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.
古人の跡をもと めず、古人の求たる所をもとめよ Kojin no ato o motomezu, kojin no motomeshi tokoro o motomeyo Seek not the way of the ancients, seek what they sought. (Follow not the the footsteps of the ancients, seek what they sought.)
Matsuo Basho quoting Kūkai (空海, 774 – 835), a Japanese Buddhist
Basho, quoting Kukai (Kobo Daishi), spoke these words to his student, the samurai, Morikawa Kyoroku. The characters 古人, kojin means an ancient (great) person of the past.
Kūkai promoted the Indian philosophy of Dharma, behavior in harmony with life.
Kyoroku was skilled in the six arts of swordsmanship, horsemanship, spear throwing, calligraphy, painting, and haiku, but especially in painting. Basho considered Kouroku his master in this art. “Isn’t it admirable that there are many things to learn, but the result of that learning is only one?”
“Seek and ye shall find,” says Matthew (7:7-8), meaning God is kind, eager to give good gifts to those who believe in Christ. Basho (Kyoruku), however, is not seeking religion but the “inner self.” No John Denver, “follow me in what I do where I go what I do, …” Blaze your own trail, as Laozi suggests in the Tao de Ching.
Finally, Oscar Wilde’s witticism, “Be yourself because everybody else is taken.”
Kojin (Gǔrén, Chinese for the ancient wise men) no ato (and their tracks, footsteps, i.e. the Way)
求める motomeru — to seek 求たる motometeru — to be seeking もと めず motomezu — not seek もとめよ motomeyo — seek, said in a way you are trying to change someone’s understanding
Morikawa Kyoroku following Matsuo Basho? (sketch by Kyoroku)
The Power of Dumb Could be the smartest thing … You’ve ever done — Bashō no yōna
When Matsuo Basho spoke of leaving Edo and moving south of the Sumida River to a cottage all alone, his friends said that was dumb. When he decided to make a journey on foot into Japan’s northern interior, his friends warned of bandits and thieves. When Matsuo Basho thought back about becoming a haiku poet, he was amazed at how smart he had been.
Dumb ideas can make our lives interesting. That was the point of a TEDx talk by Alex Wadelton. Now you need to ask yourself, is it dumb to watch?
[Note. This post was originally written in mid-July, two weeks after a long trip to Colorado, Wyoming, Idaho, and Montana. A week after a noisy, smoke filled July Fourth Weekend.]
Spring is long over. It is the middle of July and the weatherman is bemoaning the record heat on the east and west coast of the United States. And, although I am not there, a click on the computer tells me it will be in the 90s in Tokyo and there will be a mix of clouds and sun this morning followed by mostly cloudy skies and a few showers this afternoon.
Following Basho’s five month journey into Japan’s northern interior (Oku no Hosomichi) in 1689, Basho decided to delay his return to Edo to work on the notes he recorded and the haiku that he wrote on the journey. Throughout the fall and winter Basho spent time visiting with friends. Then, in the spring of 1690, a friend, Suganuma Kyokusui 菅沼曲水, offered up a cottage on Lake Biwa for Basho to rest and recoup.
This was the Genjū-an 幻住庵, the Hut of the Phantom Resident. Alone with his thoughts, Basho composed the “Notes of Genju-an,” (Genju-an-ki, 幻住庵記). The “phantom” for whom the cottage is named for an unknown samurai who abandoned his profession for seclusion.
“Spring is over. I can tell that it hasn’t been gone for long, for Azaleas continue to bloom, wisteria droops like rope from the pine trees, and a cuckoo now and then passes by. Even the blue-jays have sing their greetings, and woodpeckers, as woodpeckers do, peck at things, though I don’t really mind. Indeed, I rather enjoy the company.
