Sora

Basho on a horse

Always Good

“Sora is his pen name. (曾良, literally meaning “always good”). His formal name is Kawai Sōgorō (河合, 惣五郎). The eaves of his cottage line up with the lower leaves of my bashō tree, and he helped me with the chores of chopping firewood and drawing water.”

曾良は河合氏にして、惣五郎と云へり芭蕉の下葉に軒をならべて予が薪水の労をたすく。
このたび松しま象潟の眺共にせん事を悦び。

From Oku no Hosomichi, at Mt. Nikko, Basho introduces Sora, his traveling companion on the journey. He is obviously younger, and a disciple of Basho’s, which is evident from the fact the travelogue includes several of Sora’s haiku. Close to the end of the journey, at Komatsu, Sora was seized and had to leave, but returned to greet Basho at Ogaki, the end of the trip. Sora kept his own diary which details the trip the two made together.

He died in 1710.

More please …

“A masterless samurai“

Sora’s Japanese Wikipedia page is more revealing.

Sora was some five years younger than Basho. His parents died when he was young, and he was adopted by his aunt, who died when he was 12. He was then taken in by a priest in Ise province. Then, like Basho, he was made a servant to a Samurai overlord, lord of the Nagashima domain in Ise. (Presumably, his connection to the Kawai clan). In 1681, he moved to Edo. This was shortly after Basho settled in at his new cottage in the Fukagawa District. There they made each other’s acquaintance. The two made a short trip together to the Kashima Shrine in today’s Ibaraki Prefecture.

The introduction begins:

“Cherishing the memory of this follower of the poetic spirit, I resolved to see the moon over the mountains of Kashima Shrine this autumn. I was accompanied by two men, a masterless samurai and an itinerant monk.”

Sora was apparently the “masterless samurai.”

In 1689, as Basho and Sora took the journey that would become Oku no Hosomichi, Sora kept his own Diary that would be published as Sora’s Diary in 1943.

Idaho

Rafting in Idaho

There is no better rafting and kayaking than on the rivers in Idaho. The Snake, the Salmon, the Payete, to name a few, endless stretches of whitewater interrupted by calm, reflective spots where one can catch one’s breath.

Basho’s near whitewater experience took place on the Mogami River during his travels recorded in the travelogue Oku no Hosomichi. The trip was almost halfway in on his journey into Japan’s northern interior, taking place at the point where Basho and Sora, his companion, crossed from Japan’s eastern coast to the west coast. They had entered Yamagata province and tarried a bit.

At the Risshakuji Temple, Basho composed a well-known haiku about the sound of a cicada coming from deep within a boulder.

The weather then turned to rain and Basho and Sora waited it out at a place called Ōishida (a place on the river near Obanazawa). Basho ruminated on differing styles of haiku and how those at this distant way station on the river had nothing new to consider. Thus, Basho composed some lines as a lingering memory.

Note. Modern annotators say Basho arrived in Obanazawa on July 3rd and stayed there for eleven days.

Early in summer, a heavy rain,
Gathering quickly,
Mogami River

五月雨を . あつめて早し . 最上川
samidare o . atsume te hayashi . Mogamigawa
— Matsuo Basho, Oku no Hosomichi, Summer 1689

Ever the tour guide, Basho mentioned the Goten (rocks in the river that look like stones in the game of Go) and Hayabusa (Falcon, i.e. fast as a falcon) rapids are just two dangers on the river’s swift course. There is also a gorge called Mogamikyo (最上峡).

Samidare, an early Summer rain, or May showers.

It was the end of June, 2024. I imagine coinciding roughly with Basho’s trip down the Mogami. I was in Idaho admiring three rivers Snake, Salmon and Payette. I did not have my kayak with me on this trip and had to be content with imagining I was riding the rapids.

Long did I linger,
Longingly looking,
At rafters splashing on the water

— Bashō no yōna, end of June, 2024

My daughter and I rode the rather tame Cache la Poudre River in Ft. Collins, Colorado on inner tubes quickly bought at the downtown hardware store.

Floating on an inner tube
My ass striking rocks in the river
— Cache la Poudre River, Ft. Collins

— Bashō no yōna, end of June, 2024

The clouds were gone. The sun was overhead shining down. The trip was down river was hot. Basho once again mentions the Mogami. One assumes he arrived as the sun set.

a boiling hot sun,
swallowed by the sea,
— Mogami River

暑き日を . 海にいれたり . 最上川
atsuki hi o . umi ni iretari . Mogamigawa
— Matsuo Basho, Oku no hosomichi, Summer 1689

Notes. atsuki, blistering, boiling hot; hi, sun; umi, meaning sea; iretari, to put in.

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?

