haiku.epub
TRANSCRIPT
Table of Contents
Murasaki Shikibu (973-1014)
Izumi Shikibu (974-1033)
Saigyō Hōshi (1118-1190)
Ikkyu Sojun (1394-1481)
Nozawa Boncho (1640-1714)
Zaishiki (1642-1719)
Matsuo Basho (1644-1694)
Uejima Onitsura (1660-1738)
Takarai Kikaku (1661-1707)
Ome Shushiki (1669-1725)
Yosa Buson (1716-1783)
Takai Kito (1741-1789)
Taigu Ryokan (1758-1831)
Kobayashi Issa (1763-1828)
Masaoka Shiki (1867-1902)
Kyoshi Takahama (1874-1959)
Santoka Taneda (1882-1940)
Kihachi Ozaki (1892-1974)
Seishi Yamaguchi (1901-1994)
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Murasaki Shikibu(973-1014)
Murasaki Shikibu, or Lady Murasaki as she isoften known in English, was a Japanese novel-ist, poet, and a maid of honour of the imperialcourt during the Heian period. She is bestknown as the author of The Tale of Genji, writ-ten in Japanese between about 1000 and 1008,one of the earliest novels in human history.
From: The Tale of Genji
Lady Murasaki says:
The troubled watersare frozen fast.Under clear heavenmoonlight and shadowebb and flow.
Answered by Prince Genji:
The memories of long lovegather like drifting snow,poignant as the mandarin duckswho float side by side in sleep.
Meeting On The Path
Meeting on the path:But I cannot clearly knowIf it was he,Because the midnight moonIn a cloud had disappeared.
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Izumi Shikibu(974-1033)
Izumi Shikibu was a mid Heian period Japan-ese poet. She is a member of the Thirty-six Me-dieval Poetry Immortals. She was the contem-porary of Murasaki Shikibu and AkazomeEmon at the court of Joto Mon'in.
plum blossom
I cannot saywhich is which:the glowingplum blossom isthe spring night's moon.
Although The Wind
Although the windblows terribly here,the moonlight also leaks
between the roof planksof this ruined house.
If The One I've Waited For
If the one I've waited forcame now, what should I do?This morning's garden filled with snowis far too lovelyfor footsteps to mar.
Although I Try
Although I tryto hold the single thoughtof Buddha's teaching in my heart,I cannot help but hearthe many crickets' voices calling as well.
Watching The Moon
Watching the moonat dawnsolitary, mid-sky,
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I knew myself completely,no part left out.
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Saigyo Hoshi(1118-1190)
Saigyo Hoshi was a famous Japanese poet ofthe late Heian and early Kamakura period.Many of his best-known poems express thetension he felt between renunciatory Buddhistideals and his love of natural beauty.
In a mountain village
In a mountain villageat autumn’s end—that’s where you learnwhat sadness meansin the blast of the wintry wind.
As banked clouds
As banked cloudsare swept apart by the wind,at dawn the sudden cry
of the first wild geesewinging across the mountains.
Why Should I Be Bitter
Why should I be bitterAbout someone who wasA complete strangerUntil a certain momentIn a day that has passed.
unbroken gloom.
times when unbrokengloom is over all our worldover which stillsits the ever brilliant moonsight of it casts me down more
Winds Of Autumn
Even in a personmost times indifferentto things around him
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they waken feelingsthe first winds of autumn
Sunk in melancholy
Sunk in melancholy, andGazingUpon the moon: its hue:Why is it so deeplyStained with sadness, I wonder
Well do I know myself
Well do I know myself, soYour coldnessI did not think to blame, yetMy bitterness hasSoaked my sleeves, it seems
O, how sad
O, how sad!Why of visitorsShould there be not one?
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In melancholy, where I dwellThe wind comes upon the bush-clover leaves.
The moon, alone
The moon, alone,Taunts me from the heavensWith memories of you;Should you feel the same, thenOur hearts would be as one
Not Stopping To Mark The Trail
Not stopping to mark the trail,let me push even deeperinto the mountain!Perhaps there's a placewhere bad news can never reach me!
There's not a trace of cloud
There's not a trace of cloudNow-and sheIs in my thoughts;
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The moon and my heartSeem to waver.
limitations gone
limitations gonesince my mind fixed on the moonclarity and serenitymake something for whichthere's no end in sight
Having drifted apart
Having drifted apart,Why should folkDespise each other? ForNot known and unknowingTimes there were once before…
Having Seen Them Long
Having seen them long,I hold the flowers so dearThat when they scatter
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I find it all the more sadTo bid them my last farewell.
Thought I was free
Thought I was freeof passion, so this melancholycomes as surprise:a woodcock shoots up from the marshwhere autumn's twilight falls.
He made no promise
He made no promise, yetWondering if he'll come, I wait,In the early evening;If only it would stay this way,Remaining light…
How wonderful
How wonderful, thatHer heartShould show me kindness;
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And of all the numberless folk,Grief should not touch me.
The Monk Saigyo
Should I blame the moonFor bringing forth this sadness,As if it pictured grief?Lifting up my troubled face,I regard it through my tears
Now I understand!
Now I understand!When to remember meShe vowed,She said she would forget me,But kindly!
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Ikkyu Sojun(1394-1481)
Ikkyu Sojun was an eccentric, iconoclasticJapanese Zen Buddhist priest and poet. Hehad a great impact on the infusion of Japaneseart and literature with Zen attitudes andideals.
It is nice to get a glimpse of a ladybathing
It is nice to get a glimpse of a lady bathing--You scrubbed your flower face and cleansedyour lovely bodyWhile this old monk sat in the hot water,Feeling more blessed than even the emperor ofChina!
A Meal of Fresh Octopus
Lots of arms, just like Kannon the Goddess;Sacrificed for me, garnished with citron, Irevere it so!The taste of the sea, just divine!Sorry, Buddha, this is another precept I justcannot keep.
My Hovel
The world before my eyes is wan and wasted,just like me.The earth is decrepit, the sky stormy, all thegrass withered.No spring breeze even at this late date,Just winter clouds swallowing up my tiny reedhut.
After they die
Why are people called BuddhasAfter they die?Because they don't grumble any more,
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Because they don't make a nuisanceOf themselves any more.
I Hate Incense
A master’s handiwork cannot be measuredBut still priests wag their tongues explainingthe “Way” and babbling about “Zen.”This old monk has never cared for false pietyAnd my nose wrinkles at the dark smell of in-cense before the Buddha.
Exhausted with gay pleasures
Exhausted with gay pleasures, I embrace mywife.The narrow path of asceticism is not for me:My mind runs in the opposite direction.It is easy to be glib about Zen -- I’ll just keepmy mouth shutAnd rely on love play all the day long.
A Fisherman
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Studying texts and stiff meditation can makeyou lose your Original Mind.A solitary tune by a fisherman, though, can bean invaluable treasure.Dusk rain on the river, the moon peeking inand out of the clouds;Elegant beyond words, he chants his songsnight after night.
To Lady Mori with Deepest Gratitudeand Thanks
The tree was barren of leaves but you broughta new spring.Long green sprouts, verdant flowers, freshpromise.Mori, if I ever forget my profound gratitude toyou,Let me burn in hell forever.
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Nozawa Boncho(1640-1714)
Nozawa Boncho was born in Kanazawa, andspent most of his life in Kyoto working as adoctor. Boncho was one of Matsuo Basho'sleading disciples and, together with Kyorai, heedited the Basho school's Monkey's Raincoat(Sarumino) anthology of 1689. He participatedin numerous renku with Basho and othermembers of his Shomon school.
The brushwood
The brushwood,Though cut for fuel,Is beginning to bud.
a shrike's cry
a shrike's crylight slants throughthe red pine grove
All night the ragged
All night the raggedclouds and wind had only onecompanion... the moon
To ranging windscompanion: -- in the skythe single moon.
Frightened by a thicket
Frightened by a thicketWith a frog in itJust at twilight
no wind at all
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When no wind at alldisturbs the kiri tree—the leaves that fall!
From the paulowniawithout a breath of wind--falling leaves
See ... the heavy leafon the silent windless day ...falls of its own will
A razor,
A razor,Rusted in a single night,--The summer rains!
How cool cut hay smells
How cool cut hay smellswhen carried through the farm gateas the sun comes up
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the sun goes down
At an eagle’s neston dead camphor branchesthe sun goes down.
Love
Love.So many different waysto have been in love.
The maidservantsTrying to take a peepKnock down the screen!
long river
The long, long riverA single lineOn the snowy plain.
Around the town
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Around the townthe smells of things --summer moon
a soft sound
A sound of something!The scarecrow has fallen downof itself.
