From Basho's Narrow Road to a Far Province

The postscript in this translation of Basho's famous prose-poetry travelogue (Narrow Road to a Far Province, translated by Dorothy Britton), perhaps is a good place to set the context of this little travel notebook:

"Epilogue

[Written by Soryu, a scholar-priest who prepared the final draft for the original edition.]

In this slim volume, you will find prose of spare simplicity, and phrases of beautifully polished elegance. You will find writing of robust, masculine strength, as well as touches of delicate, feminine grace. 

As you read The Narrow Road to a Far Province, at times you will find yourself rising up to applaud. At other times you will quietly hang you head with emotion.

Perhaps you will want to put on your straw rain cape and set off upon a similar journey, or you may be content to sit still and imagine the enchanting  views as they pass before your mind's eye -- so multifarious are the impressions limned herein in prose as beautiful as mermaid's tears.

What a fascinating journey! What writing skill! ..

Sorya

Early summer of the Seveth Year of Genroku [1694]"

Following are a few poems, sentences from the book. In no particular order.

Each wave turning over

    Leaves a trail of tiny shells

        And petals of bush clover.

*

Sadder and much more

    Forlorn even than at Suma

        Is autumn on this shore.

*

How cool the autumn air!

    I'll peel them and enjoy them --

        The melon and the pear.

*

How hot the sun glows,

    Pretending not to notice

        An autumn wind blows!

*

Through fragrant fields

    Of early rice we went, beside

        The wild Ariso Sea.

*

It's Tanabata Eve!

    Tomorrow Cowherd meets his Weaver:

        The lover-stars' reprieve!

            O'er wild ocean spray,

                All the way to Sado Isle

                    Spreads the Milky Way!

*

With your nest on a rock,

    Have you a truce with the ocean waves,

        O trusting sea hawk?

                                        - Sora

*

From far Hot Spring Hills

    All the way to the Windy Beach --

        How cool is the evening view!

The river Mogami

    Has drowned the hot, summer sun

        And sunk it in the sea!

*

"As we neared the valley, we passed a hut that once housed a forge...

I thought of those swords tempered in China's Lungchuan (Dragon Spring) and of Kanchiang and his wife Muych who forged fine blades together. I realized then that to excel in anything requires much more than ordinary effort."

*

"And now I lay down my writing brush, for what I saw on Yudono-yama I am forbidden by the rules of for mountain pilgrims to reveal.

When we returned to our temple lodgings in South Vale, the Acalya asked for my poetic impressions of our pilgrimage to the Three Holy Mountains, and so I wrote the following for him on poem strips:

How cool the crescent moon,

    Faint above the leafy black

        Of Mount Haguro!

How many cloud shapes

    Capped the peak before the moon

        Rose on Moon Mountain?

            Since I may not tell

                Of Yudono's wonders, tears

                    On my coat sleeve fall.

And Sora wrote:

How they touch my heart:

    Coins by faithful pilgrims strewn

        On Yudono's path!

*

When summer winds blow

    In this blest South Vale, they bring

        The cool fragrance of snow.

*

The Mogami river rises in the highlands of the far north. In its upper reaches here in Yamagata, there are some exceedingly dangerous rapids, such as "the Go Stones," where rocks are scattered about like black counters on a go board, and "the Peregrine Falcon," where the waters are as swift as a falcon's flight. Flowing north of Mount Itajiki, mentioned in an old poem, the Mogami finally empties into the sea at Sakata.

Gathering as it goes

    All the rains of June, how swiftly

        The Mogami flows!

*

In the domain of Yamagata is a hilltop temple called Ryushaku-ji. Built in 860 by the great abbot Jikaku, it is situated in a particularly pure and tranquil spot. ...In the profound tranquility and beauty of the place, our hearts felt deeply purified.

In this hush profound,

    Into the very rocks it seeps --

        The cicada sound.

*

What a cool, summer breeze!

    Here, I make myself at home,

        Rest, and take my ease.

Come into the air!

    Crawl from 'neath thy silkworm shed,

        Dear toad, croaking there.

        A lady's eyebrow brush

            Came to my mind when I saw

                Safflowers in bloom.

        How ancient the attire --

            Unchanging for centuries--

                That silkworm keepers wear!

                

                           - Sora


*

Fleas and lice did bite; 

    And I'd hear the horse pass water

        Near my bed at night. 

*

All June's rainy days

    Have left untouched the Hall of Light

        In beauty still ablaze.

*

Recalling Chinese poet Tu Fu's words:

Even though a country is defeated,

    Its mountains and rivers remain.

And o'er the castle ruins, when it is spring,

    The grass will be green again.

*

Of all the many places mentioned in poetry, the exact location of most is not known for certain. Landslides have changed the course of rivers, obliterating roads and burying monuments, and trees have grown old and withered away, with young ones taking their place, so that the face of the land is changed and the whereabouts of many famous places is now obscure. But here there is no mistake. This monument was made a thousand years ago and is a very real and vivid link with the past. Seeing it is one of the things that has made my trip worthwhile and one of the happiest moments of my life. Forgetting all the trials of the journey, I wept for sheer joy.

*

Sandal thongs of blue:

    We'll seem shod with irises

        Of the bravest hue!

*

Young hands planting rice!

    Erstwhile I see them rubbing

        Ferns with equal grace!

*

One whole paddy field

    Was planted ere I moved on

        From that willow tree!

*

Woodpecker! 'tis well

    You harm not this hermitage

        In its summer dell!

*

In the hills, 'tis May.

    Bless us, holy shoes, as we

        Go upon our way!

*

There we did begin,

    Cloistered in that waterfall,

        Our summer discipline.

*

Were she a flower,

    She would be a wild, fring'd pink

        Petals manifold.

*