Lightning

1688 – Genroku

England was experiencing its Glorious Revolution. Europe was beginning its Age of Enlightenment. Japan was at peace. It was the era of Genroku 元禄. The reigning emperor was Emperor Higashiyama (東山天皇), but true power lay in the hands of Tokugawa Tsunayoshi (徳川綱吉), the fifth shogun of the Tokugawa dynasty.

Basho’s study of Buddhism inspired the following haiku. Lightning (稲妻 inazuma) being both enlightening and ephemeral.

稲妻を手にとる闇の紙燭哉
inazuma o / te ni toru yami no / shisoku kana

lightning —
a paper candle
in the darkness
Matsuo Basho, Summer 1687

Note. Paper candle, an ancient means of lighting, a torch.

By the mid-1680s, Basho’s fame was established. He had left Edo for Fukagama where he lived in a simple cottage. There he taught his students and received guests. A disciple gave him a banana plant (basho) as a housewarming gift. And it was this tree that grew beside his cottage that became the symbol of the poet — fragile and, one might say, useless.

あの雲は稲妻を待つたよりかな
ano kumo wa / inazuma o matsu / tayori kana

that cloud —
lightning is waiting
to visit
Matsuo Basho, Summer 1688

In late spring and summer of 1689, Matsuo Basho journeyed to Japan’s northern interior, following a route that took him along the eastern coast, crossing to the west coast, then traveling west and south to Osaka, returning to Edo and the Basho-an in late fall to work on what was to become his best known work (Oku no Hosomichi).

稲妻にさとらぬ人の貴さよ
inazuma ni / satora nu hito no / tattosa yo

lightning —
to one who understands
life is precious!
Matsuo Basho, Winter 1690

Note. Tattosa 貴さ, noble and precious. Yo よ, adding emphasis.

In the summer of 1694, Matsuo Basho was 50 years old. He left Edo for the last time, spending time in Ueno, his birthplace, and then Kyoto, where he spent time as a student, before going to nearby Otsu by Lake Biwa.

稲妻や顔のところが薄の穂
inazuma ya / kao no tokoro ga / susuki no ho

lightning —
in place of faces
pampas grass
1694 — summer
Matsuo Basho, Summer 1694

Note. Miscanthus (susuki, commonly called pampas grass) — ever changing, from fresh green shoots in early spring to the long lasting shimmering seed-heads of autumn, a reminder of the fleeting nature of the seasons.

稲妻や闇も方行く五位の声
inazuma ya / yami no kata yuku / goi no koe

lightning
deep in the darkness
the sound of a heron
Matsuo Basho, Summer 1694

Note. The heron (crane) is a divine bird traveling between heaven and earth.

**inazuma ni satoranu hito no tattosa yo**, 稲妻にさとらぬ人の貴さよ

For Those Who Can’t Get Enough

Inazuma — etymology. 稲 ina, meaning “rice plant”, plus‎ 妻 tsuma, meaning “spouse”. Deriving from an ancient belief that lightning mated with (fertilized) rice plants.

Compare Basho’s haiku with the Diamond Sutra (a Sanskrit text translated into Chinese during the Tang dynasty):

So you should view this fleeting world:
As a drop of dew or a floating bubble in a river,
As lightning flashing in a summer cloud,
As a flickering lamp, an illusion, a phantom, or a dream.
Diamond Sutra, Chapter 32

Morning Glories

Here we have the 39-year-old Matsuo Basho, living now in Fukagawa, in the 2nd year of Tenwa, 1682, with itchy feet who begins to wander away from Edo, the capital.

I am a fellow
who eats breakfast
gazing at morning glories

朝顔に / 我は飯食ふ / 男かな
asagao ni / ware wa meshi kû / otoko kana
Matsuo Basho, Summer, 1682

A Literary Wanderer

Asagao (朝顔, Morning Glory) is one of the fifty-four chapters of The Tale of Genji (a 12th century tale Basho was familiar with). In this tale, Gengi wants her, but Asagao, an imperial princess, shuts herself up in her residence, much like Basho distancing himself from Edo and his students for his simple cottage in Fukagawa.