There is a hushed soundOf the scarecrow, fallen downAlone to the ground.
a soft soundthe scarecrow has fallento the ground
Throwing away the ashes
Throwing away the ashes,The white plum-blossomsBecame cloudy.
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Zaishiki(1642-1719)
frost on glass
frost on grass:a fleeting formthat is and is not
Matsuo Basho(1644-1694)
Matsuo Basho was the most famous poet of theEdo period in Japan. During his lifetime,Basho was recognized for his works in the col-laborative haikai no renga form; today, aftercenturies of commentary, he is recognized as amaster of brief and clear haiku. His poetry isinternationally renowned, and within Japanmany of his poems are reproduced on monu-ments and traditional sites.
With a warbler
With a warbler fora soul, it sleeps peacefully,this mountain willo
Tremble oh my gravemound
Tremble, oh my gravemound,in time my cries will beonly this autumn wind
Winter seclusion
Winter seclusion –sitting propped againstthe same worn post
the winter leeks
The winter leeksHave been washed white --How cold it is!
crossing long fields
Crossing long fields,frozen in its saddle,my shadow creeps by
souls' festival
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souls' festivaltoday also there is smokefrom the crematory
Even that old horse
Even that old horseis something to see thissnow-covered morning
The shallows
The shallows –a crane’s thighs splashedin cool waves
Eaten alive
Eaten alive bylice and fleas -- now the horsebeside my pillow pees
On New Year's Day
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On New Year's Dayeach thought a lonelinessas winter dusk descends
On the cow shed
On the cow shedA hard winter rain;Cock crowing.
The winter storm
The winter stormHid in the bamboo groveAnd quieted away.
The butterfly
The butterfly is perfumingIt's wings in the scentOf the orchid.
deep into autumn
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Deep into autumnand this caterpillarstill not a butterfly
Flower
Flowerunder harvest sun - strangerTo bird, butterfly.
The morning glories
The morning gloriesbloom, securing the gatein the old fence
Winter downpour
Winter downpour -even the monkeyneeds a raincoat.
Sleep on horseback
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Sleep on horseback,The far moon in a continuing dream,Steam of roasting tea.
the warbler sings
the warbler singsamong new shoots of bambooof coming old age
Wrapping dumplings
Wrapping dumplings inbamboo leaves, with one fingershe tidies her hair
Morning and evening
Morning and eveningSomeone waits at Matsushima!One-sided love
Petals of the mountain rose
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Petals of the mountain roseFall now and then,To the sound of the waterfall?
Year’s end,
Year’s end, allcorners of thisfloating world, swept.
The passing spring
The passing springBirds mourn,Fishes weepWith tearful eyes.
the whole family
the whole familyall with white hair and canesvisiting graves
The she cat
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The she cat -Grown thinFrom love and barley.
under my tree-roof
under my tree-roofslanting lines of april rainseparate to drops
On the white poppy
On the white poppy,a butterfly’s torn wingis a keepsake
This first fallen snow
This first fallen snowis barely enough to bendthe jonquil leaves
I like to wash
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I like to wash,the dust of this worldIn the droplets of dew.
On Buddha's deathday
On Buddha's deathday,wrinkled tough old hands pray –the prayer beads' sound
How wild the sea is
How wild the sea is,and over Sado Island,the River of Heaven
shaking the grave
shaking the gravemy weeping voiceautumn wind
Ungraciously
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Ungraciously, undera great soldier's empty helmet,a cricket sings
With every gust of wind
With every gust of wind,the butterfly changes its placeon the willow.
The petals tremble
The petals trembleon the yellow mountain rose –roar of the rapids
The clouds come and go
The clouds come and go,providing a rest for allthe moon viewers
From time to time
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From time to timeThe clouds give restTo the moon beholders..
Scarecrow in the hillock
Scarecrow in the hillockPaddy field --How unaware! How useful.
long conversations
Long conversationsbeside blooming irises –joys of life on the road
I'm a wanderer
I'm a wandererso let that be my name –the first winter rain
Passing through the world
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Passing through the worldIndeed this is justSogi's rain shelter
The first snow
The first snowthe leaves of the daffodilbending together
husking rice
husking ricea child squints upto view the moon
On this road
On this roadwhere nobody else travelsautumn nightfall
It is with awe
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It is with aweThat I beheldFresh leaves, green leaves,Bright in the sun.
The banana tree
The banana treeblown by winds pours raindropsinto the bucket
Won't you come and see
Won't you come and seeloneliness? Just one leaffrom the kiri tree.
A weathered skeleton
A weathered skeletonin windy fields of memory,piercing like a knife
Matsushima
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O Matsushima!O Matsushima!O Matsushima!
Chilling autumn rains
Chilling autumn rainscurtain Mount Fuji, then make itmore beautiful to see
Clouds
Clouds -a chance to dodgemoonviewing.
A wild sea
A wild sea-In the distance over SadoThe Milky Way
Cold as it was
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Cold as it wasWe felt secure sleeping togetherIn the same room.
But for a woodpecker
But for a woodpeckertapping at a post, no soundat all in the house
A cold rain starting
A cold rain startingAnd no hat --So?
bush-clover flowers
bush-clover flowers —they sway but do not droptheir beads of dew
a cuckoo cries
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a cuckoo criesand through a thicket of bamboothe late moon shines
A man infirm
A man, infirmWith age, slowly sucksA fish bone.
a strange flower
a strange flowerfor birds and butterfliesthe autumn sky
Untitled
The summer grassesAll that remainsOf brave soldiers dreams
Haiku
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Snowy morning--one crowafter another.
Haiku
scent of plum blossomson the misty mountain patha big rising sun
As they begin to rise again
As they begin to rise againChrysanthemums faintly smell,After the flooding rain
The Narrow Road to the Deep North:Prologue
Behind this doorNow buried in deep grassA different generation will celebrateThe Festival of Dolls.
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The morning glory also
The morning glory alsoturns outnot to be my friend.
Teeth sensitive to the sand
Teeth sensitive to the sandin salad greens—I'm getting old.
Midfield
Midfield,attached to nothing,the skylark singing.
Staying at an inn
Staying at an innwhere prostitutes are also sleeping—bush clover and the moon.
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When the winter chrysanthemumsgo
When the winter chrysanthemums go,there's nothing to write aboutbut radishes.
Taking a nap
Taking a nap,feet plantedagainst a cool wall.
Spring rain
Spring rainleaking through the roofdripping from the wasps' nest.
Coolness of the melons
Coolness of the melonsflecked with mudin the morning dew.
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Stillness
Stillness—the cicada's crydrills into the rocks.
This old village
This old village—not a single housewithout persimmon trees.
Winter garden
Winter garden,the moon thinned to a thread,insects singing.
First winter rain
First winter rain—even the monkeyseems to want a raincoat.
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What fish feel
What fish feel,birds feel, I don't know—the year ending.
Cold night: the wild duck
Cold night: the wild duck,sick, falls from the skyand sleeps awhile.
First snow
First snowfallingon the half-finished bridge.
Fleas, lice
Fleas, lice,a horse peeingnear my pillow.
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Blowing stones
Blowing stonesalong the road on Mount Asama,the autumn wind.
How admirable
How admirable!to see lightning and not thinklife is fleeting.
Winter solitude
Winter solitude—in a world of one colorthe sound of wind.
Wrapping the rice cakes
Wrapping the rice cakes,with one handshe fingers back her hair.
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Moonlight slanting
Moonlight slantingthrough the bamboo grove;a cuckoo crying.
The oak tree:not interestedin cherry blossoms.
None is travelling
None is travellingHere along this way but I,This autumn evening.
The first day of the year:thoughts come - and there is loneliness;the autumn dusk is here.
An old pondA frog jumps in -Splash!
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Lightening -Heron's cryStabs the darkness
Clouds come from time to time -and bring to men a chance to restfrom looking at the moon.
In the cicada's cryThere's no sign that can foretellHow soon it must die.
Poverty's child -he starts to grind the rice,and gazes at the moon.
Won't you come and seeloneliness? Just one leaffrom the kiri tree.
Temple bells die out.The fragrant blossoms remain.A perfect evening!
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Don't imitate me
Don't imitate me;it's as boringas the two halves of a melon.
First day of spring
First day of spring—I keep thinking aboutthe end of autumn.
Bush warbler
Bush warbler:shits on the rice cakeson the porch rail.
Heat waves shimmering
Heat waves shimmeringone or two inchesabove the dead grass.
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The dragonfly
The dragonflycan't quite landon that blade of grass.
A snowy morning
A snowy morning—by myself,chewing on dried salmon.
Awake at night
Awake at night—the sound of the water jarcracking in the cold.
Autumn moonlight
Autumn moonlight—a worm digs silentlyinto the chestnut.
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Bitter–tasting ice —
Bitter–tasting ice —Just enough to wet the throatOf a sewer rat.
