This is Part ll of a two-part compilation of major poems by Basho, along with commentary. It is recommended, though not necessary, to read Part l first.
8. Autumn winds blowing
Yet chestnut burrs
Remain green
All right, we know it's in the genes. Chestnut burrs don't decide to remain green as chestnut leaves turn color and fall. The time for harvesting chestnuts is September through late October, depending on the variety. The chestnuts inside burrs that remain green are not ready for harvesting. Green chestnut burrs can be found even in late fall, after the leaves of the parent tree have fallen.
Some people "remain green" and deal with the vicissitudes of life better than others. I interpret this poem to denote the fact that optimism is linked to quality of life and to longevity. Whether optimism is in the genes or not, a positive, that is, a 'green' attitude can keep one above ground longer. The beauty of this poem is that even the healthiest attitude can't keep you alive forever: by late fall, all the chestnut burrs are brown, empty shells; they might stay green longer than the chestnut's deciduous leaves, yet they, too, eventually leave without a trace.
I've read that optimism often extends the lives of cancer patients. A good reason for me to become more optimistic!
9.
Visiting loneliness
Just one leaf
Of the kiri tree
The kiri tree (paulownia) is found around the world, but is especially abundant in Japan. It is a stocky hardwood with abundant leaves as the photo shows. The tree bears lovely pink blossoms in the spring. The Japanese make one of their classical stringed instruments, the koto, from wood of the kiri. It is very fast growing; that and the fact of its having abundant leaves make kiri trees important removers of carbon dioxide from the atmosphere--if only there were much more of them and much fewer pollutants! The beauty of this poem lies in concentrating on a single leaf, even through it is surrounded by countless others. "Visiting loneliness" implies a deliberate act, a choice. To identify with one leaf which is surrounded by countless others is perhaps contrary to nature. I doubt if loneliness was widespread or even existed until the agricultural age began only about 12,000 years ago--a blink of an eye compared to over a million years of human evolution. Loneliness is not in our genetic makeup. Two implied solutions: 1) we have the choice to visit something else and 2). a way out of loneliness is not identifying with a single, lonely leaf, but with the entire tree and, by extension, with all of nature. Once we identify with everything, perhaps after many years of meditation, loneliness is impossible. Easier said than done!
10.
During a noonday nap,
how doubly cool it is to have
the support of a wall at our feet!
Hans Küng (1927-2021), the influential, non-dogmatic theologian wrote of the importance of having a letzter Halt, an ultimate support. In keeping with the poem's imagery, without it we might toss and turn and find no rest. In Basho's case, the letzter Halt would, of course, be the teachings of Zen. As an old doggerel rhyme begins, "Many a ship is lost at sea/ for want of tar and rudder." This seems especially true today as traditional supports break down. A Catholic TV program from long ago was entitled, "Lamp unto my feet." In Basho's imagery, ultimate support is a wall at our feet. Who knows what's behind it? It doesn't really matter, since it supplies the support that we need. Without it, we could not rest comfortably.
11.
White-haired relatives
Each with a cane
Visiting graves
A striking image of the opposite bookend, (the first being birth), supporting the book of life. If we're lucky enough to escape major sicknesses; if we live long enough, this is what awaits us: old age and death. Even with the support mentioned in the previous haiku, life can be very difficult indeed.
12.
At autumn's close,
My neighbor, old,
what does he now do?
It is wisdom to know when it's time to retire--in every sense of that word. When we continue to try to act as vigorously as we once did after our acting ability significantly diminishes, age will--abruptly or slowly, painfully--yank us from the stage. Like it or not, everything has its season, including you. (This doesn't mean that life isn't to be lived purposefully to the very end, far from it; however, life changes and we need to change along with it.) Will the wall of support mentioned in a previous poem continue to support us as we lie down finally? It certainly can, as a Spanish proverb implies: When we're born, we cry, while those around us smile; when we die, those around us cry; it's then our turn to smile.
13.
Falling ill on a journey--
Dreams still moving
Above withered grass
This poem can be interpreted as an outer-body experience indicating the transcendence of consciousness. The body, the withered grass, is already dead, or at least gravely diminished--yet dreams still soar above. Near-death experiences indicate that consciousness can survive brain death--but for how long? Hamlet's words regarding death as "the undiscovered county from whose born no traveler returns" still hold. We should focus on fostering good dreams for our consciousness, that is, by being wise and acting wisely, for such dreams can last to the very end--perhaps even beyond.
I hope you have enjoyed reading some of Basho's masterworks. They have become part of my life--May they also become part of yours!
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