“Abide by rules, then throw them out! — only then may you achieve true
freedom.”

— Matsuo Basho
My column this week serves a dual purpose. Last winter, I was enrolled in Japanese 425, a literature course on haiku poetry taught by Professor Stephen Kohl. We read and discussed Matsuo Basho’s classic “Oku-no-Hosomichi” (“The Narrow Road to the Deep North”). Our final project was to write a 15-20 page paper related to Basho’s poetry. I never wrote it, and have had a glaring “I” on my winter 2002 grades ever since. So, nearly a year later, and after numerous false starts, I have finally begun. So part of this goes out to Professor Kohl to say I haven’t forgotten about my paper and, furthermore, I never stopped reading Basho. For the rest of you, enjoy the column.
Matsuo Basho was not the first haiku poet, but he is arguably one of the most influential. He mastered the now familiar five-seven-five syllable form more than 300 years ago, which remains immensely predominant in Japan and is often fetishistically adhered to by American haiku writers and translators of Japanese haiku.
The haiku form evolved out of a longer, 31-syllable Japanese form called “tanka.” In Yoel Hoffmann’s compilation “Japanese Death Poems,” he writes the following: “The tanka poet may be likened to a person holding two mirrors in his hands, one reflecting a scene from nature, the other reflecting himself as he holds the first mirror.” Hoffmann notes that haiku poems drop the reflection of the poet and leave only the mirror reflecting nature.
Another important form here is “renku,” “renga” or linked verse that would be composed by numerous people. According to Jane Reichhold (writings on the subject available
on the Web site http://www.ahapoetry.com/renga.htm), renga has an 800-year history. Other sources claim it’s more than a thousand years old. Regardless, Basho composed linked verse throughout his life, and many of his earliest poems were anthologies of linked verse written with other poets of his day.
Basho was born in 1644 in Ueno, Iga Province, and was originally named Matsuo Munefusa. He served in a samurai household of his master, Yoshitada. Once Yoshitada died, Basho left behind his samurai name and position. In 1672, he reappeared as an editor of the poetry anthology “Kai Oi” (“The Seashell Game”). In 1687, he left for Edo (modern-day Tokyo), and there he took a job at a waterworks company in order to care for his nephew, Toin. He continued establishing a name for himself in haiku contests and with collaboration of other poets. Before long, Basho had gained a following and disciples of his poetics.
Although he wrote haiku, Basho’s most famous writings mix haiku and prose in a form called “haibun.” His first of these was “Nozaraishi Kiko” (“Travelogue of Weather-Beaten Bones”), which was composed from a journey Basho took between 1684 and 1685.
Buddhism, Confucianism, Shintoism and Zen informed Basho’s writing. He claimed he always carried around a copy of the Taoist writings of Chuang Tzu. He studied Chinese poetry and took to the works of Tu Fu and Li Po. Sam Hamill, one of Basho’s recent translators, notes that while Basho’s earlier poems were clearly derivative of these influences, Basho began to come into his own as he entered his forties. He attracted students, who built him a small hut on the Sumida River in 1680 or 1681 that was eventually named Basho-an after a plantain tree was planted in its yard. This is the name which the poet eventually took for himself.
Note that while there are various translations of Basho’s work, not all are equal. In Kohl’s class last year, we read from the most common and prevalent “Narrow Road to the Deep North and Other Travel Sketches,” translated by Nobuyuki Yuasa sometime in the 1960s and so-named after Basho’s most famous haibun. Last summer, I picked up a copy of the aforementioned Hamill’s translation of his works. The edition of this currently in print is called “Narrow Road to the Interior: And Other Writings.” It contains the same haibun that Yuasa selected, plus adds 200 selected haiku with the Romanized Japanese translations.
While I am not familiar with the Japanese language, in my opinion, Hamill’s translations are superior. This is because he seems to take into account the SOUND — onomatopoeia, rhyme and slant rhyme — when translating Basho’s poetry into English. However, I wouldn’t have been able to make this discernment had I not been able to compare and contrast. For those looking for a greater selection, Professor Kohl maintains a Web site at http://www.uoregon.edu/~kohl/basho that contains numerous translations of the poet.
For me, a few questions about the poet still remain. In Hamill’s afterward to his translation of Basho’s work, he mentions the poet wrote the last of his haibun, “Saga nikki” (Saga Diary). Just where might I be able to find this? Or is it lost? Also, there are numerous editions of Basho’s haiku spread across dozens of books. While there is clearly overlap, will some kind, academic soul please deliver a definitive anthology of Basho’s work?
For those interested in learning more, Professor Kohl’s Japanese 425 class is being taught again this term.