Spring rain – running down a wasp’s nest from a roof that leaks
春雨や 蜂の巣つたふ 屋根の漏り
harusame ya hachinosu tsutau yane no mori
Wasp Nest, Kono Bairei, 1844-1895
More rain
Yesterday, it rained. Today, it rains again. Tomorrow, it is suppose to rain again. I should look around the house to see if the roof leaks. Is it not a fundamental principle of life, Basho asks, that a roof shall leak?
For Matsuo Basho the steady drip of the rain from a wasp’s nest became the subject of this haiku. Does this not remind you, Gentle Reader, of the premise of the television show Seinfeld — “a show about nothing” and everything. Observational comedy like haiku poetry are based on everyday phenomenon rarely noticed. Have you ever noticed? — a wasp nest shouldn’t leak.
Cosmic principles
To make the point, Basho ends this simple haiku with the Japanese character り, Ri, which in Confucian philosophy attempts to identify an underlying principle of the cosmos — a roof shouldn’t leak, but it sometimes does, but not in a wasp nest.
Notes on Translation
Harusame, 春雨 is Basho’s oft repeated Spring Rain. Hachinosu, 蜂の巣, a wasp nest or beehive. Also, a colloquialism for something full of holes, like Swiss cheese, a knit scarf, and Basho’s roof. Yane no mori, 屋根の漏り, a roof that leaks.
Spring rain If it is rains today It is Spring rain (Harusame – noodles)
春の雨 今日の雨なら 春雨じゃ
Spring Rain at Tsuchiyama, 1834–35, Utagawa Hiroshige, image The Met*
Yesterday and Today
Yesterday, I found myself sing along to Phil Collins’ I Wish It Would Rain. Today, it rains, rains, rains. In the Midwest, a spring rain (春の雨, haru no ame) is always welcome except when it rains too much, which is what it is now doing.
Even the worms do not like too much rain, for coming to the surface, Robins find them and feast. For farmers, when it rains too much, it floods, and the seeds of the spring wheat are washed away. That is why most wheat grown in Kansas and the Midwest is Winter wheat.
Sometimes, summer rains sometimes come not at all.
What do we make of Matsuo Basho’s little ditty? Is Basho saying “it is raining cats and dogs”? Is he saying rain is a gift from above? 春雨 being a figurative statement for a “gift from above,” an idea Kansas farmers fully understand. Is that gift from above, “harusame”? Hausame being noodles that look like worms.
Could it simply be, that today 今日, because it rains, Basho is served harusame?
Basho’s disciple, Bashō no yōna, is thinking along a different line of thought, of the birds, of the fishermen.
Spring rain A gift from above, a gift from below Earth worms
When it doesn’t rain enough
Because it doesn’t always rain, here’s one I like from Taniguchi Buson (1715-1783):
Harusame ya kawazu no hara no mada nurezu
Spring rain — not enough yet to wet a frog’s belly.
Notes
Spring Rain. It is explained to me that haru no ame, 春の雨) is the general category of rain that falls in spring (from late February to March) and thus it may be a cold rain that chills the bones and frightens the birds, while harusame, 春雨 is the light but steady rain portrayed by Utagawa Hiroshige above, a gentle rain, a drizzle, the kind one experiences in Seattle or Portland, and along Japan’s eastern coast in spring.
Tsuchiyama—a travelers’ station on the Tōkaidō route connecting Edo and Kyoto, in the mountains just before the road ends at Kyoto, known for its gentle rain, and familiar to Basho who traveled this route often.
My wish, to disappear Under the flowers. Let it be a Spring death, In Kisagari (that changing month), That Bright Moon time of year.
bright moon, man walking on beach, ukiyo-e 浮世絵, floating world
Farewell to February, 2021
Before the month of February has passed, I thought it fitting to add one more poem on the subject of Kisigari.
