Otomo no Tabito: a suggestion for the wise

44.

Instead of  fretting
   over things that can't be changed,
how much better
   to swallow down a full cup
       of cloudy sake!


-- Otomo no Tabito --  (665-731)
from  Traditional Japanese Poetry:  An Anthology


Works for me. 

Otomo no Yakamochi (718?--785 AD): a lament

I think I've said this before, but just in case I haven't, I'm always surprised as I read poems and stories from various cultures and times at the universality of certain themes. It's almost as if these were part of our DNA. In how many stories and poems that you have read have the themes of the following poem appeared? The shortness of life? The transitoriness of all around us? Nature as an exemplar?


A lament on the ephemerality of life

The life a man leads
is but a transient affair:
so it has been said
through all the generations
since the ancient time
when heaven and earth began.
Observed from afar
on the broad plain of heaven,
the radiant moon
sometimes waxes, sometimes wanes;
so, too, with treetops
in the foot-wearying hills:
when springtime arrives
they glow with blossom's beauty,
and in the autumn
their leaves of many colors
are touched by dew and frost
and scatter before the wind.
The life of a man
seems to be no different.
The pink flush of youth
fades from the complexion,
the raven tresses,
black as leopard-flower seeds,
take on a new hue;
the morning smile dies at dusk.
I am powerless
to hold back the tears that fall
like a flooding rain
when I think of man's transience,
of how he declines
with changes invisible
as a blowing wind,
with changes unremitting
as the flow of a river.


Envoys

It is precisely
because all is transient
that even mute trees
put forth blossoms in springtime
and in autumn shed brown leaves.


When I contemplate
the brevity of man's life,
I am indifferent
to worldly things: how many
are the days I spend in thought!

-- Otomo no Yakamochi --


from Traditional Japanese Poetry: An Anthology
Steven D. Carter, trans.


This poem was written some twelve hundred years ago in a different culture, but I don't think one needs a degree in literature to understand it completely.

Ono No Komachi, a poem

I sometimes read something--an aphorism, a part of a novel, someone's comment, or a poem-- that causes me to stop and reread it again, and sometimes several times. Frequently I don't know why that particular utterance intrigues me, and sometimes I'm not even sure what it means. But, it happens, and this poem is one that caused me to halt when I read it yesterday. And, I'm not even sure of what it means. Perhaps it's an illustration of the last lines of Archibald MacLeish's "Ars Poetica"

A poem should not mean
But be.



Perhaps. But here is the poem, a short one:

A thing which fades
With no outward sign--
Is the flower
Of the heart of man
In this world!

-- Ono No Komachi --
from The World's Best Poems
Mark van Doran and Garibaldi M. Lapolla, eds.


Is the poet sad here, or resigned?

Hitomaro: a poem

I first read this several days ago, and now, every morning, I can't help but think of this poem.


When,
Halting in front of it, I look
At the reflection which is in the depths
Of my clear mirror,
It gives me the impression of meeting
An unknown old gentleman.

-- Hitomaro -- (c. 700 AD)
from The World's Best Poems
Mark van Doran and Garibaldi M. Lapolla, ed.

Three Poems

99

New feet within my garden go --
New fingers stir the sod --
A Troubadour upon the Elm
Betrays the solitude

New children play upon the green --
New Weary sleep below --
And still the pensive Spring returns --
And still the punctual Snow!

-- Emily Dickinson --
from The Complete Poems of Emily Dickinson




Dead my old fine hopes
And dry my dreaming but still . . .
Iris, blue each spring

-- Shushiki --




Angry I strode home . . .
But stooping in my garden
Calm old willow tree
-- Ryota --



I guess that, at times, we may not be as important as we think we are.


both haiku from A Little Treasury of Haiku

The Malevolent Willows--once again, but briefly

Yesterday, I discovered the following haiku, by Basho of course. It has a Buddhist flavoring, but why the willow?