So was Basho now a wandering Genji, love struck, gazing at some distant asagao?

The American poet, Walt Whitman possessed a similar sentiment when it came to knowing what he was seeing:

“A morning glory at my window satisfies me more than the metaphysics of books.”

Metaphysics dealing with the branch of philosophy that deals with the first principles of things, of knowing.

Lightning

A flash of lightning in a September cloud, a Zen reflection on the impermanence of life, but to those don’t know, a precious thing to behold.

A flash of lightning
Yet unenlightened,
How noble!
稲妻にさとらぬ人の貴さよ
inazuma ni / satoranu hito no / tattosa yo
Matsuo Basho, 1690

Figuratively and Literally

Mid-September, 2022, crossing Kansas along US 160, coming home from Las Vegas, New Mexico. In the Gypsum Hills between Meade and Medicine Lodge, the route featured flat mesas, long canyons and arroyos, red rolling hills, and vast empty stretches with no living beings.

As day turned to evening, and evening to darkness, my wife and I were entertained by a show of lightning to the north.

“Beautiful,” said my wife.

Inazuma (稲妻, a flash of lightning) ni (with); satora (さとら, enlightened, understanding, one realizes) nu (ぬ, not) hito (人, people, one person) no (の, possessive); tattosa (貴さ, noble and precious).

Yo (よ, yo, indicating certainty).

Spiritually

Matsuo Basho in 1690, at the age of 47 with but three years to live. He had completed his journey of northern Japan, Oku no Hosomichi — How noble and precious, he who doesn’t think, “life is fleeting,” when seeing a flash of lightning.

Our existence in this fleeting world:
A drop of dew in the morning, a bubble in a stream,
A flash of lightning in a summer cloud,
A flickering lamp, an illusion, a phantom, a dream…
Thus spoke Buddha.
Diamond Sutra, Chap. 32

Farewell

At a renga party. One hundred verses, the last haiku. How do get rid of the last annoying guest? With sleepy eyes, your host appears, your hat and summer coat in hand.

time to say farewell —
your hat and summer coat
in hand
別れ端や笠手に提げて夏羽織
wakareba ya kasa te ni sagete natsu-haori
Matsuo Basho, Fukagawa, Summer 1684

Summer 1684

I have invented a renga party as the occasion for the farewell and this haiku.

By the summer of 1684, Matsuo Basho was living in Fukagawa in the Basho-an (his simple cottage shaded by a banana, a.k.a, basho, tree), adored by his students and disciples. Basho’s mother had died the year before. He was restless.

As summer became autumn, it was time to go home, to say goodbye.

Notes on Translation

Renga (連歌, linked haiku), usually of 36 or even 100 verses. Wow! That’s long.

Those crazy Japanese poets!

One person writes the first hokku (haiku), identifying a single subject (i.e cherry blossoms, the autumn moon, goodbyes and farewells), each person adding to the chain, but delivering a creative twist. Now, the party has gone on too long, too late. The guests have drunk too much and most have left. Saki cups and paper haiku litter the floor.

Wakareba (別れ端や) I get it, I understand, after some difficulty. Farewell!

Kasa (笠) hat. Haori (はおり), a thigh-length jacket with short sleeves, generally used for cold evenings. Basho describes it as a summer (natsu, 夏) garment, suggesting that the season is changing.

Fukagawa. By the age of 36, Matsuo Basho had achieved some success in Edo, the capital of Japan. He had refined the haiku as an art form, and the renga as a convivial setting for its connected verse. He had a group of devoted students and disciples who referred to him as Tosei, the unripe peach. Matsuo wanted more, and departed Edo in 1680 for the more rural Fukagawa district, where, beside his small cottage, he planted a banana tree (basho), saying farewell to Tosei, eventually becoming Basho.

