Sometimes it comes in the middle of the night My head on the pillow, half asleep A thought
来る 真夜中 枕に頭、 眠そう 思い
Kuru mayonaka makura ni atama, nemu-sō omoi
Matsuo Bashō, a short bio
Matsuo Bashō (松尾 芭蕉, 1644 – 1694) arrived, the son of a samurai, several siblings; a student, a teacher, who wandered and wondered, who listened and spoke, then scribbled and wrote, never married, never hurried, now he is gone.
Come Let us dine on barley grain On a journey nowhere (kusa makura)
come, together let us eat barley grain on a grass pillow
iza tomo ni/ homugi kurawan/ kusa makura
いざともに穂麦喰はん草枕
barley field, 麦畑
Summer 1685
On “a journey of a thousand leagues,” one that began in the autumn of 1684, a trip in which Basho would enter “into nothingness under the midnight moon,” and now, in the summer of 1685, was near its end, a chance meeting took place. It was a meeting that meant everything and nothing, remarkable enough to inspire a haiku, to remember, but nothing else.
The poet from Edo and the priest from Hirugakojima met somewhere near Nagoya in Owari province. Let us imagine the introduction:
“Come let us go together. As you see, you and I have no place to be. Asking for very little, eating a simple fare of barley grain, ‘neath the stars at night, sleepingon a pillow of grass until we say our goodbyes.”
We learn little of the priest other than the fact that he hails from the island of Hirugakojima(蛭が小嶋) in Izu. The significance becoming apparent only when we realize that the shrine and the temple on the island was built by Yoritomo Minamoto (1147-1199), who established the Kamakura shogunate, a play on words with kusamakura (草枕), the grass pillow.
In 1689, pursuant to his last wishes, Basho would be buried next to Minamoto no Yoshinaka, a member of the Minamoto samurai clan.
Journal of Bleached Bones in a Field
It was the first of Matsuo Basho’s major wanderings, a trip that took him from Edo to Mount Fuji, then on to Ueno, Nara, Kyoto, and Nagoya, a trip begun in uncertainty for Basho made trip alone without provisions. Basho was 41, old enough to have achieved fame as poet and teacher, still uncertain about where life was leading him.
The Route, Nozarashi Kiko (野ざらし紀行), Several sources indicate that Basho was accompanied on the journey by his disciple Chiri. Chiri (塵) is an interesting moniker for it means dust. Dust was on occasion a subject of Basho’s haiku.
blossoms falling, birds startled by the harp’s dust chiru hana ya / tori mo odoroku / koto no chiri 散る花や鳥も驚く琴の塵
Upon a withered branch A crow has stopped this Autumn evening
Kareeda ni/ Karasu no tomarikeri/ Aki no kure
枯枝に烏のとまりけり秋の暮
detail of image by Kawanabe Kyōsa (1831 – 1889)
Autumn 1680
Matsuo Bashō has by the autumn of 1680 now achieved fame. Moreover, he has just moved from Edo across the Sumida River to the Fukagawa neighborhood where he lives in a simple hut with a new banana tree, a gift from a student. A bridge had yet to be built across the river.
At the age of 36 Bashō was experiencing what we would call a Mid-Life crisis, he was cut off, dissatisfied, and lonely. In a couple of years he would begin his epic journey to the North. But for now, he took up the practice of Zen meditation, but it seems not to have calmed his mind.
This haiku has more than 30 published and hundreds of online translations. Why so many variations? Why so many attempts?
Zen
The answer, I suppose, lies in Zen’s ineffability. For Zen’s essence is to understand directly Life’s Meaning, without being misled by language. Life is what we view directly, no more, no less.
Bashō sees a crow perched upon a withered branch. It is autumn, more precisely, an autumn evening as the dusk settles in and darkness descends. The air is still or perhaps there is a gentle breeze. Then a crow stops upon a withered branch. Its crow and tree become one color against the ever deepening blue of the evening sky.
Bashō, like the crow, stops for a moment. And in that suspended moment this haiku is formed.
The Crow, 烏, Karasu
Do I need to say that the crow is a bad omen? In Japan, there is a belief that if a crow settles on the roof of a house and begins cawing, a funeral will soon follow. Did the gloomy Bashō foresee his own death? Did Basho in his own unique way presage Yates who wrote, “An aged man is but a paltry thing, A tattered coat upon a stick.” Is there not a little of Edgar Allen Poe’s Raven to be heard tapping at one’s door?
