ayamegusa

Basho’s Diary,
Sendai,
May 4th to 8th,
16th year of Genroku

Crossing the Natori River, we entered Sendai on the day when the irises were in full bloom. We found a place to stay and stayed four or five days. An artist by the name of Kaemon lived here. A man of some ability with whom I became acquainted. We toured together for a day. The clover in Miyagino was lush, the air was misty. Tamada, Yokono, and Tsujigaoka were white with rhododendrons. We entered a grove of pine trees called “under the tree.” It was because the dew was so thick in the past that it was called “Misaburahimikasa.” This meant to say, “Servants, present your master a hat.” The dew underneath the tree is wetter than the rain. Before the day ended, we visited the Yakushido and Tenjin shrines.

In parting, he gave me two paintings of Matsushima and Shiogama and a pair of straw sandals woven with Iris grass. How a man of refined taste is thoughtful.

Iris grass —
tied to the feet
the straps of straw sandals.

Iris —
Blossoming
On my feet?

あやめ艸足に結ん草鞋の緒
ayamegusa ashi ni musuban waraji no o

ayamegusa (あやめ艸), a combination of ayame, meaning iris, and gusa (Chinese, cao) meaning grass. In a medical and spiritual context, a medicinal herb with a fragrant smelling root that is said to ward off evil spirits. A way of saying “bon voyage.”

Sendai, a seaport on Japan’s eastern coast. At this point Basho headed into the interior crossing over to the west coast, a little less than half way through his journey on what would become Oku no Hosomichi.

Matsushima and Shiogama, two places on the coast that Basho visited. Matsushima is known for its pines. Matsuo Basho would surely have seen the connection with his own name, Matsuo.

Miyagino is the name of a god, but apparently also a suburb of Sendai.

As a travel guide, Basho gives us very little to no information about the two Buddhist shrines he visited.

Several English translations Basho’s journey exist. Here is one.

Let it Rain

Let it rain all day, just not today.

A drizzle, a sprinkle, a mist, a shower, April showers that bring May flowers, a steady shower, a downpour and a deluge like the one that Noah had, a thunderstorm, a thunder clapper, cats and dogs, into each life some rain must fall. Rain, rain, go away, come some other day, and when it comes let’s all hope for a passing rain…

A word, a name, the Way, the Dao

The Dao teaches us that things can have many names, that names change. So many names, so many words for many things. In a word, it seems much the same. And yet, one suspects, there is a difference.

“What’s in a name?” Shakespeare famously wrote. Shakespeare put this question in the mouth of Juliet, who observed that a rose, by any other name, would smell as sweet. Of course, Juliet’s discourse was about the fact that for Romeo and Juliet, one a Montague, the other a Capulet, by birth, sworn enemies.

“Water of the Sky” a book by Miya Ando compiles 2,000 Japanese words for rain along with their English interpretations. To do so, she resorts to that which precedes rain, or what accompanies rain, its quantity, its sound, what is and what isn’t rain, of rain and man.

How charming, how thoughtful, what a good book to buy.

Given this, I wondered what Matsuo Basho thought of rain. As with Miya Ando, Basho heard the rain dripping through his roof, he was soaked by rain, and saw how rain froze on monkeys, how rain came in drizzles and downpours, and what it did to his beloved Banana (Basho) tree outside his front door. And with the help of ChatGPT I came up with this list:

Note. the word order is sometimes changed.

初雪 (hatsuyuki)

初雪や / 水仙の葉の / たわむまで
Hatsuyuki ya/ suisen no ha no/ tawamu made

First snow,
piling on the daffodil,
until it bends

— Hatsuyuki, literally, first snow, last snow, which is which? Is it the end of winter yet? It seems strange to start with this, but every gardener knows snow sometimes doesn’t know it is Spring.

雨 (ame)

雨の日や / 世間の人の / 見えぬ哉
ame no hi ya / seken no aki o / sakai-chō

A rainy day —
the people of the world
are nowhere to be seen.

– Ame, a good plain rain, when no seasonal nuance is needed.

春雨 (harusame)

春雨や / 蓬を延ばす / 草の道
harusame ya / yomogi o nobasu kusa

Spring rain—
lets the mugwort grow
along the grassy path.