An Old Pond
old pond.....a frog leaps inwater's sound
In this world of ours,
In this world of ours,We eat only to cast out,Sleep only to wake,And what comes after all thatIs simply to die at last.
A field of cotton
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A field of cotton—as if the moonhad flowered.
A cool fall night
At a hermitage:A cool fall night;getting dinner, we peeledeggplants, cucumbers.
A monk sips morning tea
A monk sips morning tea,it's quiet,the chrysanthemum's flowering.
A bee
A beestaggers outof the peony.
A caterpillar
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A caterpillar,this deep in fall—still not a butterfly.
A Ball of Snow
you make the fireand I’ll show you something wonderful:a big ball of snow!
A cicada shell
A cicada shell;it sang itselfutterly away.
Four Haiku
Spring:A hill without a nameVeiled in morning mist.
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The beginning of autumn:Sea and emerald paddyBoth the same green.
The winds of autumnBlow: yet still greenThe chestnut husks.
A flash of lightning:Into the gloomGoes the heron's cry.
The squid seller's call
The squid seller's callmingles with the voiceof the cuckoo.
Collection of Six Haiku
Waking in the night;the lamp is low,the oil freezing.
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It has rained enoughto turn the stubble on the fieldblack.
Winter rainfalls on the cow-shed;a cock crows.
The leeksnewly washed white,-how cold it is!
The sea darkens;the voices of the wild ducksare faintly white.
Ill on a journey;my dreams wanderover a withered moor.
Basho's Death Poem
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Sick on my journey,only my dreams will wanderthese desolate moors
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Uejima Onitsura(1660-1738)
the dawn of day —on the tip of the barley leafthe frost of spring
A cooling breeze-and the whole sky is filledwith pine-tree voices.
roving dreams-over charred fields,the wind’s sound
Watching, I wonderwhich poet could put down his quill-a perfect moon!
The stream in the valley;Stones too sing songsUnder the cherry-blossoms.
Towering aloneagainst the autumn sky-mount Fuji
For some reasonthere are long, and there are shorticicles
To finally knowthe plum, use the whole heart too,and your own nose
Fleeing people,getting used to people -baby sparrows
True obedience:silently the flowers speakto the inner ear
A voiceless flowerspeaks to the obedientin-listening ear
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I know wellthat the June rains-Just fall.
Bath waterWhere shall I throw you?Crickets singing in the grass
In the gardenWhitely bloomingThe camellia
Silent the gardenwhere the camellia-treeopens its whiteness
This autumnI’ll be looking at the moonWith no child on my knee
The leaping trout seesfar below, a few white cloudsas they flow
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Takarai Kikaku(1661-1707)
Takarai Kikaku, also known as Enomoto Kikaku, was a Japanesehaikai poet and among the most accomplished disciples of MatsuoBasho. His father was an Edo doctor, but Kikaku chose to become aprofessional haikai poet rather than follow in his footsteps.
Here and there
Here and therefrogs croaking in the nightstars shining
The messenger
The messengerOffers a branch of plum-blossoms,And then the letter
the old messenger
the old messengerproffering his plum-branch first...only then the letter
a summer shower —
a summer shower —a woman sits alonegazing outside
In flat sunset light
In flat sunset lighta butterfly wanderingdown the city street
now the dragonflies
now the dragonfliescease their mad gyrations...a thin crescent moon
"My snow!" -- when I think that,
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"My snow!" -- when I think that,it weighs almost nothingon my umbrella-hat.
This snow is mine
This snow is minethinking that way it seems lighteron your sedge hat
A man that eats
A man that eatshis meal amidst morning gloriesthat's what I am!
What a beautiful moon! It casts
What a beautiful moon! It caststhe shadow of pine boughsupon the mats.
Nightingale's body
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Nightingale's bodyhanging upside downfirst song of the new year
Puppet
Puppetbanging on a taiko drumblossom-viewing party
A waterfall of sake
A waterfall of sakeand cool barley noodles rain downfrom heaven!
If a rich man
If a rich manis what you mean to be. Thenforget the autumn evening too
As a fine horse gallops
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As a fine horse gallops20,000 poems are housefliesscattered in the wind
Tonic for summer-heat
Tonic for summer-heata dog licks it upand climbs the cloud peaks
A single bell
A single bellyou sell at least one each dayspring in Edo
A summer storm suddenly
A summer storm suddenlythe one who peers outsidethe woman
Above the sea
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Above the seaa rainbow, erased bya flock of swallows
In the Emperor's bed,
In the Emperor's bed,the smell of burnt mosquitoes,and erotic whispers
A single yam leaf
A single yam leafcontains the entire lifeof a water drop
Over the long road
Over the long roadthe flower-bringer follows:plentiful moonlight
I begin each day
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I begin each daywith breakfast greens and teaand morning glories
Riding the wide leaf
Riding the wide leafof the banana-treethe tree-frog clings
There goes a beggar
There goes a beggarnaked except for his robesof heaven and earth!
Lightning-play—
Lightning-play—that yesterday was in the eastis in the west today
Her mate devoured
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Her mate devouredby the cat, the cricket's wifemust be mourning
On Buddha's birthday
On Buddha's birthdaythe orphaned boy will becomethe temple's child
O Great Buddha,
O Great Buddha,your lap must be filling withthese flowers of snow
Such a beautiful face
Such a beautiful facethe pheasant scratches itwith jagged spurs
Unwrap the cotton
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Unwrap the cottonthey are older toofaces on the hina dolls
In Kyomachi
In Kyomachia cat prowling for loveheads for Ageyamachi
The full autumn moon
The full autumn moonon this straw matpine tree shadow
Pillars of mosquitoes
Pillars of mosquitoesa floating bridge of dreamsspans across
This wooden gate
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This wooden gateshuts me out for the nightwinter moon
The hoarse voice of
The hoarse voice ofa monkey, but its teeth are shiny whitemountain peak and moon
Kagura dance at night
Kagura dance at nightthe performer's breath whiteinside his mask
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Ome Shushiki(1669-1725)
Ome Shushiki was a student of Kikaku, a dis-ciple of Basho, who made her name as a haikupoet at age thirteen, when she wrote a poemabout the cherry blossoms at a temple andfastened it to the branch of a tree.
After Dream
After dream,how realthe iris
The Cherry Tree
Be careful! Be careful!Of the cherry tree by the wellYou're drunk with sake!
Yosa Buson(1716-1783)
Yosa Buson, or Yosa no Buson, was a Japanesepoet and painter from the Edo period. Alongwith Matsuo Basho and Kobayashi Issa, Busonis considered among the greatest poets of theEdo Period.
Running out of the nets
Running out of the nets,running out of the nets,the water, the moon
Spring rain
Spring rain:telling stories,a straw coat and umbrella walk past
Delight
Delight of crossing a summer river,sandals in hand
light of the moon
light of the moonmoves west - flowers' shadowscreep eastward
A camellia drops
A camellia dropsand spills yesterday’s rain
Haiku
Departing springhesitates,in the late cherry blossoms
Haiku
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The seashore temple...Incoming rollers flow in timeTo the holy flute.
Washing the hoe
Washing the hoe—ripples on the water;far off, wild ducks.
Haiku
The winter river;down it come floatingflowers offered to Buddha.
They end their flight
They end their flightone by one—-crows at dusk.
a rat approaches
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a rat approachesthe freezing oilof the lamp
Straw sandal half sunk
Straw sandal half sunkin an old pondin the sleety snow.
Ploughing the land
Ploughing the land—not even a bird singingin the mountain's shadow.
The old man
The old mancutting barley—bent like a sickle.
The willow leaves fallen
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The willow leaves fallen,the spring gone dry,rocks here and there.
The end of spring
The end of spring—the poet is broodingabout editors.
Old well
Old well,a fish leaps—dark sound.
The behavior of the pigeon
The behavior of the pigeonis beyond reproach,but the mountain cuckoo?
Dawn
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Dawn—fish the cormorants haven't caughtswimming in the shallows.
My arm for a pillow
My arm for a pillow,I really like myselfunder the hazy moon.
Harvest moon
Harvest moon—called at his house,he was digging potatoes.
Sparrow singing
Sparrow singing—its tiny mouthopen.
Not quite dark yet
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Not quite dark yetand the stars shiningabove the withered fields.
Variations on 'The short night--'
The short night—on the hairy caterpillarbeads of dew.
The short night—patrolmenwashing in the river.
The short night—bubbles of crab frothamong the river reeds.
The short night—a broom thrown awayon the beach.
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The short night—the Oi Riverhas sunk two feet.
The short night—on the outskirts of the villagea small shop opening.
The short night—broken, in the shallows,a crescent moon.
The short night—the peonyhas opened.
The short night—waves beating in,an abandoned fire.
The short night—near the pillowa screen turning silver.
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The short night—shallow footprintson the beach at Yui.
Early summer rain
Early summer rain—houses facing the river,two of them.
Evening wind
Evening wind:water lapsthe heron's legs.
The spring sea rising
The spring sea risingand falling, risingand falling all day.
Lighting one candle
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Lighting one candlewith another candle—spring evening.
White blossoms of the pear
White blossoms of the pearand a woman in moonlightreading a letter.
Listening to the moon
Listening to the moon,gazing at the croaking of frogsin a field of ripe rice.
Blown from the west
Blown from the west,fallen leaves gatherin the east.
Buying leeks
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Buying leeksand walking homeunder the bare trees.
A bat flits
A bat flitsin moonlightabove the plum blossoms.
Blow of an ax
Blow of an ax,pine scent,the winter woods.
His Holiness the Abbot
His Holiness the Abbotis shittingin the withered fields.
Calligraphy of geese
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Calligraphy of geeseagainst the sky—the moon seals it.
He's on the porch
He's on the porch,to escape the wife and kids—how hot it is!
Before the white chrysanthemum
Before the white chrysanthemumthe scissors hesitatea moment.
Coolness
Coolness—the sound of the bellas it leaves the bell.
Elegy to the Old Man Hokuju
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You left in the morning, at evening my heart isin athousand pieces.Why is it so far away?
Thinking of you, I go up on the hill andwander.Around the hill, why is it such a sadness?
Dandelions yellow and shepherds-pu rseblooming white —not anyone to look at them.
I hear a pheasant, calling and calling fervently.Once a friend was there across the river, living.
Ghostly smoke rises and fades away with awest windstrong in fields of small bamboo grasses andreedy fields.Nowhere to leave for.
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Once a friend was there across the river, living,but todaynot even a bird sings a song.
You left in the morning, at evening my heart isin athousand pieces.Why is it so far away?
In my grass hut by the Amida image I light nocandle,offer no flowers, and only sit here alone.This evening, how invaluable it is.
Priest Busonwith a thousand bowings
Hokku Poems in Four Seasons
Spring
The year's first poem done,with smug self confidencea haikai poet.
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Longer has become the daytime;a pheasant is flutteringdown onto the bridge.
Yearning for the Bygones
Lengthening days,accumulating , and recallingthe days of distant past.
Slowly passing days,with an echo heard here in acorner of Kyoto.
The white elbowof a priest, dozing,in the dusk of spring.
Into a nobleman,a fox has changed himselfearly evening of spring.
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The light on a candle standis transferred to another candlespring twilight.
A short nap,then awakeningthis spring day has darkened.
Who is it for,this pillow on the floor,in the twilight of spring?
The big gateway's heavy doors,standing in the dusk of spring.
Hazy moonlight —someone is standingamong the pear trees.
Blossoms on the pear tree,lighten by the moonlight, and therea woman is reading a letter.
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Springtime rain — almost dark,and yet today still lingers.
Springtime rain —a little shell on a small beach,enough to moisten it.
Springtime rain is falling,as a child's rag ball is soakingwet on the house roof.
Summer
Within the quietnessof a lull in visitors' absence,appears the peony flower!
Peony having scattered, twoor three petals lie on one another.
The rain of May —facing toward the big river, houses,just two of them.
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At a Place Called Kaya in Tanba
A summer river being crossed,how pleasing,with sandals in my hands!
The mountain stonecutter' s chisel;being cooled in the clear water.
Grasses wet in the rain,just after the festival cart passed by.
To my eyes how delightfulthe fan of my beloved is,in complete white.
A flying cuckoo,over the Heian capital,goes diagonally across the city.
Evening breeze —water is slapping againstthe legs of a blue heron.
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An old well —jumping at a mosquito,the fish's sound is dark.
Young bamboo trees —at Hashimoto, the courtesan,is she still there or not?
After having been fallen,its image still stands —the peony flower.
Stepping on the Eastern Slope
Wild roses in bloom —so like a pathway in,or toward, my home village.
With sorrow while coming upon the hill—flowering wild roses.
Summer night ending so soon,with on the river shallows still remainsthe moon in a sliver.
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Autumn
It penetrates into me;stepping on the comb of my gone wife,in the bedroom.
More than last year,I now feel solitude;this autumn twilight.
This being alone may even be a kind of happy— in the autumn dusk.
Moon in the sky's top,clearly passes through thispoor town street.
This feeling of sadness —a fishing string being blown by the autumnwind.
Winter
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Let myself go to bed;New Year's Day is only a matterfor tomorrow.
Camphor tree roots are quietly getting wet,in the winter rainy air.
A handsaw is sounding,as if from a poor one,at midnight in this winter.
Old man's love affair;in trying to forget it,a winter rainfall.
In an old pond,a straw sandal is sinking— it is sleeting.
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Takai Kito(1741-1789)
a mountain temple
a mountain temple—clear water runningunder the verandahmoss at the sides
springtime goes away
"Marvelous!" I say,as I watch, now this, now that --and the springtime goes away.
Morning glories -on little feetflea bites
A tumble
A tumble, fall, crash,then silence—cats in love
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Taigu Ryokan(1758-1831)
When he was eighteen years old Ryokan metthe Zen Master Kokusen and accompanied himto the Entsu-Ji temple in Tamashima where hebecame a Buddhist monk. Ryokan excelled athis monastic studies and was offered the posi-tion of head of the monastery when Kokusendied. But he rejected both the position and thetitle of Master, electing to instead wander thecountryside of Japan, begging and writingpoetry.
To Kindle A Fire
To kindle a fire,the autumn winds have pileda few dead leaves.
begging
today's begging is finished; at the crossroadsi wander by the side of hachiman shrinetalking with some children.last year, a foolish monk;this year, no change!
Down In The Village
Down in the villagethe din offlute and drum,here deep in the mountaineverywhere the sound of the pines.
The Winds Have Died
The winds have died, but flowers go on falling;birds call, but silence penetrates each song.
The Mystery! Unknowable, unlearnable.The virtue of Kannon.
The Lotus
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First blooming in the Western Paradise,The lotus has delighted us for ages.Its white petals are covered with dew,its jade green leaves spread out over the pond,And its pure fragrance perfumes the wind.Cool and majestic, it raises from the murkywater.The sun sets behind the mountainsBut I remain in the darkness, too captivated toleave.
Orchid
Deep in the valley, a beauty hides:Serene, peerless, incomparably sweet.In the still shade of the bamboo thicketIt seems to sigh softly for a lover.
The Plants And Flowers
The plants and flowersI raised about my hutI now surrender
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To the willOf the wind
Rise Above
you must rise abovethe gloomy cloudscovering the mountaintopotherwise, how will youever see the brightness?
You Stop To Point At The Moon InThe Sky
You stop to point at the moon in the sky,but the finger's blind unless the moon isshining.
One moon, one careless finger pointing --are these two things or one?
The question is a pointer guidinga novice from ignorance thick as fog.
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Look deeper. The mystery calls and calls:No moon, no finger -- nothing there at all.
First Days Of Spring - The sky
First days of Spring-the skyis bright blue, the sun huge and warm.Everything's turning green.Carrying my monk's bowl, I walk to the villageto beg for my daily meal.The children spot me at the temple gateand happily crowd around,dragging to my arms till I stop.I put my bowl on a white rock,hang my bag on a branch.First we braid grasses and play tug-of-war,then we take turns singing and keeping a kick-ball in the air:I kick the ball and they sing, they kick and Ising.Time is forgotten, the hours fly.People passing by point at me and laugh:
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"Why are you acting like such a fool?"I nod my head and don't answer.I could say something, but why?Do you want to know what's in my heart?From the beginning of time: just this! just this!
The Thief Left It Behind
The thief left it behind:the moonat my window.
You Do Not Need Many Things
My house is buried in the deepest recess of theforestEvery year, ivy vines grow longer than the yearbefore.Undisturbed by the affairs of the world I live atease,Woodmen’s singing rarely reaching methrough the trees.While the sun stays in the sky, I mend my torn
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clothesAnd facing the moon, I read holy texts aloud tomyself.Let me drop a word of advice for believers ofmy faith.To enjoy life’s immensity, you do not needmany things.
White Hair
Though frost come down,Night after nightWhat does it matter?They melt in the morning sun.Though the snow fallsEach passing year,What does it matter?With spring days it thaws.Yet once let them settleOn a man’s head,Fall and pile up-Then the New Year
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May come and go,But never you’ll see them fade away.
