Snowy Hira and Mikami For the moment, encircled A bridge of white herons
Matsuo Basho, Otsu on Lake Biwa, looking west to the Hira Mountains
Snowy Mount Hira, artist, Utagawa Hiroshige, 19th century, image source The Met
A bridge of birds
A bridge of birds is one of those images one comes across while walking along a lake or in a wooded field. It is a magical image, one that is fleeting. When the birds are geese, the flock noisy chatters overhead, making a familiar V-shaped formation that look like an arched bridge. Herons are stragglers, silently flapping their wings,to the accompaniment of a swooshing sound.
Soon gone and silent again.
Herons often fly alone but can on rare occasion be seen in flocks. It is a rare sight, one that Matsuo Basho enjoyed while making a day trip to Otsu on the southern shore of Lake Biwa. Basho chose Otsu as his burial place, giving this haiku added meaning.
Lost in Translation
Hira and Mikami, 比良三山, snow covered Hira mountains and Mt. Mikami. They lie on opposite sides of Lake Biwa.
Yuki, 雪, snow.
Sashi watase, さしわたせ, for the moment, plus, joined or encircled.
Sagi no hashi, 鷲の橋, literally a bridge of white herons. The No, の particle links two nouns together to show a connection, and form a single image, a bridge of birds. One does not have to assume the herons are white (Shirasagi, 白鷺), but it makes for a prettier image.
[All images in the public domain, source The Met.]
I am not quite getting there, trying to translate Basho’s haiku. Maybe, that’s the point of it. Just sip one’s tea, be quiet as a monk, admire chrysanthemums that flower. Shizukanari! Laozi would agree.
朝茶飲む 僧静かなり 菊の花 Asa cha nomu / sō shizukanari / kiku no hana
Matsuo Basho
Three variations on Matsuo Basho’s Morning Tea:
A cup of morning tea Calms a monk Chrysanthemums are blooming
A monk sipping his morning tea, Calmly — Chrysanthemums are flowering
Drinking morning tea Calms a monk – Chrysanthemum
Chrysanthemum Tea, three times a day, Long life
Chrysanthemum tea Three time a day Long life
Chrysanthemum tea My friends and I Happy life
Bashōno yono
Chrysanthemum Tea
Chrysanthemum tea (菊茶, kiku-cha) is considered an elixir of life in Japan and much of Asia, enjoyed for the beauty of the flower’s blossoms, their earthy smell, and the taste of the tea. Each mum variety having its own special flavor. The recipe is simple, steep the flower petals (the leaves are too bitter) in hot water. Drink as a morning tea (朝茶, asa cha). Drink while hot. Morning tea and Green tea in general are soothing. Chrysanthemum tea, in particular, is used to calm chest pain, reduce high blood pressure, soften headaches, eliminate dizziness, and treat a host of other conditions.
In a word, Chrysanthemum tea is calming.
Basho suffered from various ailments throughout his life, including stomach ailments. So, it is not hard to imagine that he drank quite a lot of tea. And, after a hard days journey on the Oku No Hosomichi, one pictures Sora, Basho’s traveling companion, brewing tea while Basho is busy writing in his journal. One can also picture their visit to a temple, where a Buddhist monk (僧, Sō) might welcome his guests with tea.
Post Script
“Xin chào“ (“hello”) was the greeting we received in a friendly neighborhood cafe in Hanoi, Vietnam.
“Corona Tea!” was the drink we got when we asked for a pot of green tea and two cups.
My wife and I were there visiting our son in Hanoi in early 2020, at the start of the Coronavirus pandemic. The fear of Coronavirus was only beginning. At that time, it was only a general concern for good health, green tea being a good start.
The cafe’s setting, beside a small lake, was quiet. Lofty apartment buildings, like tall mountains, surrounded the lake, separating us from the din of a thousand motorcycles on the main streets. This made this tiny spot feel like a personal Shangri-La. That and the woman, the owner of the cafe, who smiled as she served us a steaming pot of green tea.
The tea kept us healthy, I like to think.