Plum Blossom

Summer 2022

A morning walk beside the creek
A heavenly breeze, the rising sun
Here comes the heat!
Bashō no yōna, August 2022

On the Today show, Al Roker points to a map covered in RED on the weather map. Record Heat. The days and weeks are full of sun, it’s been months since it was cool. An early morning walk with the dogs inspires Bashō no yōna’s poor attempt at haiku.

Winter 1693-94

Now, two haiku by Matsuo Basho written in early 1694. The subject, the early blooming Plum Blossom. A literary respite from the summer heat.

Fragrant plum fills the air
And the rising sun 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
Plum Blossom Scent, (Ume ga Ka, 梅が香), Spring 1694

Was the snow still falling? Was it bitterly cold? Did the birds sing when the sun rose?

Note. In the early spring of Matsuo Basho’s last year, he and Shida Yaba 志太野坡 composed a haiku sequence (renga) that came to be called Ume ga Ka (Plum Blossom Scent). Ume, 梅 (plum), the five petals symbolize the Five Blessings: old age, wealth, health, virtue, and a peaceful death.

梅が香に昔の一字あはれなり
ume ga ka ni mukashi no ichiji aware nari

The fragrant plum,
The days of old,
That nothing last — ’tis a pity.
Matsuo Basho, February 1694

Note. This second haiku addressed to his student Baigan 梅丸 who had recently lost his son. Ume ga ka, the fragrant plum. Ni, a participle indicating movement or direction. Mukashi, the days of old, the past. No, acts as an indicator of possession. Ichiji. a reference to life’s impermanence. Aware, a pity, something that’s sad. Nari indicates that the emotion follows quickly.

A plum blossom fades all too soon, and so does life. Matsuo Basho died later that year.

Yamadera 細道

July 13, 1689

Station 26, Risshakuji Temple

In the stillness of summer, deep within the rocks of Yamadera, comes the cry of a cicada.

In the quiet, penetrating the rock, the cry of a cicada
閑さや岩にしみ入蝉の声
shizukasa ya iwa ni shimi-iru semi no koe
Oku no Hosomichi, Matsuo Basho, July 1689

Note. Of course, various translations exist. Many of them can be found on Haiku Topics by Dr. Gabi Greve. 閑, Kan means ‘quiet’ but conveys the idea of ‘Emptiness’ in Taoism and Buddhism. 岩, Yán, rock signifies the idea of permanence, and 蝉, Chán, the cicada, a symbol of rebirth and regeneration, all combined in one memorable haiku.

Risshakuji, 立石寺

After visiting Seifu in Obanazawa, Basho detoured south to Yamadera, 山寺, the popular name for the Buddhist temple Risshakuji, 立石寺. It is located on the steep slopes of Mt. Hoju, in northern Yamagata Prefecture.

It was there, that Basho composed his well known haiku on the cicada.

In Chinese and Japanese lore, cicadas are high status creatures one seeks to emulate. They are considered pure because they subsist on dew and sap. Lofty because of they perch in trees. In summer, their call is loud and long.

By crawling around, Basho showed respect and emulated the cicada. Perhaps, he hoped, his words could penetrate even the stone itself.

As they have.

Basho’s Notes

From Oku no Hosomichi:
Risshakuji Temple

In Yamagata province is Ryushakuji Temple. Founded by the great teacher Jikaku Daishi, this temple is known for the quiet tranquility of its grounds. Told by everyone to see it, I left Obanazawa. Reaching it in the late afternoon, the sun still lingering. I arranged to stay at the foot of the mountain with the temple priests. I then climbed to the temple itself near the summit.

The mountain consists of boulder upon boulder covered with ancient pines and oaks. The stony ground in the color of eternity, covered in velvety moss. The shrine’s doors were barred and no sound could be heard.

