Tag: Basho

It’s Hot

August 1689
Oku no Hosomichi

I have no GPS to track Matsuo Basho on his journey into Japan’s northern interior (Oku no Hosomichi). Roughly speaking, it is July or August, depending on one’s use of the lunar or solar calendar. Basho and Sora, his traveling companion, are on Japan’s western coast, near Niigata. Four or five months into their journey by foot, boat, and pony. They have go to be getting homesick. There is little relief from the bright red sun.

Red, bright red!
a sun without pity and
now the autumn wind!

あかあかと 日はつれなくも 秋 の風
aka aka to hi wa tsurenaku mo aki no kaze

Matsuo Basho, Oku no Hosomichi, on the western coast, August 1689

Back in Kansas

Late August, 2023
The Flint Hills, Kansas

It’s one hundred and six in the shade. It is Kansas in August. The sun is without pity to poets and dogs. Is the autumn wind refreshing?

My God, it’s hot, it’s hot. The sun is a big burning ball of fire in a bright blue sky. The autumn winds wilt what’s left in my garden. Out on the Flint Hills, there are few trees. I hardly sweat. I heave, I gasp, mercy me, it’s hot, damn hot!

Notes on Translation

aka (red, bright red) aka (red) to (several meanings, here probably meant as emphasis) hi (sun) wa (topic marker for the sun) tsurenaku (‘unsympathetic,’ ‘doesn’t care.’ Another source suggest that this means ‘ignorant,’ as in the sun is just being the sun and nothing more. This less anthropomorphic view is in line with Buddhism and Taoism, i.e. ‘the sun is the sun and nothing more.’) mo (another topic marker as the poet’s thought shifts to the autumn wind) aki no kaze (autumn wind).

Post Script

Bashō no yōna (the pseudonym for the author of this blog) has a daughter, who like Matsuo Basho earns her living with pen and tongue. If you are looking for confidence coaching, social media advice, and fantastic advertising check her out at hannahdavisspeaks.com, the place where you will find your voice.

Wild Abandon

June, 1687

It is June 21. Summer has arrived and everything has changed, or has it? Matsuo Basho is out for a walk, alone, with paper and pen, composing, on a warm day, when suddenly he is startled by a frog jumping into an old familiar pond.

“Poems are never completed — they are abandoned.”

Paul Valery, La Nouvelle Revue Française, 1933

That is close to the truth of what Valery said, but not exactly. Exactly said, it is this: “Aux yeux de ces amateurs d’inquiétude et de perfection, un ouvrage n’est jamais achevé, – mot qui pour eux n’a aucun sens, – mais abandonné.”

In English, it becomes: “In the eyes of these lovers of restlessness and perfection, a work is never finished – a word which for them has no meaning – but abandoned.” As Valery was discussing his poem The Cemetery by the Sea, work becomes “poems”.

Even that, dear friends, is not exact, for Valery goes on to add other words by way of explanation. That is, he adds context. Context is the setting, time, mood, age, feeling, something that clarifies its meaning.

Let us take Matsuo Basho’s well known frog haiku:

Furu ike ya
kawazu tobikomu
mizu no oto

古池や蛙飛こむ水のおと

Old pond — frogs jumps in — sound of water

Matsuo Basho, Jōkyō 3, 1687, age 43

Does it matter if the pond is large or small, covered in lily pads or algae, the frog is startled, that the frog was croaking, that Basho is startled, that he was walking or sitting, thinking, talking, the sound is splash or kerplunk?

The frog disappears. Is this a spiritual transformation? kawasu — 換える, 替える, 代える, are verbs meaning “exchange” or “substitute”. Suddenly, we are on a metaphysical plain.

What if we think or the haiku as a question: What is the sound of water? Of course, it is many things, the sound of waves on the shore, or a mountain stream that flows upon the rocks. What if we ask a small child?

To a frog, she thunk — “kerplunk.”

Thus, to the enlightend Buddhist monk and the delighted little girl, Basho’s haiku is this:

An old pond, the frog that jumps becomes, the sound of water.

Matsuo Basho, revised haiku

Let us write with wild abandon, get lost in thought, never done.

Basho no yona, Summer 2023
An old pond, a frog jumps, the sound of water. To a little girl, she thunk — kerplunk.

Knotweed and Chili Pepper

Needs to simmer on the stove a little longer …

Otsu, Lake Biwa, Autumn 1690. Open the grass door to my hut, enjoy a simple vegetarian meal.

Open the door of my grass hut
Recognize flowering knotweed
and chili pepper

草の戸を知れや穂蓼に唐辛子
kusa no to o shire ya hotade ni togarashi

Matsuo Basho, Otsu, Autumn 1690

Basho often complained of stomach ailments. Therefore, he ate sparingly.