Madame, How do you say, Hello? — Xin chào, and green tea
He has not yet become Bashō, 芭蕉, the poet who compares himself to the fragile and useless Banana plant. That is yet to come when, two autumns later, Matsuo Basho would take the somewhat surprising step of leaving Edo and crossing the Sumida River to Fukagawa to live in a cottage beside a Banana plant, 芭蕉.
For now, Basho enjoys Kabuki Theater. Rain doesn’t matter. Perhaps it heightens the surreal quality of the plays.
Kechi, Kansas, Autumn, 2021
More than three centuries have gone by since Matsuo Basho wrote his haiku.
Today, in 2021, pubs and micro-breweries have become the gathering place for friends and couples who want to talk about the day’s events, about the World.
It is another rainy day in Middle America. It is early September; the summer’s heat has given way to cooler days and nights. The author of this blog takes a trip to Kechi, a small Kansas town outside Wichita. He is accompanied by his wife and dog, Lucy, a small dog, a mix, mostly Blue Heeler. The three of us sit on the patio under trees strung with lights, sample the beers, listen to music, and forget our worrries.
Suddenly, it starts to storm. Lucy runs inside and shakes off the rain. Bashō no yōna, the author of this blog, and modern day Basho disciple, says this:
A dog knows To Stay out of the Rain And Sakai-cho
Beer stops Pouring When it starts Raining At the Old School House in Kechi
Notes on Translation
Before becoming Basho, Matsuo Basho took the pen name Tosei, 桃青, meaning “green peach” inferring that he was not quite ripe.
世間, Seken, literally the World, Society, as opposed to the individual. According to the Buddha, there are two worlds, the internal world and external world. Through meditation, one understands one’s thoughts and feelings, and finds one’s ‘inner world’.
境町, Sakai-chō, literally border town. It is somewhat unclear whether 境町, Sakai-chō is a place within Tokyo’s Nihonbashi District, or it merely borders it, a special district where Kabuki Theaters were allowed. Often these theaters began in Tokyo where prostitutes plied their trade. Other worldly in this sense takes on a sexual connotation. Though frowned upon by the ruling authorities, such districts were allowed. William Shakespeare and the Lord Chamberlain’s Men similarly had to obtain a royal license to perform.
Gabi Greve has given us a thorough discussion of Nihonbashi in her thoroughly wonderfully blog.
England 1678, John Bunyan published The Pilgrim’s Progress, an other worldly allegory of man’s journey through life. Japan was under the rule of the Tokugawa shogunate and culturally isolated from Western societies.
One can travel by train today from Tokyo to Yamadera in less than five hours.
In 1689, Matsuo Basho made the journey by foot in four or five months, give or take a day or a week. Basho left behind the comforts of his thatched cottage in Fukagawa, his friends, and his students for an uncertain journey with his companion Sora. They arrived in Yamadera in late August. There, Basho and Sora climb the rocky steps to the mountain temple called Yamadera (山寺, lit. “Mountain Temple”), shedding each step of the way their human worries and cares, until even the wind had ceased and all was silent.
Beholding the beauty of the scene, all Basho heard was the sound of the cicada.
ah, the silence sinking into the rocks the voice of the cicada
閑かさや 岩にしみ入る 蝉の声
shizukasa ya iwa ni shimi-iru semi no koe
Basho’s haiku is inspired by my own experience with cicadas in Kansas and elsewhere. It is a common experience shared by anyone who has heard the incessant high pitched cry. What they are saying and to whom is a mystery. Perhaps, spending 16 out of 17 years underground, they are happy to be set free, learning too soon that it is time to die.
Perhaps, I wonder is it the heat?
ah, in the heat of August, from each and every tree comes the cry the cicada
Notes on Translation
Shizukasa could also be “such silence”, the feeling of awe that comes across the traveler when the wind dies completely and one is left alone with the beauty of Nature.
Shimi-iru is literally “penetrating,” giving one the sense the cicadas have burrowed into the rocks to escape the heat. “Sinking” is more sublime, and suggestive of a Buddhist stage of meditation.
Semi no koe, at its simplest, is the voice of the cicada, but that doesn’t stop translators from adding a little spice with verbs like “shrill of the cicada” or “cry of the cicada”.
