Hello Poetry
Submit your work and get some sparkles! Create free account
michael-r-burchPoems
Matsuo Basho Translations There are my English translations of haiku by Matsuo Basho... My Personal Favorites The first soft snow: leaves of the awed jonquil bow low —Matsuo Basho translation by Michael R. Burch Come, investigate loneliness: a solitary leaf clings to the Kiri tree —Matsuo Basho translation by Michael R. Burch The cheerful-chirping cricket contends gray autumn's gay, contemptuous of frost —Matsuo Basho translation by Michael R. Burch Whistle on, twilight whippoorwill, solemn evangelist of loneliness —Matsuo Basho translation by Michael R. Burch The sea darkening, the voices of the wild geese: my mysterious companions! —Matsuo Basho translation by Michael R. Burch The first chill rain: poor monkey, you too could use a woven cape of straw —Matsuo Basho translation by Michael R. Burch This snowy morning: cries of the crow I despise (ah, but so beautiful!) —Matsuo Basho translation by Michael R. Burch I wish I could wash this perishing earth in its shimmering dew —Matsuo Basho translation by Michael R. Burch Dabbed with morning dew and splashed with mud, the melon looks wonderfully cool. —Matsuo Basho translation by Michael R. Burch Basho's Butterflies The butterfly perfuming its wings fans the orchid —Matsuo Basho translation by Michael R. Burch Will we remain parted forever? Here at your grave: two flowerlike butterflies! —Matsuo Basho translation by Michael R. Burch Air ballet: twin butterflies, twice white, meet, match & mate. —Matsuo Basho translation by Michael R. Burch Ballet in the air! ― two butterflies, twice white, meet, mate, unite. ―Matsuo Basho translation by Michael R. Burch A spring wind stirs willow leaves as a butterfly hovers unsteadily. ―Matsuo Basho translation by Michael R. Burch As autumn deepens, a butterfly sips chrysanthemum dew. —Matsuo Basho translation by Michael R. Burch aki o hete / cho mo nameru ya / kiku no tsuyu Come, butterfly, it's late and we've a long way to go! —Matsuo Basho translation by Michael R. Burch Dusk-gliding swallow, please spare my small friends flitting among the flowers! ―Matsuo Basho translation by Michael R. Burch Basho's Famous Frog Poem An ancient pond, the frog leaps: the silver plop and gurgle of water —Matsuo Basho translation by Michael R. Burch An ancient pond sleeps... untroubled by sound or movement...until... suddenly a frog leaps! —Matsuo Basho translation by Michael R. Burch Explosion! The frog returns to its lily pad. —Michael R. Burch original haiku Basho's Heron Lightning shatters the darkness— the night heron's shriek —Matsuo Basho translation by Michael R. Burch Lightning― the night heron's shriek severs the darkness ― Matsuo Basho translation by Michael R. Burch A flash of lightning― the night heron's shriek splits the void ― Matsuo Basho translation by Michael R. Burch Basho's Flowers Let us arrange these lovely flowers in the bowl since there's no rice —Matsuo Basho translation by Michael R. Burch Like a heavy fragrance snowflakes settle: lilies on rocks —Matsuo Basho translation by Michael R. Burch High-altitude rose petals falling falling falling: the melody of a waterfall. ―Matsuo Basho translation by Michael R. Burch Revered figure! I bow low to the rabbit-eared Iris. ―Matsuo Basho translation by Michael R. Burch Cold white azalea— a lone nun in her thatched straw hut. ―Matsuo Basho translation by Michael R. Burch Glimpsed on this high mountain trail, delighting my heart— wild violets ―Matsuo Basho translation by Michael R. Burch Disdaining grass, the firefly nibbles nettles— this is who I am. —Takarai Kikaku translation by Michael R. Burch A simple man, content to breakfast with the morning glories— this is who I am. ―Matsuo Basho translation by Michael R. Burch This is Basho's response to the Takarai Kikaku haiku above asagao ni / ware wa meshi kû / otoko kana Ah me, I waste my meager breakfast morning glory gazing! ―Matsuo Basho translation by Michael R. Burch Morning glories blossom, reinforcing the old fence gate. ―Matsuo Basho translation by Michael R. Burch The morning glories, alas, also turned out not to embrace me ―Matsuo Basho translation by Michael R. Burch Morning glories bloom, mending chinks in the old fence ―Matsuo Basho translation by Michael R. Burch Morning glories, however poorly painted, still engage us —Matsuo Basho translation by Michael R. Burch asagao wa / heta no kaku sae / aware nari I too have been accused of morning glory gazing... —original haiku by by Michael R. Burch Curious flower, watching us approach: meet Death, our famished donkey. —Matsuo Basho translation by Michael R. Burch Basho's Poems about Spring, Summer, Autumn and Winter Spring has come: the nameless hill lies shrouded in mist —Matsuo Basho translation by Michael R. Burch Spring! A nameless hill stands shrouded in mist. —Matsuo Basho translation by Michael R. Burch The legs of the cranes have been shortened by the summer rains. —Matsuo Basho translation by Michael R. Burch These brown summer grasses? The only remains of "invincible" warriors... —Matsuo Basho translation by Michael R. Burch An empty road lonelier than abandonment: this autumn evening —Matsuo Basho translation by Michael R. Burch Autumn darkness descends on this road I travel alone —Matsuo Basho translation by Michael R. Burch Taming the rage of an unrelenting sun— autumn breeze. —Matsuo Basho translation by Michael R. Burch aka aka to / hi wa tsurenaku mo / aki no kaze The sun sets, relentlessly red, yet autumn's in the wind. —Matsuo Basho translation by Michael R. Burch aka aka to / hi wa tsurenaku mo / aki no kaze As autumn draws near, so too our hearts in this small tea room. —Matsuo Basho translation by Michael R. Burch aki chikaki / kokoro no yoru ya / yo jo han Late autumn: my neighbor, how does he continue? —Matsuo Basho translation by Michael R. Burch Winter in the air: my neighbor, how does he fare? ― Matsuo Basho translation by Michael R. Burch Winter solitude: a world awash in white, the sound of the wind —Matsuo Basho translation by Michael R. Burch The year's first day... thoughts come, and with them, loneliness; dusk approaches. —Matsuo Basho translation by Michael R. Burch Basho's Temple Poems Graven images of long-departed gods, dry spiritless leaves: companions of the temple porch —Matsuo Basho translation by Michael R. Burch The temple bells grow silent but the blossoms provide their incense― A perfect evening! —Matsuo Basho translation by Michael R. Burch See: whose surviving sons visit the ancestral graves white-bearded, with trembling