MATSUO BASHŌ, THE GREATEST MASTER OF HAIKU
Japan is an overachieving nation whose influence in the world exceeds the size of its land and population. We can only speculate about the reasons for Japan’s salience, indeed, ascendancy. No doubt its island isolation, self-imposed, plays a role. The surrounding seas, a protective barrier, may have deterred invasion. Similar geographic circumstances mark the UK, which embarked on imperial conquest worldwide, a ferocious scramble among Western European nations that Japan sought to join during the first half of the twentieth century, resulting in exceptional carnage. Whatever the reasons for Japan’s visibility today, the fact is that Japan has succeeded in its drive to play a major role on the world stage. This insular nation presently has significant international influence.
Japan has been substantially influenced by China in its cultural development—Confucianism, Buddhism, and Chinese calligraphy, for example, are major influences. Notwithstanding, Japan transformed and adapted Chinese influences, likely impelled by its voluntary seclusion.
Japan has developed its own unique cultural heritage—Zen Buddhism, for example, a homegrown adaptation of Mahayana Buddhism; Bushido codes like The Book of Five Rings, a primer about swordsmanship and the way of the samurai written by Miyamoto Musashi in 1645; or ukiyo-e, a style of Japanese woodblock prints and painting that saw its heyday begin in the seventeenth century and end in the nineteenth century.
A distinctive Japanese cultural artifact is the haiku or hokku. Haiku is the late nineteenth-century term. When the Japanese established hokku as a poetry genre in the seventeenth century—the period when Matsuo Bashō thrived—they effectively invented minimalist poetry, and they were the first to do so. Although hokku had already been established as an integral part—the opening stanza—of the renga as early as the tenth century, it was only much later that hokku came to be recognized as a standalone poem.
Haiku, like ukiyo-e, has been notably influential in the West. The last century, haiku influenced the Imagists, the Beat Generation, and the modernist poet Ezra Pound. Pound’s most famous poem “In a Station of the Metro” was reportedly inspired by haiku.
IN A STATION OF THE METRO by Ezra Pound
The apparition of these faces in the crowd:
Petals on a wet, black bough.
This poem was originally published in Poetry (April 1913).
Almost everyone who reads poetry in English nowadays knows what haiku is, at least the English version of it. Haikus in English—not translations—are continually published. Many literary journals are devoted to publishing haiku, exclusively or together with related poetry genres. Haiku contests in English abound. Could this flourishing interest be the consequence of Western fascination with Japanese exoticism?
Bashō is the foremost exponent of haiku. George Leonard explains.
“Sōin (1605-1682) and Saikaku (1642-1693)…developed certain tactics that classic haiku would later employ: a fondness for images rather than explanations and for jump cuts between those images that cause interesting and suggestive clashes. At their best, the poems work the way film works, by a rapid montage of images that generate a meaning of their own.
“… In 1660, the same year as the English Restoration, Sōin founded the ‘Damrin School,’ and haiku rose toward high art while it simultaneously became intimately connected with the Zen Buddhist vision. …No one disputes Sōin’s historical importance. However, all authorities agree that Sōin’s student, Matsuo Bashō (1644-1694) is the genius who perfects haiku.
“…To understand Bashō’s relationship to all subsequent haiku, one has to think of Shakespeare’s relationship to all subsequent English poetry. I could stretch the parallel and claim Sōin as Christopher Marlowe, a great innovator who sows many of the seeds Shakespeare will harvest. Marlowe began writing verse dramas in English iambic pentameter…lifting the form to high art. Shakespeare, his younger contemporary, perfects English iambic pentameter and the drama based on it.”
(Quote has been edited.)
—George J. Leonard, “Japanese Haiku and Matsuo Basho”
Complete names: Nishiyama Sōin and Ihara Saikaku.
Bashō is acknowledged to be the first great master
of haiku, and some consider him the greatest.
Towards the end of his life, Bashō was widely admired.
He was recognized for his artistic achievements. After his death, he was venerated
for centuries to the point that the Shinto religion in 1793 deified him.
