Basho portrait by Yosa Buson (Wikimedia Commons ~ public domain)
If we’re going to keep classic poetry relevant, we ought to consider updating it from time to time to reflect current realities. Back in April 2007, in response to a “Poetry Thursday” prompt, I updated three of Matsuo Basho’s most famous haiku (hokku, if you want to get technical). I forgot about the post until just last week, when I ran across it in the archives. Time for a few more, I thought.
*
Summer grasses—
all that remains
of soldiers’ dreams
Summer grasses—
all that remains
of shareholders’ dreams
*
A bee
staggers out
of the peony
A bee
staggers out
of the hive
*
A caterpillar
this deep in autumn—
still not a butterfly
An Asian ladybug
this deep in autumn—
still not acclimated
*
A field of cotton—
as if the moon
had flowered
A field of cotton—
as if the earth
had surrendered
Waves at Matsushima by Tawaraya Sotatsu (fl. ca. 1600-1643)
Matsushima is a group of islands in Miyagi Prefecture, Japan. There are some 260 tiny islands (shima) covered in pines (matsu) — hence the name — and is ranked as one of the Three Views of Japan. Matsushima was very seriously damaged by the Tsunami following the Sendai earthquake in March 2011, with more than 600 people killed.
—Wikipedia, “Matsushima”
hundreds of tiny islands, each
with its own pine tree
like a flag planted by Mother Earth
—Jason Crane, “Matsushima”
* * *
matushima no
iso ni murewiru
ashitadu no
ono ga samazama
mieshi chiyo kana
A thousand years
in the eye of each
& every crane
flocking on the rocky shore
of Matsushima.
—Kiyowara no Motosuke (908-990)
tachi kaeri
mata mo kite min
matsushima ya
ojima no tomaya
nami ni arasu na
Returning
once more to gaze
on Matsushima,
the waves at Ojima lashing
my rush-walled hut.
—Fujiwara no Shunzei (1114-1204)
shimajima ya
chiji ni kudakete
natsu no umi
Islands upon islands—
thousands of shards smashed
by the summer sea.
asayosa o
taga matsushima zo
katagokoro
Morning & evening
like someone at Matsushima—
unrequited love.
—Matsuo Bashô (1644-1694)
Matsushima in Rikuzen Province by Toyohara Chikanobu (1838–1912)
The town was protected by a stunningly beautiful maze of coves and islands, topped with bonsai-shaped Japanese pines, which kept the worst of the tsunami at bay.
The water rose three metres and the town was relatively lightly affected, as the local emergency services chief told a group of stranded tourists earlier this week.
But everything is relative. Tetsuo lived, against the odds, but said some of his neighbours died. He is now staying at a friend’s house.