canes? —Matsuo Basho translation by Michael R. Burch Like a glorious shrine— on these green, budding leaves, the sun's intense radiance. —Matsuo Basho translation by Michael R. Burch ara toto / aoba wakaba no / hi no hikar Basho's Birds A raven settles on a leafless branch: autumn nightfall ―Matsuo Basho translation by Michael R. Burch A crow has settled on a naked branch— autumn nightfall —Matsuo Basho translation by Michael R. Burch A solitary crow clings to a leafless branch: autumn twilight ―Matsuo Basho translation by Michael R. Burch A solitary crow clings to a leafless branch: phantom autumn ―Matsuo Basho translation by Michael R. Burch A crow roosts on a leafless branch: autumn nightmare ―Matsuo Basho translation by Michael R. Burch NOTE: There has been a debate about the meaning of aki-no kure, which may mean one of the following: autumn evening, autumn dusk, the end of autumn. Or it seems possible that Basho may have intentionally invoked the ideas of both the end of an autumn day and the end of the season as well. In my translations I have tried to create an image of solitary crow clinging to a branch that seems like a harbinger of approaching winter and death. In the first translation I went with the least light possible: autumn twilight. In the second translation, I attempted something more ghostly. Phrases I considered include: spectral autumn, skeletal autumn, autumnal skeleton, phantom autumn, autumn nocturne, autumn nightfall, autumn nightmare, dismal autumn. In the third and fourth translations I focused on the color of the bird and its resemblance to night falling. While literalists will no doubt object, my goal is to create an image and a feeling that convey in English what I take Basho to have been trying to convey in Japanese. Readers will have to decide whether they prefer my translations to the many others that exist, but mine are trying to convey the eeriness of the scene in English. Except for a woodpecker tapping at a post, the house is silent. —Matsuo Basho translation by Michael R. Burch Swallow flitting in the dusk, please spare my small friends buzzing among the flowers! ―Matsuo Basho translation by Michael R. Burch Basho's Insects A bee emerging from deep within the peony's hairy recesses flies off heavily, sated —Matsuo Basho translation by Michael R. Burch That dying cricket, how he goes on about his life! —Matsuo Basho translation by Michael R. Burch The cicada's cry contains no hint of how soon it must die. —Matsuo Basho translation by Michael R. Burch Nothing in the cicada's cry hints that it knows how soon it must die. —Basho translation by Michael R. Burch The cicada's cry contains no hint of how soon it must die. ―Matsuo Basho translation by Michael R. Burch Basho's Moon and Stars Pausing between clouds the moon rests in the eyes of its beholders —Matsuo Basho translation by Michael R. Burch The moon: glorious its illumination! Therefore, we give thanks. Dark clouds cast their shadows on our necks. ―Matsuo Basho translation by Michael R. Burch The surging sea crests around Sado... and above her? An ocean of stars. —Matsuo Basho translation by Michael R. Burch ara umi ya / Sado ni yokotau / Ama-no-gawa Basho's Companions Fire levitating ashes: my companion's shadow animates the wall... —Matsuo Basho translation by Michael R. Burch Among the graffiti one illuminated name: Yours. —Matsuo Basho translation by Michael R. Burch Scrawny tomcat! Are you starving for fish and mice or pining away for love? —Matsuo Basho translation by Michael R. Burch Basho's End of Life and Death Poems Nothing happened! Yesterday simply vanished like the blowfish soup. —Matsuo Basho translation by Michael R. Burch ara nantomo na ya / kino wa sugite / fukuto-jiru Fever-felled mid-path my dreams resurrect, to trek into a hollow land —Matsuo Basho translation by Michael R. Burch Sick of its autumn migration my spirit drifts over wilted fields... ―Matsuo Basho translation by Michael R. Burch Sick of this autumn migration in dreams I drift over flowerless fields... ―Matsuo Basho translation by Michael R. Burch NOTE: While literalists will no doubt object to "flowerless" in the translation above ― along with other word choices in my other translations ― this is my preferred version. I think Basho's meaning still comes through. But "wilted" is probably closer to what he meant. If only we could consult him, to ask whether he preferred strictly literal prose translations of his poems, or more poetic interpretations! My guess is that most poets would prefer for their poems to remain poetry in the second language. In my opinion the differences are minor and astute readers will grok both Basho's meaning and his emotion. Too ill to travel, now only my autumn dreams survey these withering fields ― Matsuo Basho translation by Michael R. Burch New Haiku Translations, Added 10/6/2020 Air ballet: twin butterflies, twice white, meet, match & mate —Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Denied transformation into a butterfly, autumn worsens for the worm —Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Dusk-gliding swallow, please spare my small friends flitting among the flowers! —Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Up and at ’em! The sky goes bright! Let’s hit the road again, Companion Butterfly! —Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch   Higher than a skylark, resting on the breast of heaven: mountain pass. —Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch   Farewell, my cloud-parting friend! Wild goose migrating. —Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch   A crow settles on a leafless branch: autumn nightfall. —Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch An exciting struggle with such a sad ending: cormorant fishing. —Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Secretly, by the light of the moon, a worm bores into a chestnut. —Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch   This strange flower investigated by butterflies and birds: the autumn sky —Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch   Where’s the moon tonight? Like the temple bell: lost at sea. —Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch   Spring departs; birds wail; the pale eyes of fish moisten. —Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch   The moon still appears, though far from home: summer vagrant. —Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch   Cooling the pitiless sun’s bright red flames: autumn wind. —Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch   Saying farewell to others while