I feel my spirit drawn to China to view the scenery in Wu or Chu (ancient Chinese States of the Warring Period when Confucius lived), or as if I were standing beside the lovely Xiao-Xiang rivers, or Lake Dongting. [see below]
Southwest of here, the mountains rises behind me. The nearest houses are a good distance away. Southern breezes with their refreshing fragrances blow down from the mountain tops, and north winds, dampened by the lake, are cool. Among the mountains are Mount Hie and the tall peak of Hira. And on this side of these mountains are the pines of Karasaki veiled in mist, as well as a castle, and a view of a bridge. On the lake fishermen with their boats are hauling in fish. I hear the voice of the woodsman making his way to Mount Kasatori. Then too, are the songs of the seedling planters in the rice paddies at the foot of Kasatori. At dusk, the fireflies weave through the air, clapper rails (chicken-like marsh birds) tap out their notes – surely I do not lack for beautiful scenes. Among them, Mikamiyama, shaped like Mount Fuji, reminds me of my old house in Edo – Musashino [see below]. Mt.Tanakami [see below] sets me to counting all the ancient poets who are associated with it.” Matsuo Basho, from the Notes of Genju-an, Summer 1690
Notes. “You had to be there.” A phrase meaning Basho’s references only make sense if one had been present. It is a philosophical thing. Present impressions are best, then come memories, and by association an explanation of a place one has never to.
Lake Biwa. Japan’s largest inland lake. Basho spent much time here. He chose to be buried at the Gichū-ji Temple at Otsu, on Lake Biwa.
Hira Mountain Range, west of Lake Biwa providing a stunning snow capped view of the lake. Compare the Grand Tetons and Jackson, Wyoming.
Pine trees at Karasaki. Thousand year old pine trees, part of the Eight Views of Omi.
Xiao-Xiang. The Eight Views of Xiao-Xiang in Hunan province was a famous series of paintings from the Song dynasty. They, in turn, inspired the Eight Views of Omi, around Lake Biwa where Basho was staying. Basho is comparing Lake Dongting to Lake Biwa.
Mt. Mikamiyama, along the shores of Lake Biwa, an extinct volcano and much smaller version of Mt. Fuji.
Mushashino. This home in western Tokyo must have been Basho’s home when he first arrived in Edo before Basho-an.
Mt.Tanakami. It is known for its cypress trees. The reference is unclear. Perhaps because of Tanka 短歌, meaning a “short poem” and a genre of classical Japanese poetry.
The castle mentioned is likely Zeze Castle. The bridge Setanokara, see the image below.
P.S.
One always relies on others. Much of the information for this post, including the quote, comes from Gabi Greve, Darumapedia, Daruma Museum Japan.
After the rain, little Japanese umbrellas, everywhere, planted in my garden.
After completing his epic journey into Japan’s northern interior (1689), Matsuo Basho spent several years visiting old friends in Kyoto where he spent his youth, and in and around Lake Biwa for some solitude like his mentor Saiygo, and in Ueno, the place of his birth. This was the last period of his life.
Matsutake mushrooms, ah, clinging precariously to a tree
松茸や . 知らぬ 木の葉の . へばり付く matsutake ya . shiranu konoha no . hebaritsuku
Matsuo Basho, Fall 1691
Basho returned to Edo as winter came on. It was a melancholy time as his nephew who he would care for was ill.
Matsutake mushrooms favor pine trees. They are known for their thick, fibrous white flesh and earthy, spicy flavor and aroma. Matsu松 meaning pine. Basho’s surname Matsu 松尾, a pine tree at the base of the mountain. In Japan, the pine tree symbolizes many things including longevity, steadfastness, and renewal.
Parasol Mushrooms, in contrast, love the grass and the garden where mulch abounds. I’ve seen them as far south as Dallas, Texas on walks through the woods, and in Kansas in my yard and garden. Always, after it rains.
Bashō no yōna (the author of this blog) lost an oak tree a month ago. What remains is the mulch. Perhaps that is why, after it rains, tiny umbrella like mushrooms have peppered my lawn for over a month. The Latin name is Parasola plicatilis. Popular names include: Pleated Inky Cap, Parasol, and Little Japanese Umbrellas.
After it rains, Sprouting up all over, ooh! Little Japanese umbrellas
— Bashō no yōna, Summer 2024
Sprouting up all over, ooh! Little Japanese umbrellas
“Sora is his pen name. (曾良, literally meaning “always good”). His formal name is Kawai Sōgorō (河合, 惣五郎). The eaves of his cottage line up with the lower leaves of my bashō tree, and he helped me with the chores of chopping firewood and drawing water.”
From Oku no Hosomichi, at Mt. Nikko, Basho introduces Sora, his traveling companion on the journey. He is obviously younger, and a disciple of Basho’s, which is evident from the fact the travelogue includes several of Sora’s haiku. Close to the end of the journey, at Komatsu, Sora was seized and had to leave, but returned to greet Basho at Ogaki, the end of the trip. Sora kept his own diary which details the trip the two made together.