Kansas I-70

In Kansas, I-70 runs east just over 424 miles (682 km) from Colorado border near Kanorado through Colby and Russell, to Salina, past Manhattan, Topeka, and Lawrence, to the Missouri border in Kansas City. Most Kansans head west to Colorado. Most Easterners heading west say, “I thought it would never end.”

How flat is it, hmmm?

So flat, Kansas

Is flatter than a pancake

The summer wind can be brisk, making driving difficult.

A South Wind

Is a Cross-wind

On Kansas I-70

Mostly amber waves of grain and grassland and grazing cattle. Not much to look at along the way.

The sky is blue

I am blue

How are you?

The View from the car looking North

July 1, 1689

Enough

Since Matsuo Basho kept time by the Japanese lunar calendar, one can not know the exact dates, but that does not matter, it was hot, Matsushima was behind them. Matsuo Basho and Sora were headed inland.

It appears from a map of Basho’s stops along the Oku no Hosomichi that Hiraizumi was enough. Here Basho marveled on the glory of three generations of the Fujiwara clan that passed as if in a dream. And as Nanbu was still far to the north, the two decided to turn back and stay the night in Iwate, heading towards the Hot Springs of Narugo and some welcome relief.

Difficulties lie ahead.

Note. Written on the 17th day of the 5th lunar month.

尿前の関
Shitomae no Seki
Shitomae Barrier

By now, Basho and Sora had traveled some 300 miles from Edo. Perhaps, they looked a little worse for the wear and tear, tired and bedraggled. At the Shitomae Barrier, the they were eyed suspiciously by the border guards at the security station. Perhaps, it was time to start thinking of going back, but not quite yet.

Basho writes in his journal:

“南部道遥にみやりて、岩手の里に泊る。小黒崎みづの小嶋を過て、なるこの湯より、尿前の関にかゝりて、出羽の国に越んとす。
此路旅人稀なる所なれば、関守にあやしめられて、漸として関をこす。
大山をのぼつて日既暮ければ、封人の家を見かけて舎を求む。
三日風雨あれて、よしなき山中に逗留す”

“The road to Nanbu [a distant town in today’s Aomori Prefecture, also spelled Nambu] is far, so we stayed the night in Iwate [both the name of a province and a town]. The next day, we passed by Ogurazaki and Mizu-no-ojima [on Japan’s National Route 47, a statue of Basho is on the highway, looking south], then to the hot springs at Narugo, headed for the Barrier at Shitomae, intending to cross into Dewa Province.

The road was hardly used and the guards at the checkpoint examined us suspiciously. We just managed to get through. Marching up the mountain, darkness began to fall, so when we saw a house belonging to the border guard. We asked for shelter. For three whole days, a wild storm raged, trapping us there among the dark and dreary mountains:”


蚤虱 . 馬の尿 . する枕もと
nomi shirami uma no bari suru makuramoto

fleas and lice, (what’s more),
a horse is pissing,
beside my pillow
— Matsuo Basho, Oku no Hosomichi, Summer, 1689

Enough, now on to Mogami.

Matsushima

Ah, Matsushima

Let us settle the debate once and for all. Basho is said to have composed a famous haiku that goes:

松島や . ああ松島や . 松島や
Matsushima ya . Ā Matsushima ya . Matsushima ya
Ah, Matsushima, Oh, Matsushima, Matsushima, ah!

In an article written after the severe earthquake in 2016, Takayangi Katsuhiro writes, “… the popular comic poet Tawara-bo composed a similar poem (Matsushima ya sate Matsushimaya Matsushima ya), and this has been conveyed erroneously as a work by Basho.”

There is no mention of Matsushima in Oku-no-Hosomichi. This is unusual in as much as Basho comments in the Prologue that he had been “dreaming of the full moon rising over the islands of Matsushima.”

“Why, then, did he not mention it in any of his haiku poems?” Katsuhiro asks. The answer is perhaps that of the Tao de Ching. Beauty is the word, but the word does not convey the feeling of each individual who takes in the beauty. Beauty is ineffable. Thus, one who speaks does not know, one who knows the beauty of Matsushima doesn’t speak.

It was by modern count, the 21st station on the journey. It followed Shiogama, on the coast just past Sendai. Today, boasting all manner of seafood. Basho’s description of Matsushima takes on the air of a travelogue, which the book Oku no Hosomichi was intended, in part, to be.

“Islands upon island, islands are joined to islands, looking exactly like parents walking hand in hand with them. Pine trees are of the brightest green, their exquisite branches, bent by the constantly blowing wind. Indeed, the beauty of the scene can only be compared to the most divinely endowed feminine face, for who else could have created such beauty but Nature herself? My pen could hardly rise to the task of describing this divine creation.”

With no words of farewell, no regret, Basho says, “I left for Hiraizumi (back into the interior) on the twelfth (of June).” And, as sometimes happens, he lost his way.

