Narrow Road to the Interior: And Other Writings

by Matsuo Bashō, Sam Hamill

Here is the most complete single-volume collection of the writings of one of the great luminaries of Asian literature. Basho (1644–1694)—who elevated the haiku to an art form of utter simplicity and intense spiritual beauty—is best known in the West as the author of Narrow Road to the Interior, a travel diary of linked prose and haiku that recounts his journey through the far northern provinces of Japan. This volume includes a masterful translation of this celebrated work along with three other less well-known but important works by Basho: Travelogue of Weather-Beaten Bones, The Knapsack Notebook, and Sarashina Travelogue. There is also a selection of over two hundred fifty of Basho's finest haiku. In addition, the translator has provided an introduction detailing Basho's life and work and an essay on the art of haiku.

Genres: Poetry, Japan, Nonfiction, Japanese Literature, Classics, Travel, Philosophy

224 pages, Paperback

First published January 1, 1999

About the author

Known Japanese poet Matsuo Basho composed haiku, infused with the spirit of Zen.

The renowned Matsuo Bashō (松尾 芭蕉) during his lifetime of the period of Edo worked in the collaborative haikai no renga form; people today recognize this most famous brief and clear master.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Matsuo_...

Reviews

[Adina]

Although I appreciate reading The Narrow Road, I cannot rate this book because it is so unlike anything I’ve ever read that I have no compass to which to base my opinion. I might not even have one, since I feel that it will be better appreciated by scholars of Japanese literature/poetry. I skimmed through the introduction which made me dizzy with all the details about Japanese poetry and its strict rules. Moreover, while reading the main body, I still did not understand much because it was full of references to other writings from the same period. There were lot of appendixes that explained all the symbols and literary references but they managed to confuse me even more, although the writing is very simple. One of the first appendixes were directing me to a Li Po poem I read and I was so happy that, at least on that occasion, I did not feel on the outside.

The Narrow Road to the Interior is a Haibun. I had no idea what that is but here is a short definition. A haibun is part a travel journal (kikōbun) and a mixture of haiku-like prose and haiku poetry.

Bashō, a renga poet decided to hike the wilds of northern Honshū in the spring of 1689 together with his disciple Sora. The account of the trip, polished and modified for several years, became this short book, Oku no Hosomichi, which is said to be a masterpiece of Japanese literature.
I recommend The Narrow Road to readers that are passionate about old Japanese literature (not Murakami and friends) since they will better equipped to appreciate this story.

[Susan Budd · Rating 5 out of 5]

“... I felt three thousand miles rushing through my heart, the whole world only a dream” (4).

The few road trips I’ve taken have given me this dreamlike feeling too. There’s something very appealing to me about this feeling. I feel alive in a way I never feel at home ~ or at the trip’s destination for that matter.

At first this may not make sense. Road trips mean long hours in the car. They mean bad diner food, strange motel beds, and highly questionable rest stop bathrooms. Yet they’re not boring and nothing is taken for granted.

Basho says: “With every pilgrimage one encounters the temporality of life” (12).

I think this is it: “the temporality of life.” Life is temporal and we are always in a state of transition. We are always traveling from birth to death. But most of the time it doesn’t feel that way. On the road, everything feels that way. It’s no wonder the open road makes such a perfect metaphor for life.

When I feel this “temporality of life” on a road trip, I appreciate things as they come, like the meal that doesn’t meet my finicky tastes, but does the job, like stretching my legs at a rest stop after hours of sitting in the car.

I appreciate simple pleasures, like watching the birds, seeing different landscapes, exploring the strange offerings of convenience stores in foreign states. I’m easily entertained. I saw my first palm tree on a trip through Georgia. My first gecko on the glass wall of a Florida Dunkin’ Donuts.

I appreciate the other travelers too ~ those same tired families I see again at the next rest stop or visitor’s center or diner. These fellow travelers start to feel like friends. We nod and smile, commiserate about the bitterness of vending-machine coffee.

My possessions are few and fit in a duffel bag. I suddenly realize how little I actually need. Traveling light, I feel light-hearted.

Reaching my destination is always a little bit of a let-down because it means I’m no longer moving. So I understand Basho’s wanderlust. That dreamlike feeling that comes when we encounter “the temporality of life” fades when we have returned to ‘real life.’