This World
This worldA fadingMountain echoVoid andUnreal
WithinA light snowThree Thousand RealmsWithin those realmsLight snow falls
As the snowEngulfs my hutAt duskMy heart, tooIs completely consumed
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Dreams
in this dream worldwe dozeand talk of dreams --dream, dream on,as much as you wish
The Way Of The Holy Fool
At the crossroads this year, afterbegging all dayI lingered at the village temple.Children gather round me andwhisper,"The crazy monk has come backto play."
At Master Do's Country House
Two miles from town, I meet an old woodcut-terand we travel the road lined with huge pines.
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The smell of wild plum blossomsdrifts across the valley.My walking stick has brought us home.In the ancient pond – huge, contented fish.Long sunbeams penetrate the deep woods.And in the house – a long bedall covered with poetry books.I loosen my belt and robes,copy phrase after phrase for my poems.At twilight, I walk to the east wing –spring quail startle into the air.
Tramping for miles I come upon a farm houseas the great ball of sun sets in the forest.Sparrows gather near a bamboo thicket,flutter about in the closing dark.From across a field comes a farmerwho calls a greeting from afar.He tells his wife to strain their cloudy wineand treats me to his garden's feast.Sitting across table we drink each other'shealth
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our talk rising to the heavens.Both of us are so tipsy and happywe forget the rules of this world.
Too confused to ever earn a livingI've learned to let things have their way.With only three handfuls of rice in my bagand a few branches by my firesideI pursue neither right or wrongand forget worldly fortune and fame.This damp night under a grassy roofI stretch out my legs without regrets.
Slopes Of Mount Kugami
Slopesof Mount Kugami—in the mountain's shadea hut beneath the trees—how many yearsit's been my home?The time comesto take leave of it—
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my thoughts wiltlike summer grasses,I wander back and forthlike the evening star—till that hut of mineis hidden from sight,till that grove of treescan no longer be seen,at each bendof the long road,at every turning,I turn to look backin the direction of that mountain.
Reply To A Friend
In stubborn stupidity, I live on alonebefriended by trees and herbs.Too lazy to learn right from wrong,I laugh at myself, ignoring others.Lifting my bony shanks, I cross the stream,a sack in my hand, blessed by spring weather.
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Living thus, I want for nothing,at peace with all the world.
Your finger points to the moon,but the finger is blind until the moon appears.What connection has moon and finger?Are they separate objects or bound?This is a question for beginnerswrapped in seas of ignorance.Yet one who looks beyond metaphorknows there is no finger; there is no moon.
Stretched Out
Stretched out,Tipsy,Under the vast sky:Splendid dreamsBeneath the cherry blossoms.
No Luck Today On My MendicantRounds
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No luck today on my mendicant rounds;From village to village I dragged myself.At sunset I find myself with miles of moun-tainsbetween me and my hut.The wind tears at my frail body,And my little bowl looks so forlorn --Yes this is my chosen path that guides meThrough disappointment and pain, cold andhunger.
Midsummer
Midsummer --I walk about with my staff.Old farmers spot meAnd call me over for a drink.We sit in the fieldsusing leaves for plates.Pleasantly drunk and so happyI drift off peacefullySprawled out on a paddy bank.
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For Children Killed In A SmallpoxEpidemic
When spring arrivesFrom every tree tipFlowers will bloom,But those childrenWho fell with last autumn’s leavesWill never return.
Returning To My Native Village
Returning to my native village after manyyears’ absence:I'll I put up at a country inn and listen to therain.One robe, one bowl is all I have.I light incense and strain to sit in meditation;All night a steady drizzle outside the darkwindow --Inside, poignant memories of these long yearsof pilgrimage.
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Three Thousand Worlds
The Three Thousand Worldsthat step forwardwith the light snow,and the light snow that fallsin those Three Thousand Worlds
Have You Forgotten Me
have you forgotten meor lost the path here?i wait for youall day, every daybut you do not appear.
The Wind Has Settled
The wind has settled, the blossoms have fallen;Birds sing, the mountains grow dark --This is the wondrous power of Buddhism.
Like The Little Stream
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Like the little streamMaking its wayThrough the mossy crevicesI, too, quietlyTurn clear and transparent.
No Mind
With no mind, flowers lure thebutterfly;With no mind, the butterfly visitsthe blossoms.Yet when flowers bloom, the butterflycomes;When the butterfly comes, theflowers bloom.
Yes, I’m Truly A Dunce
Yes, I’m truly a dunceLiving among trees and plants.Please don’t question me about illusion andenlightenment --
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This old fellow just likes to smile to himself.I wade across streams with bony legs,And carry a bag about in fine spring weather.That’s my life,And the world owes me nothing.
In The Morning
In the morning, bowing to all;In the evening, bowing to all.Respecting others is my only duty--Hail to the Never-despising Bodhisattva.
In heaven and earth he stands alone.
A real monkNeedsOnly one thing--a heart likeNever-despising Buddha.
In My Youth I Put Aside My Studies
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In my youth I put aside my studiesAnd I aspired to be a saint.Living austerely as a mendicant monk,I wandered here and there for many springs.Finally I returned home to settle under acraggy peak.I live peacefully in a grass hut,Listening to the birds for music.Clouds are my best neighbors.Below a pure spring where I refresh body andmind;Above, towering pines and oaks that provideshade and brushwood.Free, so free, day after day --I never want to leave!
Too Lazy To Be Ambitious
Too lazy to be ambitious,I let the world take care of itself.Ten days' worth of rice in my bag;a bundle of twigs by the fireplace.
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Why chatter about delusion and enlighten-ment?Listening to the night rain on my roof,I sit comfortably, with both legs stretched out.
How Can I Possibly Sleep
How can I possibly sleepThis moonlit evening?Come, my friends,Let’s sing and danceAll night long.
When All Thoughts
When all thoughtsAre exhaustedI slip into the woodsAnd gatherA pile of shepherd’s purse.
In A Dilapidated Three-Room Hut
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In a dilapidated three-room hutI’ve grown old and tired;This winter cold is theWorst I’ve ever suffered through.I sip thin gruel, waiting for theFreezing night to pass.Can I last until spring finally arrives?Unable to beg for rice,How will I survive the chill?Even meditation helps no longer;Nothing left to do but compose poemsIn memory of deceased friends.
When I Was A Lad
When I was a lad,I sauntered about town as a gay blade,Sporting a cloak of the softest down,And mounted on a splendid chestnut-colouredhorse.During the day, I galloped to the city;At night, I got drunk on peach blossoms by the
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river.I never cared about returning home,Usually ending up, with a big smile on my face,at a pleasure pavilion!
Wild Roses
Wild roses,Plucked from fieldsFull of croaking frogs:Float them in your wineAnd enjoy every minute!
Teishin
“When, when?” I sighed.The one I longed forHas finally come;With her now,I have all that I need.
My Cracked Wooden Bowl
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This treasure was discovered in a bamboothicket --I washed the bowl in a spring and then men-ded it.After morning meditation, I take my gruel init;At night, it serves me soup or rice.Cracked, worn, weather-beaten, and mis-shapenBut still of noble stock!
Blending With The Wind
Blending with the wind,Snow falls;Blending with the snow,The wind blows.By the hearthI stretch out my legs,Idling my time awayConfined in this hut.Counting the days,
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I find that February, too,Has come and goneLike a dream.
My legacy
My legacy --What will it be?Flowers in spring,The cuckoo in summer,And the crimson maplesOf autumn...
To My Teacher
An old grave hidden away at the foot of adeserted hill,Overrun with rank weeds growing uncheckedyear after year;There is no one left to tend the tomb,And only an occasional woodcutter passes by.Once I was his pupil, a youth with shaggy hair,Learning deeply from him by the Narrow
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River.One morning I set off on my solitary journeyAnd the years passed between us in silence.Now I have returned to find him at rest here;How can I honor his departed spirit?I pour a dipper of pure water over his tomb-stoneAnd offer a silent prayer.The sun suddenly disappears behind the hillAnd I’m enveloped by the roar of the wind inthe pines.I try to pull myself away but cannot;A flood of tears soaks my sleeves.
At Dusk
at duski often climbto the peak of kugami.deer bellow,their voicessoaked up by
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piles of maple leaveslying undisturbed atthe foot of the mountain.
I Watch People In The World
I watch people in the worldThrow away their lives lusting after things,Never able to satisfy their desires,Falling into deeper despairAnd torturing themselves.Even if they get what they wantHow long will they be able to enjoy it?For one heavenly pleasureThey suffer ten torments of hell,Binding themselves more firmly to the grind-stone.Such people are like monkeysFrantically grasping for the moon in the waterAnd then falling into a whirlpool.How endlessly those caught up in the floatingworld suffer.
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Despite myself, I fret over them all nightAnd cannot staunch my flow of tears.
