reverence, with hope for new beginnings, for peace the world over.
Kobayashi Issa, 小林一茶, (1763 -1828) followed in the footsteps of Matsuo Basho.
雀の子 そこのけそこのけ お馬が通る Suzume noko/ Sokonoke sokonoke/ Ouma ga tooru
Baby sparrow, Step aside, My horse is passing by
The Spring of My Life, Kobayashi Issa, 1819
Version two
Sparrow’s child Retreat, retreat Here comes a horse
The Spring of My Life, Kobayashi Issa, 1819
Issa’s Meaning
Step aside.
The internal rhyme alliteration and repetition, Suzume noko, Sokonoke sokonoke, “child, retreat, retreat,” appeal to child and adult alike. That retreat sounds like “tweet” is a bonus for English readers. Issa’s tender haiku advises one to care for the very, very weak.
But, it also serves as a warning — when the big one speaks, little ones should scatter and not be seen. A horse, of course, the all-powerful Shogun.
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