Matsuo Basho (1644-94) is considered Japan's greatest haiku poet. Narrow Road to the Interior (Oku no Hosomichi) is his masterpiece. Ostensibly a chronological account of the poet's five-month journey in 1689 into the deep country north and west of the old capital, Edo, the work is in fact artful and carefully sculpted, rich in literary and Zen allusion and filled with great insights and vital rhythms. In Basho's Narrow Road: Spring and Autumn Passages, poet and translator Hiroaki Sato presents the complete work in English and examines the threads of history, geography, philosophy, and literature that are woven into Basho's exposition. He details in particular the extent to which Basho relied on the community of writers with whom he traveled and joined in linked verse (renga) poetry sessions, an example of which, A Farewell Gift to Sora, is included in this volume. In explaining how and why Basho made the literary choices he did, Sato shows how the poet was able to transform his passing observations into words that resonate across time and culture.

Hiroaki Sato has published over two dozen books, of which seventeen are translations of Japanese poetry into English.

192 pages, 15 illustrations, map, ISBN 1-880656-20-5, $16.95

Major Literary News! Basho manuscript discovered after earthquake.

Following is the opening entry to Basho's Oku no Hosomichi, "Narrow Road to the Interior," with annotations by the translator. The complete text, with an introduction and an additional renga sequence, "A Farewell Gift to Sora," is included in the Stone Bridge publication.

Setting off. Courtesy Itsuo Museum.

The months and days are wayfarers of a hundred generations, and the years that come and go are also travelers.[1] Those who float all their lives on a boat or reach their old age leading a horse by the bit make travel out of each day and inhabit travel. Many in the past also died while traveling.[2] In which year it was I do not recall, but I, too, began to be lured by the wind like a fragmentary cloud and have since been unable to resist wanderlust, roaming out to the seashores. Last fall, I swept aside old cobwebs in my dilapidated hut in Fukagawa,[3] and soon the year came to a close; as spring began and haze rose in the sky, I longed to walk beyond Shirakawa Barrier[4] and, possessed and deranged by the distracting deity[5] and enticed by the guardian deity of the road, I was unable to concentrate on anything. In the end I mended the rips in my pants, replaced hat strings, and, the moment I gave a moxa treatment to my kneecaps, I thought of the moon over Matsushima.[6] I gave my living quarters to someone and moved into Sampu's villa: