Basho Matsuo
(1644 - 1694)
Basho Matsuo is known as the first great poet in the history of
haikai (and haiku).
He too, wrote poems using jokes and plays upon words in his early
stages, as they were in fashion, but began to attach importance to the
role of thought in haikai (especially in hokku) from around 1680.
The thought of Tchouang-tseu, philosopher in the 4th century B.C.,
influenced greatly Basho, and he often quoted the texts of "The Book of
master Tchouang" in his hokkus.
The thinker Tchouang-tseu denied the artificiality and the
utilitarianism, seeing value of intellect low. He asserted that things
seemingly useless had the real value, and that it was the right way of
life not to go against the natural law.
To a leg of a heron
Adding a long shank
Of a pheasant.
Basho
This poem parodied the following text in "The Book of master
Tchouang": "When you see a long object, you don't have to think that it
is too long if being long is the property given by the nature. It is
proved by the fact that a duckling, having short legs, will cry if you
try to draw them out by force, and that a crane, having long legs, will
protest you with tears if you try to cut them with a knife."
By playing on purpose in this haiku an act "jointing legs of birds by
force" which Tchouang denied, he showed the absurdity of this act and
emphasized the powerlessness of the human being's intelligence
humorously.
Basho's haikus are dramatic, and they exaggerate humor or depression,
ecstasy or confusion. These dramatic expressions have a paradoxical
nature. The humor and the despair which he expressed are not implements
to believe in the possibility of the human being and to glorify it. If
anything, the literature of Basho has a character that the more he
described men's deeds, the more human existence's smallness stood out in
relief, and it makes us conscious of the greatness of nature's power.
The wind from Mt. Fuji
I put it on the fan.
Here, the souvenir from Edo.
Edo: the old name of Tokyo..
Sleep on horseback,
The far moon in a continuing dream,
Steam of roasting tea.
Spring departs.
Birds cry
Fishes' eyes are filled with tears
Summer zashiki
Make move and enter
The mountain and the garden.
zashiki: Japanese-style room covered with tatamis and open to the
garden.
What luck!
The southern valley
Make snow fragrant.
A autumn wind
More white
Than the rocks in the rocky mountain.
From all directions
Winds bring petals of cherry
Into the grebe lake.
Even a wild boar
With all other things
Blew in this storm.
The crescent lights
The misty ground.
Buckwheat flowers.
Bush clover in blossom waves
Without spilling
A drop of dew.
Note:
Originally, Basho didn't write the poem "To a leg of a heron..." as a
hokku, but as one of verses in a haikai-renga.
This verse suggests the intention to laugh at himself: "What a stupid
deed like drawing out a heron's leg it is to product one more series of
haikai! Because it is produced so often."
Ryu Yotsuya
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THE POETRY OF BASHO
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Type of work: Verse and poetic prose
Author: Matsuo Basho (1644-1694)
First published: 1672-1748
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No poet in Japan has had a greater effect upon his contemporaries or
his posterity or has been accorded greater acclaim and honor than Matsuo
Basho. Throughout Japan, wherever his poetic wanderings took him there
are stone memorials, more than three hundred altogether, inscribed with
his compositions and many mounds believed to contain objects he owned.
Although his remains were buried in a Buddhist temple, on his centennial
and sesquicentennial anniversaries he was deified in at least three
Shinto shrines, one of which was actually named after two of the words
in his famous poem:
Furu-ike ya
Kawazu tobi-komu
Mizu no oto.
Many have tried, but no one has successfully translated this poem, which
refers to the sound of the water when a frog jumps into a pond. Thus,
the name of the shrine might be translated as "Shrine of the
Jump-sound."
Born the third (some say the second) son of a warrior family, Basho not
only studied haikai poetry but also read widely in the Japanese and
Chinese classics and poetry. He was a student of Zen Buddhism,
calligraphy, and painting, and had at one time been a student of Taoism
and of medicine. With this rich and varied background Basho, after a few
youthful indiscretions common to his age and society, developed into a
man of high virtue, possibly because of the shock he experienced at the
death of his feudal lord and fellow poet, the privations he met during
his wanderings, and his serious studies in Zen Buddhism.
Haikai, the origins of which may be traced back to the very beginnings
of Japanese poetry, developed from a form in which a series of
seventeen-syllable poems or stanzas were linked together. During the
middle of the sixteenth century, this form split into the
seventeen-syllable haiku and linked verse (renga), the former a
humorous, sometimes bawdy, type of epigram. By the middle of the
seventeenth century, haiku had again split into two schools, one
emphasizing the form itself, the other seeking greater freedom for the
expression of wit and the unusual at the expense of form. Neither
school, however, produced superior poetry.
Basho lived in a peaceful period following a century of wars and
internecine strife. More than half a century before, Ieyasu had unified
Japan under the rule of his house. The warriors who had fought under him
and their descendants now were busy with peaceful enterprises.
There was also a rising moneyed class made up of merchants in the urban
trading centers of Osaka and Edo, now Tokyo. The concentration of power
and resources in the shogunate, the concentration of cash money among
the merchants, the philosophical clashes between the rigid codes of
feudal loyalty on the one hand and the power of money on the other, and
peaceful times produced three of the greatest literary figures in
Japanese history almost at the same time. Basho was the poet among them,
and the only one who renounced material wealth for matters of the
spirit.
In 1666, when Basho was twenty-three, his feudal lord died. Basho left
feudal service in spite of the fact that such a step made him a
semi-outcast from his society, and in 1672 he arrived in Edo already
versed in the two schools of the haiku. For the rest of his life he
devoted himself to bringing this form back to true poetry and, in the
course of this effort, created a third school which is named after him.