I crawled on all fours from rock to rock, bowing at each shrine, feeling the purifying power of this holy place filling my being.

立石寺

山形領に立石寺と云山寺あり。慈覚大師の開基にて、殊清閑の地也。一見すべきよし、人々のすゝむるに依て、尾花沢よりとつて返し、其間七里ばかり也。日いまだ暮ず。梺の坊に宿かり置て、山上の堂にのぼる。岩に巖を重て山とし、松柏年旧土石老て苔滑に、岩上の院々扉を閉て物の音きこえず。岸をめぐり、岩を這て仏閣を拝し、佳景寂寞として心すみ行のみおぼゆ。

Echigo 越後

July, 7, 1689

Departing Sakata, on Japan’s northwestern coast, clouds gathered along the Hokuriku Road. My heart was heavy when I heard it was a 130 li (Japanese miles, two and one half miles to the li, making it a distance of 325 US miles) to the capital of Kaga province.

Traveling south along the coast, I arrived at Echigo province (north-central coast) through the barrier-gate of Nezu, and then on to Etchu province through the barrier-gate of Ichiburi. During the nine days of this journey, I wrote little, what with the heat and humidity. My old complaint bothering me immeasurably.

Fuzuki (July) the 6th is not an ordinary night
Tomorrow —
The Weaver meets her lover
文月や六日も常の夜には似ず
fumizuki ya muika mo tsune no yo ni wa nizu
The stormy sea and Sado Island
Swelling before
The Heavenly River
荒海や佐渡によこたふ天河
araumi ya sado ni yokotau amanogawa
Oku no Hosomichi, Matsuo Basho, July 1689

Note. Tanabata, the Star Festival, on the seventh night of the seventh lunar month, based upon an older Chinese celebration. In the Japanese version, the two stars Altair and Vega, representing a cowherd and a weaver girl, though separated by the vast distance of the Milky Way, are allowed to meet once a year. From Ichiburi, Basho was looking out across the Sea of Japan to distant Sado Island. The rough waves and the reflection of the Milky Way (天河, Chinese for Tianhe, Heavenly River) making a path for the two lovers to return to earth for one night.

Basho’s notes.

酒田の余波日を重て、北陸道の雲に望、遥々のおもひ胸をいたましめて加賀の府まで百卅里と聞。鼠の関をこゆれば、越後の地に歩行を改て、越中の国一ぶりの関に到る。此間九日、暑湿の労に神をなやまし、病おこりて事をしるさず。

Hiroshige’s Echigo, Famous Places of Japan’s Provinces, 1853, source Wikipedia

Matsushima

July 1689

Matsushima, Matsuo Basho says, is the most beautiful place in all of Japan. It means “pine island,” so named because the many islands, tall and small, are covered with pine trees. Its name also has an obvious connection to Matsuo. It lies in a bay in northern Miyagi Prefecture.

Poets, authors, and painters, all come to Matsushima to take in its loveliness, to try and capture the feeling. The site they come to see are the hundreds of islands, like shattered shards of a mirror in the sparkling summer water. Each island covered in pine trees.

A true artist recognizes that his or her artistry can never replace Nature’s beauty. Basho says so, “Each single pine, flourishing, so pretty, gorgeous, beyond words.” This sentiment explains the following haiku:

Matsushima ya, aa Matsushima ya, Matsushima ya
Matsushima, Ah! Matsushima! Matsushima!

We, who are skeptics, must pause. For some say the haiku is apocryphal, Basho is not the author, and that may be true, but the sentiment is apropos, making it nevertheless delightful.

[“Words, words, words.” Basho’s purported haiku reminds me of Shakespeare’s Hamlet responding to Polonius asking him what he is reading, “Words, words, words,” suggesting that words are meaningless, a medium for thought. Repetition can have the opposite effect as in this ditty I remember from childhood. “By the sea, by the sea, by the beautiful sea, You and I, oh, how happy we’ll be.“]*

It is also said, Basho wrote another haiku about Matsushima. It goes like this:

Shimajima, chiji ni kudakete, natsu no omi
island upon island, shattered in a thousand pieces, on a summer sea

This haiku too, we must be skeptical of.

