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Basho left his hometown Iga in 1672, moving to Edo where he found a municipal job while he composed linked verse with other poets, wrote haiku, and gathered followers. In winter of 1680 Basho moved to a hut across the Sumida River from downtown Edo supplied by his follower, the fish merchant Sampu, thus giving up the world where people work to make a living to be a hippy-poet living off his followers’ generosity. No letters exist from before 1681 when Basho was 37.
We represent this year with Basho’s first extant letter, written to his follower Biji, a samurai retainer to a lord in Kai, northwest of Mount Fuji. Makota Ueda says this letter is “one of the oldest remaining documents containing (Basho’s) teachings on (poetry)” however Ueda only translates the final one of Basho’s five points for poetic expression. Because I agree with him on the significance of this letter, I instead give you the entire letter including all of Basho’s five points in English, original Japanese and romaji. These five form a remarkably clear, concise guide to the Basho style which he developed through thirty years, and from 1690 called Lightness.
Remember that you can easily skip over the commentaries to read just
– or choose to read the commentaries along with the letter itself.
Letter 1 to Biji, June 20, 1681
Western authors tell us in this era Japanese suffered earthquakes, fires, and oppressive government and social norms. Where?
When Basho says “old-style” he does not mean centuries old, but rather as in the style of poetry a generation old, but still popular in 1681, although still too old for Basho’s taste. I believe that by “old” Basho means “conventional.”
In this pair by Kyokusui and Basho, the master illustrates how a following stanza should not only “fit in” with the previous stanza, but also “stand out”:
We begin with a fascinating scene of a hot spring in mountainous northern Japan where men and women bathe together naked - however hidden in the twilight steamy air. Then, in the hot pool, Basho places a “tall mountain ascetic.” These yamabushi practiced disciplines of physical endurance in severe conditions – such as standing in a cold waterfall – as the path to enlightenment. A mountain ascetic would come to a hot spring for self-purification in the scalding water.
Basho said about this stanza-pair:
Basho explains that the mountain ascetic “fits in with” the hot pool and evening dimness, while also he “stands out to the eyes.” Other folks relax and slouch in the steaming hot water, but he sits up straight and tall so his muscular chest and shoulders stand out from the hot spring environment and evening darkness. Every philosopher and art critic could elaborate on this synthesis of “fitting in” with “standing out” – yet none of them could provide so fine an example of this synthesis as Basho does with his mountain ascetic in the evening twilight at a remote hot spring.
Years later he expresses this idea in more positive terms:
This Basho haiku illustrates his mastery of ordinary words
Basho’s seven words are completely, utterly simple. No complications: seven ordinary words with the most basic grammar possible in Japanese and likewise in English. He says absolutely nothing new about cherry blossoms or memories – instead he ‘sums up and conceals’ a thousand years of poetic expression on these flowers and the memories that pass from one cherry blossom season to the next. The plain and ordinary words are “realized” through the thousand years of associations of Japanese life with cherry blossoms. Ordinary words take on “precious” meanings and feelings.
Basho compares an artificial verse by Kikaku with his own naturally occurring verse:
Kikaku wrote his verse from imagination, not from any actual experience of monkeys or mountains or the moon. It has nothing to give us; once the shock is over, nothing in the verse can we learn.
Kon says “Along a street in the desolation of winter, a few salted bream are lined up on a tray in a fish store. The lips drawn back in death reveal gums frightful in their coldness.” “A fish store” is Basho’s genius. Another poet would have ended the poem with something bold, striking, philosophical, or religious. Basho however just says “A fish store”, with all its daily life associations in smell and sound and sight. Any woman in the temperate zone near the sea can see Basho’s haiku right before her eyes when she goes shopping in winter. Kikaku’s verse is suitable only for people off in some fantasy world where monkeys shriek. It is literary and “old.” Basho’s verse is REAL and Light.
4 -- If you rely on the fame of a poet of long ago, as you did with “What? those white clouds,” your verse will be easy to understand, but all the more old-style.
“What, those white clouds” is a phrase from an poem Biji sent to Basho; the teacher responds that this practice make the poem easy to write, and maybe easy to understand, but don’t do it. Instead find your own expression. Challenge the reader as well as yourself to perceive the fresh and new. (although we note that Basho himself did this many times.)
At this time, 1681, Basho did write poems with extra sounds, but later on rarely did. So the acceptance of extra sounds was only a passing phase. The important issue in this point is that Basho says that we must speak our verses, and translations, out loud to see if they sound natural coming from the mouth, to insure that the phrases have “resonance” (hibiki) and do not “stagnate” in the mouth -- like water in a stream stuck behind a wad of fallen leaves, old, foul, and heavy -- but rather flow with natural rhythm that resonates in the listener’s ear.
For many years I have enjoyed the natural resonance I hear when I speak: Many, many /things come to mind / cherry blossoms.” Recently I considered changing the middle segment to “things brought to mind” or “thoughts come to mind” because they are, in some ways, more accurate to the Japanese – but when I spoke these phrases out loud, I found that they “stagnate” in my mouth. “Things come to mind” is natural English and resonates.
Haruo Shirane says, “During his journey to the Interior in 1689. Basho became aware of this problem, which he referred to as “oldness” (furubi) and “heaviness” (omomi).” Shirane disagrees with scholars who claim that Basho’s “notion” of karumi, or Lightness, first emerged in the final years of his life, in 1693 and 1694; he points to statements that show Basho searching for Lightness as early as 1689.