Yield to the willow
All the loathing, all the desire
Of your heart.
-- Basho --


Does this fit in with my original post on The Malevolent Willows?




the haiku is from Silent Flowers
trans. Nanae Ito

Basho: 1644-Nov. 28, 1694

In Memoriam

This is not Basho's "official" Death Song, but it was "[d]ictated to approximately 60 disciples surrounding his deathbed." (a)


(a)
Fallen sick on a trip
Dreams run wildly
Through my head.
-- Basho --
trans. Dallas Finn


(a)
Ill on a journey
All about the deep fields
Fly my broken dreams
-- Basho --
trans. Edward G. Seidensticker


(b)
Ill on a journey
dreams in a withered field
wander around
-- Basho --
trans. Jane Reichhold


(c)
ill on a journey:
my dreams roam around
over withered fields
-- Basho --
trans. David Landis Barnhill


(d)
Wandering, dreaming
in fever dreaming that dreams
wander forever.
-- Basho --
trans. Harry Behn


(f)
Sick on my journey,
only my dreams will wander
these desolate moors
-- Basho --
trans. Sam Hamill


(g)
Fever-felled half-way,
My dreams arose to march again . . .
Into a hollow land
-- Basho --
trans. Peter Beilenson





Homages to Basho

(a)
Basho departed
And since then
The year has never ended.
-- Buson --
trans. Alex Kerr


(a)
In a old pond a frog ages while leaves fall
-- Buson --
trans. Thomas Rimer


(e)
At dear Basho's grave
Pale thin transients
We pause . . .
Spring mist, sad pupil
-- Joso --
trans. Harold G. Henderson (?)


(e)
Since dear Basho died
What poem-maker
Dares to write
"Year-end revelling"?
-- Buson --
trans. Henry G. Henderson?


(f)
Bamboo hat, straw coat--
the very essence of Basho--
falling winter rain
-- Buson --
trans. Sam Hamill

(f)
On the Anniversary of the Death of Basho

Winter rain on moss
soundlessly recalls those
happy bygone days
-- Buson --
trans. Sam Hamill



--

===================================

(a)
The Classic Tradition of Haiku: An Anthology
edited by Faubion Bowers

(b)
Basho: The Complete Haiku
Editor and trans. Jane Reichhold

(c)
Basho's Haiku: Selected Poems of Matsuo Basho
Editor and trans. David Landis Barnhill

(d)
More Cricket Songs
trans. Harry Behn

(e)
Cherry-Blossoms
trans. Harold G. Henderson (?)

(f)
The Sound of Water
trans. Sam Hamill

(g)
A Little Treasury of Haiku
trans. Peter Beilenson

Fall Equinox

Today is the First Day of Autumn, although it's a bit hard believing that here in Tucson where the temperatures are still in the high 90s and low 100s. But, just in case someone is reading this who lives where autumn has arrived, I thought I would post a few autumnal poems.



Now in sad autumn
As I take my darkening path . . .
A solitary bird

-- Basho --




Summer begins to have the look
Peruser of enchanting Book
Reluctantly but sure perceives
A gain upon the backward leaves--

Autumn begins to be inferred
By millinery of the cloud
Or deeper color in the shawl
That wraps the everlasting hill.

The eye begins its avarice
A meditation chastens speech
Some Dyer of a distant tree
Resumes his gaudy industry.

Conclusion is the course of All
At most to be perennial
And then elude stability
Recalls to immortality.

-- Emily Dickinson --





In Hardwood Groves

The same leaves over and over again!
They fall from giving shade above,
To make one texture of faded brown
And fit the earth like a leather glove

Before the leaves can mount again
To fill the trees with another shade,
They must go down past things coming up.
They must go down into the dark decayed.

They must be pierced by flowers and put
Beneath the feet of dancing flowers.
However it is in some other world
I know that this is the way in ours.

-- Robert Frost --





The calling bell
Travels the curling mist-ways . . .
Autumn morning

-- Basho --




The haiku are from--
A Little Treasury of Haiku
Trans. Peter Beilenson
Avenel Books

Basho: Sept. 15?, 1644--Nov. 28, 1694

While there are no records that gives us the exact date Basho was born, Jane Reichhold, editor and translator of Basho: The Complete Haiku, writes that "[a]s with many births, his has become a matter of legend, giving him the birth date of the autumn full moon, or September 15." Sometimes, legends can be truer than truth, and in Basho's case, the first full moon in autumn is a good date.

