Basho (1644-1694) is widely recognized as Japan's greatest poet. He was a master of haiku, that is, brief unrhymed poems of three lines with a strict form: first line, 7 syllables, second line, 5 syllables followed by a third line of seven syllables. Haiku are imagistic poems that sometimes--in Basho's case, often--get at the very heart of reality. It is no surprise that he studied and practiced Zen for the latter part of his life, the time when his greatest poems were written. Details about his life can readily be obtained by the interested reader; I will focus on the poems.
1. First Poem, the Most Famous of All
old pond
a frog jumps in
the sound of water
There is an anecdote behind this poem. Basho was sitting in a garden with poets and pupils as company. He began composing a haiku, which began with the image, 'old pond'. Shortly thereafter a splash was heard and the poem was soon completed.
Japanese, a language I don't know, is apparently very different from English. The emphasis is on nouns unadorned by definite or indefinite articles, which by the way, don't even exist in Japanese. One gets the impression of a one-or-two paneled painting, a Still Life by a Master--a Zen Master, that is. At best, haiku are completely concrete and profoundly symbolic at the same time.
This poem is no different. I give one interpretation; many are possible. The 'old pond' can be considered to be the teachings of Zen--or of any other profound system which can make its disciples become wise. Practice is what is most essential; reading about Zen without ardently practicing Zen in meditation and in life will get one nowhere. You, like the frog, have to jump in the pond and swim. The last line is so beautiful; you can almost hear the splash.
It's like the story of a disciple--there are many such stories--who struggled to obtain the wisdom of Zen all his life; suddenly he hears the cry of a cuckoo and becomes enlightened. He would never have reached this level if he hadn't practiced Zen ardently for years; similarly, there would be no water-sound if the frog hadn't jumped in.
A very evocative poem!
2.
On a wintry morning
I sit by myself
eating tough strips of dried salmon
I have known and loved this haiku for over forty years!
The first line reveals the cold indifference of nature; the second line reveals the tragic isolation humans are prone to; the third line reveals the anhedonia resultant from the experience--there is no pleasure, not even in food. When it rains, inside and outside, it sometimes pours; it sometimes never seems to stop.
We project our feelings onto nature--She is perceived as being warm and kind when one is feeling warm and kind. When not, not. The isolation and extreme loneliness that plagues many individuals today was not characteristic during most of human evolution; I doubt if any hunter gatherer was as lonely as Kafka's Gregor Samsa; he or she was always surrounded by kin.
If you're depressed or in a very bad and isolated mood, this is the poem for you.
3.
Rough seas
stretch across to Sado
Above, the Milky Way
One of my favorites.
The island of Sado, part of the Japanese archipelago, is several miles off the west coast of Japan. In this haiku, I picture a boat and its passengers being tossed about by rough seas. In the distance, a mount on the island of Sado is seen. The storm seems to stretch all the way to the island, which it probably does. It is night. One looks up and sees the Milky Way. One suddenly feels centered, despite being tossed about by waves. The Japanese word for the Milky Way is, transliterated, Ama-nao-gawa, which means Heaven's river, a much lovelier term for the river of light caused by countless stars toward the galaxy's center.
I interpret this with one of my favorite sayings, 'All storms are local.' One contrasts a tempest which occurs on Earth with the absolute serenity of the heavens. The poem acquires a deeper meaning as one interprets the storm on the sea as a storm taking place inside oneself. It is amazing when one witnesses 'a hurricane' occurring between the ears, say, in a disturbed person, while a person in the next room remains healthy and calm. All storms are local--all demons, horrible thoughts, stormy views, etc. do not correspond to the outside world, they occur within. I repeat: all storms are local.
True, if we were able to get close to the stars of the Milky Way, everything would not be at peace. There would be solar flares, occasional massive supernovae, stars being swallowed by an enormous black hole, etc. Similarly, it has been pointed out that a forest might transmit a sense of peace, but close-up the struggle for life is everywhere. Tall trees, for instance, deprive saplings of light, dooming them to death. Both of these arguments are missing something essential, however. Once we transcend our egos, once the I, along with inordinate desires, buzzes off like an annoying mosquito, everything is at peace, at least according to Buddhist teachings. In addition one cannot deny that contemplating nature brings respite to the troubled breast.
'All storms are local' is another way of saying storms, especially internal storms, do not last. I wish more young persons would realize this fact! Also: Buddhist practice often proves that we can control internal weather. And, if not, we can accept our finite storms and contemplate, say, the peace of the heavens or that of nature, thus finding a durable eye of the storm in ourselves.
4.
Surprised, without even
a hat on my head, by
cold rain What?
First a note on how I translate the haiku without knowing Japanese. The collection of haiku I utilized is An Introduction to Haiku by Harold Henderson, 1958. For each haiku, Henderson provided, along with his translation, a transliteration of the Japanese and a literal English translation. In this case:
kasa mo naki ware wo shigururu ka nanto-nanto
hat even not me on get-cold-rain ? what-not
I ignored the book's translation, which in this case is entitled Sudden Shower:
Not even a hat--
and cold rain falling on me?
Tut-Tut! Think of that!
Regarding the concrete meaning of the poem, we can all relate to times when we, without an umbrella, have been surprised by a shower. Regarding the metaphorical meaning of the poem, we are aware that good fortune can turn on a dime. One day, one is in good health; the next day a diagnosis of inoperable cancer comes along. Change is inevitable, sometimes for the better, sometimes--especially when one lives long enough--for the worse. Zen demands that we accept life as it is, not how we would have it. Think of that!
5.
Soon to die
without any indication,
the chirps of locusts
I'll let you interpret this one. Sic transit gloria mundi. The wise are always ready.
6.
Sun's road
hollyhocks turn toward it
despite the rains of May
If I were to write 'don't ever give up,' or 'the wise know, however hidden, that the sun still is shining, just beyond the clouds', it would sound hackneyed. Leave it to Basho to convey this important message with a striking image.
7.
In Kyoto
I long for Kyoto
The cuckoo calls
A Western version of this would be, 'In Jerusalem, I long for Jerusalem.' Kyoto, a holy city of temples, is the Japanese equivalent. Imagine, after much hard spiritual work, arriving in a holy city expecting a bit of holiness to rub off. One is disappointed; thus, 'In Kyoto, I long for Kyoto.' I'm reminded of one of my favorite Latin proverbs, by Horace: "Caelum non animam mutant, qui trans mare currunt, that is, 'Those who travel abroad change the sky, not their nature.' In other words, you can't run away from yourself, If you're not ready for wisdom, especially Zen wisdom, traveling to a holy place is not going to help. The last line, however, changes everything. The cuckoo has great spiritual significance in Japan. There are many Zen stories of sudden enlightenment in those who have worked hard on spiritual matters. When one is ready, all it takes is a cry of the cuckoo to usher in enlightenment. As I interpret this wonderful poem, the protagonist, having heard the cry of the cuckoo, no longer yearns for Kyoto, for he has become Kyoto.
A little bird, much more prosaic that the cuckoo, has told me that seven poems with interpretations are enough for one blog essay. Seven more by Basho, along with interpretations, will soon follow. I hope you are enjoying these amazing poems. Comments welcome.
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