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Basho's haibun and tanka blessing a newborn baby girl he was asked to name; in my opinion, the tanka, SPRING PASSES BY, is his masterpiece, and the greatest work in Japanese literature.
In Summer of 1689 Basho and Sora, on their journey to the Deep North, were lost among the fields of Kurobane in Nasu. A kindly farmer loaned them his horse for them to follow as far as it would go, then let return on its own. The farmer’s two children came running after. Basho spoke to the little girl and was charmed.
This is a Time of Peace; small children are not afraid of strangers. We see Dad was doing childcare while farming. Kasane is fortunate to have a father like this. She said her name was Kasane: ka as in ‘cot,’ sa in ‘sock’ ne in “nest.” Kasane(ru) is ordinarily not a name, but rather an active verb, “to pile up in layers, one on top of another.” Furthermore, in the dimension of time, kasaneru is “to reoccur, again and again, in succession”.
Nine months later, in the Spring of 1690, Basho was in Zeze beside Lake Biwa. Someone in the neighborhood asked a Basho follower to arrange for the Master to choose a name for their newborn daughter. Basho remembers the Kasane in the Deep North, and passes her name on to another. The following haibun ending in a tanka are his prayer for his goddaughter’s happiness and longevity.
The farmer and wife wanted a special name for their daughter, not just a name fashionable in the capital city. What were they thinking of when they linked her heritage and destiny to this lovely multi-faceted word?
Without being biological parent, Basho gets the magical opportunity to give life through a name, and through a poem.
The double meanings, both in space and in time, overlap in a web of blessing and hope for Kasane and all female children: ‘Layers of blossom-kimono” has three areas of meaning:1) the two layers of kimono over an inner robe; 2) the succession of blossom-kimono one woman passes through from bright to sedate as she ages; 3) the kimono passing onto her daughter and grand- daughter, the next layers of herself, Also “wrinkles” are both in the kimono and her skin.
A formal kimono is a two layer silk robe meticulously folded and tucked around the body in flat, even layers. The colors and pattern are chosen in harmony with the woman’s age. A blossom-kimono for a girl entering womanhood might be a soft pink with bold cherry blossom design on the lower portion. A thick brocade sash of a darker contrasting color encircles her waist. The red inner robe, suitable for a party, shows at the neckline, and where the left side of the skirt covers the right, margins of the kimono lining appear and disappear as she walks.
Kasane, now your time begins, stretching to infinity before unfocused eyes. Soon you’ll be laughing and playing in the sunshine – that is, if no wars come and natural disasters, fatal illness, and financial ruin stay away too. One spring in youth, you shall be given your first “blossom-kimono” an exquisite robe to be worn just once a year to view cherry blossoms, then folded up and stored away until next time to celebrate under cherry blossoms. The springs shall come and go with clouds of pink blossoms filling the treetops to fall in a shower of petals as you blossom into a young lady elegant in your impeccably layered kimono. Each year as you sit with legs folded under you on the straw mat under the cherry trees, creases shall form in the fabric. Carefully, as your mother shows you, restore its silky smoothness for another year.
I pray the day comes for you to pass this youthful kimono onto your daughter, while you wear one more moderate in color and pattern – and this too passes onto her, and you to the dark sedate kimono of an older woman. So, Kasane, may our nation remain at Peace and the happiness in your family pile up layer upon layer until wrinkles in the fabricno longer smooth out and you see wrinkles of old age cross your face. Do not despair, my child, for you live again as spring passes by and your granddaughters laugh and chatter in their blossom kimono.
The tanka SPRING PASSES BY offers Hope to small females — Hope for a childhood without misfortune, hope that she will grow into womanhood and see grandchildren. Basho speaks of what concerns women: the succession of life, the happiness of children - the conditions of Peace, both in society and in family, in which little girls can dress up and party with relatives and friends, and life goes on generation after generation.In less than a single tweet, Basho encapsulates the life of one woman from newborn to wrinkles. Someday, if enough people ever know it exists, this poem may be recognized as the greatest work of all Japanese literature, a work so great it transcends the bounds of literature and Japanese culture to become a prayer for all humanity.
I know of one poem that compares to Basho’s verse in utter simplicity with profound human depth: it was written by a fouryear-old Russian boy in 1928. In the 1960s when nuclear war between America and Russia seemed imminent, the little boy’s poem was set to music and became the refrain to a song. The lyrics never caught on in translation, but the refrain became an internationally known prayer for Peace:
Both the poems of 46-year-old Basho and 4-year-old Russian boy make a wish from destiny – not the wish for a million dollars or amovie star lover—but rather the wish for something infinitely more precious: that our current Peace will continue. The boy speaks only of the environment, mama, and himself, while Basho looks ahead to future layers.
Since I found this Basho haibun and tanka thirty years ago, I have searched through hundreds of books on Japanese literature,both English and Japanese, and found no mention of them; although the account of meeting the 5-year-old Kasane in A Narrow Path in the Heartlands is world-famous, the newborn named after her is unknown. A few comprehensive Basho anthologies such as the KBZ do give the haibun and tanka, buried among six hundred pages where nobody notices them. The few scholars who know of the tanka find it trivial, not worth discussing. Women, and some men, when they know of this poem, may see it differently. Basho, an Asian man in the 17th Century, wrote this song of Hope to a newborn girl: the mind boggles at this praise for a newborn female. Every stereotype we have about Asian men and the 17th Century comes crashing to the ground. If this verse and the other positive life-affirming Basho poems were taught in schools -- instead of all that “Buddhist impermanence” and “pathos of existance ” and“desolate lonely beauty” and so on -- maybe the young students, and especially the girls, would be interested.
Basho4Humanity@gmail.com
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The Three Thirds of Basho