This poem is written not by Basho, but by Saigyō Hōshi (西行法師, 1118 -1190) a poet of the Heian period who lived to the age of 72. His life as a monk and his frequent journeys inspired Basho’s many journeys.
February is a month often overlooked because of its shortness, but also its in-betweenness, caught as it is between winter and spring. Nineteenth century American poet Henry David Longfellow gave us his thoughts on a February Afternoon, which begin like this: The day is ending, The night is descending; The marsh is frozen, The river dead. Matsuo Basho also gave us some thoughts on February (Kisagari). Both are a bit depressing.
Saigyō’s poem, on the contrary, is more uplifting, at least in the Buddhist sense of regeneration with Saigyō imagining that he is reborn as an early spring flower 花, Hana. The third line is particularly poignant. 春死なむ, Haru shinan conbines the idea of a death in spring and なむ which I understand to be “let it be,” and a reference to the Buddhist concept of Namu 南無.
Kisigari,如月 is the Japanese lunar name for the month of February. It suggests the changing of the seasons, Spring approaching, a month with spring-like days. Sometimes written as Kinusaragi (衣更着, “Changing Clothes”) .
Yesterday, February the 24th, in Kansas it was 70 degrees, two days before that it was 0. What a difference a day or two makes.
I have one final comment to make on Saigyō’s use of の, no through out the poem. This personalizes, for me, the thought. Not being a native Japanese speaker it is just my personal thought.
My wish, to disappear Under my flowers. Let my death be in Spring, In Kisagari (that changing month), My Bright Moon time of year.
Original Japanese
願はくは 花の下にて 春死なむ その如月の 望月のころ
Negawaku wa Hana no moto nite Haru shinan Sono kisaragi no Mochizuki no koro
Naked am I Still changing clothes In Kisaragi, doesn’t it storm?
hadaka ni wa, mada kisaragi no, arashi kana
はだかにはまだ衣更着のあらし哉
Bridge in a Snowy Landscape, Hiroshige Utagawa, 1842-3
February 2021, it storms
Recent events here in the Midwest reveal that Nature sometimes keeps its worst weather for February. January in Japan is bitterly cold. February, occasionally, will give hints of spring. The February weather changes day by day which explains why the Japanese lunar calendar name for February is kisaragi, 如月, or kinusaragi, 衣更着, which implies the changing of clothes in the anticipation of spring.
Hold on, says Matuso Basho, old man winter is not done.
I am guessing Basho showed up for (or heard about) the Naked Man Festival, Saidai-ji Eyo — Hadaka Matsuri, held in Okayama in February each year. It has been going on 500 years, but in Basho’s time it was somewhat new. The idea of men, nearly naked, hadaka, jostling for a lucky object, hoping to become Fukuotoko, the “lucky man” must have seemed strange.
Thus, it is not hard to imagine Basho saying,
Undressing Removing clothes What, in February, it storms!
Or Basho No-Yona adding,
Dressing today For yesterday’s weather – Strange looks
The lamp oil is freezing, the light is low, I am awakening!
油こほりともし火細き寝覚哉
abura kōri / tomoshi-bi hosoki / nezame kana
Oil lamp, Shibata Zeshin, 1882, image from The Met
Baby, it’s cold outside
Last night, the temperature dropped to a chilly -2 °F in western Kansas.
If this were 1870, not 2021, I imagine the early settlers would have had a hard time falling asleep in a sod dugout built into the side of a hill. A buffalo robe would help fight off the cold. Dried buffalo paddies when available were used for fuel. In the above haiku, Matsuo Basho gives us his impression of trying to sleep when the weather is bitterly cold, so cold that the lamp oil and the furnace barely provide light and less heat.
At the same time, he manages to turn it into a moment of enlightenment. Basho’s awakening, 寝覚哉, nezame kana, metaphorically is meant as a Buddhist enlightenment.
Does oil freeze?