Basho in his journal did write this, “The moon rose, glittering over the dark sea. The wind roared and the clouds flew by. In this strange world, Sora wrote a haiku,

松嶋や鶴に身をかれほとゝぎす
Matsushima ya, tsuru ni mi o kare , hotogisu
Matsushima, oh!
borrow the wings of a crane to fly to
little cuckoo
Matsushima, Sora, Summer, 1689

The English sense of Sora’s haiku may be:

“That I may fly to Matsushima,” the little cuckoo cried to the lovely crane, “Oh, may I borrow your elegant wings.”

Wordless in Matsushima

Basho himself, gave up trying to write of such beauty and went to bed, but couldn’t sleep.

Instead, he took from his backpack Soda’s poem on Matsushima and waka on Matsu ga
Urashima by Hara Anteki, along with haiku by Sanpu and Jokushi.

Wordless, speechless, aghast and tongue-tied, nevertheless Basho managed to write the following. From Oku no Hosomichi:

松島

抑ことふりにたれど、松嶋は扶桑第一の好風にして、凡洞庭西湖を恥ず。東南より海を入て、江の中三里、浙江の湖をたゝふ。嶋／＼の数を尽して、欹ものは天を指、ふすものは波に葡蔔。あるは二重にかさなり三重に畳みて、左にわかれ右につらなる。負るあり抱るあり、児孫愛すがごとし。松の緑こまやかに、枝葉汐風に吹たはめて、屈曲をのづからためたるがごとし。其景色えう然として美人の顔を粧ふ。ちはや振神のむかし、大山ずみのなせるわざにや。造化の天工、いづれの人か筆をふるひ詞を尽さむ。

雄嶋が磯は地つゞきて海に出たる嶋也。雲居禅師の別室の跡、坐禅石など有。将松の木陰に世をいとふ人も稀／＼見え侍りて、落穂松笠など打けぶりたる草の庵閑に住なし、いかなる人とはしられずながら、先なつかしく立寄ほどに、月海にうつりて昼のながめ又あらたむ。江上に帰りて宿を求れば、窓をひらき二階を作て、風雲の中に旅寝するこそ、あやしきまで妙なる心地はせらるれ。

松嶋や鶴に身をかれほとゝぎす [曾良]

予は口をとぢて眠らんとしていねられず。旧庵をわかるゝ時、素堂松嶋の詩あり。原安適松がうらしまの和哥を贈らる。袋を解てこよひの友とす。且杉風濁子が発句あり。

十一日、瑞岩寺に詣。当寺三十二世の昔、真壁の平四郎出家して、入唐帰朝の後開山す。其後に雲居禅師の徳化に依て、七堂甍改りて、金壁荘厳光を輝、仏土成就の大伽藍とはなれりける。彼見仏聖の寺はいづくにやとしたはる。

See the translation at another site, Teresbess

The song By the Beautiful Sea, 1914, music by Harry Carroll and lyrics by Harold R. Atteridge.

Unganji temple 雲岸寺

Zen humor times two — Basho and Buccho. A woodpecker can shake a tree but not Buccho’s hut. Buccho would gladly leave his hut, but it won’t stop raining. Rain or shine, there is always something to write about.

woodpeckers,
can’t shake this hut
in its summer grove

木啄も庵はやぶらず夏木立
kitsutsuki mo io wa yaburazu natsukodachi
Oku no Hosomichi, Matsuo Basho, June 1689

Note. Kitsutsuki, 木啄も, woodpecker using kanji (Chinese) characters. Yaburazu, やぶらず, can’t shake, disturb, meaning to break Buccho’s meditation.