Towards the end of the nineteenth century, his work
was subjected to critical commentary, particularly by Masaoka Shiki, an
accomplished Japanese poet and literary critic who coined the term “haiku.” Shiki
is one of the four “immortals” of haiku.
We might be asked why, despite many worthy candidates
from Japan, we chose Bashō for inclusion among our ten greatest poets. Our
answer is that Bashō crossed cultural boundaries to find a large, appreciative audience,
not only among native English speakers but worldwide. No other Japanese poet,
however excellent, is comparable in this respect.
Japanese haiku is a sophisticated poetry genre, and
to appreciate it fully one must become acquainted with the conventions and idiosyncrasies
of the art form. Consider, for example, the following Bashō haiku.
A monk sips morning tea.
It’s quiet.
The chrysanthemum’s flowering.
Available online is the following analysis and commentary about
this poem:
“To the uninformed, this simply says that the poem
was written around spring time. The chrysanthemum or ‘kiku’ actually flowers in
autumn, thus the Japanese see it as a symbol of autumn. But there is more to
the flower than a reference for the time of year. The chrysanthemum’s mere
mention in this poem gives the haiku an entirely different meaning. In Japanese
culture, the chrysanthemum is also a symbol of perfection. A Shinto belief
(Shintoism places very high value on respecting nature), the Japanese see the
way the chrysanthemum blooms as orderly and beautiful. The flower’s petals
unfold layer by layer from the outside inward and radiate like the sun. Order is
important to the Japanese and is reflected in their everyday lives. The
chrysanthemum is, to them, a natural representation of this order. So important
to the Japanese is this flower, the title given to the throne of the emperor is
the ‘Chrysanthemum Throne.’ If one looks, one will also see that the imperial
family seal of Japan is actually a chrysanthemum motif. From this, we can say
that Bashō believes that the scene he is currently viewing to be a thing of
perfection.”
—Mervyn Larrier, “Analysis of The Poetry of Matsuo Basho,” Scribd
Nuances of Japanese haiku do not readily carry over in translations into another language. However, the translations can still be appreciated as short poems.
The power of short poems derives principally from understatement.
Understatement arouses the audience to fill in the details, so to speak, so that they are thereby engaged.
Following is a small selection of haikus from Bashō’s
oeuvre translated into English.
Bashō’s most famous poem is about the old pond and a
loud frog.
The old pond—
a frog jumps in,
sound of water.
I like this translation best because it
is accurately concise.
“Harold G. Henderson provides a Zen interpretation
by attributing symbolism to the frog’s leap: The jump into the pond symbolizes
a sudden leap to satori, or spiritual
enlightenment.”
—“Old Pond by Matsuo Munefusa,” eNotes.com
A metaphorical interpretation suits this Bashō poem.
On a dead branch,
a crow settles—
autumn dusk.
“Bashō insinuates that a crow landing on a dead
branch brings about the same feeling as dusk settling in the autumn. The dead
branch…stands for the dying of sunlight that leads to dusk. The crow is used
particularly because it is black just like nightfall. …the verb ‘settling’ has
a double meaning: the crow landing on the branch and the ‘settling’ of dusk. …the
autumn season is used because in autumn, the sun sets earlier, and it gets
darker faster. The speaker of this poem…notices a crow perching on a branch and
is reminded of the darkness of nightfall.”
(Quote has been edited.)
—“Matsuo Basho: The Meaning Behind the Haiku,” Essay
This Bashō poem uses paradox effectively.
After the temple bell stops,
its sound continues
from the flowers.
—Joel Weithaus, “Matsuo Bashō’s Poetic Spaces,” Rain Taxi (Fall 2013)
We are aroused to reflect on what evanescent,
memorable aural attribute is shared by the temple bell and the flowers. It’s
possible that the flowers are bell-shaped.
Walt Whitman, America’s Poet:
Walt Whitman, America’s Poet:
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| Portrait of Bashō (late 18th century) by Hokusai |
Except for works in the public domain, the poems reproduced here are shown according to principles of fair use, that is, for the purposes of analysis and commentary.
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