Tag: Basho

Haiku in Latin

There is no reason, one supposes, Haiku can’t be written in Latin. Is there a reason why it should? Why it shouldn’t?

Haiku in Latin,
Is there a reason,
Why it should?

Haiku latine scripta,
Estne causa,
Quidni debet?

Caeli sereni,
Aqua lucet in rivo,
Vox avium cantat.


Serene skies,
Sunlight shimmering in the stream,
The sound of birds singing.

This is not the case today, as it is snowing cats and dogs, a metaphor that makes no sense. It isn’t supposed to for to snow cats and dogs would be very unusual which is what the weather is.

Nix cadens durior,
Arbor ramis frangentibus,
… Tum silentium.

Snow falling hard,
Tree branches breaking,
… Total silence.

As for the white winter weather, Matsuo Basho had this to say:

Wintry weather,
When the world is one color,
One hears the sound of wind.

冬枯れや世は一色に風の音
Fuyu gare ya yo wa hito iro isshoku ni kaze no oto
— Matsuo Basho,

Fuyugare ya yo wa hito iro isshoku ni kaze no oto

The next to last day of an old year

Kanbun Era, year two, 1662
Matsuo Chūemon Munefusa, as he was then known, not Basho
The a page to the samurai Tōdō Yoshitada, age 18,
in Ueno, in the city of Iga, Mie prefecture

春や来し年や行きけん小晦日
haru ya koshi toshi ya yukiken kotsugomori
.
Spring, is it here?
The next to last day,
of a new year?
— Matsuo Basho, December, 1662

In the lunar calendar, kotsugomori (ん小晦日) is December 29. The Day before New Year’s Eve (December 31st). The penultimate day of the year? How confusing. Winter’s not over, Spring is no where near. Moving ahead, New Year’s Eve, omisoka (大晦日).

A good one for December

Brrr, baby it’s cold outside. This is a good one. A good one for December, or for any month when the temperatures are freezing, the sky is gray, and the wind brisk.

The oil is freezing
The lamplight thinning,
is this my awakening, I wonder
油こほりともし火細き寝覚哉
Abura kōri / tomoshi-bi hosoki / nezame kana
— Matsuo Basho, year unknown

In French?

L’huile gèle
La lumière de la lampe s’éteint,
C’est mon réveil ?
— Matsuo Basho, Francaise, peut-etre

Basho’s Awakening

At what age do we become serious?

Thirty-six is not a bad answer. One has a job, settled down, a few years under the belt, one is figuring things out, wondering, what is the next big step.

Matsuo Basho began his study of Buddhism while in his twenties. In his thirties, he moved to Edo. He enjoyed the Nihonbashi’s night life. He had a gathering of students and disciples. But he began to think there might be more. So, late in December of 1680, at the age of thirty-six, he left the comfort of Edo for the then remote Fukagawa District, across the Sumida River. There he found a small cottage and weathered the winter and awakened as a poet.

He did in time find a new name. Tossing aside Tosei, the unripe peach, for Basho, meaning banana plant. The story is a banana tree was given to him as a gift. It flourished well in the new environment, providing a little shade from the hot sun, but otherwise mostly useless.

I am no expert on the subject but I guess Basho’s oil came from fish or a type of vegetable oil lik canola which comes from rapeseed. Both of these oils would produce a somewhat smoky lamplight. Basho’s awakening would therefore be a little cloudy.

Original Japanese and English Translation

the oil is freezing油こほAbura kōri
the lamplight thinningりともし火細きtomoshi-bi hosoki
is this my awakening?寝覚哉nezame kana

Nezame 寝覚, there is an 11th century Japanese tale called Yoru no nezame, Awakening at Night, but this appears unrelated. There is also the Nezame no toko Gorge (寝覚の床), meaning bed of awakening, on the Nakasendo which Basho must have passed many times.