[Andree Sanborn · Rating 5 out of 5]

I don't want you to think that I didn't enjoy this book, because I did. I also don't want you to think it was an easy read, as I thought it would be when I started. It wasn't. It required, on my part, a lot of map looking, Google image searching, re-reading, and note taking. I began the book knowing how much I love travelogues, which this is described as being on Amazon. But, written in the 17th century, it is far different than travelogues written in the 20th century. It is sparse; bare-boned.

I know so little of Japanese culture that I had no background knowledge to grasp to while reading this. I don't know the etymology of the language, so the Japanese words were simply unfathomable for me. What motivated people then? What were the holidays that Basho so soberly celebrated? All was foreign to me. What helped my reading immensely were the photographs from Google images. There, I could see what inspired Basho haiku, and that was the hook that united us, Basho and me, in understanding. The book requires re-reading and further exploration.

I must mention that I think Basho cruel when he and his companion pitied yet failed to help an abandoned two-year old child that they encountered during their journey. They lamented the child's tragic fate, yet never aided. Further in the book, they helped a distressed animal. Even with our cultural differences, I cannot understand why they did this.

I love to write haiku and haiga, combining my photography and haiku. They allow me to communicate the emotions I feel in nature. I try my best to follow the "rules" of haiku; especially syllables and seasonal words. While the rules make my haiku better, I feel, than they would be without the rules (these rules require me to worry and ponder over each word), the rigidity has stopped my writing over the past couple of years. Basho had much more rigid rules behind his haiku. The various philosophies of his haiku and other poets' haiku are fascinating. The Basho haiku that transcend cultures, the ones about nature, are exquisite. I am now inspired to write again. They are my meditations in Nature.

Lonely stillness—
a single cicada’s cry
sinking into stone

A warbler singing—
somewhere beyond the willow,
before the thicket

The baby sparrows cry out,
and in response, mice
answer from their nest

The bee emerging
from deep within the peony
departs reluctantly

With a warbler for
a soul, it sleeps peacefully,
this mountain willow

On the coldest night,
we two sleeping together—
how comfortable!

Drunk from my hands,
icy spring water surprises
my aching teeth

Tremble, oh my grave—
in time my cries will be
only this autumn wind

I want the last as my epitaph.

[Karin · Rating 3 out of 5]

Only 3 stars because it's not all Haiku and I didn't find the travel stuff as interesting as I would have liked. Plus it's a lot of translated haiku that I suspect is better in the original Japanese, although some of it was brilliant even in English. Also, I don't generally read volumes of poetry despite having written a plethora of free verse in my teens and early university years (most of it foolishly tossed. Sure, some was drivel, naturally, but when my parents sent me a box of stuff, some of it wasn't so I'm glad to have those few back.)

In any event, here are a couple I loved PLUS one that made me think of my niece and of course she loved hearing it.

Two of the ones I loved even in English:

Winter peonies--
we'll call these plovers in snow
our winter cuckoos

"Remembrance fern"
withers--I bought fresh rice cakes
at the old hotel

All the cherry blossom ones reminded me of my niece, but this is the one I told her over the phone:

If my voice was good,
I'd sing a song of cherry
blossoms falling

Because her teacher helped her write a song she started and the refrain is about cherry blossoms falling, etc (it has depth to it). She lives in Vancouver which is rife with Japanese cherry trees and there is even a Cherry Blossom Festival. Here's a photo of some Vancouver specimens, so you can see why the blossoms are one of the things Basho wrote of so often in the spring:

[Akemi G. · Rating 4 out of 5]

It's interesting to see how various translators do their work. Basho is popular among the English-speaking readers, I guess.
This is a new translation. It says it's the most complete single-volume collection (of Basho), but comparing the TOC side by side, I don't see how it is more complete than The Narrow Road to the Deep North and Other Travel Sketches. And I think this translator attempts to be different from others in a strange way. For instance, before the famous summer grass haiku, Hamill presents Tu Fu's poem (really a beginning part of a poem) as a poem, even though in the original, it is incorporated in the narrative.

For comparison of a few available English translation of Basho, please see my review here.
https://www.goodreads.com/review/show...

Translation is a hard work. My appreciation to the time-consuming, near-impossible work Hamill completed. Thank you also for enjoying haiku.

[Ray Zimmerman · Rating 5 out of 5]

I read the Shambhala Press edition

…every day is a journey, and the journey itself is home.