Well. Professor Shirane, what about this letter of 1681? Basho does not use the words “lightness” or “newness” but he clearly and repeatedly rejects “oldness” eight years before his journey to the Interior. Lightness is everywhere in Basho poetry from his first renku stanza in 1665 to his death verse CLEAR CASCADE.
In the letter to Biji five years ago, Basho condemned “oldness,” but offered no word for a positive alternative. From the beginning of this year he emphasized atarashimi, “newness.” Makota Ueda tells us of Basho praised a stanza by Sampu at New Year’s for: discovering something fresh, something no one else has noticed before. This spring, Basho conceived the most famous of all haiku:
This haiku exemplifies “newness” because in traditional Japanese poetry frogs have only one role: croaking, whereas in OLD POND the activity and sound of a frog jumping into water take the mind in a new direction.
This verse made such a splash in the world of Basho’s followers that they got together to have a contest of poems on frogs. Kyorai – yet to meet Basho but aware of his teachings from Kikaku when he visited Kyoto --– submitted a verse (given below) to the contest where it won Basho’s favor. The teacher replied with the following:
Letter 14 To Kyorai, May 2
Isshou from Kyoto moved to Edo where he met Basho. Wada-san was a Basho follower in Edo. Kikaku introduced Kyorai to Basho at a distance. “Wild Basho” is a name Basho chose for himself.
In conventional haiku many frogs croak, but Kyorai separates one frog from the rest who “stops croaking” in contrast to the multitude who go on and on. OLD POND portrays one tiny bit of activity and sound in the midst of the ancient silence of the pond. Kyorai portrays one moment of silence in the midst of countless croaks.
This journey never occurred, however in 1687 Kyorai came to Edo to join Basho’s circle, and in winter Basho did travel to Kyoto.
Basho’s brother Hanzaemon was six or seven years older, then came a sister, then Basho, and three more sisters. Their father died in 1656 and 18 or 19 year old Hanzaemon became head of the Matsuo household. The older sister married and went to live with her husband and had two sons. In 1665, when the younger, Toin, was about five, her husband died, and she returned to her native home with her boys. Toin thus grew up in Basho’s house, like a 17-year-younger brother. Little is known of the second and third sisters, however the families they married into are recorded – so we do know for certain that all six children grew up together and lived to adulthood.
Uncle Basho, aged 28, left town in 1672, but four years later returned to escort his 15 year old nephew to Edo where for 17 years there is no record of him. Toin never returned to Iga or saw his mother again. Toin’s older brother stayed in Iga; since Hanzaemon and his wife had no children, they planned to adopt him to inherit the household, however he died in 1680 – so Basho’s older sister lost both her sons. Their mother died in 1683. Only the name of the fourth sister, Oyoshi, is known to us, and we know that she and her husband were adopted by Hanzaemon to inherit the household.
Letter 22 to Hanzaemon abounds with mysteries. It is dated with the month, but not the year. It is a reply to Hanzaemon who must have mentioned “those guys” in his letter. The first word, karera, is the plural “them” – although Tanaka says it could be singular, and means Basho’s nephew Toin. Other scholars say it is plural, and means Toin and/or Ihei and/or a fellow named Kahei: all of these are men from Iga now living in Edo, all of them managing to survive without doing anything significant. In a few other letters, Basho expresses concern for Toin and Ihei, wondering if they are doing their jobs.
Letter 22 to Hanzaemon, undated, between 1685 and 1688
Basho begins with “those guys” but has nothing good to say about them – then he switches to the women and praises their constant kindness and service to family.. He specifies the older sister, whose kindness has made him obliged. Then he speaks of daiji daihi大慈大悲, Great Compassion, Great Sadness,” a term associated with the Goddess of Mercy, Kannon. All scholars agree that he means the heart of their mother who died in 1683. By not specifying the woman, Basho suggests that his mother was the embodiment of Kannon.
(Sōrō is the equivalent of the modern verb ending –imasu used in letters; so gozasōrō is in modern Japanese gozaimasu.) Note that none of the personal pronouns in this translation are given in the Japanese – so in the original you are always guessing who did what. I have four sets of commentaries to this letter by four different scholars. Some read these sentences with entirely different subjects for the verbs; for instances, some have “those persons” being the ones who “live by sleeping” – however Basho became age 40 in 1684, so the sentence makes sense with him as subject.
I find it most interesting how in this brief letter Basho uses the character 調 totonoeru twice, and the combination 片付, katazuku, once; both in modern Japanese as well mean to put into order or organize. From this letter, I believe we can draw a picture of Japanese society: “order” is the great virtue everyone seeks (as freedom is to Americans). There are two types of men: the winners who get organized and do significant things and make lots of money, and the losers who prefer to live in disorganized leisure and never really do anything. Basho, because he is old (i.e. past forty), is ‘supposed’ to help “those guys” (who may be cousins to some degree) but cannot since he is not so successful himself, so he apologizes to his brother. Meanwhile, typical Japanese women always, always work with kindness to organize and make things orderly, to assist the winners and console the losers, but no one – except Basho – pays any attention to them.
Basho “lived by sleeping” but his attention to women and caring for women, seen in hundreds of renku, dozens of haiku, and dozens of letters, is unique in world literature. The B-series of Basho4Humanity, Praise for Women, is the summation of this lifelong attention to the female.
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The Three Thirds of Basho