Golden

Summer— Mornings in Golden, Colorado, sitting outside, sipping coffee with nothing to do.

Mornings with nothing —

to do but sipping coffee

then waiting for noon

.

With nothing to do —

A breeze stirs my thoughts into

— haiku about nothing

.

Something

from nothing- haiku

Who knew?

Basho at Hirazumi

grass clouds dream

sigh, this summer grass
is all that remains
— a mighty samurai’s dreams
.
natsukusa ya
tsuwamono domo ga
yume no ato.
夏草や兵共がゆめの跡

Hiraizumi, Iwate prefecture
Summer 1689

Like swallows, like the stork, like the Monarch butterfly, in summer, man migrates from home to vacation and suffer the heat. Matsuo Basho did not invent summer travel in Japan, but he did popularize it. His travelogues, a combination of haiku and commentary on local scenes were published during and after his lifetime. Highways were built.* Way stations were maintained and rest-stops and inns were conveniently located at distances of 20 miles apart.

Along the Oku no Hosomichi, Basho’s journey into Japan’s northern interior in the summer of 1689.

At Hiraizumi, the northernmost point on Basho’s journey that one day would be called Oku no Hosomichi, Basho detoured to the land where the Oshu Fujiwara clan prospered for three generations in the late Heian period (Heian, meaning peace, 794 to 1185).

Here, Minamoto no Yoshitsune, the third generation of the powerful Minamoto clan, fled fleeing the fickle emperor for whom he had gallantly fought but now was condemned. Far to the north, surrounded by mountains, to Hiraizumi he fled. Given refuge, he lived in peace, until the death of his protector whose son betrayed vilely him. In a final battle, Yoshitsune met his end.

Standing on the hill, in the midst of the dying summer grass, there Yoshitsune’s forces fought to the last man.

What do you think?

Grass as a metaphor for a dead warrior

Basho’s thoughts: “Three generations of glory of the Fujiwara clan vanished like a dream; the hills and rivers remain unchanged, as they were in the past.” How Dao, death comes to us all, and Nature reclaims everything, in the passage of time, restoring what is to the way it once was.

“Cry out,” a voice said,
    And said I, “What shall I cry?”
“Our flesh is like grass, its beauty like the flower of the field…
The grass withers, the flower fades.”
Isaiah, 40:6–8

“I bequeath myself to the dirt to grow from the grass I love,
If you want me again look for me under your boot-soles.”
Walt Whitman, Leaves of Grass, 1855

Note. Five Routes established by the Tokugawa shogunate. The Nakasendo and Tokaido were the most popular. Both connected Edo and Kyoto, the Nakasendo through the mountains, Tokaido along the coast. The Japanese artist Utagawa Hiroshige immortalized the “55 Stations of the Tokaido” in print.

Utagawa Hiroshige – Hakone, Museum of Fine Arts, Boston,
Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=35090155

Thoughts on James Baldwin

Thoughts on James Baldwin’s letter to his nephew James (1962).

I have begun this thought five times,
This is the sixth and last,
Or is it?

Or is it? — Isn’t rewriting what is becoming? Matsuo Basho wasn’t born until he left home, quit as a servant, became a student in Kyoto, moved to Edo, and struck out across the Sumida River, writing, rewriting, finally becoming Basho.

One suspects in reading James Baldwin there is a great mixture of emotion, of hate, and disappointment, frustration at life, but buried at the bottom of this Pandora’s Box, is the hope of a better future. James, I hope, we have proven you right. I hope we are still trying.

Remembering most of mankind
Is not all mankind,
Is hope
.
What has been beaten into me
is to be tough and philosophical
Not bitter
.
Take no one’s word as the Word,
Including mine
Experience teaches
.
I left and came back
Because this is our home
Yours and mine

As bad as America was for James Baldwin (1924-1987), he realized that it had, for good and bad, was his home. Twenty six years in France gave him a good seat in the balcony to observe humankind. But back in America, he had family and friends. And though much of mankind was cruel, he had work to be done to make it better.

If one reads his writing, one can break it down, as I have attempted to do, into haiku.

Golden

Mornings in Golden, Colorado in June, 2925. Far from the madding crowds and the news.