This book deserves attention for the sheer beauty of the poetry and loveliness of the images. Some Japanese scholars say that Haiku began and ended with Basho. He is often recognized as the author who perfected this form, but is also noted for his Haiban, a form which includes prose passages with Haiku. The travel journal, Narrow Road to the Interior, is one of these. It may be his best known work, but his other travel journals merit a close look, particularly The Knapsack Notebook. Although this Shambhala edition takes its title from the best known of the works, it includes all four travel journals as well as an extensive selection of Haiku. It is perhaps the most complete collection of Basho’s writings available in translation.

Matsuo Basho served a Samurai household until the master of that house died. Although he studied Zen, poetry was the focus of his life’s work. He traveled widely, sometimes on horseback, but more often on foot. A number of followers studied poetry with him, and some gained students of their own. The translator refers to them as the Basho school of poetry.

Translator Sam Hamill co-founded Copper Canyon Press, which poets might well regard as the Holy Grail of publishing houses. It is the only major publisher devoted entirely to poetry. He is an influential poet in his own right.

[Sher · Rating 4 out of 5]

Seventeenth century haiku and prose -travelogue of the great poet Basho. Read as part of my Nature Literature reading group. Several journeys over various years in the poet's life. Captured moments. It was so interesting to me how he traveled and met other writers and they gifted poetry to each other.

[Jacq · Rating 5 out of 5]

The moon so pure
a wandering monk carries it
across the sand.


Basho is brilliant. His work speaks for itself.

[Ty · Rating 4 out of 5]

Here, I typed up the best ones for you:

http://tymelgren.com/bestofbasho.html

[Stella Nocturne · Rating 5 out of 5]

Good translation and, of course, Basho is good for you.

[Aleksandra · Rating 5 out of 5]

Мацуо Башо е хаику-мајсторот на јапонското поднебје! Книга што вреди да се прочита, барем неколку пати. Сигурна сум дека дел од хаику-песничките остануваат со и во нас и после читањето. Интересното нешто е тоа што можеме тихо да си ги повторуваме, речиси како мантра. Песните на Башо се вжештени Сонца коишто не' облеваат после долгите, исцрпувачки денови поминати во мракот. Не само што е одличен познавач на човековата психологија, туку и се фокусира врз историските, книжевните движења на Јапонија и околните држави. Сето тоа суптилно прикажано низ доживувањето на природноста - шизен и леснотијата - каруми, прочуени карактеристики на древните јапонски вредности. 🌿

[S.B. Wright · Rating 4 out of 5]

Known also by the title Narrow Road to the North, Narrow Road to the Interior and Other Writings collates several travelogues and hundreds of Haiku written by the Japanese master Basho.

All translated works depend on the skills and abilities of their translators and on the choices they are forced to make in trying to recreate something in another language and culture. To that end I think Sam Hamill does a good job, or his tastes are more in line with mine i.e. three line haiku.

I have the paperback version of a similar work (the same travelogues) by Nobuyuki Yuasa that dates from the 1960’s and it presents the Haiku in four lines, this destroyed much of my enjoyment because they felt over explained to me – though the translations were perhaps more exact in their transmission of Basho’s ideas.

Read more on my blog

[Logan Teder]

It's tragic that the aesthetic value of this work has been somewhat blunted due to the ways in which our civilization has permanently destroyed the natural world and, for now, our connection to it. Probably some of that comes from my jaded outlook and my modern American upbringing. Still, the travelogues are lovely and the haiku at the end spark beautiful curiosity. I read this looking for some insights on life in the Edo period, which this wasn't perhaps the best for, however it was a great literary adventure. Four stars instead of five because its presentation tends towards reference material. Of course, the work transcends petty numerical ranking, so this is more about the particular presentation of it all. The historical information on Basho and the footnotes were helpful but could perhaps have had a more thorough integration between the texts. I'd never read a collection of poetry before. I wonder when and where in the world such a deep harmony may be achieved again.

[木漏れ日 · Rating 5 out of 5]

"The bee emerging
from deep within the peony
departs reluctantly"

~

Phenomenal.

This volume—containing Bashō's Narrow Road to the Interior, Travelogue of Weather-Beaten Bones, The Knapsack Notebook, Sarashina Travelogue, and a handful of selected haiku—presents a charming yet penetrating vision of life. Bashō's quaint travelogue is strung with scintillatingly sparse verses—like glinting gems adorning some intricate filagree.