Four Seasons

Four Seasons, Basho’s Thoughts

There is a progression in thought as one proceeds through the seasons. Spring,a little hazy, and unclear. The summer sun, indeed it’s hot, one seeks the cool water of the ocean. Autumn, it’s still unclear, one is lost as if a bird in the cloud. Winter, the moonlight fades, but still the insects sing, until the moon (the month) itself is gone.

spring has come
a nameless mountain
a fine mist
.
the summer sun
cooling in the western sea
— Mogami River
.
this autumn as
I grow older
(lost) as a bird in a cloud
.
a winter garden
the moon above a slender thread
as insects sing
.
Matsuo Basho, haiku, the four seasons
From 1685 to 1694, when Basho died

Notes on Translation

Spring has come (indeed), a nameless mountain, a fine mist
春なれや名もなき山の薄霞
haru nare ya / na mo naki yama no / usu-gasumi
— Spring 1685,

note. on the way to Nara, a place associated with Saiygo

the hot sun, sinking (flowing) into the sea, the Mogamai River
暑き日を海にいれたり最上川
atsuki hi o / umi ni iretari / Mogamigawa
— Summer, 1689, Oku no Hosomichi

note. Basho had gone by boat down the Mogami River to the western port of Sakata

this fall as I grow older, (I feel like) a bird (lost) in a cloud
この秋は何で年寄る雲に鳥
kono aki ha/ nande toshiyoru/ kumo ni tori
— September, 1694, as he lay dying

note. leaving Edo for the last time in the summer of 1694, Basho went home to Ueno, then to Kyoto, then to Osaka.

a winter garden, as the moon becomes a thread, insects sing
冬庭や月もいとなる虫の吟
fuyu niwa ya / tsuki mo ito naru / mushi no gin
— Early winter, Genroku, the second year (1689).
Late autumn in Iga Ueno (his home town) after finishing the Oku no Hosomichi.

Loneliness by Saiygo

As Matsuo Basho found inspiration in the writings of the Buddhist monk Saiygo, who wrote, “one must master loneliness.”

“If not for loneliness,
in this mountain village,
where no one comes to visit,
it would be hard to live here.”

とふ人も
tou hito mo
思ひ絶えたる
omotaetaru
山里の
yamazato no
さびしさなくば
sabishisa nakuba
住み憂からまし
sumiukaramashi

Matsuo Basho’s take on winter’s lonliness:

Winter will wither,
The world to one color,
One hears the sound of wind.

When winter has withered (the leaves)
And the world is one color,
One hears the sound of wind.

冬枯れ や .  世は一色に . 風の音
Fuyu gare ya . yo wa hito iro isshoku ni . kaze no oto

Playing with language.

Crudo invierno
(El invierno se marchitará)
El mundo de un solo color
Y el sonido del viento
.
l’hiver a fané (les feuilles)
et que le monde est d’une seule couleur,
on entend le bruit du vent.
.
Wenn der Winter verwelkt hat,
und die Welt ist nur einzige Farbe,
hört man das Geräusch des Windes.
— Spanish, French, and German

Winter comes, but so does Spring. And Spring brings the desire to travel.

“The days and months are eternal travelers. So too are the passing years. Those who steer a boat across the sea, or drive a horse over the earth must endure the weight of years, spend every minute of their lives on the road. A great number of ancients died on the road. I myself have been tempted for a long time by the cloud-moving wind — filled with a strong desire to wander. And wander I must. Alone…”

Matsuo Basho, Introduction to Oku no Hosomichi (paraphrased)

l’hiver a fané (les feuilles)
et que le monde est d’une seule couleur,
on entend le bruit du vent.

On Death

Let us set the stage with the death poem of Toyotomi Hideyoshi (1536-1598), who brought order to a warring Japan:

like dew dropping down,
like dew, then disappearing
could that be me — maybe
all that I’ve done in Osaka,
a dream within a dream
— Tototomi Hideyoshi 豊臣 秀頼, 1598

露と落ち     露と消えにし    
我が身かな      
難波のことは     
夢のまた夢
tsuyu to ochi / tsuyu to kienishi /
waga mi kana / naniwa no koto wa /
yume no mata yume
— 豊臣 秀頼, 1598

Then, Tokugawa Ieyasu 徳川 家康 (1543-1616), who brought peace for a very long time.

