[Return to Haiku Entry Page] [Ray Rasmussen's Homepage] Basho and me
Let me explain. I mention monkhood because I'm a bit of a recluse meaning that I spend a good bit of time alone, not in a living-with partnership and with no one in my home so long as you don't count the two dogs under my desk gnawing on bones and the two cats perched on the desk purring their eagerness for a treat. I know that this skips over some aspects of monkhood that one might normally expect and it's clear that the Rule of Benedict isn't exactly me, although he has red slippers and so do I. In case you don't recognize him, that's St. Benedict to the right working at his desk, just as I'm now working at mine.
He was said to be a Buddhist Monk and writing haiku has been likened to a Zen practice. That's Basho to the right, sitting under his banana tree. So, who was Basho? he traveled a lot = so do I
Breakfast enjoyed Traveling this high Exhausted, I sought With a warbler for
Lonely stillness – A solitary along this road
How reluctantly courtesan and monk, we sleep He enjoyed conversations while on the path = so do I Long conversations He had a spiritual philosophical side akin to a western monk's vows of poverty. I like to think that I too have a philosophical side although I admit that I'm not quite living in poverty. To my credit, I'm thinking of setting up a tent in the backyard.
Ah, summer grasses! Like me, he was perhaps less than tidy, he liked to eat, and he had a sense of humor. my house I go back into honestly – Some friends have commented that my writing tends to focus on sadness, not humour. But ... honestly – He saw himself as a wanderer = me too I'm a wanderer
Autumn approaches And, he dwells in his habits & routines = I do too Winter seclusion – The image to the right is of me in Tuwa Wash where I have been many times—a return again and again to "the same worn post". Basho's birth name was Matsuo Kinsaku. He was once given a Banana Tree (Basho in Japanese) by a disciple and, deeply touched, he took on the name "Basho." No one has yet given me a banana tree. However, I was gifted with a basket of zucchini last summer, and am considering renaming myself 'zukki-ni', which, believe it or not, is Japanese for the vegetable most given as gifts by overly enthusiastic and ruthlessly sneaky gardeners.
As final evidence of my monk's journey, my friend George has kindly offered to accept all of my worldly goods which he assumed I would soon be renouncing. I've decided to start gradually by sending him Basho, Banana Tree, Matsuo and Kinsaku along with whatever zucchinis show up in my begging bowl.
Notes: Revered as one of the greatest of Japanese poets, Basho was born in 1644, some 30 miles southeast of Kyoto. His name was Matsuo Kinsaku; he took the name Basho, which means, “Banana Tree” after he was deeply touched when a disciple gave him one as a gift. Throughout his life, Basho was drawn to the solitary path of a wanderer. Here's what he has to say about writing: "In this mortal frame of mine which is made of a hundred bones and nine orfices there is something, and this something is called a wind-swept spirit for lack of a better name, for it is much like a thin drapery that is torn and swept away at the slightest stir of the wind. This something in me took to writing poetry years ago, merely to amuse itself at first, but finally making it its lifelong business. It must be admitted, however, that there were times when it sank into such dejection that it was almost ready to drop its pursuit, or again times when it was so puffed up with pride that it exulted in vain victories over the others. Indeed, ever since it began to write poetry, it has never found peace with itself, always wavering between doubts of one kind and another. At one time it wanted to gain security by entering the service of a court, and at another it wished to measure the depth of its ignorance by trying to be a scholar, but it was prevented from either because of its unquenchable love of poetry. The fact is, it knows no other art than the art of writing poetry, and therefore, it hangs on to it more or less blindly." (Introductory paragraph from The Records of a Travel-Worn Satchel, from a translation by Nobuyuki Yuasa). All haiku on this site with the exception of the ones attributed to myself are translations of Basho's haiku. The translations, for the most part, were by David Lanoue. Photos by Ray Rasmussen, except for the shot of me in Tuwa Wash taken by Gary Ford. ~ Ray Rasmussen -> Email |
I've been describing myself as a 'bit of a monk' for some time now which has been confusing to my friends. "Are you going to a monastery?" one recently asked. "Are you giving up your worldly goods?" asked another. 
Okay, if not Benedict, what about Basho? 
he liked flowers, plants, birds = so do I
He felt his aloneness & age = so do I
He seemed to have liked or at least noticed women = so do I, especially the ones who also are a bit like monks. Why? Because they are on their own journeys, they also live alone, and they tend to have the glint of silver in their hair and a sparkle in their eyes.
Come out to view 
And, after a long journey, he liked to get back to a comfy home = me too
I have already renamed my dogs "Basho" and "Banana Tree" and the cats, "Matsuo" and "Kinsaku". In that sense, I feel that I'm often very close to Basho.
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