Like the great prosimetric author before him, Boethius, Bashō knows he is going to die soon. Yet, though every line is touched with a sense of the somber ("Sick on my journey, / only my dreams will wander / these desolate moors"), this work positively brims with life. The noble knoll of melancholy cannot quench the subtle swell of joy as Bashō revels in the beauty of his travels across Honshu (“The end of autumn / our future ripe with promise / such green tangerines!”).

Bashō is as wise as he is wry, as playful as he is profound, and as green as he is golden. This is a book about which I can say with assurance—I'll be back soon.

~

“Has this harvest moon
suddenly burst into bloom
in the cotton field?”

"On Buddha’s birthday
a spotted fawn is born—
just like that"

[Ryan · Rating 5 out of 5]

This is a combination of 17th century travelogue and poetry collection from one of Japan’s top poets. I picked it as “a book/genre I wouldn’t normally read” and enjoyed it very much — it is much more accessible than most collections of Japanese poetry, too.

Aside from the beauty of the poetry, I liked learning about the “haiku party culture” and the groups of poets, students, etc and their interaction with the outside world. Even better, he undertook a trip to the area north of Tokyo, an area I’ve visited (by train). There were a lot of incidental insights into what these places were like in the time, and 1000 years of history before his trip.

Reading some of the poems in Romanji (despite not understanding Japanese other than sushi terms, it is an easy and regular language in pronunciation, at least when written in that form) added some, although I still actually preferred the travelogue aspect with the poems embedded in context.

[Karen · Rating 3 out of 5]

I am really not a good critic of poetry, especially Japanese poetry. I didn't give rate this more because I had a hard time engaging with Basho's travels. When he mentions Genji, I have to admit that it made me very happy, because I really liked the The Tale of Genji and its poetry.

[Archie]

Japanese buses
Not designed for my long legs
But I persevere

[Sandra]

On my desk for some time now has been a yellow filing card with the following written on it with a marking pen:

"I do not seek to follow
in the footsteps of those of
old. I seek only what they
sought."

These are a translation of the words of the Japanese poet, Basho, who was born in 1644 in Ueno, Iga Province, 30 miles south of Kyoto, Japan. He was the son of Matsuo Yozaemon, a low-ranking samurai. Basho had a samurai name also: it was Matsuo Munefusa.

The Essential Basho was brought to my attention by a fellow reader who posted about it on Good Reads and I immediately borrowed a copy from the local library.

The Essential Basho was translated by Sam Hamill and begins with Basho's travelogue,Essential Basho Narrow Road to the Interior. A map of Basho's journeys and a Chronology are included as well as a very informative and helpful Translator's Introduction. Basho had "long dreamed of crossing the Shirakawa Barrier into northern Honshu, the country called Oku which was immediately north of the city of Sendai. He started his journey in May of 1689. It was interesting to read that he "carried extra nightwear in his pack along with his cotton robe or yukata, a raincoat, calligraphy supplies, and, of course, hanamuke, departure gifts from well-wishers, gifts he found impossible to leave behind."

Sam Hamill says the diary is much more than a travel journal. "It's form, haibun, combines short prose passages with haiku...Basho completely redefined haiku and transformed haibun. These accomplishments grew out of arduous studies in poetry, Buddhism, history, Taoism, Confucianism, Shintoism, and some very important Zen training."

Basho was a student of Saigyo, a Buddhist monk-poet who lived from 1118 - 1190 and was the most prominent poet in an imperial anthology titles Shinkokinshu. It was from Saigyo that Basho learned the importance of "being at one with nature".

Basho says Hamill "is not looking outside himself", rather "he is seeking that which is most clearly meaningful within, and locating the "meaning" within the context of juxtaposed images that are interpenetrating and interdependent."

"The poet strives for the quality called amari - no - kokoro, meaning that the heart/soul of the poem must reach far beyond the words themselves, leaving an indelible aftertaste."

Basho is among the most literate poets of his time and his ork contains literary Chinese and Buddhist allusions and literary echoes called honkadori (borrowed or quoted lines and paraphrases). Hamill's footnotes explain many of the latter. Basho also felt a deep connection to history. Many of his journeys included ancient temples where he paid homage to historical and literary and Buddhist personages.

Here are a few samples of Basho's haiku:

The bush warbler
in a grove of bamboo sprouts
sings of growing old.