Notes. kusa no to (grass, of, door, i.e. door made of grass. A short hand was of saying the roof of the simple hut is made of thatched grass) o shire (know, see) ya (emphasis) hotade (flowering smartweed, or knotweed, the flower buds may be pink to red, ducks eat it. Compare the similar sounding hotate scallops, a fancier fare. Hotade has some medicinal value.) ni togarashi (red chili pepper).

草の戸を知れや穂蓼に唐辛子

A Windy Day

Spring 1688

It was a very good year, one might say for Matsuo Basho. He was happily living in Edo at his Basho hut, named for the banana tree outside. He is a respected haiku poet and a teacher of his style of poetry to a select group of disciples. When the spirit moves him, he makes an occasional foray along the the Tokaido and Nakasendo trails to and from Kyoto, and to his home in Ueno. He is also in the midst of planning a longer trip into Japan’s northern interior that would become famous as Oku no Hosomichi.


The Spring wind is howling
while I’m bursting with laughter
— wishing for flowers

春風に吹き出し笑ふ花もがな
haru kaze ni fukidashi warau hana mogana

Matsuo Basho, Spring, 1668

Notes: haru (spring) kaze (wind) ni (on) fukidashi (today, this translates as speech bubble; fu 吹, to blow, to brag; kiき, tree; dashi appears to mean to put something out, like a kite or banner); warau (laugh or smile); hana (flower) mogana (wishing for)

Thoughts from the Midwest on the last day of March — the wind is still howling, driving me crazy.

The wind howls at the trees
Will it stay,
Better yet, will it stop?

Bashō no yōna, March 31, 2023

Something old, something borrowed:

March winds and April showers
bring May flowers
and June bugs

An old standard

Slightly altered, Nature becomes our nemesis:

March winds, April showers,
then heavy rains
and mosquitoes

Bashō no yōna, March 2023

Ah Spring

Spring 1680

He was not yet famous, he was not yet known as Matsuo Basho, but five years of living in Edo had brought him some recognition as a master of haiku.

in spring, its spring!
each spring is great
and so on
於春々大哉春と云々
ah haru haru ōinaru kana haru to un nun

Matsuo Basho, 1680

By 1679, Matsuo had taken the pen name Tosei (桃青), meaning “green peach.” His own poems were published in several anthologies; and twenty students who called him master published their own poems, Tōsei’s Collection of Twenty Poets (桃青門弟独吟二十歌仙). The year of 1680 was to be a year of great changes.

Haru, haru, how do you do?
The first dandelion is simple and bright
But what happens next?

Bashō no yōna, Spring 2023

Wishing and Hoping

Spring 1668

In Kyoto and elsewhere in Japan, it is Spring again. The daffodils are in full bloom, waving at a poet trying to capture the moment in words. It is 1668, two years since the death of Todo Yoshitada, young Matsuo’s samurai master. Matsuo is not yet Basho. He is still Matsuo Kinsaku, age 24, living in Kyoto, wishing and hoping.

Spring
flowers laughing in the wind
wishing and hoping

春風に吹き出し笑ふ花もがな
haru kaze ni fukidashi warau hana mogana

Matsuo Kinsaku (Basho) Spring, 1668

Mogana

Mogana — “wouldn’t it be nice if, if only, here’s hoping, wishing, wishing and hoping” are some of the meanings of mogana — the poet’s hope or desire for a beautiful spring.

Since Burt Bacharach died this year at the age of 93, I think it appropriate to mention his song, Wishin’ and Hopin’, first released in 1962. There are at least two great renditions, in 1962 by Dionne Warwick, the other by Dusty Springfield in 1964. Interestingly, Dusty’s Italian recording became “Stupido, Stupido.” It seems”desiderare e sperare” didn’t resonate well with the amorous Italians.

Wishin’ and hopin’
— to find love, hold him
then kisses will start

RIP, Burt Bacharach, 1928-2023

Meanwhile

Meanwhile in the world, King Charles II was back on the throne in England. France’s King Louis XIV and Spain’s King Charles II were fighting over the Netherlands. Japan was at peace under the rule of Tokugawa Ietsuna.

Notes on Translation

haru kaze ni (in a Spring wind or breeze) fukidashi warau (blowing and laughing) hana (flowers) mogana (indicates hope or desire, i.e. Basho wishes the flowers were laughing in the wind).

Haru kaze 春風 — A Spring breeze is associated with many things including happiness and joy, a smiling face.

Fuki 吹き, blowing or boasting; dashi 出しbroth. I inagine flowers waving in the breeze to and fro like a bubbling broth.

Becoming and Speaking

Matsuo Basho’s thoughts on writing poetry were simple:

松の事は松に習へ、竹の事は竹に習へ
Matsu no koto wa matsu ni narae, take no koto wa take ni narae

a pine trees as a thing, be a pine tree,
for bamboo as a thing,
be bamboo

At the same time, Basho warned his students:

我に似るなふたつに割れし真桑瓜
ware ni niru na futatsu ni ware shi makuwauri

Don’t mirror me
like two halves
of a melon.