– Harusame, Spring rain, ah, soft, gentle rain that nourishes all life. And why the mugwort? Like parsley and cilantro, it has a medicinal quality, it is a non-alcoholic digestif. Basho welcomed it as he was plagued with stomach issues later in life.

五月の雨岩檜葉の緑いつまでぞ

五月雨 (samidare)

五月雨を / 集めて早し / 最上川
Samidarewo/ atsumete hayashi/ mogamigawa

This summer rain,
it gathers, rushing quickly,
— the Mogami River.

– Samidare, literally, the rain in the fifth month (May). When it rains, it leads to floods and rising rivers and an exciting ride down the Mogami. Compare the slightly different 五月の雨, gogatsu, no ame, literally, the rain in the fifth month (May). In poetic readings, the phrase is transformed into satsuki no ame.

五月の雨
岩檜葉の緑
いつまでぞ
Satsuki no ame / iwahiba no midori / itsumade zo

The rain in May,
splashes on the rocks keeping the cypress green.
— how long will it last?

This unsatisfactory translation refers to the majestic cypress trees that grow dense and think in Japanese forests. Iwahiba 岩檜葉, the cypress tree. The “how long will it last” is an allusion to the fact the wood of the cypress is used in Japanese temples.

時雨 (shigure)

初時雨 / 猿も小蓑を / ほしげ也
Hatsu Shigure / Saru Mo Ko Mino O / Ho Shige yě

A late autumn rain,
Oh, a monkey needs and want
A warm winter coat

– Shigure, it has come to mean a cold, intermittent rain in late autumn or early winter. One that catches that poor monkey unprepared and needing a winter coat.

夕立 (yūdachi)

夕立や / 草葉をつかむ / むら雀
Yūdachi ya/ Kusaba o tsukamu/ mura suzume

grasping blades of grass,
in a sudden summer shower
— a quarrel of sparrows

– Yudachi, hurry home, don’t be caught in a sudden evening downpour

霧雨 (kirisame)

霧雨や / 日暮れに残る / 海の色
Kirisame ya/ higure ni nokoru/ umi no iro

Amidst the mist,
the color of the sea, at dusk
still remains.

– Kirisame, literally, a misty rain, or the mist itself, not a heavy or steady rain, but just a very little, letting the sunlight color the sea and sky.

村雨 (murasame)

村雨や / 釣瓶落としの / 水の音
Murasame ya/ tsurube otoshi no/ mizu no ote

Sudden squall, ouch —
water pounding
dropping in a copper bucket.

– Murasame, literally, a village rain. Over time it has come to mean sudden squall. Basho is at home, and has to contend with a leaky roof. 水の音, mizu no ote will make another appearance in Basho’s well-known frog in the old pond haiku.

雪 (yuki)

雪と雪 / 今宵師走の / 名月哉
Yuki to yuki/ koyoi shiwasu no/ meigetsu kana

Snow, let it snow,
all evening long in December
— what a beautiful moon!

— Yuki, yuki, Let it snow, let it snow, but let the moon shine through.

深雪 (miyuki)

深雪や / 庵の柱の / きしむ音
Miyuki ya/ an no hashira no/ kishimu oto

The snow is so deep
it buries my humble hut
beneath its creaking noise.

— Miyuki, Deep frigid snow, the kind to bring the world to a stop.

First Snow

Winter’s not over. Not yet. But somewhere the crocus are blooming and the snow has gathered on the leaves of the daffodil and the narcissus, bending them down. Someone once told me that is how one knows Spring is soon coming.

初雪や
水仙の葉のたわ
むまで
Hatsuyuki ya
suisen no ha no tawa
mu made

First snow, last snow, let me know — with AI, is anybody thinking for one’s self? My English rendering of Matsuo Basho’s haiku that keeps the figurative meaning if not literally so.

first snow, new year—
just enough so its bending
the daffodil leaves

— Matsuo Basho, 1686

Yes,, it is true that in Japanese, the word 水仙 (すいせん, suisen) can mean both daffodil and narcissus. I confess, I too am not sure of the difference and whether it matters.