Sitting on the porch

Musing while sipping coffee

Time seemingly stops

.

Cottonwood leaves shake

Like the silver tongue gossip

Whispering at dawn

.

The Gold is long gone

The wind the pine and the hills

Are all that remain

Golden, Colorado, June 2025

Far from the madding crowds, further still from the noise in the news that war is all that men know,

the hills repose beneath a pale blue sky while clouds move on,

Clear Creek flows on like a cool memory of times long forgotten,

and the cottonwoods whisper where the mines once churned out silver and gold.

.

Time drifts on,

not quite paradise, but close

To Heaven on Earth

each time the wind blows

Matsuo Basho is, for much of the time, an observer of nature. It is summer, we may assume, and the poet is in his garden tending his flowers and enjoying the butterflies. Perhaps, he is thinking of Zhuangzi’s butterfly, and dreaming he too is a butterfly. But along comes a gust of wind, and the butterfly flees for the protection of the willow tree.

each time the wind blows,
a butterfly flees my garden,
for a willow tree
— Matsuo Basho, Summer, year unknown

Japanese

吹くたびにfuku tabi nieach time the wind blows
蝶のゐなほる chô no inaoru,a butterfly leaves my garden
柳かなyanagi kanafor a willow tree

蝶のゐなほる, also, Chō no wi na horu; horu (abandons, leaves). Compare cho no niwa 蝶の庭, butterfly garden.

One can read more into this haiku. Sometimes a butterfly is an omen good luck. Sometimes it is a symbol of a dead person’s soul, more often it is simply a thing of joy, a fleeting moment of pleasure.

What is your take?

Lightening and Thunder

lightning in the dark sky

Matsuo Basho wrote this haiku in the summer of the 7th year of the Genroku era. It is 1694, the year Basho’s life would come to an end.

A spark of lightning
in my hands in the darkness
— this paper candle
.
稲妻を . 手にとる闇の . 紙燭哉
inazuma o . te ni toru yami no . shisoku kana
— Matsuo Basho, June (?), 1694

It was 1694, the last year of Matsuo Basho’s life. I suppose without knowing for sure, it was summer and raining. Matsuo Basho sat up late, writing by the light of a lamp. Perhaps, the lamp light went out, then lightning, then Basho lit a paper candle to find his way in the darkness.

For me, it is in the middle of June, early morning and raining. My dog Lucy hides in a corner in the closet, afraid of the thunder and lightning. Why, I wonder?

Gentle Reader:

You may disagree with my translation. You may draw other conclusions. This is reasonable for haiku are meant to be personal. Like the way my dog Lucy reacts to the lightning and thunder.

Inazuma (稲妻) translates to “lightning,” or “flash of lightning,” that is, the cosmic spark of divinity that lights up the sky at night. As a metaphor, it symbolizes the ability to cut through ignorance and delusion, the way a lightning bolt illuminates the darkness. Buddhism expresses the thought as a transitory moment. I see, but only for a moment.

Then comes the phrase te ni toru yami no (手にとる闇の) which means “take the darkness in your hands.” This is followed by shisoku kana (紙燭哉), meaning a small paper candle or torch. Lacking matches, the Japanese of Basho’s time, lit these paper candles from another source then carried them about to either light the way or illuminate a lamp.

As an aside, let me quote Dr. Martin Luther King Jr, who said, “Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate; only love can do that.” So, dear friend, be the light and not the darkness.

lightning in the dark sky
稲妻を . 手にとる闇の . 紙燭哉

Washing and Drying

When washing and drying are fun —

The mind churns
Jumbled, a washer mid-cycle
A mess
.
The mind tosses,
A dryer, half cycle,
Still wet
Bashō no yōna, with a little help from his daughter, November, 2024

A metaphor for how the mind works. About an idea half formed, about to become an epiphany. Eureka!

An idea half-formed,
About to become an Epiphany,
— Eureka!
Bashō no yōna, with a little help from his daughter, November, 2024

Thoughts on Washing and Drying

Matsuo Basho had no washer or dryer, just the river or the creek, just the branch and the wind. That way he was one with Nature. Are we losing it?