The old cherry tree's
final blossoms are her last
cherished memory,

With a warbler for
a soul, it sleeps peacefully,
this mountain willow.

And from the travel diaries:

"Autumn winds filled my heart with a longing to see the full moon rising over Mount Obasute, a ragged peak where, in ancient times, Sarashina villagers abandoned their aging mothers to die among the stones."

"To my left, a sheer cliff fell thousands of feet into a rushing river, leaving my stomach churning with every step of my horse."

On a lighter note, I was impressed by the fact that this man and his helpers wore simple sandals to walk in and relied on people he met on the way to replace them when they were worn out.

He wrote: "With no real home of my own, I wasn't interested in accumulating treasures. And since I travelled empty-handed, I didn't worry much about robbers."

To read this book is to travel to another dimension almost and you might find your pace slowing as you walk along with Basho. My thanks to Cynthia for the recommendation.

[Nick Klagge · Rating 3 out of 5]

A pretty enjoyable slim little volume, though not a source of any great inspiration for me. "Narrow Road to the Interior" is a collection of travel journals by the Japanese haiku poet Matsuo Basho. I decided recently that I wanted to read them, but was unsure which translation to choose (there are quite a few). So I went to the Brooklyn Public Library and, as luck would have it, they had four different versions. I read the first section in all of them and this one, by Sam Hamill, was my favorite by far. His translation is plain and fluid, where many of the other translators seem excessively formal and dense. I know nothing about Japanese, but my guess is that Hamill's is a looser translation geared more toward capturing the spirit of the words than their literal meanings. (This seems to me especially important in the notoriously difficult task of translating haiku.)

If you like haiku and Basho (I do, though my favorite haiku poet is Issa), this book is worth a read. It is mostly a relatively straightforward account of places he went and people he met, including haiku that he composed on the journeys. Here is my favorite from the book:

The oak's nobility--
indifferent to flowers--
or so it appears.

Part of the reason that I decided to read this volume now is that autumn seems to be the most important seasonal mode for haiku (and it also happens to be my favorite season). It was nice to read Basho's haiku alongside descriptions of the times and places in which he wrote them, but the strongest impression that I took away from the book was Basho's deep awareness of the history of the world around him. Nearly everywhere he goes, there is some shrine, grave, temple, or battlefield that he wants to visit, often because he knows about it from poems he has studied. I would very much be interested to know the extent to which Basho is special in this regard, or whether this rich sense of history and place was fairly commonplace in Japan during this era. It's quite moving to me, and I think I would love to read something similar about America.

[Jenna · Rating 4 out of 5]

One of the great masterpieces of Buddhist literature -- or, indeed, of literature of any sort. I was especially moved and intrigued by the descriptions of Basho's loving (and perhaps not entirely platonic) friendship with his faithful traveling companion, a man named Sora. Through his exemplary life, Basho demonstrates that it's possible to be a truly saintly person without having to be an ascetic -- So many poems about drinking and hangovers, and even a handful of haiku that delicately hint at erotic sentiments (e.g., "In clear moonlight,/because he fears the fox, I go/with my lover-boy" and "Feline love's like that --/afterward, back in its bed,/hazy moonlight").

[Aaron · Rating 5 out of 5]

This was one of my first forays into Japanese literature, and won't be the last. This book is the most sublime travel journal I have ever read - a collection of interwoven prose and poetry (known as haibun) that records Basho's journeys in 17th century Japan. I found the haibun form much easier to read than straight-up poetry, and was continually amazed at the richness and meaning that could be contained in seventeen deceptively simple syllables (and I'm sure I missed the vast majority of the allusion and symbolism). Even if you don't care much for poetry, this can be read as a fascinating travelogue. Highly recommended.

[David · Rating 5 out of 5]

Traveling Alone with the poetry and spirit of Basho

Traveling across Japan, a light stroll through the works of Basho,while on a bus or shinkansen, is a great way to spend your time. Basho speaks in an extremely personal way, as if the poetry were meant for you specifically. The a stories of his travels along across Japan, and his mentions of famous sites in Nara, Ise, Kyoto, Sendai, and more create an even stronger connection as you visit those areas.

However, even if one isn't from Japan or traveling within, his haiku deserve their own review, even if one is not inclined to poetry.

[Jacob · Rating 3 out of 5]

Unfortunately, Japanese haiku loses a lot in translation. Some of the poems are incredibly beautiful but the book as a whole left me feeling like I was missing so much more.