Sora was some five years younger than Basho. His parents died when he was young, and he was adopted by his aunt, who died when he was 12. He was then taken in by a priest in Ise province. Then, like Basho, he was made a servant to a Samurai overlord, lord of the Nagashima domain in Ise. (Presumably, his connection to the Kawai clan). In 1681, he moved to Edo. This was shortly after Basho settled in at his new cottage in the Fukagawa District. There they made each other’s acquaintance. The two made a short trip together to the Kashima Shrine in today’s Ibaraki Prefecture.
The introduction begins:
“Cherishing the memory of this follower of the poetic spirit, I resolved to see the moon over the mountains of Kashima Shrine this autumn. I was accompanied by two men, a masterless samurai and an itinerant monk.”
Sora was apparently the “masterless samurai.”
In 1689, as Basho and Sora took the journey that would become Oku no Hosomichi, Sora kept his own Diary that would be published as Sora’s Diary in 1943.
There is no better rafting and kayaking than on the rivers in Idaho. The Snake, the Salmon, the Payete, to name a few, endless stretches of whitewater interrupted by calm, reflective spots where one can catch one’s breath.
Basho’s near whitewater experience took place on the Mogami River during his travels recorded in the travelogue Oku no Hosomichi. The trip was almost halfway in on his journey into Japan’s northern interior, taking place at the point where Basho and Sora, his companion, crossed from Japan’s eastern coast to the west coast. They had entered Yamagata province and tarried a bit.
At the Risshakuji Temple, Basho composed a well-known haiku about the sound of a cicada coming from deep within a boulder.
The weather then turned to rain and Basho and Sora waited it out at a place called Ōishida (a place on the river near Obanazawa). Basho ruminated on differing styles of haiku and how those at this distant way station on the river had nothing new to consider. Thus, Basho composed some lines as a lingering memory.
Note. Modern annotators say Basho arrived in Obanazawa on July 3rd and stayed there for eleven days.
Early in summer, a heavy rain, Gathering quickly, Mogami River
五月雨を . あつめて早し . 最上川 samidare o . atsume te hayashi . Mogamigawa — Matsuo Basho, Oku no Hosomichi, Summer 1689
Ever the tour guide, Basho mentioned the Goten (rocks in the river that look like stones in the game of Go) and Hayabusa (Falcon, i.e. fast as a falcon) rapids are just two dangers on the river’s swift course. There is also a gorge called Mogamikyo (最上峡).
Samidare, an early Summer rain, or May showers.
It was the end of June, 2024. I imagine coinciding roughly with Basho’s trip down the Mogami. I was in Idaho admiring three rivers Snake, Salmon and Payette. I did not have my kayak with me on this trip and had to be content with imagining I was riding the rapids.
Long did I linger, Longingly looking, At rafters splashing on the water
— Bashō no yōna, end of June, 2024
My daughter and I rode the rather tame Cache la Poudre River in Ft. Collins, Colorado on inner tubes quickly bought at the downtown hardware store.
Floating on an inner tube My ass striking rocks in the river — Cache la Poudre River, Ft. Collins
— Bashō no yōna, end of June, 2024
The clouds were gone. The sun was overhead shining down. The trip was down river was hot. Basho once again mentions the Mogami. One assumes he arrived as the sun set.
a boiling hot sun, swallowed by the sea, — Mogami River
暑き日を . 海にいれたり . 最上川 atsuki hi o . umi ni iretari . Mogamigawa — Matsuo Basho, Oku no hosomichi, Summer 1689
Notes. atsuki, blistering, boiling hot; hi, sun; umi, meaning sea; iretari, to put in.
Since Matsuo Basho kept time by the Japanese lunar calendar, one can not know the exact dates, but that does not matter, it was hot, Matsushima was behind them. Matsuo Basho and Sora were headed inland.
It appears from a map of Basho’s stops along the Oku no Hosomichi that Hiraizumi was enough. Here Basho marveled on the glory of three generations of the Fujiwara clan that passed as if in a dream. And as Nanbu was still far to the north, the two decided to turn back and stay the night in Iwate, heading towards the Hot Springs of Narugo and some welcome relief.
Difficulties lie ahead.
Note. Written on the 17th day of the 5th lunar month.
