The haiku is one of the most well known forms of poetry in the world.

It is also
one of the least understood outside of it's home. Originating in Japan, the haiku is
known for its unique structure, confining poems to three lines with a limit of five
syllables for the first and third line and seven syllables for the second line. This
structure helps to generate much of the misunderstandings regarding haikus.
Anyone familiar with long masterpieces such as Dante's Inferno or the Epic of
Gilgamesh would be slightly thrown by the simplicity and abruptness that appears
inherent to a haiku. The first question such a person would ask is, how could such a
small and basic poem contain the depth and complexity that much Old World poetry
is known for? How can these seemingly simple and sometimes disjointed lines
contemplate a philosophical question? Such questions and condemnations,
however, are wasted on the haiku.
Haikus have the unique ability of conveying extremely deep and personal
thoughts in few words and sometimes fewer lines. But the way in which these ideas
are presented in a haiku is so alien to Westerners, it is impossible to be able to
understand them without learning of the haiku's history and learning a bit about
Japanese culture and symbolism. The song of the cuckoo, the chirp of the cicada,
the resilience of bamboo; such imagery and symbols have great meaning in
Japanese culture, but little or even none in Western culture. Truly, the best way to
understand a haiku is to look at their history and look at some of the symbols often
used in haikus.
Haikus have long been Japan's favorite style of poetry, so much so that
samurais would often write their death poems in the form of a haiku. But the term
"haiku" is an invention of the 19th century; the history of the form goes back much
farther than that. The haiku developed from the tanka form of Japanese poetry.
Specifically, it developed from the first part of the tanka: the hokku. The hokku
refers to the first three lines of a tanka poem and can easily be identified by its "5-75" syllabic structure. The tanka was often grouped into chains called a renga and
used as entertainment at parties, especially by samurai. The hokku normally
contained some observation on life or some sort of joke to set the mood for the rest
of the tanka and as a result it was considered the most important part of the poem.
This gave the author of the hokku, the hokku-ka, an elevated, almost revered
status. One such hokku-ka, Matsuo Kinsaku, better known as Matsuo Basho, is
considered one of the greatest hokku writers of all time as well as the father of the
haiku, or the first great haiku-ka. In fact, if one wants to understand just how much
depth a haiku can contain, it is perhaps best to look at the works of Matsuo Basho.
Matsuo Kinsaku was born to a samurai family in 1644 at Iga-Ueno, a Japanese
castle near Kyoto. His father, Matsuo Yozaemon, was a low-ranking samurai and a
calligraphy teacher and his mother (who is unnamed) was also of the samurai class.
As a result, he entered into the service of Todo Yoshidata as the Japanese equivalent
of a page, serving his master while learning bushido, the way of the warrior. It was
during this time that he began writing hokku and thus, this stage of his life paved
the way for the rest of his career. In 1666, when Basho was 22 and Yoshitada had
passed on, Basho moved to Kyoto and later Edo (modern-day Tokyo). This was the
beginning of his compulsive traveling, a habit that greatly influenced his work. He

forsook the life of the samurai completely and never engaged in battle. In fact, he
took no claim to an estate and lived in three huts throughout various points in his
life. He began teaching, taking on disciples and teaching them how to write a proper
hokku. According to Basho, "A good poem is one in which the form of the verse and
the joining of its parts seem light as a shallow river flowing over its sandy bed."
Matsuo Basho had many influences that contributed to his poetry. He was a
man that appreciated nature. In fact, he changed his name to Basho after he was
presented with a Basho (a broad-leafed banana tree) by one of his disciples. While
the tree could not bear fruit due to Japan's climate, he was fond of the softness of
its leaves. His love for nature is one of the main themes that can be seen
throughout his haikus. In each one of his poems I have analyzed so far, all (we will
cover five) have some reference to nature: nature in the form of flora and fauna and
nature in the metaphysical sense. Indeed, Basho was also a philosopher and
whereas our immediate thought is to relate philosophy to Socrates or Plato, he
studied the works of Tchouang-tseu, a fourth century Chinese philosopher.
Tchouang-tseu propounded the thought that man is powerless in the face of nature
and thus unable to change it, an idea that influenced Basho so much that he often
quoted Tchouang-tseu in his hokku. He was also influenced by Shinto beliefs, as will
be seen in the poems I analyze.
He was heavily influenced by Zen Buddhist
philosophy, expecially the principle of karumi or "lightness." You will notice that
none of Basho's poetry is executed in a serious or angry manner as his philosophy
on poetry writing would suggest. While he does cover serious topics, his poems
always have a light and reflective tone. Finally, Basho was a master of imagery: his
poetry is highly renown for its ability to capture a scene in three simple lines. This
mastery of imagery was greatly helped by his wanderlust, as many of the poems he
wrote were inspired by things he saw on his travels.
To show just how powerful a haiku can be and to understand why Basho is the
best possible example of a great haiku-ka, I have chosen four of Basho's best haikus
to examine. I have also chosen perhaps his most significant yet simple poems to
include in this project. These poems are (as discussed): A monk sips morning tea, A
cicada shell, A weathered skeleton, A cuckoo calls, and Matsuo Basho's death
poem. One will realize that these poems don't follow the 5-7-5 format previously
discussed, but this is a result of their translation. By the end of my analysis, I hope
to show you just how powerful and dynamic haikus can be and, by extension, to
erase any misconceptions about their depth caused by their brevity.

