Ill on a journey / my dreams wander / over withered fields.
— Matsuo Basho
Life is a journey. “The universe is a temporary inn for all living things; time is a traveler through a hundred generations.” This was the profound realization of life captured by the Tang dynasty poet Li Bai in the year 733. Over a millennium later, Matsuo Basho echoed this very sentiment in the opening lines of The Narrow Road to Oku:
The sun and the moon are eternal voyagers; the years that come and go are travelers too.
While ancient scholars and officials either worried for the state from the heights of the imperial court or wrote of their personal paradises from the isolation of distant rivers and lakes, Matsuo Basho chose to comprehend the essence of life through the act of traveling. As this book stands as the crowning masterpiece of the Haiku Master, allow me to select a few of my favorite chapters to share with you.
Spring is passing— / birds cry, and tears / fill the eyes of fish.
Setting out on a long journey was by no means an easy feat for the ancients. Thus, upon the moment of departure, even the most mundane sights and scenes of daily life would cast a shadow of melancholy over the traveler’s heart. Yet, sorrowful partings were not confined to the beginning of the journey. In the latter half of the trek, Basho’s disciple Sora, who had faithfully accompanied him, fell ill and was forced to leave his master’s side. Facing the prospect of a lonely journey ahead, Basho wrote with deep emotion:
The sorrow of the one who departs, the regret of the one who stays behind—it is like a pair of wild ducks parting, losing themselves in the distant clouds.
A journey naturally brings all manner of encounters and sights. My absolute favorite episode in the entire volume occurs as they pass through the wilderness of Nasuno (Tochigi Prefecture). Lost in the fields, the travelers chance upon a simple local peasant. Too busy with his farm work to guide them himself, the peasant generously lends them his old horse to lead the way. What follows is a rustic yet heartwarming scene:
Two small children came running, following the horse’s tracks. One was a little girl named Kasane. Finding this unfamiliar name so remarkably gentle, Sora composed a verse:
The name Kasane / must surely belong / to the multi-petaled frilled pink.
Before long, we reached a village, tied the rental fee to the saddle-pommel, and sent the horse back on its own.
“Man is at leisure, cassia flowers fall; the night is still, the spring mountain empty.” Every era has its detached hermits who transcend the secular world. In Sukagawa (Fukushima Prefecture), the duo visited the haiku poet Kasai, a hermit who lived away from the world in a thatched hut shaded by a massive chestnut tree. To him, Basho gifted this exquisite verse:
A flower unnoticed / by the people of the world— / the chestnut by the eaves.
Upon arriving at the Iizuka Hot Springs (Fukushima Prefecture), Basho was tormented by severe abdominal pain. To make matters worse, their lodging was miserable—a leaking roof during a night of continuous rain, compounded by relentless mosquito bites. Contemplating the arduous road ahead, anxiety inevitably crept into his heart. Yet, thoroughly exhausted in both body and mind, Basho spurred himself forward with these words:
A pilgrimage to the remote borders of the earth, holding the conviction of selflessness and impermanence—if I should die by the roadside, it is but the decree of Heaven. With my spirits somewhat restored, I pressed on, traversing roads in all directions, and crossed the Great Gate of Date.
Reaching the coast of Izumozaki (Niigata Prefecture) and gazing out across the sea toward Sado Island—a place used as a land of exile in ancient times—Basho composed this awe-inspiring masterpiece:
The rough sea— / stretching over to Sado Island, / the Milky Way.
In the town of Ichifuri (Niigata Prefecture), Basho happened to share an inn with two courtesans. The courtesans, who sacrificed their youth to the pleasure quarters, and the haiku poet, who wandered to the ends of the earth, belonged to two entirely different worlds. Yet, in the grand design of things, there seemed to be a subtle, unspoken connection between them. Thus, Basho left behind this poignant reflection:
Under the same roof / courtesans too are asleep— / bush clover and the moon.
This captures perfectly the essence of Bai Juyi’s famous lines from The Song of the Pipa: “Both of us are castaways at the ends of the earth; meeting like this, what matters it that we were strangers before?”
Finally, I would like to praise the Kadokawa Shoten edition of The Narrow Road to Oku. The content is exceptionally rich. Beyond the original text, it includes modern translations, detailed commentary, and historical columns. It does not merely showcase the beauty of the written word; it serves as an invaluable guide for readers to understand the history, geography, and humanities of that era. I highly recommend it.