A melancholy thought, for which I have little to add other than that I love the repetition of the “k” throughout the haiku which must bring to mind the cawing that Bashō must have heard.
Notes
I see that I watched this crow stopping on his withered branch before, September 19, 2019.
For the semantically punctilious, much depends on the translation of とまりけり, tomarikeri. Perched, alighted, arrested are all possibilities. “Stopped” seems best to me.
What do we make of this strange haiku where a cuckoo stains a fish? Was Basho in Osaka eating ahi tuna when he had an insight?
The cuckoo is a popular subject in Japanese literature. Matsuo Basho begins no less than eleven haikus with the word hototogisu, 時鳥. Terebess, page 45.
the cuckoo is paired with katsuo, the skipjack tuna or bonito. We might think of it as ahi tuna, served fresh and raw, but ahi is a larger species than the skipjack. Can it be, the far ranging cuckoo with its bright red mouth has stained the tuna bright red?
Perhaps, but there is another story.
Patience
It is a Japanese short poem, known to Basho, that illustrates the virtues of patience. One day three Samurai, Nobunaga, Hideyoshi and Ieyasu, got together and saw a cuckoo in a tree that wouldn’t sing. Nobunaga said, “If it doesn’t sing I’ll kill it.” But Hideyoshi said, “No; I’ll convince it to sing”; finally, Ieyasu said, “I’ll wait until it sings”.
Nobunga was regarded as the first “Great Unifier” of Japan. Hideyoshi succeeded him. Hideyoshi, it seems, had a passion for gold, and covered Osaka Castle with gold leaf and roof ornaments in the form of a mythical ocean fish. Ieyasu, biding his time, defeated Hideyoshi and became the first shōgun of the Tokugawa shogunate.
Katsuo can also be read to mean “man who wins.” Hototogisu katsuo, means “the cuckoo wins.” Thus, the patient Ieyasu killed the “fish”.
It is now November. The sky is gray, the trees are bare, there is a cold wind that chills, leaves once red and gold, now yellow and brown, flutter in the air then gather for they know Winter is near.
Meoto Iwa Married Couple Rocks, Futami
September 1689, Ogaki
In September 1689, Matsuo Basho has completed his Journey to the North, ending in Ogaki on horseback. His friend Rotsu accompanied him, Sora, his companion on much of the journey, rejoined him. Basho continues, “we all went to the house of Joko, where I enjoyed a reunion with Zensen, Keiko and his sons, and many other old friends who came to see me by day or night.“
On the 6th of September, it was time to part and take to the road again. Life moves on, and so, he left for the Ise Shrine, for he wanted to see the dedication of a new shrine (Futamiokitama Shrine). As he stepped into the boat that would take him across Ise Bay he wrote:
As clams Divide into Two (Separate in Futami) In Autumn
蛤の ふたみにわかれ 行秋ぞ
hamaguri no / futami ni wakare / yuku aki zo
So too, I take to the road again. Not a farewell my friends, a repose.
Matsuo Basho (松尾 芭蕉) lived in the later half of the 17th century when Japan was isolated from Western culture and there was, of course, no Halloween, no Trick or Treat, no masked children laughing and singing, “Smell my feet, Give me something good to eat.” Masks were however used in the ceremonies of Shinto religion (Tengu, 天狗), the plays of Noh theater, and as part of the Samurai military costume.
Noh mask, 3 faces, Wikipedia
Basho’s Halloween Costume
Had he worn one, surely a banana , his self-given moniker, the very meaning of Basho (芭 蕉) and the plant which grew over his hut on the outskirts of Edo. Otherwise, a Noh mask, for Basho loved to attend the plays Lastly as an old and aged frog about to make a splash, for that was the poem that made him famous.
Old pond, frog jumping into water, sound
Furuike ya kawazu tobikomu mizu no oto
ふるいけやかわずとびこむみずのおと
Why is Basho’s frog haiku famous
Water makes many sounds, it ripples on the rocks, splatters as rain falling upon the roof, as the roar of the ocean waves, even the gurgle of water in a drain. But the very best has to be surprise when a frog disturbs the stillness of a pond and we hear kerplop!
Shoda Koho, Frog on Lotus Leaf, detail stylized, source ukiyo-e.org
The wintry wind, Swelling cheeks and throbbing pain on Peoples’ faces
Kogarashi ya/ Hoobare itamu/ Hito no kao
こがらしや 頬腫痛む 人の顔
Though we don’t know, let us imagine that the year is 1672, Basho at age 28, has moved to Edo (now Tokyo), the seat of the newly established Tokugawa shoguns. He is there to make his career as a professional haiku poet. Picture a street in Edo, it is winter, the trees have been striped of their leaves by a strong wind blowing out of the North. Men and women, old and young, pull up their collars and tighten their scarves and scurry down the street trying to avoid the bitter wind that bites their cheeks.