A monk sips morning tea,/ it's quiet,/ the chrysanthemum's flowering.

This haiku immediately shows Basho's well known tendency to write about
the world around him. It is also a prime example of his usage of imagery. During the
Edo Period in Japan, this would not be an uncommon sight to a traveler. Now it is
very easy to imagine that Basho simply saw these sights on one of his travels.
When he went traveling, he often went alone and without any supplies, seeking the
hospitality of Zen Buddhist monks and other poets as his only form of refuge. He
could have very easily seen a monk sipping his tea in the morning and given the

calm atmosphere decided to write a poem. But even so, there's one part of the
poem that stands out: "the chrysanthemum's flowering."
To the uniformed, this simply says that the poem was written around spring
time. The chrysanthemum, or "kiku", actually flowers in autumn, thus the Japanese
see it as a symbol of autumn. But there is more to the flower than a reference for
the time of year. The chrysanthemum's mere mention in this poem gives the haiku
an entirely different meaning. In Japanese culture, the chrysanthemum is also a
symbol of perfection. A Shinto belief (Shintoism places very high value on
respecting nature), the Japanese see the way the chrysanthemum blooms as orderly
and beautiful. The flower's petals unfold layer by layer from the outside inward and
radiate like the sun. Order is important to the Japanese and is reflected in their
everyday lives. The chrysanthemum is, to them, a natural representation of this
order. So important to the Japanese is this flower, the title given to the throne of the
emperor is the "Chrysanthemum Throne." If one looks, one will also see that the
imperial family seal of Japan is actually a chrysanthemum motif. From this, we can
say that Basho believes that the scene he is currtently viewing to be a thing of
perfection. But why is that?
Tea was extremely important in Japanese culture. So important in fact, there
is a ritual devoted to the proper preparation and drinking of tea: the Japanese tea
ceremony, also known as the way of tea. The ceremony varies depending on how
formal the event is, but it is special in Japanese culture because tea preparation is
seen as an art to the Japanese. That said, we could assume that Basho was
watching the monk perform a shortened version of the tea ceremony. This
conclusion is further backed by the fact that the tea ceremony has its roots in Zen
Buddhist rituals. As we know, Basho was extremely fond of Zen Buddhism, so the
tea ceremony would have had even greater significance to him. It is also possible
that the monk was performing the perceived tea ceremony to show hospitality to
Basho. This is called, "chakai."
The final piece of this is much more subtle. When we look at the scene, we
see that "A monk sips morning tea," and that "it's quiet." We automatically get the
sense that everything is tranquil and peaceful. The quiet, the flowers, the relaxed
monk all point toward peace. This is on the superficial level, however. While the
overarching theme in this poem is perfection, there is a lesser theme that
strengthens the main theme: peace. This peace relates to the monk: religious
peace. Japan is a country that, as many others have, has been divided by religion.
The Japanese were an isolationist people, so they are mostly left to their means and
not disturbed by the outside world. Buddhism, however, found its way to Japan and
found a great deal of success there. Historically, this makes no sense. When
Christianity was introduced to Japan, it was eventually outlawed due to its conflicts
with Japanese culture. Samurais were especially forbidden from practicing
Christianity because it conflicted with their obligation to commit seppuku (honorable
suicide) if necessary. So why when such intolerance was shown to Christianity was
Buddhism so easily accepted? The simple answer is that it was able to blend into
certain elements of Shintoism and was relatable to other parts of Japanese culture.
In fact, even in modern Japan, Shintoism and Buddhism exist in a complex but

balanced system of belief and practices that has become an inseparable part of the
culture. As we know, Basho was influenced by both Shintoism and Zen Buddhism, so
we can conclude that his inclusion of a Shinto belief while talking about a Zen
Buddhist monk is also a symbol of that unity and tolerance. This idea is further
strengthened by the line "it's quiet," which also shows that there's no conflict
between the two religions, only peace.

A cicada shell;/ it sang itself/ utterly away.

