Bashō's Journey: The Literary Prose of Matsuo Bashō

1. Journal of Bleached Bones in a Field

CHAPTER 1 J o u r n a l o f B l e a c h e d B o n e s i n a F i e l d N o z a r a s h i k i k ō I set out on a journey of a thousand leagues, packing no provisions . I leaned on the staff of an ancient who, it is said, entered into nothingness under the midnight moon. It was the first year of Jōkyō, autumn, the eighth moon. As I left my ramshackle hut by the river, the sound of the wind was strangely cold. bleached bones on my mind, the wind pierces my body to the heart nozarashi o / kokoro ni kaze no / shimu mi kana autumn, ten years: now I point to Edo as the old home aki totose / kaette edo o / sasu kokyō On the day I crossed the Barrier, it was raining and all the mountains were cloud-hidden. misty rain, a day with Mount Fuji unseen: so enchanting kirishigure / fuji o minu hi zo / omoshiroki 13 A man named Chiri was my companion and aide, and he put himself completely into caring for me. Our hearts are as one, and in friendship he is ever faithful. Fukagawa— leaving the bashō tree to Mount Fuji’s care1 fukagawa ya / bashō o fuji ni / azukeyuku (Chiri)2 I was walking along the Fuji River when I saw an abandoned child, barely two, weeping pitifully. Had his parents been unable to endure this floating world which is as wave-tossed as these rapids, and so left him here to wait out a life brief as dew? He seemed like a bush clover in autumn’s wind that might scatter in the evening or wither in the morning. I tossed him some food from my sleeve and said in passing, those who listen for the monkeys: what of this child in the autumn wind? saru o kiku hito / sutego ni aki no / kaze ika ni Why did this happen? Were you hated by your father or neglected by your mother? Your father did not hate you, your mother did not neglect you. This simply is from heaven, and you can only grieve over your fate. The day we were to cross the Ōi River, rains kept falling morning till night. a day of autumn rain: in Edo they’re counting their fingers about the Ōi River3 aki no hi no ame / edo ni yubi oran / ōigawa (Chiri) A poem on horseback roadside rose of sharon: devoured by my horse michinobe no / mukuge wa uma ni / kuwarekeri 1 4 B a s h ō’ s J o u r n e y The waning moon shown pale in the sky, the base of the hills was still dark. With my whip dangling from my horse, we crossed many miles before any sound of cockcrow. I rode in a lingering dream as in Du Mu’s “Dawn Departure,”4 then as I arrived at Sayo-no-nakayama I was startled awake. dozing on my horse, with dream lingering and moon distant: smoke from a tea fire uma ni nete / zanmu tsuki tōshi / cha no keburi I visited Mutusbaya Fūbaku in Ise, resting my feet for about ten days. As night came on, I worshipped at the Outer Shrine. With shadows draped across the First Torii and sacred lanterns lit here and there, the “pine wind from the high peak”5 pierced my flesh and struck deep into my heart. month’s end, no moon: a thousand year cedar embraced by a windstorm misoka tsuki nashi / chitose no sugi o / daku arashi I wear no sword on my hips but dangle an alms wallet from my neck and hold a rosary of eighteen beads in my hand. I resemble a priest, but the dust of the world is on me; I resemble a lay person, but my head is shaven. Although I am no priest, here those with shaven heads are considered to be Buddhist friars, and I was not allowed to go before the shrine. There’s a stream in the lower end of Saigyō Valley. As I gazed at women washing potatoes, potato-washing women: were Saigyō here, he’d compose a waka imo arau onna / saigyō naraba / uta yoman When I stopped at a teashop, a woman named Butterfly asked for...