In the three centuries since, haiku poetry has had its vicissitudes, but
each revival has been a movement back to Basho. His influence is felt
not only in his own school but also in the other two. His death
anniversaries are still strictly observed by his followers, and
admiration for him amounts to bare idolatry. The latest revival was
begun by Masaoka Shiki (1867-1902). haiku poet and novelist, in the
1890's.
There is no single adequate word for the essence of Basho's poetry, but
it has been described as the illustration of an old man girding on his
armor and fighting on the battlefield, or clothing himself in the
richest brocades to attend a banquet. In either case he cannot hide the
fact that he is beyond his physical prime. The liveliest of Basho's
haiku contain an element of lingering pathos, but such pathos is not to
be gained by seeking it per se. It must be a development of one's nature
as the result of the varied experiences of life.
The best of the poems by Basho and his disciples are collected in the
Haikai Shichibu-shu (Seven Collected Works) in twelve volumes. The seven
collections contained are Fuyu no Hi (Winter Days); Haru no Hi (Spring
Days); Arano (Fields of Wilderness); Hisago (The Gourd); Saru Mino
(Coats of Straw for Monkeys); Sumi-dawara (Bags of Charcoal); and Zoku
Saru Mino (Saru Mino, Continued).
Other well-known collections of his verse and prose writings include
Kai-oi, a collection of sixty haiku in pairs, each like the two shells
of a clam, which gives this collection its title. The verse of
thirty-seven persons contains Basho's comments as well. The preface is
dated 1672, when Basho was twenty-eight. The poems combine snatches of
popular songs and expressions of the time, and Basho's comments indicate
that if he himself did not indulge in an unrestrained life in his youth,
he was at least in sympathy with those who did. This work is
representative of his earlier years.
The remaining books are accounts of his wanderings and journeys, each
liberally sprinkled with poems. These include Nozarashi Kiko {In the
Face of Wind and Rain), 1685, an account of a trip from Edo to the
Kyoto-Nara-Ise area, particularly Nagoya in 1684-1685; Kashima Kiko
{Moon Viewing to Kashima), 1687; Oi no Obumi {Scraps from my Letterbox),
1687, an account of a journey in the Yamato area, believed to show Basho
at his peak as a poet and philosopher; Sarashina Kiko {Moon Viewing to
Sarashina), 1688, a brief work like the Kashima Kiko and similar in
style; Oku no Hoso-michi (The Narrow Road of Oku), an account of a trip
in 1689 from Edo to Sakata in northeastern Japan via Nikko and Mat-sushima,
and thence down toward the Japan Sea to Kan-azawa, Tsuruga and then
southward to Ise, covering about 1,467 miles in seven months. This work,
the greatest of Basho's travel accounts, inspired numerous followers,
both of his own time and later (including at least one American), to
make trips by the same route. The Saga Nikki {Diary at Saga), 1691, is
Basho's diary written during a month's stay in 1691 at the Rakushi-sha,
a modest residence in Saga, near Kyoto. The style reveals Basho at his
best in describing his enjoyment of a simple, uncluttered life.
Selections from Basho's poetry and prose are widely available in English
translation. Indeed, much of his work is available in several different
versions, so that the reader is not limited to the perspective of a
single translator.
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Basho's Haiku
Translated by Robert Hass
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A bee
staggers out
of the peony.
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A caterpillar,
this deep in fall--
still not a butterfly.
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Moonlight slanting
through the bamboo grove;
a cuckoo crying.
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Heat waves shimmering
one or two inches
above the dead grass.
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Winter garden,
the moon thinned to a thread,
insects singing.
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The morning glory also
turns out
not to be my friend.
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Staying at an inn
where prostitutes are also sleeping--
bush clover and the moon.
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Teeth sensitive to the sand
in salad greens--
I'm getting old.
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Winter solitude--
in a world of one color
the sound of wind.
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The oak tree:
not interested
in cherry blossoms.
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How admirable!
to see lightning and not think
life is fleeting.
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When the winter chrysanthemums go,
there's nothing to write about
but radishes.
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Taking a nap,
feet planted
against a cool wall.
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Midfield,
attached to nothing,
the skylark singing.
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What fish feel,
birds feel, I don't know--
the year ending.
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Spring rain
leaking through the roof
dripping from the wasps' nest.
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This old village--
not a single house
without persimmon trees.
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Stillness--
the cicada's cry
drills into the rocks.
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The dragonfly
can't quite land
on that blade of grass.
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The squid seller's call
mingles with the voice
of the cuckoo.
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Wrapping the rice cakes,
with one hand
she fingers back her hair.
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Fleas, lice,
a horse peeing
near my pillow.
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Blowing stones
along the road on Mount Asama,
the autumn wind.
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Autumn moonlight--
a worm digs silently
into the chestnut.
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Fleas, lice,
a horse peeing
near my pillow.
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Coolness of the melons
flecked with mud
in the morning dew.
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At a hermitage:
A cool fall night--
getting dinner, we peeled
eggplants, cucumbers.
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Bush warbler:
shits on the rice cakes
on the porch rail.
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A field of cotton--
as if the moon
had flowered.
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First day of spring--
I keep thinking about
the end of autumn.
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Awake at night--
the sound of the water jar
cracking in the cold.
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First winter rain--
even the monkey
seems to want a raincoat.
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A monk sips morning tea,
it's quiet,
the chrysanthemum's flowering.
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A snowy morning--
by myself,
chewing on dried salmon.
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Cold night: the wild duck,
sick, falls from the sky
and sleeps awhile.
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First snow
falling
on the half-finished bridge.
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