My favourites:

There is nothing in the cry
of the cicada that suggests
it is about to die

Old spider! What is your
song? How do you cry
to the autumn wind

As the year concludes-
wanderer's hat on my head
sandals on my feet

Gorgeous.

[Mark · Rating 3 out of 5]

A very neat little book with great art work. Translated by Sam Hamill. This is said to be one of the great works of Japanese literature; unfortunately all of the allusions to Japanese and Chinese literature, locations, events and religion, although pointed out in footnotes, didn't mean much to me and I can't really experience its "greatness".

[Chris LaTray · Rating 5 out of 5]

How much do I love this book? The warped cover and stained pages from the butt sweat of carrying it on multiple hikes best answers the question....

[Jana · Rating 5 out of 5]

"seek beauty in plain, simple, artless language" by observing ordinary things very closely

I had been looking for Narrow Road to the Interior since learning that The Narrow Road to the Deep North (which I loved) took its name from the Basho original. This version is a collection of all the poet's travel journals, as well as a selection of haiku. I don't have much experience with poetry, but have always loved the simplicity and imagery of haiku. Although the last section of haiku were a bit odd to read--one is too few but more makes it feel like you're not appreciating them properly--this volume was exactly what Basho advocated his students and followers do.

He prized sincerity and clarity, and instructed, "Follow nature, return to nature, be nature." He had learned to meet each day with fresh eyes. "Yesterday's self is already worn out!"

The collection as a whole is great, but Narrow Road to the Interior is perfect. There is not a single word that could have been changed, added or removed to improve it.

All the long night
salt-winds drive
storm-tossed waves
and moonlight drips
through Shiogoshi pines.

This one poem says enough. To add another would be like adding a sixth finger to a hand.

[owen · Rating 4 out of 5]

Pretty intrigued by how, through the usage of the travel diary form here, Bashō places the haiku he composes within the landscape he traverses. Not just the natural landscape, but the historical, artistic, and spiritual landscapes as well, which, true to Mahayana metaphysics of interdependency, are one with each other and the individual.

I.e. In a standard journal entry, Bashō might highlight the natural beauty of a landmark and reference the poem of a past writer about the same locale. The artistic worlds of poets centuries past are overlaid onto physical reality, and then Bashō adds haiku of his own, merging his own inner self into the landscape. He forms a holistic universe in which differentiation between reality and art, past and future, the self and the other, does not exist.

His haiku are great too. This is my first time really engaging with haiku, and the influence of my beloved Tang poets is pretty apparent in the stripped back lucidity of the images and the illustrative juxtapositions. When distinctions are eliminated, the simple expression of a clear external image can be a vector for inner truth and the soul.

[Stephen · Rating 3 out of 5]

Where to begin... I wanted to read this because I wanted to get some kind of tips on writing Haiku. I think it helped (and I'll write some points out for my own record keeping purposes), but what solidified in my mind, is that haiku don't really... really... work well apart from the environment which gave rise to them. What does that mean? A great haiku can stand on its own, but it will, I think have more meaning if you are in the place it was written, or, have a picture accompanying it. I also think it may be a good idea to not read more than 1 or 2 at a time, because then, even if you aren't rushing through the poems, you are rushing through them, because haiku aren't meant to be forgotten immediately, like newscast fodder. With that in mind, there were a few that I really enjoyed, and most just hovered over the surface of my consciousness (mostly while reading in a transit bus).
Other than that, I was interested in the history of Chinese/Japanese poetry (and serious devotion) long before the English were Normans. Also, the translator has serious credentials. What the heck dude.

Here's some of the Japanese/Chinese thoughts on poetry (and haiku) , from the "Translator's Introduction":
kokoro: (outlined in the 8th century) : includes sincerity, conviction, or "heart"; also "craft" in a particular way. Admired for their "masculinity": that is, "for uncluttered, direct, and often severe expression of emotion. Their sincerity (makoto) was a quality to be revered.

amari-no-kokoro : (borrowed from 5th Century Chinese scholar, Liu Hsieh's original yu wei) : "aftertaste".
"The poet strives for the quality called amari-no-kokoro, meaning that the heart/soul of the poem must reach far beyond the words themselves, leaving an indelible aftertaste".

mono-no-aware : "insight" - [seeing things are as they are] - "permits [the poet] to perceive a natural poignancy in the beauty of temporal things".
[Ivan Morris] says of aware:

In its widest sense it was an interjection or adjective referring to the emotional quality inherent in objects, people, nature, and art, and by extension to a person's internal response to emotional aspects of the external world... [By c. 1000 CE] aware still retained its early catholic range, its most characteristic use...to suggest the pathos inherent in the beauty of the outer world, a beauty that is inexorably fated to disappear together with the observer. Buddhist doctrines about evanescence of all living things naturally influened this partiular content of the word, but the stress in aware was always on direct emotional experience rather than on religious understanding. Aware never entirely lost its simple interjectional sense of "Ah!"

[Steve: I do not, in fact, subscribe to these Buddhist doctrines, nor the fatalism involved].

- "...in later centuries, awareidentified a particular quality of elegant sadness, a poignant awareness of temporality"

yūgen : (10th Century) : "aesthetic feeling not explicitly expressed", "ghostly qualities" (ink paintings), "depth of meaning"

makura kotoba : "pillow word" - "a fixed epithet, often like Homer's "wine-dark sea," but frequently allowing for double entendre or multiple evocation... often permitted a poet to disguise emotions; it was both "polite" and metaphoric.

kake kotoba : "pivot word" - " a play on different meanings of a word that links two phrases... [nearly impossible to translate] ... creates deliberate ambiguity, often implying polysignation".

kajitsu : ka is the "beautiful surface of the poem", jitsu is the "substantial core".

kokai : "expressed a feeling of regret after reading a poem, a consequence of the poet having failed to think sufficiently deeply prior to its composition".
- "Bashō sought a natural spontaneity, a poetry that would indulge no regrets of any kind"
- "Bashō spent many years struggling to 'learn how to listen as things speak for themselves'. No regrets. He refused to be anthropocentric."
- "[Bashō] would later write to a disciple, 'Even if you have three or four extra syllables, or even five or seven, you needn't worry as long as it sounds right. But if even one syllable is stale in your mouth, give it all your attention."
- "Bashō tells his students, 'Do not simply follow in the footsteps of the ancients; seek what they sought.'"




And some of my favourites:

From what tree's
blossoming, I do not know,
but oh, it's sweet scent!

(e.g. of what the Latin-text Japanese looks like:
Nan no ki no
hana towa shirazu
nioi kana)



All day long, singing,
yet the day's not long enough
for the skylark's song



Father and mother,
long gone, suddenly return
in the pheasant's cry



For those who proclaim
they've grown weary of children,
there are no flowers



Nothing in the cry
of cicadas suggests they
are about to die



The young farm-child
interrupts rice husking to
gaze up at the moon



The oak's nobility--
indifferent to flowers--
or so it appears



It seems to me the
underworld would be like this--
late autumn evening



Awaiting snowfall,
in the drinkers' faces,
lightning flashes



Your song caresses
the depths of loneliness,
high mountain bird



A white chrysanthemum--
and to meet the viewer's eye,
not a mote of dust



____________________________

With that haiku, Bashō wrote no more. And thus I, too, must end this review/notes/overview

[Nemanja · Rating 5 out of 5]

In the late spring of 1689. at the beginning of Genroku period of Tokugawa shogunate, accompanied by his friend Sora, dressed as a Buddhist monk for the purposes of each other’s protection, Matsuo Bashō set out on a long awaited journey to the mountainous region called Oku or “the interior”, a journey from which this inspiring haibun, or a poetic travel journey that combines prose with haiku, stems. In his observations and composition of this haibun, Bashō redefined haibun’s style as well as the style of haiku, by assiduously studying and applying the knowledge of history, Taoism, Confucianism, Buddhism, Zen and Shintoism. Influenced by the great monk poet Saigyō from the 12th century, he cherished the ideal of being one with the nature. Foundations upon which Basho built his poetry were: kokoro, or heart - sincerity and conviction in his poems; Confucian poetics “All wisdom is rooted in learning to call things by the right name” - power of the right word rightly used; mono no aware - person’s internal response to emotional aspects of the external world, pathos in the beauty of the outer world fated to disappear, awareness of temporality; shibumi - aestethic of simple, subtle and unobtrusive beauty; foundations of Japanese aesthetics: wabi (transience), sabi (aging, imperfection) and yūgen (depth of meaning, subtlety); stylistic devices like makura kotoba (set epithets), kake kotoba (pivot word - play on different meaning of a word based on its possible readings), onomathopeia; honkadori - borrowed or quoted lines and paraphrases showing his deep knowledge of kanshi - poetry written in Chinese; interest in people; deep connection to history; expectations of his readers to be well versed in details; and Chuang Tzu. Following all these aspects Matsuo Bashō managed to achieve the ideal of fuga-no-michi - set of values known as the Way of Elegance, all the while elevating the haiku from wordplay into powerful lyrical poetry and gave it spiritual dimension and emotional depth, still preserving some of its playfulness.

