It’s November and it has been raining now for three days, day and night, night and day. Constantly raining. Occasionally, flashes of lightning illuminate the both the black nights and gray days. A poem or a book gives me comfort.
In this world
Even when it is raining
Sogi gives me shelter
(Sogi’s poems give me comfort)
世に降るも更にそうぎの宿りかな
Yoni furu mo sarani Sōgi no yadori kana
Yoni (in this world) furu mo (when it’s raining) sarani (even then) Sōgi (Sogi, a Japanese poet) no yadori (shelter) kana (I wonder). The addition of “kana” at the end of the haiku is suggestive of a question. Were Basho outside in the cold rain of November, sitting under an umbrella, would reading a poem, or writing a poem, or running the words through his mind, be much comfort?
I wonder.
Sōgi (宗祇, 1421–1502), was a Japanese poet, who like Basho, came from a humble family. He was a Buddhist monk in the Shōkoku-ji temple in Kyoto. Like Basho, he studied and wrote poetry, both waka and renga.
Sogi’s poem:
In the world, even when it is raining, there is shelter.
世にふるも更に時雨のやどりかな
Yoni furu mo sarani shigure no yadori ka na
How many times have you had a sudden inspiration, looked around for a piece of paper to write it down, not finding a scrap or a pencil, repeated it, and thought you knew it by heart. Then, getting home forgot?
Basho gave us this advice which is sometimes translated as “I caught a glimpse of something in the light.” The idea being, I suppose, to write down our impressions in the light that let’s us see. And seeing is not seeing, but understanding. The Dao tells us so.
To see a thing
On must see it
In the light
物の見えたるひかり
Mono no mietaru hikari
— Matsuo Basho
Getting back,
to random thoughts and rain drops,
that never seem to stop:
A lightning flash,
I thought …
Why not pen a poem?
.
Outside, I hear the rain,
Thudding on the ground
I’m glad to be inside
.
I shiver at the thought
Of the rain, and my cat
Caught outside somewhere
.
A familiar refrain,
Rain, rain, go away
Come again another day
Longfellow’s Rainy Day poem (minus punctuation) begins like this:
The day is cold and dark and dreary,
it rains and
the wind is never weary …
— Henry David Longfellow
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