This poem, like the haiku before it, deals with nature. To the Japanese, the
cicada is not an annoying pest that comes out in the summer, rather it is a symbol
of summer and is revered by the Japanese. Like American children try to collect
fireflies in their nets, Japanese children try to catch cicadas. They even refer to it's
loud chirping as a song and would go as far as to call the insect cute. Indeed, the
cicada is highly valued in Japanese culture. But what significance does it have in
Japanese art? It's all in the last line of the haiku: "utterly away."
Japanese poets have long used the cicada as a symbol of evanescence and
form. They appear from spring to late summer, and as previously mentioned, their
coming is seen as a signal of summer. They are always singing, all throughout the
summer, and then they disappear around early fall. In this, we see the form and
order of which the Japanese are so fond. The cicada is always present during a
certain period of time and always behave the same during that period of time.
When that time has ended, they vanish. Like the unfolding of the chrysanthemum,
this cycle is deeply respected by the Japanese and like any subject of nature, it
gains more support from Shintoism. But the Japanese's reverence for this insect do
not end there.
As previously mentioned, the Japanese also see the cicada as a symbol of
evanescence. This is for the same reason that they see it as a symbol of form: the
period of time that they are present for. Out of three hundred sixty-five days, the
cicada is only present for the summer; a quarter of the year. In this haiku, Basho has
used the cicada to express the brevity and impermanence of summertime. As Basho
was a lover of nature, we can even say that he was lamenting the end of summer.
Indeed, the last two lines seem to indicate some sadness on Basho's part on how
short the summer is. But it is not a deep sadness, as not only does this conflict with
the principle of karumi, it also goes against the teachings of Tchouang-tseu. It is
instead a more reflective sadness.
In this poem, the last two lines also seem to say that the cicada shell that
Basho found (most likely on a journey) was that of a dead cicada. Just as the
summer has gone, so has the life from the cicada he found. This again brings up the
overlying theme in this poem: the impermanence of all things. In this poem, Basho
acknowledges that all things come to an end. The cicada's presence is as
impermanent as that of summer, and both are in turn as impermanent as life are.
This is a serious topic, depressing to most people, and yet Basho is able to express
it in a non-depressing manner. It is, as I've said before, reflective and thoughtful.

This poem may not be as packed with references and social ideas as A monk sips
morning tea, but on a metaphysical level, it is extremely stimulating.

A cuckoo cries/ and through a thicket of bamboo/the late moon shines.

Again we find Basho catching a beautiful scene within his haiku. Moonlight
often gives the sense of peace and security at night. It can also, however, be an
instrument of foreboding. In this poem, however, it is neither. The cuckoo crying is
also much deeper than one thinks after reading this poem for the first time. After
examining this poem, we will see that this is actually one of Basho's most connected
haikus. That is to say, each line in the poem is connected to the others.
The cuckoo has great relevance in Japanese culture. Wood-printers and other
artists tend to use the cuckoo as a space-filler in their artwork. Haiku-kas are fond of
the bird because of its name in Japanese, "hototogisu", which has five syllables. But
both artists and poets appreciate the cuckoo more for its symbolic value. Like the
cicada, the cuckoo is a herald of the summer. But very unrelatedly, it has also been
used to symbolize tragedy and is representative of the desire of the dead to meet
with their loved ones again. This second value of the cuckoo makes more sense
given the diction that Basho uses in the haiku. "A cuckoo cries;" rather than saying
"a cuckoo sings" or "a cuckoo calls," Basho specifically uses cries (rather, its
equivalent in Japanese). This automatically changes the feel of a poem from a
relaxed and light hearted poem to that of a eerie and sad poem.
The last line of the poem, "the late moon shines" actually does more to make
this a sad poem because of the moon's significance to the Japanese. If one looks at
the Japanese character for "month," one will notice it is actually the character for
"moon": tsuki. This is a remnant of Japan's Chinese lineage, but the Japanese
adoration of the moon goes further than that. In Japan there is an event called
Tsukimi which is literally translated as "moon viewing." During Tsukimi, families will
gather to stare at the moon's reflection in the water or simply to stare at the moon
in the sky and reflect on its beauty. The practice is so valued by the Japanese that
twice in its history, the Japanese changed their calendar to revolve around Tsukimi.
The first changed shifted the full moon (which is when tsukimi is observed) to the
thirteenth of each month; the second shifted tsukimi to the fifteenth. This gave the
event form, quality that many Western holidays lack. The very fact that a country
would shift the way they measure time to revolve around this event shows how
important it is to them. Keeping in mind that Tsukimi was a family event and also
acknowledging the meaning of the cuckoo's cry, we understand that the spirits are
calling out even more desperately to be with their loved ones because it is Tsukimi
and their families are gathered together.
My conclusion is further strengthened by the middle line, "and through a
thicket of bamboo." Bamboo is a sign of endurance in Japanese culture due to its
extreme flexibility. In this haiku, the symbol of bamboo represents the enduring love
that the dead have for their living relatives, a love that may be reciprocated. The
use of bamboo also shows us that this poem was reflective in nature given that