I had a book titled The Haiku Masters, and surprisingly, it did not include any by Basho. The editor explained that the haiku masters were those considered to be among the greatest of poets. Basho is not considered a master: he is The Haiku Poet. So, rather than write about Basho, I think it's best just to provide a few samples of his poetry.


Basho's Four Seasons:

Spring:

April's air stirs in
Willow-leaves . . . a butterfly
Floats and balances

Summer:

Lonely silence
A single cicada's cry
Sinking into stone



Autumn:

A solitary
Crow on a bare branch--
Autumn evening



Winter:

the sea darkening,
the wild duck's call
faintly white



Spring poem:
A Little Treasury of Haiku
Avenel Books
Peter Beilenson, trans.


Summer and autumn poems:
The Sound of Water
Shambhala Centaur Editions
Sam Hamill, trans.


Winter poem:
Basho's Haiku
SUNY Press
David Landis Barnhill, trans.

The Summer Solstice

Today is the Summer Solstice



Shortest summer night. . .

In early morning, lamps still

Burning on the bay

- Shiki -

Basho's eight nameless little hills

Translations frequently pose problems for some readers of works that aren't written in the language of those involved, whether it be a literature class or a discussion group. In order to get the issue out in the open and demonstrate the possibilities, I made up a handout that consisted simply of a number of translations of a haiku by Basho. The point being that if a short poem of seventeen syllables could produce this variety, then a novel or short story could be expected to produce many more "versions."

So, I thought I would provide a number of the translations all based on one haiku by Basho.

Enjoy:

1.
It is spring,
Even nameless hills,
Are decorated
With thin films of morning mist.


2.
Yes, spring has come;
This morning a nameless hill
Is shrouded in mist.


3.
Because spring has come,
This small gray
Nameless mountain
Is honored by mist

4.
This unimportant
small gray mountain is lifted
aloft in a mist.

5.
Spring-- through
morning mist,
what mountain's there?

6.
Spring morning marvel...
Lovely nameless little hill
On a sea of mist


7.
Because of early spring, this nameless hill
Is knee-deep in the gauze of morning still.

8.
Spring!
a nameless hill
in the haze.




Quite a variety generated by only seventeen syllables. All generally have similar elements: a small hill, nameless or not important enough for a name, spring, morning mist or haze.

What differs is the focus of the poem: some on spring or the mist or the hill. Which one is "right"? I don't know, not being able to read Japanese and frankly I think those who could read Japanese probably couldn't agree either.

Which one is your favorite?

For some reason I seem to prefer the even numbered versions, especially 2 and 6.


1. Matsuo Basho: The Narrow Road to the Deep North
Penguin Classics; trans. Nobuyuki Yuasa

2. R. H. Blythe, Haiku: Volume 2, Spring
Hokuseido

3. Haiku Harvest, Peter Piper Press
trans. Peter Beilenson and Harry Behn

4. More Cricket Songs
Harcourt Brace Jovanovich,
trans. Harry Behn

5. Basho: On Love and Barley
Penguin Classics, trans. Lucien Stryk

6. A Little Treasury of Haiku
Avenel Books, trans. Peter Beilenson

7.Harold Stewart, A Net of Fireflies
Charles F. Tuttle Company

8. Unable to find the source. If anyone
recognizes the text, please let me know.

April's air.....a haiku

Greetings,

This seems appropriate for today. It is my favorite haiku.



April's air stirs in
Willow leaves...a butterfly
Floats and balances.

-- Basho --

from A Little Treasury of Haiku
trans. Peter Beilnson
Avenel Books, NY


Basho, the haiku master.

Actually he's not a haiku master, according to one editor that is. I had picked up a book with a title that was something about the Haiku Masters. I glanced through it and found nothing by Basho. I read the Intro, thinking to find why Basho was not included. The editor, whose name escapes me now, said that this book contained the haiku of the top ten haiku masters. Basho was not included because he is so superior to them that he is known as The Haiku Poet.