Basho’s student, Doho, gave us this Tao-like thought:


造花にしたがい、造花にかへれとなり
zoka ni shitagai, zoka ni kaere to nari!

to make a flower, submit and obey,
to make a flower
go back and become!

from Doho’s “San-Zoshi,” explaining Basho’s poetical teachings

Speaking

This fits in nicely with advice I was once given on public speaking

When talking to an audience
Pause, then
Speak from the heart

This did not always work. For fear always lurks nearby. In case of panic, the advice is “curl your toes” this distracts and unfreezes your mind. It works.

Becoming Basho was a long process. He was for a long time, Tosei, an unripe peach. A move to Edo, a trip across the Sumida River to Fukagawa, a simple cottage, cold nights, loneliness, a gift of a banana plant, in time, a basho tree weathering the storms.

Notes on Translation

Matsu, a pine tree. There is a well known haiku, that goes Matsushima, Matsushima, Matsushima, Ah! This was, supposedly, Matsuo Basho’s exclamation on arriving at Matsushima, considered to be one of Japan’s most beautiful spots. (Basho visited here on the Oku no Hosomichi, the Journey to the Northern Interior.)

koto, thing.

zoka 造花, make a flower; shitagai, submit, obey.

kaere, go back, return; nari, to be, become: go back and become

ware, me; niru, resemble, look like, mirror

futatsu, two

makuwauri, oriental melon

Lightning

lightning in the dark sky

A flash of lightning in a September cloud, a Zen reflection on the impermanence of life, but to those don’t know, a precious thing to behold.

A flash of lightning
Yet unenlightened,
How noble!
稲妻にさとらぬ人の貴さよ
inazuma ni / satoranu hito no / tattosa yo

Matsuo Basho, 1690

Figuratively and Literally

Mid-September, 2022, crossing Kansas along US 160, coming home from Las Vegas, New Mexico. In the Gypsum Hills between Meade and Medicine Lodge, the route featured flat mesas, long canyons and arroyos, red rolling hills, and vast empty stretches with no living beings.

Gypsum Hills, Kansas

As day turned to evening, and evening to darkness, my wife and I were entertained by a show of lightning to the north.

“Beautiful,” said my wife.

Inazuma (稲妻, a flash of lightning) ni (with); satora (さとら, enlightened, understanding, one realizes) nu (ぬ, not) hito (人, people, one person) no (の, possessive); tattosa (貴さ, noble and precious).

Yo (よ, yo, indicating certainty).

Spiritually

Matsuo Basho in 1690, at the age of 47 with but three years to live. He had completed his journey of northern Japan, Oku no Hosomichi — How noble and precious, he who doesn’t think, “life is fleeting,” when seeing a flash of lightning.

Our existence in this fleeting world:
A drop of dew in the morning, a bubble in a stream,
A flash of lightning in a summer cloud,
A flickering lamp, an illusion, a phantom, a dream…
Thus spoke Buddha.

Diamond Sutra, Chap. 32
稲妻, a flash of lightning

The Sound of Cicada

cicada clinging to a tree

One can travel by train today from Tokyo to Yamadera in less than five hours.

In 1689, Matsuo Basho made the journey by foot in four or five months, give or take a day or a week. Basho left behind the comforts of his thatched cottage in Fukagawa, his friends, and his students for an uncertain journey with his companion Sora. They arrived in Yamadera in late August. There, Basho and Sora climb the rocky steps to the mountain temple called Yamadera (山寺, lit. “Mountain Temple”), shedding each step of the way their human worries and cares, until even the wind had ceased and all was silent.

Beholding the beauty of the scene, all Basho heard was the sound of the cicada.

ah, the silence
sinking into the rocks
the voice of the cicada

閑かさや
岩にしみ入る
蝉の声

shizukasa ya
iwa ni shimi-iru
semi no koe

Basho’s haiku is inspired by my own experience with cicadas in Kansas and elsewhere. It is a common experience shared by anyone who has heard the incessant high pitched cry. What they are saying and to whom is a mystery. Perhaps, spending 16 out of 17 years underground, they are happy to be set free, learning too soon that it is time to die.

Perhaps, I wonder is it the heat?

ah, in the heat of August,
from each and every tree
comes the cry the cicada

Notes on Translation

Shizukasa could also be “such silence”, the feeling of awe that comes across the traveler when the wind dies completely and one is left alone with the beauty of Nature.

Shimi-iru is literally “penetrating,” giving one the sense the cicadas have burrowed into the rocks to escape the heat. “Sinking” is more sublime, and suggestive of a Buddhist stage of meditation.

Semi no koe, at its simplest, is the voice of the cicada, but that doesn’t stop translators from adding a little spice with verbs like “shrill of the cicada” or “cry of the cicada”.