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 ni
each time the wind blows
蝶のゐなほる
chô no inaoru,
a butterfly leaves my garden
柳かな
yanagi kana
for 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.
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.
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?
Specifically, the 山吹き yamabuki, a yellow flowering rose shrub that grows in thickets on a mountain slopes.
Matsuo Basho’s rose haiku (three versions) on a yellow rose written one year before his death. This is one of those times one says, “You had to be there.” One can not feel the mist on one’s face, see the petals lying scattered in the grass on the ground, or hear the roar of the waterfall. One can’t compete with Mother Nature.
Petals falling and scattering From a yellow rose To the noise of a waterfall
Yellow petals of a rose tumbling to the thunder of a waterfall
Petal by petal A Yellow Rose is falling To the sound of the waterfall
ほろほろと 山吹ちるか 瀧の音 Horo horo to yamabuki chiru ka taki no oto Matsuo Basho, 1693
Red Roses
Juliet says, “A rose by any other name would smell as sweet.” William Shakespeare, Romeo and Juliet
Of course one is aware that a haiku takes a particular form of seventeen syllables, in three lines of five, seven, and five, whose goal is to evoke an image of the natural world that transcends a purely objective view. This does not prevent us from looking at other forms of literature as variations on the haiku. Here, for example is a truncated version of Victor Hugo’s poem, La tomb dit a la rose, a conversation between the grave and a rose.
The Grave says to the Rose The grave to the rose: – Why cry at dawn Flower of love? . The rose to the grave: What do you do with what falls Into this bottomless abyss? . The rose: Dark crypt, These tears are shed in the shadows A perfume of amber and honey. . The grave: Wistful flower, Each soul I take I make — a heavenly angel! — Victor Hugo, Poems, XXXI, 1888
Here no hair, There no hair, Hair today, Gone tomorrow — Basho no Yona, Summer, 2024
Matsuo Basho gave us a more enduring image of a woman cooking dumplings while managing a loose strand of hair.
Holding a dumpling in one hand, she tucks her hair behind her ear
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Holding a dumpling in one hand, The other hand, brushing back A lock of her hair
粽ゆう . 片手にはさむ . 額髪 Chimaki yuu . katate ni hasamu . hitaigami –Matsuo Basho, May 5, 1691
Chimaki (rice dumpling) yuu (in the act of making) katate (with one hand) ni (in) hasamu (holding) hitaigami (hair on the forehead)
Where is Basho?
A man’s got to eat.
Chimaki, steamed dumplings, wrapped with leaves of bamboo, banana, etc., made of glutinous (sticky) rice and various fillers.
How do you like your dumplings? Add a filler of meat or vegetables, and sprinkle with a special sauce.
From spring to summer in 1690, Bashō was living in quiet retirement at a place called Genju-an (the Phantom Dwelling). It had been an abandoned hut beside Lake Biwa. What better place for one tired of travel, tired of guests, growing weary of the world.
Basho speaks:
“Ten years ago, I gave up city life, now I’m approaching fifty, like a bagworm without its bag, a snail without its shell. (On my recent travels,) the hot sun of Kisakata in Ou tanned and scorched my face. I’ve bruised my heels on the rough beaches of the northern sea where tall dunes make walking so hard. And now this year, I am drifting here by the waves, on the shores of Lake Biwa.”
An old pond A frog jumps in The sound of water 古池や 蛙飛び込む 水の音 Furu ike ya, kawazu tobikomu, mizu no oto
Let us speak of forms and shapes, of the fluidity of life, of being and being gone. Of warm summer days, of turtles and frogs, of walks with the dogs down by the creek…
Matsuo Basho’s famous frog haiku has been translated ten thousand times (万 wàn, also meaning “many” or, so many, one looses count). The words have been parsed, the meaning interpreted a thousand ways (千 sen, also meaning many in countless ways). Its parts dissected like that poor old frog in a high school biology class.
I like to go for walks with my two small dogs to Pawnee Prairie Park in Wichita, Kansas. There is a spot where we round the corner and approach the creek high up on the bank. Most days, I hear the plop of the turtle as it slips off a log into the water. I try to be silent, but somehow the turtle knows I am coming.