Once on a trip to Estes Park, a friend and I camped below Longs Peak (a “fourteener” located in the Rocky Mountain National Park), having decided on the spur of the moment to make the long climb to the top. It was summer, the evening was cool. It is hard to ignore, he snores. He slept in a one man tent, I crosswise and bent in the car. The stars filled the night sky, and the Milky Way rose behind the peak we hoped to climb the next day.
Unprepared, ill-equipped, we didn’t make it all the way, but had a great time. P.S. a better climber started us out, illuminating the pathway with a headlamp that he wisely brought.
a mountain path
Some thoughts:
Nightfall Too Dark to Read, To Bed
A fool Climbs Mt. Long Not at all
In Darkness, With trust in the Buddha, I start, I stumble, I fall
One can ride horses along the trails on the mountainside. When the sun rose, we saw a few horses roaming freely on the range. One horse had only three legs.
A three legged horse On the mountainside Climbs better than most
In the Summer Sun Snow melts, water gathers A cold stream
There is still snow at the highest elevations, even in July. The summer sun melts the snow forming narrow streams. One often stops to wash the face and hands with the cold water. Then one moves on, admiring a wildflower that grows nearby.
mountain crocus
1685 (year of Jōkyō, 貞享)
The following haiku is from Basho’s Journal of Bleached Bones(Nozarashi Kiko, 野ざらし紀行). This travelogue covered a trip that began in the fall of 1684 and ended the next spring. Basho traveled from Edo to Iga Ueno, his birthplace. After paying respects to his mother who had died the year before, he traveled to Kamigata (an are encompassing Kyoto, Kobe, and Osaka). Coming along a mountain path, Matsuo Basho spied a mountain violet (sumiregusa). This dainty purple flower with its heart shaped leaves has no smell, but it is charming nevertheless, being one of the earliest flowers to blossom in spring.
coming along a mountain path, somehow so charming – a wild violet
[ゆかし, yukashi meaning charming, endearing, or moving. This haiku inspired Enya to compose a charming song in Japanese called Sumiregusa.]
My thoughts is this:
A tiny mountain flower Don’t pick this jewel Just admire
Having reached the peak of Mt. Long, many climbers quickly descend, either because the peak has become crowded with other climbers, or the time of day is late and the weather uncertain. I think Basho would agree, there is joy in the summit, but the greater joy is in the journey.
By July, 1689, Matsuo Basho and Sora had reached Obanazawa, three months into their Journey to the Northern Interior, and ready to rest.
[By Matsuo Basho’s reckoning, according to the Japanese lunar calendar, it was the 5th lunar month (五日, itsuka), from the 17th to the 27th, 1689.]
Basho writes:
“In Obanazawa, I met a man called Seifu (清風, a Chinese phrase meaning cool breeze).”
“He is wealthy, yet a man of a samurai mind. He has a deep understanding of the hardships of the wandering journey, for he himself had traveled often to the capital city. He invited me to stay at his place as long as I wished and made me comfortable in every way he could.”
Making coolness My lodging, I rest
Yes (Hai), crawl out! Croaking toad Under the silk moth hut
The mental image of Mayahuki (an eye brush) And Benihana (Safflower, red powder flower)
Safflower, 紅粉の花
Notes on Translation
Obanazawa (尾花沢), literally means the valley of the yellow iris (尾花). The city is located along the Mogami River in central Japan, halfway between Sendai and Sakata (Stages 18 and 31).
In Obanazawa, Matsuo Basho’s host was Seifu (清風), a wealthy merchant and poet of the Danrin school, founded by Nishiyama Sōin (1605 to 1682). Seifu had previously exchanged haiku with Basho and Sora in Edo. Seifu is the Haiku name of Michisuke Suzuki, a safflower wholesaler, thus the third haiku.
Who knows, Seifu’s kaiku Not me, not you
Seifu’s haiku Faded Like Safflower powder
Bashō no yōna
I have not been able to find any haiku by Michisuke Suzuki, or Seifu. But, there is a Seifu Museum in Obamazawa.
Safflower (紅粉の花, benibana or beni no hana), has been used in Japan as a source for red tint in cosmetics and dye for clothing. The yellow flower contains a concentrated tinge of red.