I did wonder what the Japanese used for lamp oil — rapeseed is the most common answer. I then wondered if rapeseed oil could freeze. It can. While the freezing temperature may vary according to the type of oil, -10 °C or 14°F will do the trick.
This means that our early Kansas settlers would have had a “awakening” like Basho’s.
Note
For those curious as to the when and where of the poem, when is winter 1685-1687, and the place is Basho’s little cottage in the Fukagawa District outside Edo.
A Haiku should be a teaching moment, that is, it should make a point.
One day, when Bashō and his pupil, Takarai Kikaku (宝井其角, 1661–1707), were walking through the fields, they spotted dragonflies darting through the grass and flowers. Kikaku composed this haiku and looked to his master for approval.
Behold:
A red dragonfly! remove its wings — a pepper pod!
“The dragonfly is dead.” the Master replied, “Now this is how to create life?”
From this to that And back again, Oh, can it ever end? — Keihatsu!
Bashō no yōna, 2021
Most translators attempting to explain the Kikaku/Basho exchange focus on Basho’s “positive” view, the red pepper becomes a dragonfly; scolding Kikaku’s “negative” view, taking life and not creating it.
We need not be one-sighted. This haiku also explains the Buddhist concept of Rebirth, 轉世.
A pepper becomes a dragonfly, a dragonfly becomes a pepper. So too, each of us enters as new existence after death, in an endless cycle called saṃsāra. This unsatisfactory cycle is considered to be dukkha, painful, and, hopefully, ends with enlightenment, keihatsu, 啓発.
Making my point
Basho:toogarashi hane o tsuketara akatonbo
It is a two-way street. Kyōiku wa sōhōkōdesu, 教育は双方向です. Our clues are found in the carefully chosen images. Tōgarashi, a red or chili pepper, also a spicy seasoning added to many Japanese dishes. Behold, a chef creates a spicy dish. Tsuketara meaning to turn on, light up, or switch on. Behold, on the one hand we have a chili pepper, now it switches to a dragonfly. Instead of using the single character 蜻, Qīng for butterfly, the transformative three character, akatonbo, 赤とん, is used, which means red dragonfly. These characters include the Japanese character と, which can best be understood in the context of “if and” or “when”.
Original Japanese
Kikaku: 赤とんぼ羽をとったら唐がらし akatonbo hane o tottara toogarashi
Basho: 唐がらし羽をつけたら赤とんぼ toogarashi hane o tsuketara akatonbo
Notes on Translation
In Japan, the dragonfly represents rebirth. To the samurai class it is a symbol of prosperity and good luck. To farmers, the reappearance of dragonflies in spring, signifies a good harvest. The dragonfly is Japan’s national symbol, which is why Japan is also known as the Island of the Dragonfly,Akitsushima.
In Western philosophy, one often thinks of life as a one way street. One is born, lives, and dies. In Eastern philosophy, particularly Buddhist philosophy, death becomes passage to a new life. This is similar but different from Christian teaching about the Resurrection.
I am far too much of an amateur to explain the concept of Rebirth, 轉世.
Making a Living
After Matsuo Basho’s death, Kikaku gave us a lovely portrait of the poet, mentioning that his master was “a lonely man and very poor, but his virtues were infinite.” I too am poor and therefore, must make a living. If you wish, you can check out this Dragonfly Lamp, available online, shipping in the continental US.
a wintry garden, a silvery thread, ah, the moon, as insects hmm …
fuyu niwa ya tsuki mo ito naru mushi no gin
冬庭や 月もいとなる むしの吟
2nd year of Genroku, at a tea ceremony with Ichinyū celebrating Banzan.
by the light of the silvery moon, the insects hmmm
Winter, 2nd year of Genroku, 1689
At least one modern day student of Basho dates this haiku to 1689 and adds, “on meeting Ichinyū at a celebration held by Banzan.”
Ichinyū was a lay Buddhist teacher and seven year Basho’s senior. By trade he was a traditional tea potter, fourth generation Raku. Ichinyū lived and worked in Kyoto, which suggests that he was an old friend from Basho’s student days.