Happy I am
To wake up again
And want to sleep some more

To dream of a floating world
And the sky at dawn
— Tokugawa Ieyasu (1616)

嬉しやと 
二度覚めて
一眠り   
うき世の夢は 
暁の空

Ureshi ya to/
Futatabi same te/
Hito-nemuri/
Ukiyo no yume ha/
Akatsuki no sora
— 徳川 家康, 1616

Then, too, we have our beloved Matsuo Basho 松尾 芭蕉, who died on the road.

sick on my journey,
dreams on a withered field
go wandering

旅に病んで　
夢は枯野を　
かけ廻る
tabi ni yande/
yume wa kareno wo/
kakemeguru
— Matsuo Basho, Death Haiku, 1694

Or, if you like,

sick on my journey
dreams lost in a barren field
running, round and round

On Death

What got me thinking of death today?

Was it Shakespeare who gave the doomed King Richard II this speech?

Let’s talk of graves, of worms, and epitaphs;
Make dust our paper and with rainy eyes
Write sorrow on the bosom of the earth,

Let’s choose executors and talk of wills:
And yet not so, for what can we bequeath
Save our deposed bodies to the ground?
…
— William Shakespeare, King Richard II

Was it the fact it has been too hot for late September. That last night it stormed and rained, and this morning the clouds remain?

Whatever it was,
let’s leave it at that, …
And live!
— Bashō no yōna, Fall, 2024

Birthdays

Happy Birthday,
7th year of Kabun, 1667
Age 23-24

Gazing at the moon,
An Indian summer evening,
One feels the New Year coming.

月の鏡小春にみるや目正月
tsuki no kagami / koharu ni miru ya / me shōgatsu
Munefusa, who would one day become Matsuo Basho, Autumn 1667

An Indian summer, and autumn signals the passing year. Is that then a birthday?

Kyoto, 1667

One year since Tōdō Yoshitada, his master, died. One year since he left his home in Ueno. One year in Kyoto. One year composing poems. One year passing.

What would the New Year bring?

As the poet would later write in his introduction to Oku no Hosomichi: “The months and days travel throughout eternity. Like voyagers, the years come and go.” Basho was not yet Basho. He was still forming, still becoming, the journey just beginning.

Birthdays?

Matsuo Basho’s birthday is unknown.

In the good old days before greeting cards, balloons, and birthday cakes, Japan had one day, the same day of the year that was dedicated to the celebration of one’s birthday — New Year’s Day. Making sense because then, according to ancient beliefs, that was the day everyone got older.

So, should you wish to wish him Happy Birthday, do it on Shōgatsu (正月), the Japanese festival of the New Year.

Or perhaps, one evening in October, when the moon is full, and the weather’s warm.

For then,

When the moon is full,
you’ll see, clearly in the mirror,
you’re getting older.
— Bashō no yōna, getting older, 2024

Chrysanthemum DAy

October 9, 1694,
from Oi Nikki, the Backpack Diaries,
Near the End

The scent of chrysanthemums,
In Nara,
Ancient Buddhas
菊の香や奈良には古き仏たち
kiku no kaya . Nara ni wa . furuki hotoketachi

Matsuo Basho, October 9, 1694

[kiku no kaya (the smell of chrysanthemums) . Nara ni wa (in Nara) . furuki hotoke tachi (ancient Buddhas)]

Nara was the 8th century capital of Japan. Today it is known as the home to the Todai-ji Temple and the statue of the Great Buddha (Daibutsu-sama).

In China, as well as Japan, the chrysanthemum is a symbol of autumn, flower of the ninth moon, symbol of longevity. Chrysanthemum throne is the name given to the Imperial throne and symbol of the emperor. Chrysanthemum Day is the ninth day of the ninth moon. A chrysanthemum petal placed in a glass of wine was thought to prolong life.

Matsuo Basho was nearing his end. He died in Osaka on November of 1694.

菊の香や, original image from the Library of Congress