On Love and Barley: Haiku - Classic Text | Alexandria
On Love and Barley: Haiku of Matsuo Bashō (1985), translated by Lucien Stryk, stands as one of the most influential English translations of Japan's preeminent haiku master's work. This seminal collection presents a carefully curated selection of Bashō's poems, offering Western readers intimate access to the poet's profound observations of nature, love, and the human condition through the lens of 17th-century Japanese sensibility.
The collection emerged during a period of growing Western interest in Eastern philosophical and literary traditions, appearing nearly three centuries after Bashō's death in 1694. Stryk's translation work began in the 1960s, during his time in Japan, where he immersed himself in Zen Buddhism and Japanese literary culture. His approach to translating Bashō's haiku prioritized capturing the spiritual essence and emotional resonance of the original verses rather than strict adherence to traditional 5-7-5 syllable patterns.
The title itself, "On Love and Barley," reflects the dual nature of Bashō's poetry: the sublime and the mundane, the romantic and the agricultural, the spiritual and the earthly. The collection includes some of Bashō's most celebrated haiku, such as the famous frog poem ("old pond / frog jumps in / water's sound") alongside lesser-known verses that reveal the full spectrum of his poetic vision. Stryk's commentary and introductory materials provide crucial historical context while illuminating the subtle complexities of Bashō's artistic philosophy of karumi (lightness) and his revolutionary approach to haiku composition.
The work's enduring influence extends beyond literary circles, inspiring contemporary artists, musicians, and philosophers in their exploration of minimalist expression and mindful observation. Modern environmental writers and nature poets frequently cite this collection as a touchstone for understanding humanity's relationship with the natural world. The continuing relevance of these centuries-old verses, particularly in an age of environmental crisis and digital distraction, raises intriguing questions about how ancient wisdom might guide modern sensibilities. What makes Bashō's simple observations of everyday moments resonate so powerfully across cultures and centuries, and what might they teach us about finding meaning in our own fleeting experiences?