In the words of Lao Tzu, “Those who know do not speak. Those who speak do not know.” And those who feel know how truly cold it is. Normally, a face reveals nothing, but a bitterly cold wind reveals the pain one feels on a winter’s day.
Kogarashi is a marker for the start of the winter season. According to the Japan Meteorological Agency, the wind must blow from the north at a speed of 28.8 kph (18 mph) and be capable of stripping leaves from the tree.
1694, Genroku 7, on the 21st day of the ninth lunar month
An Autumn evening (sigh) Breaking down How will it end – (an angry) talk?
“So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past.” Translators, like Nick Carraway’s character in The Great Gatsby, never totally agreeing, trying to make sense of Matsuo Basho’s haiku. This however provides hours of fun and never-ending chatter, for when it comes to the sense of a poem, in Zen, there is no right or wrong.
How will it end – In pleasant chat or angry talk?
Three alternative translations
In the autumn night, Breaking into A pleasant chat
1694 – Basho is traveling again for the last time, going from the house of one friend to another. In the year 1694 (Genroku 7, on the 21st day of the ninth lunar month), shortly before his death, he arrives at the home of Shioe Shayo in Osaka. Old friends gathering, reciting haiku, and talking of the olden days.
One month later, on the 12th day of the tenth lunar month, he peacefully passed away.
Notes on Translation
秋の夜を 打ち崩したる 咄かな Aki no yo wo/ Uchikuzushitaru/ Hanashi kana
Line one. 秋の夜 をAkinoyo wo, An Autumn night. The final character を imparts the idea of a sigh or emphasis.
Line two. 打ち崩したるUchikuzushitaru, most translation agree that this conveys the meaning “breaking down into”. I imagine an evening that began as a Renga party where a group of poets each contributed a verse under the direction of a renga master, Matuso Basho. Each verse a haiku that contained three lines of five, seven, and five syllables. Eventually all games come to an end, breaking down into congenial chatter and sometimes anger.
Line three. 咄かな Hanashi kana. Basho leaves us with a bit of a mystery. After three centuries, Hanashi comes down to us as a talk, a story and a chat. But the character 咄 when repeated becomes a loud voice (onomatopoeia), especially in an angry way; like tut-tut or tsk-tsk. The final two characters かなkana express wonder.
If the evening ended in anger and disagreement, I imagine Basho sitting there, a bit groggy from the wine, shaking his head, sadly thinking, this is how it ends. Thankfully, I am in the minority on this point of view. A month later, on his death bed, Basho is pictured, at peace, surrounded by friends.
“Ignore the faults of others and be ignorant of your own virtues.”
Should I to say a word My lips turn cold In the autumn wind.
mono ieba / kuchibirusa samushi / aki no kaze
物いへば唇寒し龝の風
Autumn 1691
On his return to Edo in the autumn of 1691, Bashō took up the task of editing his journal that was to become The Narrow Road to the Interior (奥の細道, Oku no Hosomichi), which was published in 1694. He had a great many visitors and wrote to a friend, “I have no peace of mind.”
leaves, some the wind scatters on the ground; so too the race of men.
– Iliad vi.146
Marcus Aurelius, Roman emperor and Stoic philosopher, paraphrasing the Illiad, vi146, in his Meditations, 10.34.
Maple Leaves at Tsūtenkyō, near Kyoto
Matsuo Basho on Scattered Leaves
Let the universe be your companion, bearing in mind the true nature of things—mountains and rivers, trees and grass, and humanity – and enjoy the falling blossoms and scattered leaves.Matsuo Basho
Humanity, Basho observed, enjoys the true nature of things. Autumn leaves, falling leaves of red and gold, scattered leaves outside my window, written about in song and poem, a last hurrah, a winsome remembrance, before winter’s wind comes along.
Such things as these cherished tears coloring scattered maple leaves
尊がる涙や 染めて 散る紅葉 tootogaru namida ya somete chiru momiji
October 1, 1691, shortly before Basho, age 48, returned to Edo. Basho’s greeting to the priest Ryu at Menshooji temple 明照寺, (Meishōji), near Lake Biwa, in Hikone, Shiga Prefecture. WKD Matsuo Basho Archives
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