When the frog meets the pond, when you speak, Whether you whisper or shout, it’s — the sound of existence.
— Bashō no yōna, Thoughts on Basho’s most well-known haiku
Whether you whisper or shout, When you speak, like the frog and the pond, it’s — the sound of existence. — Bashō no yōna, Thoughts on Basho’s most well-known haiku
To write, to be, or not to be, one must write to be.
Fragile as dew on a blade of grass, Heavy as a stone tossed in a lake, To be heard one must speak — Bashō no yōna, Thoughts on Basho’s most well-known haiku
Matsuo Bashō, the 17th-century Japanese haiku poet, didn’t directly write about Daoism. But he did dabble in Buddhism. And he traveled, one imagines, searching for the Way. He died, on November 28, 1694, on the way to the Grand Shrine in Ise, but got no further than Osaka. He was only 50.
Way beyond words, go — All things arise from one source, Travel and behold. — The Dao, as One
Haiku’d. A weed is often a flower out of place. A blossom is only pretty until it fades. Nature makes its own choices, and so do I.
I love to garden But I hate to make — Sophie’s choice Bashō no yōna, Late Summer 2025
Haiku’d, messing with Matsuo Basho’s form (5-7-5), making up the rules. How Dao…
Some random thoughts on gardening.
If it’s true that April is the cruelest month (The Wasteland, T.S. Eliot, 1922), then August is the hottest month when gardeners struggle to water. And throughout the season the gardener knows some seeds grow, some plants thrive, some need a little help.
By the summer of 1694, Basho was not feeling well and he knew the end was near. As if to sum up his life, he wrote this haiku.
making my way in life, in a small rice patch, back and forth . 世を旅に代かく小田の行戻り yo o tabi ni shiro kaku oda no yuki modori — Matsuo Basho, late summer, 1694
As you like it:
traveling this world, a lifetime working a rice patch, back and forth — Bashō no yōna, Thoughts on Basho while walking, Summer 2025
世を旅に
Yo o tabi ni
making my way in life,
代かく小田の
shiro kaku oda no
in a small rice patch
行戻り
yuki modori
back and forth
Back and forth, Sowing and reaping, Seeking answers never found. — Bashō no yōna, Thoughts on the Dao, 2025
sigh, this summer grass is all that remains — a mighty samurai’s dreams . natsukusa ya tsuwamono domo ga yume no ato. 夏草や兵共がゆめの跡
Hiraizumi, Iwate prefecture Summer 1689
Like swallows, like the stork, like the Monarch butterfly, in summer, man migrates from home to vacation and suffer the heat. Matsuo Basho did not invent summer travel in Japan, but he did popularize it. His travelogues, a combination of haiku and commentary on local scenes were published during and after his lifetime. Highways were built.* Way stations were maintained and rest-stops and inns were conveniently located at distances of 20 miles apart.
Along the Oku no Hosomichi, Basho’s journey into Japan’s northern interior in the summer of 1689.
At Hiraizumi, the northernmost point on Basho’s journey that one day would be called Oku no Hosomichi, Basho detoured to the land where the Oshu Fujiwara clan prospered for three generations in the late Heian period (Heian, meaning peace, 794 to 1185).
Here, Minamoto no Yoshitsune, the third generation of the powerful Minamoto clan, fled fleeing the fickle emperor for whom he had gallantly fought but now was condemned. Far to the north, surrounded by mountains, to Hiraizumi he fled. Given refuge, he lived in peace, until the death of his protector whose son betrayed vilely him. In a final battle, Yoshitsune met his end.
Standing on the hill, in the midst of the dying summer grass, there Yoshitsune’s forces fought to the last man.
What do you think?
Grass as a metaphor for a dead warrior
Basho’s thoughts: “Three generations of glory of the Fujiwara clan vanished like a dream; the hills and rivers remain unchanged, as they were in the past.” How Dao, death comes to us all, and Nature reclaims everything, in the passage of time, restoring what is to the way it once was.
“Cry out,” a voice said, And said I, “What shall I cry?” “Our flesh is like grass, its beauty like the flower of the field… The grass withers, the flower fades.” Isaiah, 40:6–8
“I bequeath myself to the dirt to grow from the grass I love, If you want me again look for me under your boot-soles.” Walt Whitman, Leaves of Grass, 1855
Note. Five Routes established by the Tokugawa shogunate. The Nakasendo and Tokaido were the most popular. Both connected Edo and Kyoto, the Nakasendo through the mountains, Tokaido along the coast. The Japanese artist Utagawa Hiroshige immortalized the “55 Stations of the Tokaido” in print.
Bashō no yōna violates Basho’s rule, which is to never speak of politics. A conversation full of sound and fury, where nothing really changes.
In poetry there is no place for politics
In Japan the LDP is slipping but not yet fallen
In America Trump says America is back
Where am I going With this? Nowhere
How Dao!
What can one say about politics? People have their minds made up and so they rarely listen. Why we can’t get along is an enduring question that has no answer. How Dao.
Matsuo Basho spoke not of politics. The closest he comes is in the following haiku where he implies that both the Tokugawa Shogun and the Dutch Capitain must pay homage to the spirits on sacred Mt. Tsukuba. Mount Tsukuba was the home of the Shinto gods It is located northeast of Tokyo, Edo which, in Basho’s day, was the seat of political power.
In the following haiku we have a play on words. “Kabitan” or “Kapitan” refers to the captain of the Dutch ships that arrive at trading post on Dejima Island in Nagasaki. In Basho’s time, each year on the first day of March, the Dutch captain “crawled” or made his way in a long procession beating gifts to the Shogun at his castle in Edo near Mt. Tsukuba. Tsukubaru (つくばる) is also an old poetic form meaning to crawl. To “obsequiously come” if one wants to pontificate. Submissive is clearer. Ah, but the shogun too makes his homage to Mt. Tsukuba.
Basho was 35 when this was written. He too had come to Edo a few years earlier, seeking fame if not fortune.
the Dutch Captain, must come to Mt. Tsukuba each Spring
the Dutch Captain comes crawling (to the Shogun) in Spring
甲比丹も. つくばはせけり . 君が春 kapitan mo . tsukuba wa sekeri . kimi ga haru
It is beginning to snow. How delightful, unless you are a young monk, out on the road, standing in the snow, begging for a coat. It was the fourth year of the Genroku (1691-92), Basho was returning to Edo, saddened, I suspect, for he was not feeling well. Basho was 47 turning 48, and it was beginning to snow.
It is beginning to snow and the saintly young monk is the color of his wooden backpack
初雪や . 聖小僧が . 笈の色 Hatsu-yuki ya . Hijiri-kozo ga . Oi no iro — Matsuo Basho, Winter 1691-92
The Backpack Color White or red. Two theories on the backpack color. One, the backpack was white from the snow, and the monk was getting pale. Two, the backpack was red (as I have seen online) and the monk’s face was red from the bitter cold.
Kōya Hijiri (高野聖), young monks from Mount Kōya, south of Osaka, who were sent out to preach Buddhism with nothing more than a wooden backpack and bowl to beg for food.
man on horseback in snow, Hiroshige, source Wikipedia
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,
matsuo-basho-haiku 