Kumazawa Banzan was a follower of Confucius, an advocate of agricultural reform who ran afoul of the Shogun, Tokugawa Tsunayoshi. Beginning in 1687, Bashan was confined to Koga Castle in Ibaraki Prefecture, making it likely that the occasion for writing this haiku was not a meeting with Banzan, but a celebration ofBanzan’s writings that took place at a tea ceremony in Kyoto hosted by Ichinyū.
We should perhaps give Basho credit here for political commentary. I read this haiku as, “the peasants (i.e. insects) continue through winter’s darkness to work (hmmm) for the Imperial court and the samurai class.
Notes on this haiku
The 2nd year of Genroku refers to the reign of Emperor Higashiyama.
Those who garden know that a winter’s garden, fuyu niwa ya, 冬庭や, has but a few plants and fewer insects. The ending character や, ya, turns this phrase into an interjection expressing surprise which I’ve added to the next line. An early frost shrivels the leaves and stills the sounds of the insects who feed on the plants. To me, it is remarkable after an early frost to hear a solitary insect humming. This insect has perhaps burrowed down deep in the earth, found a dung hill, or huddled next to the house to survive the icy cold. And the next day, in the warmth of the sun, merrily goes about its work.
Tsuki mo ito naru. Tsuki is our familiar moon in all its phases. Naru is the verb form for becoming. Mo ito, literally, like a thread, giving us the sense that the moon is waning to a “silvery thread.”
Mushi no Gin, the sound of insects. I render this as “insects hmmm.” Those familiar with Matsuo Basho’s haiku know that as a Zen poet, he was fascinated with the sound of things, whether it was a cricket under a helmet, a frog jumping in an old pond, or insects in rocks.
Master of Hokku Matsuo Tosei At home on the First Day of Spring
The Sound of Hokku Matsuo Tosei At home on the First Day of Spring
発句なり 松尾桃青 宿の春
Hokku nari Matsuo Toosei Yado no haru.
Matsuo Toosei
Becoming a Master of Haiku
Spring 1678, a new year, a new beginning. Matsuo was not yet Matsuo Basho, not quite yet. First he would proclaim himself “master of the haiku”. 発句なり, Hokku nari.
Notes on Translation
The two characters なり, nari, literally translate as “to be” or “the sound of” haiku. The second translation (the sound of haiku) reminds one of Basho’s famous haiku about the frog and the sound of water.
One should not be surprised that there are at least two translations of the same words and the same poem. Basho was student of The Dao (The Way), which teaches that the Way is eternal and changing, that words have more than one meaning. This is literally expressed as, “The name (word) that can be named is not the eternal name.” Tao de Ching.
Toosei
Matsuo Toosei, Basho’s moniker before he became Basho. Toosei means “green peach”. The peach was a symbol of immortality and a long life, but a “green” peach is one not quite famous, a “newby” hoping to achieve fame and immortality as a poet. Basho would not ripen into “Basho” banana until two years later when he moved from Edo to the Fukagawa neighborhood. There he lived in a hut next to a banana tree given to him as a gift by a student.
Yado no haru, 宿の春. Haru, 春, literally “Spring,” but also either the first of the year or New Year. Yado, literally, lodging.
An old pond, A frog jumps Makes the sound of the water
An old pond, A frog jumps Water speaks!
Furu ike ya kawazu tobikomu mizu no oto
古池 蛙飛び込む 水の音
Must I explain?
A message so simple, even a child can understand. The frog jumps, the water speaks. Be the frog, be the water, one acts, the other reacts. It is a Zen thing, if you have to explain, you don’t get it. Like a solitary cloud on a summer’s day. Like a blade of grass waving in the wind. Like a buttercup in a sea of green. It is something special that a child understands and an adult forgets.
matsuo-basho-haiku 