"Oku no hosomichi", a travelogue of Bashō’s journey to the inner parts of Japan, from its then capital in Edo, represents more of a spiritual journey through one’s enlightenment through contact with history, tradition and nature as he flirts with the transience of this world.
In this haibun, Bashō, trekking during all four seasons, visits important historical (Shirakawa barrier, Taga castle), cultural (sessho seki - killing stone believed to be haunted by the spirit of the nine tailed fox and to kill anyone who comes in contact with it; kurozuka cave - grave of an onibaba; pine of takekuma - the resurrecting pine; Swordsmith Hut) and religious (Shrine of Tenjin - devoted to the god of letters and learning) places, describes the roads he has taken as well as the sights, some of which barely standing or heavily neglected, reminding him of frailty of life, expresses his deep feelings and thoughts, quotes famous poems, writes his own and collects poems heard on the road.
His three other travelogues featured in this book "Weather beaten bones", "Knapsack travelogue" and "Sarashina travelogue", written in a similar style in which he visits provinces along the western Pacific coast and follows in the footsteps of his master Saigyō: visits Ise - spiritual center with many shrines: and participates in moon viewing in Sarashina.

“My only concerns were whether I’d find suitable shelter for the night or how well straw sandals fit my feet. Each twist in the road brought new sights, each dawn renewed my inspiration. Wherever I met another person with even the least appreciation for artistic excellence, I was overcome with joy. Even those I’d expected to be stubbornly old-fashioned often proved to be good companions. People often say that the greatest pleasures of traveling are finding a sage hidden behind weeds or treasures hidden in trash, gold among discarded pottery. Whenever I encountered someone of genius, I wrote about it in order to tell my friends.”

At the end of his journeys, exhausted by his failing health he started advocating the poetic principles of karumi or lightness urging his followers to “seek beauty in plain, simple, artless language” by observing ordinary things, principles influenced by existential Zen loneliness and natural beauty that characterize his final work in which he achieved spiritual prosperity through material poverty and appreciation of things old, modest and simple.

Selection of haiku included in this collection

“A new spring begins
the same old wealth—about
two quarts of rice
Haru tatsu ya
shinnen furuki
kome goshō”

“A pair of deer
groom each other hair by hair
with increasing care”
Meoto jika ya
ke ni ke ga sorou te
ke mutsukashi"

"From what tree’s
blossoming, I do not know,
but oh, its sweet scent!
Nan no ki no
hana towa shirazu
nioi kana”


“All hundred thousand
homes in Kyoto empty—
cherry blossom time
Kyō wa kuman
kusen kunju no
hana mi kana”

“Just a cloud or two—
to rest the weary eyes
of the moon-viewer
Kumo oriori
hito wo yasumeru
tsukimi kana"

"O bush warblers!
Now you’ve shit all over
my rice cake on the porch
Uguisu ya
mochi ni fun suru
en no saki”

“An aging peach tree—
don’t strip and scatter its leaves,
cold autumn wind
Momo no ki no
sono ha chirasu na
aki no kaze”

“You, the butterfly;
me, Chuang Tzu—but who’s which
in my dreaming heart?
Kimi ya chō
ware ya Sōji ga
yume gokoro”

Additional terminology
bashō - plantain
kajitsu - formal aspect of the poem, ka - the beautiful surface of the poem and jitsu - the substantial core;
kokai - feeling of regret after reading a poem

[Melanie · Rating 5 out of 5]

I can’t remember when I bought a few books by Japanese authors or about Japan; probably I was contemplating a trip. During the pandemic, however, I have needed to travel “from my couch” and during a very snowy Seattle long weekend these poems and their context were the perfect experience. I agree with other reviewers I spent time flipping to the map and looking up supporting information online but that was part of the pleasure.