尿前の関 Shitomae no Seki Shitomae Barrier
By now, Basho and Sora had traveled some 300 miles from Edo. Perhaps, they looked a little worse for the wear and tear, tired and bedraggled. At the Shitomae Barrier, the they were eyed suspiciously by the border guards at the security station. Perhaps, it was time to start thinking of going back, but not quite yet.
“The road to Nanbu [a distant town in today’s Aomori Prefecture, also spelled Nambu] is far, so we stayed the night in Iwate [both the name of a province and a town]. The next day, we passed by Ogurazaki and Mizu-no-ojima [on Japan’s National Route 47, a statue of Basho is on the highway, looking south], then to the hot springs at Narugo, headed for the Barrier at Shitomae, intending to cross into Dewa Province.
The road was hardly used and the guards at the checkpoint examined us suspiciously. We just managed to get through. Marching up the mountain, darkness began to fall, so when we saw a house belonging to the border guard. We asked for shelter. For three whole days, a wild storm raged, trapping us there among the dark and dreary mountains:”
蚤虱 . 馬の尿 . する枕もと nomi shirami uma no bari suru makuramoto
fleas and lice, (what’s more), a horse is pissing, beside my pillow — Matsuo Basho, Oku no Hosomichi, Summer, 1689
Let us settle the debate once and for all. Basho is said to have composed a famous haiku that goes:
松島や . ああ松島や . 松島や Matsushima ya . Ā Matsushima ya . Matsushima ya Ah, Matsushima, Oh, Matsushima, Matsushima, ah!
In an article written after the severe earthquake in 2016, Takayangi Katsuhiro writes, “… the popular comic poet Tawara-bo composed a similar poem (Matsushima ya sate Matsushimaya Matsushima ya), and this has been conveyed erroneously as a work by Basho.”
There is no mention of Matsushima in Oku-no-Hosomichi. This is unusual in as much as Basho comments in the Prologue that he had been “dreaming of the full moon rising over the islands of Matsushima.”
“Why, then, did he not mention it in any of his haiku poems?” Katsuhiro asks. The answer is perhaps that of the Tao de Ching. Beauty is the word, but the word does not convey the feeling of each individual who takes in the beauty. Beauty is ineffable. Thus, one who speaks does not know, one who knows the beauty of Matsushima doesn’t speak.
It was by modern count, the 21st station on the journey. It followed Shiogama, on the coast just past Sendai. Today, boasting all manner of seafood. Basho’s description of Matsushima takes on the air of a travelogue, which the book Oku no Hosomichi was intended, in part, to be.
“Islands upon island, islands are joined to islands, looking exactly like parents walking hand in hand with them. Pine trees are of the brightest green, their exquisite branches, bent by the constantly blowing wind. Indeed, the beauty of the scene can only be compared to the most divinely endowed feminine face, for who else could have created such beauty but Nature herself? My pen could hardly rise to the task of describing this divine creation.”
With no words of farewell, no regret, Basho says, “I left for Hiraizumi (back into the interior) on the twelfth (of June).” And, as sometimes happens, he lost his way.
A question for Zhungzi — are dreams better than reality?
Is the dream better than reality, or do we care about the truth?
All of this reminding me of the Demosthenes’ saying, “One believes not in the truth, but in what one wants to believe.”
Source: Takayanagi Katsuhiro, “A Journey Along the Destroyed Oku no Hosomichi (Narrow Road to the Deep North),” 2016.
I have two rescue dogs (a bonded pair I call Lucy and Desi) who love to go out the kitchen door and come back in all day. Occasionally, I leave it ajar so they can go out and in on their own. If it is not wide enough, they will sit and stare, for they haven’t learned how to push. Then, to their amazement, there is a “creeack” as the wind opens it wide.
An open door policy is an invitation to flies, as my wife says.
“Cree-ack” was the sound of the wind as it opened the kitchen door
“Whizz” go the flies who furiously flee the swat of the swatter — Bashō no yōna, Spring 2024
Nature’s Sound
“Cree-ack” is a high pitched sound like chalk on a chalkboard. It startles.
Matsuo Basho was captivated by the sounds of Nature. There is the familiar sound of the wind in the trees, the joyful sound of the birds in spring, and the cuckoo that always reminded him of Kyoto (a Proustian moment). Then too there was the famous sound of the water as the frog jumped in the pond — “kerplunk.”
matsuo-basho-haiku 