Sunday, May 31, 2009

The last haiku of Kobayashi Issa

The Atlas of Curiosities: Part 7

Wandering through the Nagano prefecture of what was once the Shinano district, we came upon a grassy field. In the distance there was a lone tree in full bloom, though it was not the season for flowers.  How was this possible?

Our host told a story which to us seemed tangentially related:

“There was once a pauper living in this district who was called Issa.  He was an orphan, which in that place and time meant that he had little chance of material success or happiness. Beaten as a child, he traveled from place to place, living off the kindness of others and writing short poems to himself.  In time achieved enough stability to get married and have a son. Soon though, even this short period of calm was disturbed as his wife and his son both passed away.  Despite his great suffering, his haiku are radiant in their humility, their compassion, and their friendliness towards life.”

How was the story of this pauper related to the tree in full bloom, we asked our host.

“Issa believed that all things issued from a central source which was, if nothing else, beautiful. This was how he was able to maintain his compassionate nature despite the trials life threw at him.”

Yes, yes, but the flowers…we urged him.

“Near the end of his life,” our host said with a sigh, “Issa lived alone in a small wooden hut in this district.  The old man had three possessions: A lamp, a pen, and a bedroll. During a stormy January night, he was preparing to sleep when with a bump from his elbow he toppled the lamp and set the straw floor of his hut ablaze.  He escaped, but it was only a matter of minutes before his hut was fully engulfed in flames.  He walked away from the blaze in the quickly deepening snow.  As he walked he grew weary, and, knowing he could go no further, lay his bedroll onto the snowy ground. 

He was found in the morning; he had passed away in the night.  Under his pillow was found the last of his 20,000 haiku.”

We listened, in silence now.

“There are thanks in order:
the snowflakes on this bedroll,
they too, are from god.

This is the last haiku of Kobayashi Issa.”

Wind blew, and we were no closer to understanding the mystery of the tree in full bloom. I asked that the scene by committed to our records, along with the verse as our host had translated it. Strangely, the tree’s resplendent bloom eluded our artist, who was forced to settle for bare branches in his recreation.