With the July heating up, and the long walk, Basho and Sora were ready for a rest. The WKD Archive site indicates that Basho stayed at a nearby temple and not with Seifu. Perhaps, Seifu was not as “cool” as his name suggests.
From the second haiku, one infers that Basho’s host also maintained a nursery for Silkworm moths. Basho addresses a toad hidden in a Moth hut. It is hot and humid, Basho kindly commands him to crawl out, enjoy the cool, fresh air.
Mayahaki in the third haiku refers to the brush that sweeps the eye with red powder from the Safflower. It is the signature look of the Geisha.
Seeing fresh green leaves (青葉), hearing the Mountain Cuckoo (山時鳥), and tasting the season’s first Bonito (初鰹, Skipjack Tuna) — these are images that express the feeling of early summer in Edo, 1678, written down by Yamaguchi Sodo (山口素堂).
Picture a bustling, smelly, noisy fish market in Edo’s fashionable Nihonbashi district. Sanpu Sugiyama, the imperial purveyor of fish is there, supervising the sale of fish. Throngs of people have gathered to see the season’s first Bonito catch. The fish are taken from the boats and displayed on fresh green leaves. Cuckoo birds gather about making their distinctive sounds — ka-ka-ka-ka-ka-kow-kow.
Matsuo Basho and Yamaguchi Sodo, fellow poets and friends of Sanpu, are there as well.
Seeing Aoba Hearing Hototogisu TastingHatsugatsuo
An eye for green leaves, The Mountain Cuckoo The First Bonito
me ni ha aoba / yama hototogisu / hatsu gatsuo
目には青葉山時鳥初鰹
Hiroshige Utagawa (1842-1894), Bonito Fishing
Yamaguchi Sodo
Yamaguchi Sodo (山口素堂, 1642-1716) was a contemporary of Matsuo Basho, who outlived him by almost 20 years. This simple haiku, which is Zen-like in its sparseness, was collected in “Edo Shindo” (New Road in Edo) in 1678.
In 1675, Sodo met Matsuo Basho for the first time in Edo. Sodo took up residence at Shinobazu-no-Ike Pond in Ueno Park, a former temple, near Basho.
This was Basho’s early period, before Basho moved from noisy Edo across the Sumida River to the quiet Fukagawa District. It was there that Basho took up residence in a simple cottage, planted a banana tree (芭蕉, Bashō) next to the cottage, and, in time, became Basho, and the cottage Basho-an.
The two became fast friends. Perhaps it is merely coincidental, but one cannot help but see and hear the similarity between Matsuo Basho‘s name and Hatsu Gatsuo, the last line of the haiku. The word choice is perhaps not entirely coincidental. The person who provided Basho Matsuo with financial help was his pupil, Sanpu Sugiyama, also known as Ichibei Koiya, Edo’s official fish procurer for the Shogunate.
In old Edo, there was a saying:
女房 を 質屋 に 入れて も 食いたい 初鰹
nyōbō wo shichi ni iretemo hatsu-gatsuo,
“I must taste the season’s first bonito, even if I must pawn my wife!”
Tuna Tataki-style
Hatsu-gatsuo is generally prepared tataki–style, that is — seared on the outside, raw on the inside, then plunged in ice water, patted dry and showered with fresh green herbs, and finally pressed with cracked pepper and roasted garlic.
Nihonbashi district fish market, Hiroshige Utagawa (1842-1894)
Matsuo Basho was well into his trip when he visited mountainous Yamadera, and the Buddhist temple of Risshaku-ji in northern Yamagata Prefecture. This was stage 26 of 43 recorded stops on his Oku no Hosomichi, Journey to the Northern Interior (奥の細道).
Ah, the Quiet,but piercing the Rocks — the Cry of the Cicada
閑けさや 岩にしみいる 蝉の声
Shizukesa ya/ Iwa ni shimiiru/ Semi no koe
Here he climbed over a thousand steps to the temple of Risshaku-ji (立石寺), founded in 860 AD by the priest Ennin, later known as Jikaku Daishi (慈覺大師). Ennin had studied in China during the Tang Dynasty. This was a literary connection for Basho who had an affinity for the Tang poet Du Fu and all poems of the Tang Dynasty.