**yaburazu**, a woodpecker can’t shake the serenity of this place

June, 1689, Togachi prefecture

Leaving Kurobane, Basho and Sora walked seven miles into the mountains to visit Unganji temple, known for the practice of Zen meditation. The purpose of his visit was not the temple itself, but the abandoned hut of the poet Buccho. He was Basho’s Zen master and teacher from Edo.

With charcoal made from burnt pine, and with a touch of wry humor, Buccho had written about this about the hut:

My Grassy Hut,
Hardly more than five feet square,
Gladly, I’d quit,
If only it didn’t rain.

Basho’s notes:

… The priest Buccho used to live in isolation in the mountains behind the temple. He once told me that he had written the following poem on the rock of his hermitage with the charcoal he had made from pine.

雲岸寺
当国雲岸寺のおくに佛頂和尚山居跡あり。

竪横の五尺にたらぬ草の庵
むすぶもくやし雨なかりせば

と松の炭して岩に書付侍りと、いつぞや聞え給ふ。其跡みんと雲岸寺に杖を曳ば、人々すゝんで共にいざなひ、若き人おほく道のほど打さはぎて、おぼえず彼梺に到る。山はおくあるけしきにて谷道遥に、松杉黒く苔したゞりて、卯月の天今猶寒し。十景尽る所、橋をわたつて山門に入。

さてかの跡はいづくのほどにやと後の山によぢのぼれば、石上の小庵岩窟にむすびかけたり。妙禅師の死関、法雲法師の石室をみるがごとし。

木啄も庵はやぶらず夏木立

Kurobane 黒羽

May 27, 1689

By Matsuo Basho’s reckoning, it was the 9th day of the 4th lunar month (Shigatsu). He and Sora were visiting Joboji, the overseer of the Castle of Kurobane, in Tochigi Prefecture, north of Edo. His younger brother Tosui came over and took them to his home to visit his family.

黒羽の館代浄坊寺何がしの方に音信る。思ひがけぬあるじの悦び、日夜語つゞけて、其弟桃翠など云が朝夕勤とぶらひ、自の家にも伴ひて、親属の方にもまねかれ日をふるまゝに、ひとひ郊外に逍遥して、犬追物の跡を一見し、那須の篠原わけて玉藻の前の古墳をとふ。それより八幡宮に詣。与一扇の的を射し時、「別しては我国氏神正八まん」とちかひしも此神社にて侍と聞ば、感應殊しきりに覚えらる。暮れば、桃翠宅に帰る。

修験光明寺と云有。そこにまねかれて行者堂を拝す。

So the days passed…. One day we went for a walk in the outskirts [of Kurobane] to where the ancient archers practiced the art of Inuoumono (犬追物, mounted archers shooting at dogs), then past a bamboo grove to the tomb of Lady Tamamo (玉藻前, the fox spirit who caused chaos and corrupted emperors); we then paid our respects at the Hachiman Shrine (dedicated to the divinity of archery and war), where Yoichi, the samurai archer, prayed before he was challenged to shoot a flag fluttering over a drifting boat. As darkness fell, we came home.

On the mountain is a temple called Komyo with a hall dedicated to En no Gyoja (the founder of Shugendo, Buddhist/Shinto ascetics who believe in two realms of existence).

夏山に足駄を拝む首途哉
natsuyama ni ashida o ogamau kadode kana

in the summer mountains
we worshiped in rain clogs
before departing
Matsuo Basho, Oku no Hosomichi, May 1689

May 28, 2022

Memorial Day is celebrated in America on the last Monday in May. Ostensibly, it is about those who have given their lives serving in the military, but it has come to mean much more. It is about memories, of loved ones and long ago places, of near ones and dear ones, of happy times and sad times, of the good life we’ve shared.

“What is a witness if not someone who has a tale to tell and lives only with one haunting desire: to tell it. Without memory, … there is no culture, no civilization, no society, no future.”
Elie Wiesel, Holocaust survivor