bamboo was used as an object of meditation. Furthermore, bamboo is traditionally

planted in temple gardens or around shrines. Wealthy families often had family
shrines and tsukimi was originally an aristocratic holiday, especially during Basho's
time. That said, it is well known that the Japanese engaged in ancestor worship, so
it is logical to assume that those with the shrines believed their ancestors to still be
alive, albeit in a different form. This shows is a prime example of the connectedness
of this poem.
This poem is one of Basho's more interesting poems because the Shinto
influence is so very clear given all the imagery that is used in the poem. The
cuckoo, the bamboo, tsukimi; all of these practices are Shinto in nature and show
that while Basho was extremely fond of Zen Buddhism, he was also very much in
tune with the indigenous beliefs of his people.

A weathered skeleton/ in windy fields of memory,/piercing like a knife.

Of all of Basho's poems that I've read, this is perhaps my favorite because not
only is it the first I've understood, it's also the one that, so far, has the most blatant
use of folklore. I would even go so far as to say that, given the nature of the poem,
Basho originally wrote it for a dinner party or some other social gathering (Basho
was popular at parties) for use in a tanka. This poem is very loaded, even when
compared to the others simply because it has purpose outside of entertaining partygoers.
The poem immediately jumps out at any reader because of its first line, "a
weathered skeleton." The first idea that anyone would get from this image is
obviously death. But unlike the other haiku, one's superficial understanding of this
poem is largely correct. This is a haiku that deals with death. But is it not an odd
circumstance to go along the road and stumble upon a skeleton that's obviously
been on the side of the road for some time? In Edo Japan, not necessarily. Basho
most likely came across this skeleton (if he did come across it) on his travels;
Japanese roads were treacherous and filled with highwaymen and ronin (rogue
samurai or samurai without a master). People often starved while journeying on
these roads as well, often due to lack of adequate supplies or due to being robbed
by the previously mentioned highwaymen. It was easy for anyone, even the
weariest of travelers, to die on these roads. Basho himself only survived his travels
due to the hospitality of other poets and Zen Buddhist monks he would meet along
the way. Even looking at the poem from a social aspect, samurai were allowed to kill
the lower class if they pleased in Edo Japan. Their reasons could range from simple
disrespect to testing out their new katana. From this we get a glimpse of social
Japan and that is one of the many reasons I love this poem. So now that we've
covered the obvious topic of the poem and why it isn't a far-fetched topic, what do
the other lines of the poem say?
From "in windy fields of memory," one immediately gets the sense of
turbulence. That is, one sees that there is some disturbance in the scene. I posture

that this disturbance is emotional stress. This skeleton was once a person with a
family; and if not a family friends and acquaintances. The person was known by
people, even loved by people, and here they lie on the side of the road, dead and
their remains wearing away under the elements. Unless they were travelling
together and they had to leave the person behind, their friends or family would not
even know that they are dead. A body once full of life now devoid of it. This poem
takes a somber tone because of that line, and Brings the subject of death to the
forefront of Basho's mind. This can be seen by the next line "piercing like a knife."
That line shows that, just as the two previous poems, this one is reflective in
nature. It shows the staggering reality of death and while a person like Basho would
have been aware of this inevitability, it is an entirely different experience to
encounter it. Like the summer, the time of the cicada, all things must come to an
end; life is no exception. In this regard, we see that this haiku is indeed a very
intense one, but this is not the best part of the poem!
Do you remember the line skeleton? Gashadokuro is a yokai, a Japanese
spirit, that is fifteen times larger than a human and takes the form of a gargantuan
skeleton. It is created by gathering the bones of people who have starved to death,
as is possible with the skeleton we've grown fond of, and preforming a ritual. Now it
is understandable that I may seem hasty in drawing that connection. That is,
however, until we again look at the line "piercing like a knife." Gashadokuro is
fifteen times larger than a human and attacks people when they are alone, biting
the heads off of humans if it sees one. Surely something of that size would be
detectable? The only way to detect an approaching Gashadokuro before it strikes is
by hearing a loud and sharp ringing in one's ear, a fact that directly relates to the
last line of the haiku.
This is my favorite of Basho's poems because of how loaded it is. It is full of
allusions and possibilities and makes for the basis of a good ghost story. It also gives
a bit of an insight to the common life in Japan, the life of the plebeians. In this
poem, we see allusions to Shinto mythos, the topic of death, and somberness, all in
a poem that could have easily been used to entertain guests at a party. It is one of
Basho's most amazing poems, but it is not the last we will look at.