On his way to the summit, clinging to the steep, forested, rocky mountain side, he composed this haiku.
For Matsuo Basho, I imagine the haiku means that poetry outlives the poet. It echoes down through generations, as solid as rock. This is similar to the Latin phrase Ars longa, vita brevis, which means either “Art lasts long, life is short” or “it takes a lifetime to learn a skill, life is short”.
Notes on Translation
Semi no koe, 蝉の声, the voice of the cicada. Whether the cicada cries or simply speaks, Gentle Reader, I leave to you.
Compare mizuno oto, 水の音, the sound of water. Unlike Matsuo Basho’s well known, old pond — frog jumps — splash, water’s sound, Basho here uses “voice” for “sound”.
Both haiku are good examples of Basho’s focus on wabi-sabi, 侘び 寂び. This Zen Buddhist concept can best be described as simple and quiet, but elegant, finding beauty in life’s imperfections. For example, a furry caterpillar crawls along a branch after having eaten part of a leaf.
Gentle Reader, how do you find beauty in this world?
Monday morning, mid-June, warm not hot. A kayak trip up Satchel Creek at Lake El Dorado in southeast Kansas. I am alone in the universe.
The regular rhythm of the paddle in the water inspired these thoughts.
Not haiku, but rules are made to be broken, otherwise how would we improve. Hopefully, the verse is Basho-like, Bashō no yōna. But first, a word from the Master:
With awe I beheld Fresh leaves, green leaves, Bright in the sunlight. — Matsuo Basho, Road to the Deep North
Let’s Start
Satchel Creek starts out wide as it empties into the lake. Then, as it meanders past rocky shoals, it narrows, until finally the kayak bottoms out on the rocks and one can go no further. But that is still a ways off. A Great Heron accompanies me for a while. Along the way are sunken logs and fallen trees. Spider webs catch their prey. Catfish and carp jump out of the water to catch a fly.
The silence of the water and woods, The stillness of the air Is everywhere. Until one feels a gentle breeze, And hears the flapping wings of a Great Heron Leading the way To who knows where
Paddling up Satchel Creek In a sleek blue kayak Past sunken logs and fallen trees Suddenly, a carp Grasps a floating bug Slap goes the water
Matsuo Basho began one his famous journey north with this:
Paddling along, silently wondering, where are the turtles resting on logs in the morning sun? Birds call out sweet songs, unseen in the tall trees.
Turtles will sleep ‘til noon, Oh, how they hate to get up in the morning.
Have you ever heard a Chickadee call, High up in a tall tree?
Lake El Dorado was created by the US Army Corps of Engineers in 1981. The waters flooded the old town of Chelsea, but its cemetery remains at the north end of the lake. Along the lakeside and up Satchel Creek, flooding left many old trees in the water. Their ghostly gray silhouettes a reminder of what was once woodlands. The first verse mimics Basho’s thoughts of a crow on a withered branch.
On a withered branch A blue heron keeps watch Wary of Summer’s strangers
Dead trees like skeletons Standing in the water Praying for what?
Water, water everywhere, And not a drop to think. A Mulberry tree along the bank, Its fruit a gift for me… Thank God
End
Thomas Wolfe famously said, “You can’t go back home again.” Heraclitus said, “You could not step twice into the same rivers.” Do they mean the same thing?
I am back in Wichita. Why do they say, You can’t go back home again. Why does the river flows on and on?
Uncertainty was the reason for this trip. The uncertainty of tomorrow, the uncertainty that keeps eating away at me, that brings me down. And, as I alluded to in my last post, I felt that with travel I could escape the discontent that uncertainty brings. I was surprised to find it waiting there for me.
As Seneca advises, I need a change of soul.
“Are you surprised, as if it were a novelty, that after a long travel and so many changes of scene you have not been able to shake off the gloom and heaviness of your mind? You need a change of soul rather than a change of climate.” Seneca’s Letters from a Stoic, 29.
Matsuo Basho, on the other hand, gives us his own version of the Serenity Prayer:
Every day’s a journey, the journey itself is home.
matsuo-basho-haiku 