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Kobayashi Issa(1763-1828)
Kobayashi Issa, was a Japanese poet known forhis haiku poems and journals. He is regardedas one of the four haiku masters in Japan,along with Basho, Buson and Shiki. Reflectingthe popularity and interest in Issa as man andpoet, Japanese books on Issa outnumber thoseon Buson, and almost equal those on Basho.
Oh snail
Oh snail,climb Mt. Fuji,but slowly, slowly
a world of dew
The world of dew is, yes,a world of dew,but even so
With my father
With my fatherI would watch dawnover green fields.
Under my house
Under my housean inchwormmeasuring the joists.
Seen
Seenthrough a telescope:ten cents worth of fog.
Not very anxious
Not very anxiousto bloom,my plum tree.
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Under the image of Buddha
Under the image of Buddhaall these spring flowersseem a little tiresome.
This moth saw brightness
This moth saw brightnessin a woman's chamber—burnt to a crisp.
Visiting the graves
Visiting the graves,the old dogleads the way.
The crow
The crowwalks along thereas if it were tilling the field.
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Not knowing
Not knowingit's a tub they're inthe fish cooling at the gate.
That wren
That wren—looking here, looking there.You lose something?
That pretty girl
That pretty girl—munching and rustlingthe wrapped-up rice cake.
These sea slugs
These sea slugs -they just don't seemJapanese.
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The man pulling radishes
The man pulling radishespointed my waywith a radish.
What a strange thing
What a strange thing!to be alivebeneath cherry blossoms.
Pissing in the snow
Pissing in the snowoutside my door—it makes a very straight hole.
My dear old village
My dear old village,every memory of homepierces like a thorn
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In the thicket's shade
In the thicket's shadea woman by herselfsinging the rice-planting song.
No doubt about it
No doubt about it,the mountain cuckoois a crybaby.
The moon tonight
The moon tonight—I even missher grumbling.
Face of the spring moon
Face of the spring moon—about twelve years old,I'd say.
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Summer night
Summer night—even the starsare whispering to each other.
It once happened
It once happenedthat a child was spared punishmentthrough earnest solicitation.
Last time, I think
Last time, I think,I'll brush the fliesfrom my father's face.
New Year's Day
New Year's Day—everything is in blossom!I feel about average.
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Windy fall
At my daughter's grave, thirty daysafter her death:Windy fall—these are the scarlet flowersshe liked to pick.
Even on the smallest islands
Even on the smallest islands,they are tilling the fields,skylarks singing.
Napped half the day
Napped half the day;no onepunished me!
Hey, sparrow!
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Hey, sparrow!out of the way,Horse is coming.
How much
How muchare you enjoying yourself,tiger moth?
I'm going out
I'm going out,flies, so relax,make love.
New Year's morning
New Year's morning:the ducks on the pondquack and quack.
Even with insects
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Even with insects—some can sing,some can't.
In this world
In this worldwe walk on the roof of hell,gazing at flowers.
In these latter-day
In these latter-day,Degenerate times,Cherry-blossoms everywhere!
In spring rain
In spring raina pretty girlyawning.
The pheasant cries
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The pheasant criesas if it just noticedthe mountain.
The snow is melting
The snow is meltingand the village is floodedwith children.
Don't know about the people
Approaching my village:Don't know about the people,but all the scarecrowsare crooked.
Napping at midday
Napping at middayI hear the song of rice plantersand feel ashamed of myself.
Blossoms at night
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Blossoms at night,and the faces of peoplemoved by music.
A bath when you're born
His death poem:A bath when you're born,a bath when you die,how stupid.
The toad! It looks like
The toad! It looks likeit could belcha cloud.
Children imitating cormorants
Children imitating cormorantsare even more wonderfulthan cormorants.
Ducks bobbing on the water
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Ducks bobbing on the water—are they also, tonight,hoping to get lucky?
A huge frog and I
A huge frog and I,staring at each other,neither of us moves.
Having slept, the cat gets up
Having slept, the cat gets up,yawns, goes outto make love.
A cuckoo sings
A cuckoo singsto me, to the mountain,to me, to the mountain.
Don't worry, spiders
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Don't worry, spiders,I keep housecasually.
Asked how old he was
Asked how old he was,the boy in the new kimonostretched out all five fingers.
About new snow
Writing shit about new snowfor the richis not art.
Don't Kill That Fly!
Look, don't kill that fly!It is making a prayer to youBy rubbing its hands and feet.
All the time I pray to Buddha
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All the time I pray to BuddhaI keep onkilling mosquitoes.
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Masaoka Shiki(1867-1902)
Shiki was born in Matsuyama on September17, 1867 to Tsunenao, a low ranking samuraiand Yae the daughter of Oharo Kanzan, ateacher at the feudal clan school. His realname was Tsunenori, but he was calledNoboru as a child. Shiki, lost his father at theage of five and Kanzan took over his educationand educated him in the Chinese Classics.
the tree cut
the tree cut,dawn breaks earlyat my little window
Winter moonlight
Winter moonlight;The shadow of the stone pagoda,The shadow of the pine-tree.
just outside the gate
just outside the gatethe road slopes downwardwinter trees
the sky draws near
the sky draws nearsuch a bright sunriseNew Year's Day
the castle
spring breezeshow off the castleabove the pine tree
behind the stand
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behind the standof winter treesa red sunset
I want to sleep
I want to sleepSwat the fliesSoftly, please.
lights
lightsfar way, throughleaves of dense autumnal tints
fanning out its tail
fanning out its tailin the spring breeze,see-a peacock!
following
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followingclouds torn apartautumn wind
looking down I see
looking down I see,cool in the moonlight,4000 houses
Evening snow falling
Evening snow falling,a pair of mandarin duckson an ancient lake.
It is cold
It is cold, butwe have sakeand the hot spring
Devotion to the Great Saint
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Devotion to the Great Saint,the temple of Ishite…rice plants abloom.
With a bull on board
With a bull on board,the ferry boat,through the winter rain.
The summer river
The summer river:although there is a bridge, my horsegoes through the water.
Matsuyama castle
Matsuyama castlethe keep is higher thanthe autumn sky
New Year's Day
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New Year's Dayhas come -quiet streets
The year begins
The year beginson New Year's dayour life is Now
in the coolness
in the coolnessgods and Buddhasdwell as neighbors
snow's falling
snow's falling!I see it through a holein the shutter…
how much longer
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how much longeris my life?a brief night…
By the ruined mansion
By the ruined mansion,Fowls roamingAmong the hibiscus
Full sail
Full sail, reefed sailhow far do you go?fresh summer gale
One by one
One by oneletting the cool breeze through:finger holes of the flute
lifting my head
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lifting my head,I look now and then-the garden clover
the wallet
the walletby the bed is myautumn brocade
my remaining days
my remaining daysare numbereda brief night
the setting sun
the setting sunremains on the mountaincastle flowering rice
fortune
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(Alas my) fortune;drawing divine lots,the autumn wind.
the gourd flowers bloom
the gourd flowers bloom,but look-here liesa phlegm-stuffed Buddha!
even snake gourds
hey!-even snake gourdsbecome Buddhas-don't get caught behind!
I sink my teeth
I sink my teethinto a ripe persimmon-it dribbles down my beard
The desolation of winter
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The desolation of winter;passing through a small hamlet,a dog barks.
Fallen leaves
Fallen leavesCome flying from elsewhere:Autumn is ending.
We cannot see
We cannot see even the moon.And rise big waves.
castle hill
castle hillhigh abovebreezy green
It's a boy
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It's a boyafter five daughterscarp streamers
New Year's greetings
New Year's greetingswith a plum branchin hand
it's drizzling
it's drizzling…devil's tongue, cold onmy belly button
The tepid rain
The tepid rain fallsOn the bare thorn.
through a growth
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through a growth of weedsruns an open pathbaseball diamond
May rain
May rainfalls as if fallinginto a sleep
old garden-she empties
old garden-she emptiesa hot-water bottleunder the moon
cockscombs
cockscombs…must be 14,or 15
I thought I felt
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I thought I felta dewdrop on meas I lay in bed
chestnut rice
chestnut rice-though a sick man,still a glutton
The dead body
The dead bodyOf a trodden-on crab,This autumn morning
Mountains in spring
Mountains in springoverlapping each otherall round
my fate
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my fate,a fortune tells- autumn wind
the bright moon
the bright moonI wonder where the cloudsare flying off to
Weary of reading
Weary of readingI go out into a fielda hazy field
getting a shave
getting a shave!on a day when Ueno's bellis blurred by haze…
the peony seems
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the peony seemsto think itself Yokihias she awakes
surprise
surprise!a moonflower fell-midnight sound
My hometown
My hometownwherever I lookmountains laugh with vendure
blooming azaleas
blooming azaleasin a hollow on a cliffa Buddha stands
summer storm
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summer stormwhite paper on the deskall flies away
summer mountain
summer mountainall creatures are greena red bridge
coldness
coldnesslooking down from aboveMatsuyama Castle
Facing away from me
Facing away from meDarning old tabi –My wife.
in the coolness
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in the coolnessof the empty sixth-month sky…the cuckoo's cry.
minazuki nokok ni suzushihototogisu
How cool it is
How cool it is!A small crab, in the rain,Climbs on a pine.
relieved of a burden
relieved of a burdenin the everyday lifean afternoon nap
hydrangeas (2)
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hydrangeas —-rain splashing uponthe crumbling walls
The wild geese
The wild geese take flightLow along the railroad tracksIn the moonlight night
Having felled
Having felledA pasania tree,-the sky of autumn.
