Audiobook Sample
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- Title: Oku no Hosomichi
- Author: Matsuo Basho
- Narrator: Kaseumin
- Length: 01:08:31
- Version: Abridged
- Release Date: 01/01/2016
- Publisher: LibriVox
- Genre: Travel, Essays & Travelogues, Foreign Language Titles, Other
- ISBN13: SABLIB9782655
There’s a particular magic that happens when an ancient journey meets the perfect narrative voice. As someone who’s spent decades chasing stories across six continents, I can tell you that few travelogues resonate as deeply as Matsuo Bashō’s “Oku no Hosomichi” – especially when delivered through Kaseumin’s remarkably textured narration in this free LibriVox audiobook edition.
I first encountered this masterpiece while trekking through Chile’s Atacama Desert, where the vast emptiness made Bashō’s meditations on solitude feel like they were written just for me. Now, years later, listening to Kaseumin’s performance transports me back to those ochre sands while simultaneously carrying me to 17th century Japan’s misty mountain passes. That’s the dual gift of this audiobook – it’s both a time machine and a teleportation device.
Kaseumin’s narration deserves special praise. There’s a rhythmic quality to their delivery that mirrors the “haibun” form itself – the prose sections flow like a steady walking pace, while the haiku land with perfect weighted pauses, like resting at a wayside shrine. I was reminded of evenings in Oaxaca, where grandmothers would spin stories with that same mastery of silence and timing. When Bashō writes of hearing ‘the water jars crack / on a night colder than this’ at Mogami River, Kaseumin makes you feel that icy shiver in your bones.
The production preserves the work’s essential duality – it’s simultaneously a physical journey through northern Japan’s ‘deep north’ and a spiritual pilgrimage through Japanese aesthetics. Kaseumin captures Bashō’s constant tension between movement and stillness, between the traveler’s forward momentum and the poet’s need to pause and witness. Listen to how their voice changes when describing bustling post-towns versus solitary moon-viewing moments – it’s a masterclass in vocal modulation.
What makes this audiobook particularly valuable for Western listeners is how it illuminates concepts like “sabi” (the beauty of aging) and “wabi” (rustic simplicity). When Bashō reflects on ruined castles or weather-beaten temples, Kaseumin’s delivery helps you understand these aren’t melancholy observations, but celebrations of impermanence. I found myself applying this lens to modern travel – seeing beauty in cracked pavement and faded signs that I might have overlooked before.
Some listeners might find the classical Japanese references challenging, but that’s where the audiobook format shines. Hearing place names like ‘Hiraizumi’ and ‘Kisagata’ pronounced correctly builds authenticity that footnotes can’t match. The few sections with historical poetry (like Saigyō’s verse at Yoshino) particularly benefit from oral delivery – you sense the weight of literary tradition Bashō carried.
Compared to other travel narratives in my listening history – from Theroux’s railway journeys to Chatwin’s songlines – “Oku no Hosomichi” stands apart in its poetic density. Where modern travelogues might spend paragraphs describing a landscape, Bashō and Kaseumin together conjure entire vistas in a handful of syllables. The audiobook’s relatively brief duration (just over an hour) belies its profound depth – this is the literary equivalent of “dashi” broth, where immense flavor comes from restrained simplicity.
For contemporary travelers feeling overwhelmed by Instagram-era tourism, this audiobook offers an antidote. Bashō’s journey reminds us that true travel isn’t about checklist destinations, but about becoming ‘soaked in the rain’ of experience – a sentiment Kaseumin delivers with perfect understatement. I found myself pausing the narration frequently just to sit with certain lines, like when Bashō wonders if his deceased mother’s spirit might be reflected in the moon over Sarashina.
The recording isn’t without minor flaws – there’s occasional background noise reminding us this is a volunteer production, and some may prefer more musical interludes between sections. But these are quibbles when weighed against the privilege of hearing this masterpiece delivered with such care and understanding. By the final passage where Bashō becomes ‘one with the autumn evening,’ you’ll feel similarly dissolved into the experience.
If you’re new to Japanese literature, start here. If you’re a seasoned Bashō reader, prepare to rediscover him. And if you’re simply someone who believes travel writing should nourish the soul as much as it informs the mind, this free audiobook belongs in your queue. Just be warned – after listening, you may find yourself Googling flights to Sendai while simultaneously contemplating life’s fleeting beauty.
With footsteps and haiku,
Marcus Rivera
