Parasol Mushrooms

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

Always Good

“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.”

曾良は河合氏にして、惣五郎と云へり芭蕉の下葉に軒をならべて予が薪水の労をたすく。
このたび松しま象潟の眺共にせん事を悦び。

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.

He died in 1710.

More please …

“A masterless samurai“

Sora’s Japanese Wikipedia page is more revealing.

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.

Idaho

Rafting in Idaho

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.

July 1, 1689

Enough

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.

Basho writes in his journal:

“南部道遥にみやりて、岩手の里に泊る。小黒崎みづの小嶋を過て、なるこの湯より、尿前の関にかゝりて、出羽の国に越んとす。
此路旅人稀なる所なれば、関守にあやしめられて、漸として関をこす。
大山をのぼつて日既暮ければ、封人の家を見かけて舎を求む。
三日風雨あれて、よしなき山中に逗留す”

“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

Enough, now on to Mogami.

Matsushima

Ah, Matsushima

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.

Cree-ack

“Cree-ack” said the wind.

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.”

Come out, come out

On the journey north, Oku no Hosomichi
Obanazawa, ancient Dewa Province,
The last week of May, Genroku 2, 1689

這ひ出でよ . 飼屋が下の . 蟇の声
hai ideyo . kaiya ga shita no . hiki no koe
come out, come out!
beneath the shed
you croaking toad

Finding One’s Voice

It is one month into the journey that would become immortalized in Oku no Hosomichi (a tarvelogue on a journey into Japan’s northern interior and along the coast). Matsuo Basho and his traveling companion Sora arrive in Obanazawa where they rest for ten days. Basho hears a croaking toad beneath a shed. Basho commands that he show his face.

But is he speaking of himself?

“Come out, come out where ever you are.”

“Come out,” the good witch Glenda sang in the Wizard of Oz. And so, the Munchkins came out of hiding to meet Dorothy from Kansas.

Playing hide and seek as a kid, there came the point when someone was caught and now, he or she was “it.” So, the call went out, “Come out, come out wherever you are!” and “ollie, ollie, in come free.”

Before his untimely death, Jim Croce, wrote and sang “I’ve got a name,” which also spoke of the croaking toad.

Basho is my name

Matsuo Basho already had a name, Basho. His pen name was taken from the banana tree that grew outside his cottage in the Fukagawa District of Edo. A banana tree, useless for the most part, since it did not bear fruit, nevertheless resilient for it weathered the storms, and occasionally providing shade.

Basho was, still, just finding his voice.

Better yet

Let us go one better. Three years earlier, when his disciples were gathered at his house, Basho wrote a haiku about a frog, a pond, and the sound of water.

An old pond,
a frog jumps in,
ah, the sound of water
Matsuo Basho, Basho-an, Spring 1686

Everyone and everything,
has a voice,
do you know yours?

Plop

Not Again

There are endless variations on Matsuo Basho’s frog/pond/sound of water haiku. Here is one more.

古池や蛙飛こむ水のをと

Furu ike ya | In an old pond
kawazu tobikomu | a frog leaps,
mizu no oto | — “Plop!” the sound of water
Matsuo Basho,

Scholars Say

Scholars say this haiku marked Basho’s coming of age. Written in 1686, Basho was now 46 years old, a mature poet, comfortable in his name, Basho, chosen because of the weather beaten banana tree that stood outside his cottage in the Fukagawa District, outside Edo.

Why We Love It

Maybe, the love of the puzzle lies in the fact the frog lets the water talk.

The fascination with Basho’s frog/pond haiku is never ending. A child is delighted with the surprise of walking along a pond and hearing the splash of water. A linguist considers the transformation of action into language, the water speaks. A physicist sees the transformation of matter into energy. A poet finds sonorous, the repetition of sound combined with the clear visual image. The spiritually inclined (both the Buddhist and the Christian, indeed all religion) finds something meaningful in the idea that life is ephemeral like a frog jumping into a pond, making a small splash, and disappearing. Basho could not know, but he had four more short years to live.

The Vocabulary of Water

Onomatopoeia — a word that sounds just like the thing it is describing. From the Greek, literally, ‘name’ plus ‘making’.

One listens to water coming out of the sink or shower; water boiling; water in a gentle creek, or roaring river; the sound of rain on the roof of a car as you drive; water in a puddle as you try to muddle along.

Water speaks in different ways:

“babble, bubble, burble, drip, drop, fizz, gargle, gurgle, gush, pitter-patter, plop, pop, ripple, roar, rush, slosh, splish-splash, splosh, splatter, sputter, swish, swirl, swoosh, or tinkle.”

Water speaks but it is also felt, as Helen Keller knew. And if the water is boiling hot, “Y’ouch!”

The Face of God

February 1688, Genroku 1
Mount Yamato Katsuragi, Nara Prefecture
Basho, Age 44

In May, on Mount Katsuragi, cherry trees and azalea bushes blossom, pink and red to crimson hues to grace the landscape.

The face of God is graced with grace and flowers

猶みたし花に明行神の顔

nao mitashi
hana ni ake yuku
kami no kao
Matsuo Basho, Notes from My Backpack, Spring 1688

nao (grace) mitashi (fulfill or gratify)
hana (flower) ni ake (bright, clear) yuku (likeness)
kami no kao (kami, a Shinto God, kao face)

1688

In Japan, it was the beginning of the reign of Emperor Higashiyama.

Japan would not have heard the news, but in 1688 the English Parliament deposed King James VI and replaced him with his daughter Mary and her husband, William of Orange. This would later be called the Glorious Revolution.

Eight years living in a simple cottage in the Fukagawa District outside Edo, a trip now and then, and still, the wanderlust was there. So, in 1688, Basho returned to Ueno (his family home) for the Lunar New Year. As Spring began he returned to Nara prefecture where Saiygo had spent three years as a recluse. He stopped at Mount Yamato Katsuragi to visit the many Shinto shrines and Buddhist temples.

A Fine Mist at Mt. Nikko

Along the Oku no Hosomichi
Spring 1689

Here it is half way through May and I find myself wondering where Matsuo Basho is on his journey into Japan’s northern interior (Oku no Hosomichi). Matsuo Basho, no doubt, reckoned by lunar months which makes it difficult pinpoint a place with a specific date.

Today, there is a gentle mist, white clouds, and still the birds are singing. The leaves on the trees are green, not the bright green of early spring, but the full rich green of summer.

Yet, I go back to Mt. Nikko, the fifth stop on the journey known as Oku no Hosomichi. Mt. Nikko (日光), which means bright beams of sunlight.

By Basho’s reckoning, it is the last day of March. He and his traveling companion Sora rested at an inn at the foot of Mt. Niko. There they slept in perfect peace. The next day there was a fine mist, and Basho and Sora climbed the mountain to give homage to its holiest shrine. The site was made famous by Kobo Daishi, founder of Shingon Buddhism. This sect emphasizesthe Hindu concept of dharma, nature’s eternal and inherent reality, the underlying cosmic law revealing right behavior and social order. Do good to be good.

One is always struck with awe when the mist ends and the clouds clear. So too with Basho:

Awe! green leaves, young leaves, sparkling sunlight

あらたふと青葉若葉の日の光
ara touto aoba wakaba no hi no hikari

ara (awe) touto (completely, precisely) aoba (fresh leaves) wakaba (new leaves) no hi no (brightness) hikari (light, illumination)