A POND, A POET, AND THREE PESTS

The quintessential 17th-century Japanese poet Bashō composes his signature haiku despite demanding distractions.

While out for an evening walk, Bashō finds a “peaceful place…to think” along a pond’s mossy banks. Soon enough, he’s recognized as “the most famous poet in the land” by nearby inhabitants, each hoping for literary recognition. The golden carp rises to the surface to dance and flutter, demanding, “O, Bashō!…Look at me!” but the poet’s eyes continue to rest. The water lily, realizing “a flower lives only one season, unless he’s the subject of a poem,” unfurls his petals to entice the poet with his perfume, but Bashō’s nose doesn’t twitch. The mosquito, smelling blood, whines in Bashō’s ear, but the poet remains “deaf to droning pests.” Just as the frog decides he won’t allow the “flashing fish, lavish lily, megalomaniacal mosquito, [and] pensive poet” to ruin his midnight swim, Bashō reengages his senses to capture the moment: “Old pond— / Frog jumps in. / Splash!” Adderson’s succinct text is a clever reflection of Bashō and his precise verses. Tamaki presents her visceral illustrations in saturated swathes of blues and greens with pleasingly popping yellows and pinks. Multiple close-ups of uninterruptible Bashō brilliantly ensures that his wide-eyed, rainbow-energy-emitting final portrait is a humorous, affecting delight. Appended backmatter explains haiku, introduces Bashō, and encourages nature-inspired creativity.

A gleefully inventive tale that captures the provenance of one of history’s most famous poems.