The cannon rolls
The cannon rolls its rumble.Leaf buds of a tree.
sounds of a temple bell
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sounds of a temple bellreverberate in a circlea long night
winter camellia
winter camelliaI wish I could offer itto the sooty Buddha
the stars vanished
the stars vanishedand then —five-colored New Year's mist
Mi-no-ue ya
Mi-no-ue ya
mi-kuji o hikeba
aki no kaze.
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the moon is cool
the moon is cool-frogs' croakingwells up
crimson plum blossoms
crimson plum blossomsscattered over the lonelinessof the bed…
fallen petals
fallen petals ofthe crimson plum I pluckfrom the tatami
Buddha-death
Buddha-death:the moonflower's face,the snake gourd's fart
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The luffa flowered
The luffa flowered.I am a soulChoked with phlegm.
Mountains are
Mountains areyellow green, pale yellow-a cuckoo cries
Haiku 11
rice reaping—no smoke rising fromthe cremation ground today
Oppressive heat
Oppressive heat —My whirling mindListens to the peals of thunder.
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the pear blossoming
the pear blossoming—after the battle thisruined house
pine and cypress
pine and cypress:in a withered field,a shrine to Fudo
the nettle nuts are falling
the nettle nuts are falling…the little girls next doordon't visit me these days
Only the gate
Only the gateof the abbey is left,on the winter moor.
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biting into a bitter weed
biting into a bitter weedalone I bearmy feelings
Ten year's sweat
Ten year's sweatwashed awayback at Dogo Onsen
something in my breast
the bright moonsomething in my breastI am alone
New Year's decoration
New Year's decoration –the table with my inkstonebecomes narrow
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I turn my back
I turn my backon Buddha and facethe cool moon
open the shutter
open the shutter!I'll just have a lookat Ueno's snow!
Spring frost
Spring frostdancing in the aira shimmer of heat
at the root
at the rootof a pine treelight lavender violet
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cherry blossom petals
cherry blossom petalsblown by the spring breezeagainst the undried wall
Locusts fly low
Locusts fly lowover the leveein the fading sunshine
hometown
hometown -festivals are overflavorful persimmons
crimson sunset
crimson sunseteven through cloudsvernal equinox
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Pain from coughing
Pain from coughingthe long night's lamp flamesmall as a pea
My heart
My heartwithering in winteronly the hokku…
entangled with
entangled withthe scattering cherry blossoms-the wings of birds!
pruning a rose
pruning a rosesound of the scissorson a bright May day
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Namu Daishi
Namu Daishi
Ishite no tera ya
ine no hana.
The snake gourd blossoms
The snake gourd blossoms.My throat blocked with phlegm,I am already a Buddha.
The storm
The stormDuring half-dayHas broken the stem of mallow.
my hometown
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my hometownmany cousins-peach blossoms
I am going
I am goingyou're stayingtwo autumns for us
morning coolness
morning coolnesspurple clouds arevanishing
Oh, autumn
Oh, autumnin the boundless world!its traces
rice reaping
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rice reaping-no smoke rising fromthe cremation ground today
my hometown
my hometownparents are welltaste of sushi
sponge gourd has
sponge gourd has bloomedchoked by phlegma departed soul
clouds're running past
clouds're running pastrunning after cloudsthe Storm Day
autumn is leaving
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autumn is leavingtugging each others' branchestwo pine trees
One fell
One fell,-two fell,-camellias.
Haiku 08
I turn my backon Buddha and facethe cool moon
Thawed out pond
Thawed out pond.A shrimp movesAmong old algae.
stillness
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stillness - -fireflies are glowing overdeep water
on a stormy night
on a stormy nightwhile reading a letterwavering mind
When the loofah bloomed
When the loofah bloomedHe choked on phlegmAnd died.
The Great Buddha
The Great Buddhasinking in its whiteness:cherry blossom cloud
rowing through
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rowing throughout of the mistthe wide sea
wisteria plumes
wisteria plumessweep the earth, and soonthe rains will fall
spring breeze
spring breezeshow off the castleabove the pine tree
Autumn wind
Autumn wind -met, returning aliveyou and me
with advancing autumn
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with advancing autumnI am without godswithout Buddha
perching on a mud wall
perching on a mud wallin the spring raina crow
two rainbows
two rainbowshave risen overthe green paddy field
peeling a pear
peeling a pearsweet drops drippingalong the knife edge
splitting wood
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splitting woodmy sister alone -wintering
Haiku 12
old garden—she emptiesa hot-water bottleunder the moon
wheat sowing
wheat sowing-the mulberry treeslift bunched branches
rice flowers
rice flowers-fair weather onDokanyama
two or three rocks
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two or three rocksstrewn aboutdried up field
Haiku 09
the moon is cool—frogs' croakingwells up
Smoke whirls
Smoke whirlsAfter the passage of a train.Young foliage.
Horyuji
I bite into a persimmonand a bell resounds-Horyuji
On the sandy beach
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On the sandy beach,footprints:long is the spring day.
Tanka 02
the plaintain at the veranda's edgeunfolds its coiled leaves,its jewels,and veils the water basinin five feet of green
Tanka 08
to every needleof the needled pine it clings—the pearl white dew,forming but to scatter,scattering but to form
Double cherry blossoms
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Double cherry blossomsFlutter in the windOne petal after another.
Night
Night; and once again,the while I wait for you, cold windturns into rain.
leaving me
leaving mesomething on my chesttears on my mosquito net
hydrangeas
hydrangeaspale blue in the rainblue in the moonlight
Moon and plum blossoms
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Moon and plum blossoms:night after nightthey come closer
Tanka 07
on the pine needles,each of the slender needles,a dewdrop rests—a thousand pearls liequivering, yet never fall
Haiku 10
fanning out its tailin the spring breeze,see—a peacock!
On how to sing
On how to singthe frog school and the skylark schoolare arguing.
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purple unto
purple untoblackness:grapes!
The singing stopped
The singing stoppeda flying cicadaI saw it!
coolness
coolness-a mountain stream splashes outbetween houses
moon at twilight
moon at twilight,a cluster of petals fallingfrom the cherry tree
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Tanka 04
In the spring chill,as I slept with sword by pillow,deep at nightmy little sister came to mein dreams from home.
loneliness
lonelinessafter the fireworksstars' shooting
looking
looking throughthree thousand haiku eatingtwo persimmons
For love and for hate
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For love and for hateI swat a fly and offer itto an ant.
Tanka 11
I remember pluckingbuds of bush cloverlong ago withSatsuma geta on my feet anda walking stick in my hand
Tanka 12
in memory ofthe spring now passingI drewthe long clusters of wisteriathat move like waves
Lotus leaves in the pond
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Lotus leaves in the pondRide on water.Rain in June.
Haiku 05
entangled withthe scattering cherry blossoms—the wings of birds!
Tanka 06
the bucket's waterpoured out and gone,drop by dropdew drips like pearlsfrom the autumn flowers
Haiku 06
wheat sowing—the mulberry treeslift bunched branches
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Tanka 09
two feet tall,the crimson-budded roses,their young thornstender inthe soft spring rain
at the front gate
at the front gatedropping their headslilies blooming
A stray cat
A stray catexcretingin the winter garden.
almost black
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almost blackdeepening purpleripe grapes
again and again
again and againI ask how highthe snow is
an old pond
an old pond-floating upside downa cicada's shell
an iris
an iriswhiter at twilightMy hometown
Asleep in a boat
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Asleep in a boatI lie side by side with it:the River of Heaven
Haiku 03
scatter layerby layer, eight-layeredcherry blossoms!
at the full moon's
at the full moon'srising, the silver-plumedreeds tremble
A spring day
A spring dayA long line of footprintsOn the sandy beach.
A mountain village
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A mountain villageunder the pilled-up snowthe sound of water.
At the gate
At the gateUnder the oak the shootsSo luxuriant.
aiming
aiming atdeutzia blossomslittle cuckoo
Above a hollow
Above a hollow of rockAn ivy hangs.One small temple.