A question for Zhungzi — are dreams better than reality?

Is the dream better
than reality, or
do we care about the truth?

All of this reminding me of the Demosthenes’ saying, “One believes not in the truth, but in what one wants to believe.”

Source: Takayanagi Katsuhiro, “A Journey Along the Destroyed Oku no Hosomichi (Narrow Road to the Deep North),” 2016.

Ah, Matsushima

Furabo

cuckoo bird

A new pen name?

Furabo 風羅坊, a wanderer (a monk) with no home.

[Note. 風羅, literally, the wind that shifts; 坊, monk. Basho idolized Saigyo, a 12th century monk who wandered.]

The thought first appeared to Matsuo Basho in Oi no Kibumi (1688). That he, Matsuo Basho, like Saigyo, had become a wanderer with no fixed home. Furabo appears in the introduction, in the first line.

百骸九竅の中に物有、かりに名付て風羅坊といふ。
“Somewhere within my body of 100 bones and 9 orifices is something I call Furabo (風羅坊).”

The thought became an idea that reappeared not too far into Basho’s Journey into the Northern Interior (Oku no Hosomichi, 1689). Basho and his companion Sora spent a couple of days in Nasu, at the home of Takaku Kakuzaemon, the village headman. The village had hot springs which must have come as a relief to the two travelers. Nearby were several volcanic mountains, and a place called seessho-kiki, the killing rocks, so named because the sulfuric fumes were poisonous. Perhaps, Basho heard the familiar sound of the cuckoo bird, “kakkou kakkou” and compared that to the name of his host, Takuku. Taking this call as a warning to “rest.”

Basho wrote, 落ち来るや高久の宿の郭公.

      ochikuru ya | falling down from high
takaku no shuku no | at Takaku’s inn
         hototogisu | a cuckoo bird

Matsuo Basho, Oku no Hosomichi, Nasu, Summer 1689

and signed his name as Furabo.

If Basho was thinking of changing his pen-name to Furabo, it was too late.

cuckoo bird

Cree-ack

“Cree-ack” said the wind.

I have two rescue dogs (a bonded pair I call Lucy and Desi) who love to go out the kitchen door and come back in all day. Occasionally, I leave it ajar so they can go out and in on their own. If it is not wide enough, they will sit and stare, for they haven’t learned how to push. Then, to their amazement, there is a “creeack” as the wind opens it wide.

An open door policy is an invitation to flies, as my wife says.

“Cree-ack”
was the sound of the wind
as it opened the kitchen door

“Whizz” go the flies
who furiously flee
the swat of the swatter
— Bashō no yōna, Spring 2024

Nature’s Sound

“Cree-ack” is a high pitched sound like chalk on a chalkboard. It startles.

Matsuo Basho was captivated by the sounds of Nature. There is the familiar sound of the wind in the trees, the joyful sound of the birds in spring, and the cuckoo that always reminded him of Kyoto (a Proustian moment). Then too there was the famous sound of the water as the frog jumped in the pond — “kerplunk.”

Summer Rain

Basho, age 37
8th year of Enpō, 1680

Surely, Matsuo was thinking of himself when he wrote this haiku.

In May it rains and
Ferns unfurls in light green color,
But when?

五月の雨岩檜葉の緑いつまでぞ
satsuki no ame iwahiba no midori itsumade zo

Matsuo Basho, Spring, Summer 1680

The fern becomes a metaphor for Matsuo. In May of 1680, he was not yet “Basho.” Rather, he was, to his friends and students, “Tosei,” the unripe peach. But he was about to change his color, to blossom, to ripen, to become a mature poet. First, to move to Fukagawa, then to travel, and along with the banana plant (basho) beside his simple cottage, become the beloved Basho, by which the world knows him.

But When

“But when?” or “How long?” This question Matsuo asks is personal. How long before Tosei ripens into a mature poet? How long does Matsuo stay in Edo, when other poets have struck out to explore Japan?

Notes on Translation

satsuki (May, or early Summer) no ame iwahiba (moss) no midori (of green, “midori” is the light green color of early summer, spring) itsumade (until when) zo (emphasis)

Satsuki, fifth month which in the Japanese lunar calendar makes it June or early summer

Iwahiba, a type of fern resembling cypress in appearance that turns brown in winter and with the early rain unfurls into a light green color deepening to dark green as summer comes. It grows in heavily forested mountains and secluded valleys. In drought it closes into a ball.

Itsumade, an interrogative statement meaning “until when.” There is also an old Japanese story of a scavenging bird called “Itsumade” that descends on the dead and cries “itsumade, itsumade” meaning how long until the dead and rotting corpse becomes something else.

岩檜葉, iwahiba