Am I hearing the sound of the creek or the turtle? Am I witnessing a magical change of form, the fluidity of turtle and the water?
In one sense Basho gives voice to the old pond that is otherwise silent. Is the pond offended by the interfering frog? Or does it welcome the abrupt change to an otherwise dull existence? One wonders.
Other philosophical questions to ponder:
One wonders, if a banana, is still a banana, when it is eaten?
If not, when does it cease to be a banana and become me? — Bashō no yōna
Along the same lines:
Are the bricks in a building One and the same If the building falls down? — Bashō no yōna
These amusing musings all deal with Plato’s Theory of Forms. The physical world we soon learn is not the ultimate reality, as Basho discovered at the Old Pond.
To fail is no sin — the true wrong is not to try, then, sit and wonder. — Bashō no yōna, May 2025
First Thoughts
“If I fail, it is not a sin, the sin is not to try and wonder.”
Random stuff on relationships. Has Bashō no yōna gone off the track? I think not. Bashō’s spirit is kept alive, of observing nature and relationships. The twist, a modern introspection. 5–7–5 or close enough, cause nothing’s perfect.
Haikus
Separate journeys — sometimes paths will intertwine, sometimes they depart.
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Not just random chance— relationships have their way, kismet, fate — who knows.
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we were meant to be two burning stars, now spent — nothing is forever
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God, the universe — whatever your guide may be, always works for YOU.
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This is the way it ends, Not with regret, But tears and goodbyes.
Last thoughts
Inspired by William Shakespeare’s quote: “We are such stuff as dreams are made on and our lives are rounded by a little sleep.” Thank goodness, now that I’ve dreamt, I can rest.
May has come, May has gone, May it come again… — Bashō no yōna, 2024
The passage of time is persistent theme in Basho’s haiku. The prologue to his travelogue Oku no Hosomichi goes like this:
The Narrow Road to Northern Interior
Prologue “Days and months travel throughout eternity. So too are the years that pass. Those of us who steer a boat across the sea, or drive a horse over the earth till they succumb beneath the weight of years, spend every moment traveling throughout their lives. A great number of the ancients, died on the road (Way). For a long time I was tempted by the cloud-moving wind, filled with an irresistible wanderlust”. — Matsuo Basho, Prologue to Oku no Hosomichi
It was in the spring of 1689 that Matsuo Basho began his adventure. On the 27th of the third lunar month, not March according to the Gregorian calendar, but near May the 14th. Basho did not complete the book in his lifetime. He died in 1694 and publication of the book Oku no Hosomichi occurred some eight years later in 1704.
Since then, it has been read and read again.
It is now May 26, 2025, Memorial Day, a fitting day to remember May again.
I like to think, and sometimes say, we are no different you and I. True and not true since some of us like to talk too much. That is why, I suppose, Matsuo Basho got in the habit of seeing everything in the form of a 5-7-5 haiku. Life’s not complicated, or is it?
An easy puzzle, if each piece fits — I get it. How easy is that?
Write a haiku using the phrase “how easy is that.”
You wake, you rise, sigh — for coffee, press the button, How easy is that.
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Life’s like a bread in the toaster — sometimes it’s warm and buttered, sometimes it’s burnt to a toast.
Burnt toast again, sigh — Why do I try, I’m no chef, How easy is that?
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Wordle gives us feedback in the form of green, yellow, and grey tiles where green represents a correct letter in the correct position, yellow represents the correct letter in the wrong place, and grey means you completely blew it. Assuming one chooses different letters, the odds of getting all grey tiles in the first round is:
(25/26) to the 5th power ≈ 0.814. That’s roughly one in ten. I have managed to go two rounds without a singe correct tile. What are the odds? They say it should be .814 times .814, roughly .6. I wonder?
I have also managed to get into one of those rhyming scenarios where the choices seem endless and I always pick the wrong word. Oh well…
no green, no yellow, five tries, today, no Wordle, how easy is that?
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Here’s one about typing letters to form words on the keyboard. Answer me this if you can — How do we think and not think about how to type?
one thinks, one types, wow, the keys come naturally, how easy is that…
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