Haiku 07
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in the coolnessgods and Buddhasdwell as neighbors
a snail
a snailluring rain cloudswith feeler tips
one spoonful
one spoonfulof ice cream brings meback to life
at nightfall
at nightfalla summer moon, white —on the white sail
After killing
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After killinga spider, how lonely I feelin the cold of night!
a yellow green spider
a yellow green spidercrawling ona red rose
a jumble
a jumble offlowers planted-see, the little garden!
Now and again
Now and againit turns to hail;the wind is strong.
Haiku 01
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In the coolnessof the empty sixth-month sky…the cuckoo's cry.
Haiku 04
at the full moon'srising, the silver-plumedreeds tremble
all I can think of
all I can think ofis being sick in bedand snowbound…
A lightning flash
A lightning flash:between the forest treesI have seen water.
an evening breeze
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an evening breezewhite rose petals areall ruggled
a fancy-free cat
a fancy-free catis about to catcha quail
A Willow
A willow;and two or three cowswaiting for the boat.
a quart of phlegm
a quart of phlegm-even gourd watercouldn't mop it up
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tan ittohechima no mizu moma ni awazu
a cock crows
a cock crowsat the foot of the small Mt. Fujipeach blossoms
Tanka 01
curtains drawn,the emperor's lovestill lies abed—on crimson peonies,the morning sun shines
Tanka 05
saw the countryand returned—now deep at nightI lie in bed and
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fields of mustard flowersbloom before my eyes
Haiku 13
spring rain:browsing under an umbrellaat the picture-book store
A light
A lightnewly lit –first winter drizzle
One canary escaped
One canary escaped:the spring dayis at its end.
Under the moonlight
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Under the moonlight, cuckoo cried as if itcoughed up blood.The sad voice kept me waking up,the cry reminded me of my old home town faraway.
the gourd water
they didn't gathergourd waterday before yesterday either
A hundred labourers
A hundred labourersdigging earth—the long day
Tanka 10
I do not know the daymy pain will end yetin the little garden
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I had them plantseeds of autumn flowers
a dog howling
a dog howlingsound of footstepslonger nights
Haiku 02
the tree cut,dawn breaks earlyat my little window
green in the field
green in the fieldwas pounded intorice cake
Tanka 03
190/211
The manI used to meet in the mirroris no more.Now I see a wasted face.It dribbles tears.
a hollyhock
a hollyhockshot up to meetthe summer solstice
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Kyoshi Takahama(1874-1959)
Kyoshi Takahama was a Japanese poet active in Showa period Japan.He was one of the closest disciples of Masaoka Shiki.
a snake slipped away
a snake slipped away.only his eyes having looked at meremain in grass.
when a thing is placed
when a thing is placeda shadow of autumnappears there.
evening shades are thick
evening shades are thickalso in the floating algae.
on the surface
on the surface of the spring beacha circle is largely drawn.
a dog is sleeping
a dog is sleepingholding its head between the legs.house of chrysanthemums.
comes the first butterfly
comes the first butterfly of the year."which colour?""yellow."
i look at the river
i look at the river.a banana skinfalls from my hand.
i caught a petal
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i caught a petal fallen from cherry tree in myhand.opening the fisti find nothing there
they call this flower white peony
they call this flower white peony.yes, buta little red.
girls take sprouts of rice
girls take sprouts of rice.reflection of water flickerson backs of sedge hats.
roots of a large summer tree
roots of a large summer treeon a rockextend in all directions.
194/211
Santoka Taneda(1882-1940)
Santoka Taneda deserted his family and soci-ety and lived his life in pilgrimage. He unitedhimself with nature and composed haiku'sthroughout his life. It is said that he wrote over84,000 haikus during his lifetime.
Wet with morning dew
Wet with morning dewI go in the direction I want
breeze
the breeze from the mountainsin the wind bellmakes me want to live
there is nothing else I can do
there is nothing else I can do;I walk on and on
looking at the mountains
looking at the mountainsall day no needto put on my kasa
dragon flies
The dragon fliesperch on my kasaas I walk along
No more houses
No more houses to beg from;the clouds cover the mountains
The wind in the pines
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The wind in the pinesmorning and eveningcarries the sound of the temple bell
on the water
on the waterthe reflectionof a wanderer
going deeper
going deeperand still deeperthe green mountains
torn and tattered
Daily torn and tatteredturning to shredsmy robe for travelling
mountains
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"Westerners like to conquer mountains;Orientals like to contemplate them.As for me, I like to taste the mountains."
slapping
slapping at the fliesslapping at the mosquitoesslapping at myself
sunset
it may be sunsetbut still there is no innshrikes sing
if I sell my rags
if I sell my ragsand buy some sakewill there still be loneliness
Darkness
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Darknesswet withthe sound of the waves
silently
silentlyI put ontoday’s straw sandals
slightly tips
slightly tips ;the leaves fallone by one
ashes
these few ashesare all that remainof my diary?
I have no home
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I have no homeautumn deepens
Milky Way
the milky wayat midnighta drunkard dances
sleeping
sleeping on a soft futonI dream of my native village
unknown road
today again,soaking wetI walk on an unknown road
daybreak
200/211
daybreakalone I warm myselfin the waters of the hot spring
heart
my heart is weary —the mountains, the seaare too beautiful
picking
pickingthe nameless flowerI offer it to buddha
alone
alonelisteningto a woodpecker
the beauty of the sunset
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yuyake no utsukushisa wa oi o nageku demonaku
the beauty of the sunsetshows no grieffor old age
flowing with water
flowing with waterI walked down to the village
the sunlight freely reflects offmy freshly shaven head
within life and deathsnow falls ceaselessly
I walk in the windsbrightness and darkness
It's likely to be able to pass away
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It's likely to be able to pass awayIn a calm frame of mindIn the fresh green grasses
The morning sky is perfectly clear
The morning sky is perfectly clearA gently flowing cloud is in a straight line
The color of sunset is very beautifulI have just spent modestly my times of today
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Kihachi Ozaki(1892-1974)
Kihachi Ozaki was a Japanese poet active inShowa period Japan.
Winter Field
Now, over the field,evening hangs suspended like a gigantic harp.Frost binds the ridges solemnly severed furrowfrom furrow;the long harp-sound of the wind runs by,one first white starstrikes the highest note.
Winter fades widely, widely like an ancient;though spring is yet far awaypresentiments already hover between heavenand earth.
I step on this late earth that is growing darkand throw seeds from my handoverflowing like the evening sunand heavy because of faith in seeds.
They sinklike stuff that serves deeply,to transform the nights under the groundand enlighten gradually the far daybreak.
A pure and clear condensation is felt.Now, within the greyish silence around,my being is a reverent anthem.
And already hearing(the harvest field like a festival,burning noon kingfisher colored)June like the sea.
Frequently I am impelled to stand still,as though to authenticate the distance to anobject.That distance is being replenished,
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behold, by thick whirlwinds and billions of airparticles.
Yesterday I watched smoke of field fires ascendfrom severalplaces of this plateau,today listen to faint birds in a forest of fallenleaves.For ten days I have not heard news of the city,undulations of fields and mountains whereclouds gather andnarrow pathways run through blue-greenwithered grasses andoccasional trains descend a ravine shoulderingcliffsand. . .
Yes, existing clear and separate from each oth-er,being strong indeed in their final essence andfate,aspects of objects always express their ownmost proper splendors.
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In this way, being entirely alone,to all phenomena of the worldI give praise for original correspondingsplendors.
A Word
I have to select a word for material.It should be talked about in the smallest pos-sible amount andhave a deep suggestiveness like nature,bloom from inside its own self,and at the edge of the fate encircling meit will have to become darkly and sweetlyripened.Of a hundred experiences it alwayshas to be the sum total of only one.One drop of water dewbecomes the harvest of all dewdrops,a dark evening's one red point of lightis the night of the whole world.
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And after that my poemlike a substance entirely fresh,released far away from my memory,the same as a scythe in a field in the morning,the same as the ice on a lake in spring,will suddenly begin to sing from its ownrecollection.
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Seishi Yamaguchi(1901-1994)
Seishi Yamaguchi was a disciple of TakahamaKyoshi. Kyoshi once called Seishi "one of hismore out of the way disciples". Seishi's poems,especially his haiku, show a daring innovationof style and subject matter that are somewhatat odds with the more conservative Kyoshi.
Let there be no snow
Let there be no snow –for the human torpedois now in tatters
Roughness Unceasing
Roughness unceasing –ice floes caught in clashing tidesin the Soya straits
Solitary Journey
A solitary journeyof a woman –cuckoo
Over The Sea - Haiku
Once over the sea,winter winds can no longerreturn home again.
Grief - Haiku
At the deepest pointof grief, somebody nearbybreaks a withered branch.
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