“He had to cast this self away, for otherwise he was not able to restore his true identity (what he calls the ‘everlasting self which is poetry’).“
Matsuo, Bashō (1666). The narrow road to the Deep North, translated by Nobuyuki Yuasa. Harmondsworth, Penguin. ISBN 0-14-044185-9
Setting out from a known place–
“Thatched roof,” four walls, ground, sky, wind and light–
To which one needn’t say,
‘Home’s here’
At a time in which can be barely discerned morning:
Early in hour and early in year…
With the hint that day is about to brighten the southeastern sky,
Progressing so far
As to make turning back embarrassing and inconvenient.
Bidding farewell,
One wishes to avoid the distraction of too much talk,
Excessive laughter,
Or of taking first steps too seriously…
The going chosen during a time of year when the air is cold and dry,
One must have had to warm oneself to the task,
Nor through inaction allow a delicate beginning come to harm…
In acknowledging these and other rituals
One’s not blindly obeying some rule,
Or embracing fashion, or slavishly giving way to authority…
Climbing naturally turns the gaze upward.
By nightfall, moving lights illuminate the edge of the air,
Or a wayward moon
Fills clouds fine and cirrus with transparent shadows…
This sort of passage goes on one’s own power,
“Stirred by the sight of a solitary cloud drifting with the wind to ceaseless thoughts of roaming,”
One cannot consent to be contained within the noise of machinery…”
This One & This One 