初雪や / 水仙の葉のたわ / むまで

Winter is coming

Matsuo Basho, Free verse on Basho themes
January 2026

I spend a winter day hunkered down. I draw a picture of Mt. Fuji on a piece of paper. I compose a poem. The cold wind sings a song of sorrow. A rat finds the ice is bitter. My tea is cold. I listen to a distant bell on the hour. Across the river lies Edo. The snow falls on the bridge that is newly built. People hurry home. An insect sings his final song in the winter garden. The moon fades as I watch. A muffled voice, a sweet song within the palanquin passing on the way to the mountain castle. Where are the warriors in shining armor. The cold of winter, this winter night. A life of peace. Goodnight.

mono no aware, 物の哀れ, the pathos of small things.

Here is a Basho haiku I have not previously come across.

京に飽きて
この木枯や
冬住ひ
Kyō ni akite / kono kogarashi ya / fuyuzumai

I tire of city life,
I long to hear the cold wind whisper —
I retreat to my winter cottage.
.
Tired of this city,
I hear the cold wind calling,
I seek my cottage

— Matsuo Basho, Kyoto, 1691

Composed in the autumn of 1691. Either the cold wind whispers or it calls Basho back to Edo and his humble cottage. It would be his last trip home to Edo. What was home to Basho. First, Ueno where he was born, then the castle where he served his master. Then to Kyoto to study. Then Edo. Then the road itself, as a wandering poet. like Saiygo…

Yamanashi explains: It has been two years since Basho and Sora completed the journey, Oku no Hosomichi (1689). Preparing the book to be, Matsuo Basho has grown tired of Kyoto. He wishes to return to Edo… I long for a rural life where I can hear the cold wind whisper. Or, more likely, when I hear the cold wind call, I long to return.

A greeting poem to the samurai, Suganuma Gon’emon (haiku name, Kōgetsu).

京に飽きて, Kyōni akite, literally, at (に) Kyoto (京), I am bored.

You can also read Gabi Greve’s slightly different translation and explanation.

Winter

Winter, January 2026

“Winter is coming.” It’s all over the news. It’s January, I wonder what to do in the midst of a storm. Let’s stock up on a few winter haiku by Matsuo Basho.

Winter is coming
Oh, there is snow on the way,
The weatherman says

A monkey caught unawares by the snow and the sleet.

初しぐれ . 猿も小蓑を . ほしげ也
hatsu shigure . saru mo komino o hoshige nari

The first time it snows
even a monkey know what he wants
— a little straw coat.

Out for a ride, after a blizzard, I want to go home but I’m stuck to my seat.

冬の日や. 馬上に氷る . 影法師
uyu no hi ya . bashō ni kōru . kagebōshi

It’s a wintry day
I sit on a horse, frozen,
along with my shadow.

Just when we think, winter’s over …

初雪や . 水仙の葉の . たわむまで
hatsuyuki ya . suisen no ha no . tawamu

The season’s first snow
dumped on a daffodil leaf
— bending, it bows.

To most children, the snow is pretty, to some it’s sad.

霜を着て . 風を敷き寝の . 捨子哉
shimo o kite . kaze o shiki-ne no . sutego kana

All covered in frost,
laying down in the wind, asleep —
an abandoned child.

The snow is pretty
Some children make snow angels,
As some fall asleep

Winter Wind

A cold wind blows, it snows and snows. Winter, 1690, Genroku, 3rd year. Matsuo Basho had completed the long journey, that would one day become known as Oku no Hosomichi, but he had not yet returned to Edo. The end is near.

Ah, the bitter winter wind,
my face, my swollen cheeks
are painful

こがらしや .　頬腫痛む .　人の顔
Kogarashi ya . hoobare itamu . hito no kao
— Matsuo Basho, Winter 1690

The order of the haiku was reversed to make sense. Hito no kao, the human face. Hoobare itamu, swollen cheeks are painful. Some pundits suggest that there was a mumps epidemic. I suggest, as anyone would know, who walks in the bitter wind, the cheeks were simply red and puffy.

**A winter’s journey on horseback**, Hiroshige, source Wikipedia

Sake Anyone?

New Year’s Eve,
from dusk til dawn,
Sake anyone?
— Bashō no yōna, 2025

Eat drink and be merry, but there is hell to pay for a little buzz.

Like floating flowers
My sake is white,
My rice is black
花にうき世我が酒白く飯黒し
hana ni ukiyo waga sake shiroku meshi kuroshi
.
Cherry blossoms falling
Sneaking sips of sake
Behind a fan
扇にて酒くむ陰や散る桜
ōgi nite sake kumu kage ya chiru sakura
.
After drinking the sake
The bottle becomes
A flower vase
呑明て花生となる二升樽
nomi akete hana-ike ni sen nishoodaru
.
May swallows dance
but let not mud drop
in my sake cup
盃に泥な落しそ舞ふ燕
盃に泥な落しそ村ツバメ
sakazuki ni doro na otoshi so muratsubame
.
when I drink sake
no longer can I sleep
this snowy night
酒飲めばいとど寝られぬ夜の雪
sake nomeba itodo nerarenu yoru no yuki
— Matsuo Basho, sake haiku

I confess to liking the last haiku the best. Or maybe it is just that it resonates with me.

The more we drink, the less we sleep
nomeba itodo nerarenu

sake, the more one drinks, the less one sleeps

Snow upon snow

It is said to have been written in the first year of the Jokyo Era (貞享), 1684. A compilation of poems including Basho’s had been published called Shriveled Chestnuts. And Basho was on the road on the Five Highways on the first of his four major wanderings.

Snow upon snow
Tonight, the last month is December
Is there a full moon or not?

雪と雪 . 今宵師走の . 名月か
Yuki to yuki . Koyoi shiwasu no . Meigetsu ya
— Matsuo Basho

Version Two, when there is a glimmer of hope.

Snow upon snow
Tonight, the last month
Is there a sliver of a moon or not?

The Moon 月

It has been said that this haiku was written to settle a disagreement between two individuals (snow upon snow), each part frozen and unwilling to compromise. The moon was supposed to mediate the differences, but the cloudy weather and the snow got in the way. Tsuki is any moon. Meigtsu, refers to a full moon. A sliver of a moon (mikazuki) seems appropriate if we are trying to patch up differences.

雪と雪 . 今宵師走の . 名月か
Yuki to yuki . Koyoi shiwasu no . Meigetsu ya
image, Wikipedia

After a meal

Let us join Matsuo Basho in Edo. The year is 1683. Perhaps we are at Basho’s humble thatched cottage. More likely we are at the home of a friend as Basho’s haiku suggest he was not much of a cook. Perhaps it is late in the year, a holiday, a sumptuous feast, then desert.

After a meal
watch TV, then nap
— Thanksgiving

A meal is not complete until desert is served. A sweet rice cake called kusa mochi qwrapped in mugwort leaves.

Pale green, hey —
an ear protruding from
the kusa mochi cake.

青ざしや草餅の穂に出でつらん
aozashi ya kusa mochi no ho ni ide tsuran
— Matsuo Basho, 1683, age 40

青ざし (aozashi), pale green, the color of young plants or new leaves.

や (ya), used to convey emphasis.

草餅 (kusa mochi), a sweet Japanese rice cake made with mugwort (yomogi) leaves, a tall green herb. The mugwort is a digestive aide. Basho suffered stomach problems for much of his life.

に (ni), meaning “on”; 穂 (ho), literally “ear” as in the protruding spikes of the mugwort stalk.

出でつらん (ide tsuran), something that has “emerged” or “come forth.”

青ざしや草餅の穂に出でつらん
aozashi ya kusa mochi no ho ni ide tsuran

Hail

Lake Biwa at night
plucking the shamisen
the pounding hail
— Matsuo Basho, Fall, 1684

Lake Biwa / at night, the three string shamisen / sounding (like) the sound of hail
琵琶湖の / 夜や三味線の / 音あられ
Biwakō no / yo ya shamisen no / oto arare

Did he like it?

In the first year of the Jōkyō (1684), on the journey of Nozarashi Kiko, in Ogaki, near the waters of Lake Biwa, at a gathering at Nyogyō’s house, Nyogyō was invited to play a Japanese shamisen. (Background Source: Yamanashi-ken)

(Shamisen 三味線, a three string instrument that sounds something like a banjo.)