being told farewell: departing autumn. —Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch   Traveling this road alone: autumn evening. —Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch   Thin from its journey and not yet recovered: late harvest moon. —Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch   Occasional clouds bless tired eyes with rest from moon-viewing. —Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch   The farmboy rests from husking rice to reach for the moon. —Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch   The moon aside, no one here has such a lovely face. —Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch   The moon having set, all that remains are the four corners of his desk. —Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch   The moon so bright a wandering monk carries it lightly on his shoulder. —Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch   The Festival of Souls is obscured by smoke from the crematory. —Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch   The Festival of Souls! Smoke from the crematory? —Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch   Family reunion: those with white hair and canes visiting graves. —Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch   One who is no more left embroidered clothes for a summer airing. —Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch   What am I doing, writing haiku on the threshold of death? Hush, a bird’s song! —Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch   Fallen ill on a final tour, in dreams I go roving earth’s flowerless moor. —Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation of his jisei (death poem) by Michael R. Burch Stricken ill on a senseless tour, still in dreams I go roving earth’s withered moor. —Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation of his jisei (death poem) by Michael R. Burch Stricken ill on a journey, in dreams I go wandering withered moors. —Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation of his jisei (death poem) by Michael R. Burch New Haiku Translations, Added 10/6/2020 Air ballet: twin butterflies, twice white, meet, match & mate —Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Denied transformation into a butterfly, autumn worsens for the worm —Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Dusk-gliding swallow, please spare my small friends flitting among the flowers! —Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Up and at ’em! The sky goes bright! Let’s hit the road again, Companion Butterfly! —Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch   Higher than a skylark, resting on the breast of heaven: mountain pass. —Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch   Farewell, my cloud-parting friend! Wild goose migrating. —Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch   A crow settles on a leafless branch: autumn nightfall. —Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch An exciting struggle with such a sad ending: cormorant fishing. —Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Secretly, by the light of the moon, a worm bores into a chestnut. —Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch   This strange flower investigated by butterflies and birds: the autumn sky —Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch   Where’s the moon tonight? Like the temple bell: lost at sea. —Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch   Spring departs; birds wail; the pale eyes of fish moisten. —Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch   The moon still appears, though far from home: summer vagrant. —Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch   Cooling the pitiless sun’s bright red flames: autumn wind. —Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch   Saying farewell to others while being told farewell: departing autumn. —Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch   Traveling this road alone: autumn evening. —Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch   Thin from its journey and not yet recovered: late harvest moon. —Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch   Occasional clouds bless tired eyes with rest from moon-viewing. —Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch   The farmboy rests from husking rice to reach for the moon. —Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch   The moon aside, no one here has such a lovely face. —Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch   The moon having set, all that remains are the four corners of his desk. —Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch   The moon so bright a wandering monk carries it lightly on his shoulder. —Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch   The Festival of Souls is obscured by smoke from the crematory. —Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch   The Festival of Souls! Smoke from the crematory? —Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch   Family reunion: those with white hair and canes visiting graves. —Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch   One who is no more left embroidered clothes for a summer airing. —Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch   What am I doing, writing haiku on the threshold of death? Hush, a bird’s song! —Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch   Fallen ill on a final tour, in dreams I go roving earth’s flowerless moor. —Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation of his jisei (death poem) by Michael R. Burch Striken ill on a senseless tour, still in dreams I go roving earth’s withered moor. —Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation of his jisei (death poem) by Michael R. Burch Stricken ill on a journey, in dreams I go wandering withered moors. —Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation of his jisei (death poem) by Michael R. Burch NEW BASHO TRANSLATIONS 06-19-2025 SPRING Blame the rainy season for my absence, old friend Moon. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch For yet a little while, the pale moon floating among blossoms... —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Moon past full: darkness increasing. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Spring rains so heavy they overflow the waterfall. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch I’ll catch up about cascading waterfall blossoms when I drink with Li Bai. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Fluttering rose petals fall into the river’s gurgling waters. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Spring rains overwhelming the falls, overflowing... —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch The rainy season downpour sours even the ears of ripening plums. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Flood! Stars will soon sleep atop a rock. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch I’ll dare drenching my paper robes to nab a sprig of spring blossoms. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Where is that handsome man no long with us: the rain-hidden moon. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch So much harsher than other mouths, the wind devours newborn blossoms. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch So taken by their beauty, I long to take the maiden flowers. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Trembling, feeble, heavy with dew: the maiden flowers. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Other flowers bloom, the camellias remain indifferent. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch An orchid’s lingering fragrance veils the bedchamber. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch The boy’s bangs retain the scent of youthful grass. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Spring winds tickle the flowers till they burst out in laughter. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Falling to the ground, returning to its roots, the flower’s farewell. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch So many things recur in memory: spring blossoms reopen. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Seeing them naked almost makes me caress the ********** flowers. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch As temple bells fade flowers strike their fragrance into the silence. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch The bat also emerges into the birds’ world of flowers. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch When planting, please handle the infant cherry tree tenderly, gently, like a baby. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch How can one fret during cherry blossom time? —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch How I envy them, growing high above our transient world, the mountain cherries. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Curiosity: a butterfly alights on nectarless grass. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch A solitary butterfly hovers over its own shadow. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch A solitary butterfly flutters above its own shadow. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Since spring showers insist, the eggplant seeds commence sprouting. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Never belittle the tiniest seeds: the spunky pepper reddens. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Once green, behold! The red pepper. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch After spring rains mugwort shoots up in grassy lanes. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Higher than the larks, resting amid the blue, this mountain pass. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch The blossom-filled day makes the tree’s sadness seem all the darker. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Goodbye, old friend: no longer beckoning miscanthus plumes. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Spying plum blossoms the infatuated ox bellows, “Yes!” —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch The day-lily, dripping water into the grasses’ forgetfulness. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Scooped up by my hands, the springwater shocks my teeth with its iciness. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch The cats’ noisy mating subsides; now into our bedroom creeps the quiet moonlight. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Here at Wakanoura I’m finally in step with fleeting and fleeing spring. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch A bell-less village? Who will ring in the end of spring? —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch The temple bell unheeded? Unheard? Still, spring is fleeting. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch The sun’s about to set: the spring’s last shimmering heat ray. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch SUMMER Such coolness when shouldered: the summer’s first melon. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch A wicker basket shields the coolness of the first melon. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Morning dew: the muddy melon exudes coolness. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Early summer rain: the green spikemoss, how long to remain? —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Timidly the willow refrains from touching deutzia blossoms. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch An oiled paper umbrella attempts to push aside unobliging willows. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch The ancient river ogles the slender willow. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch So like life: this small patch of shade beneath a wicker hat. Still alive despite the slightness of my hat, I cherish its shade. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch This summer world floats in the lake’s silver waves. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch A weary horse collapsing in barley: traveler’s rest. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch On the distant plain the deer’s voice seems an inch tall. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch How sad, the bellowing of bucks, The bleatings of does, at night. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Even woodpeckers hold this old hut sacred, still standing in the summer grove. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Toppling from the topmost bough, emptiness aloft: the cicada’s husk. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch The hollyhock leans sunward in the summer rain. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Ah, the splendid resplendence of sunlight on tender evergreen leaves! —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch The fragrance of oranges... In whose farmyard is the cuckoo calling? —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Temple bells reverberate: cicadas singing. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Shouldering hay bales, someone left enough straw to mark our way. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Fireflies turn our trees into well-lit lodges. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch A noontime firefly, dim by daylight, hides behind a pillar. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Firefly watching, the tipsy boatman rocks the boat. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Rising above fields of rice and barley, the cry of the summer cuckoo. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Tedious life! Plowing the rice field back and forth... —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Lying in the summer grass, discarded like a king’s robe, the snakeskin. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch The shrubby bush-clover? How impudent her appearance! —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Glistening dew sways without spilling from the bush-clover. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch I bow low to the venerable rabbit-eared Iris. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Rabbit-eared Iris, pausing to chit-chat, one joy of my journey. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch The rabbit-eared iris inspires another hokku. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Rabbit-eared Iris, admiring your reflection? —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Inside Uchiyama, unknown to outsiders, blossoms full-bloom. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Uchiyama was a temple little-known to the outside world. In fact, uchi means “inside.” AUTUMN First of autumn: the sea and the rice fields the same green hue. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch The autumn wind like a ventriloquist projects its piercing voice. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Voices in the reeds? Ventriloquism of the autumn wind. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch East and West united by the autumn wind into a single melancholy. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Seeing a friend off, his hunched back lonely in the autumn wind. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Illuminating sawn-off tree trunks: the harvest moon. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch After pausing for harvest moon viewing, we must be on our way. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Our moon-viewing interrupted on Asamutsu Bridge, dark yields to dawn. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Consider lonesomeness surpassing even Suma’s: this deserted autumn beach. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch The temple bell drowned in the sea, and where is the moon? —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch My humble take on the world? Withered leaves at autumn’s end. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Withering flowers: out of such sadness seeds emerge. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Red on red on red, the sun relentless, yet autumn’s unimpressed. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch This lusciously cool autumn day we peel aubergine melons. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Cling to your leaves, peach trees! Autumn wind. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch This whiteness, whiter than mountain quartz: autumn wind. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Shocking the grave, my grief-filled cry: autumn wind. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Spider, to whom do you cry? Autumn wind. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch How to reach safe haven? An insect adrift on a leaf. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Reverential tears: the falling leaves bid their trees goodbye. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Plates and bowls gleaming dimly in the darkness: evening coolness. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Twice the pity: beneath the headless helmet, a chirping cricket. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Secretly by moonlight weevils bore chestnuts. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Cranes on stilts surveying the rice paddies: autumn village. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Thankfulness: someone else harvests rice for me. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch How touching to survive the storm, chrysanthemum. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Slender again, somehow the chrysanthemum will yet again bud. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch As autumn deepens a butterfly sips chrysanthemum dew. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch His loosened jacket collar invites the cool breeze. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Butterfly wings: how many times have they soared over human roofs? —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Mosquitos drone with dusky voices deep within the cattle shed. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Basho leaves shred in the gale; the basin collects raindrips; all night I listen, alone in my hut. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch The dew drips, drop-by-drop... I’d rinse this world clean, if I could. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch The fire’s banked ashes extinguish your tears’ hisses. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Turn to face me, for I am also lonesome this autumn evening. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Plucking white hairs while beneath my pillow a cricket creaks. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Everything that blossoms dies in the end: wilted pampas grass. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch As autumn departs, shivering I scrunch under too-small bedding. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch It seems, to dullard me, that hell must be like this: late autumn. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch WINTER The year’s first snowfall; such happiness to be at home in my hut. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Fire-making friend, let me show you something grand: a huge snowball! —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Written for Basho’s dear friend Sora, who visited Basho’s hut to feed the fire, cook, break ice and make tea. Come, children, let’s frolic in the snowstorm, dodge the hail. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Farewell for now, we’re off to find snow until we tumble into it. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Let’s get up until we fall into the snow we seek. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Yesteryear’s snows, have they fallen anew? —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Winter drizzle; irate, I await snow adorning the pines. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Practicing bowing, the bamboo anticipates snow. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Bowing low, the upside-down world of snow-laden bamboo. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Melancholic flowers shrivel in the frost. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Hailstones stitching the silken snow. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Oars slapping waves, the stomach a-shiver, these nighttime tears. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Icefish shoaling through seaweed swim into my hands. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Sunrise: one-inch sliver of the whitefish’s iciness. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Alive but congealed into one: the frozen sea cucumbers. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Somehow alive yet congealed into a single solid mass: the frozen sea cucumbers. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Water so cold, rocks so hard, where will the seagull sleep? —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Plovers depart as evening deepens windward toward Hiei. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Crying in the darkness, unable to locate its nest, the homeless plover. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch The plovers cry: “Be watchful of the darkness at Star Cape!” —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Mushroom-gathering, rushing to beat cold evening rains. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Ceremonious hailstones assail my hinoki hat. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Caught hatless in a winter shower? So it goes. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch How many frosts have tested this pine’s mettle? —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch A winter drizzle obscures the field’s freshcut stubble. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch The drinkers’ faces paler than the snow: a flash of lightning. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch The polished mirror clear as snowflake petals. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch The relentless wind sharpens rocks and stones, topples cedars. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Cold fear desolate as a deserted frost-crusted shack. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch How marvelous, the winter snow will return as rain. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Children come running, dodging jewels: hailstones. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch At least the world has left, unblemished and unbegrimed, a single wooden bowl. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch The bowl in question had been left by Rotsu in Osaka, and was returned undamaged seven years later. Rotsu was a Basho disciple. The mud snail’s closed lid: winter confinement. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Inside my hut, watching my own breath: winter confinement. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch So weary of Kyoto, of the withering wind and winter life. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch I will soon be included among the fortunate ones: beyond winter. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch VARIOUS As clouds drift apart, so we two separate: wild geese departing. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch The old nest deserted, how empty now my next-door neighbor’s hut. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Yesterday? Departed, like the blowfish soup. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Exciting, but with a sad conclusion: cormorant fishing. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch The one who died: her delicate kimono hung out to dry. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Behind the veiling curtain, the wife in her bedchamber: plum blossoms. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch See her slim figure: the ingenue moon not yet ripened. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Clouds now and then offer intermissions from moon-viewing. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Drinking alone with the moon, my shadow makes three. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch The moon and the blossoms lack only a man drinking sake, alone. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Unbar the door, allow moonlight to enter Ukimido. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Ukimido was a temple Basho visited in 1691. Drinking morning tea, the monks silent amid chrysanthemums. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Its fragrance whiter than the peach blossoms’ whiteness: the narcissus. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch The narcissus reflects the whiteness of a paper screen. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Hibiscus flowers garland an otherwise naked child. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch The overproud pink begonia thinks it’s a watermelon. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Echo my lonesomeness, mountain cuckoo. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch The cuckoo’s lone voice lingers over the inlet. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Solitary hawk, a heavenly vision over Cape Irago. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch At Cape Irago the incomparable cry of the hawk. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Better than any dream, the thrilling reality of a hawk’s cry. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch The hawk’s eye narrows at the quail’s call. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Naptime! But my drowsiness is nixed by busybody warblers. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Carolers: the sparrows smile at their warbling. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Giving thanks to the flowers for brightening my visit: farewell. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Melancholy nub! The bamboo bud’s sad end. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch This lightning flash the hand receives in darkness: a candle. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Carrying a candle into the dark outhouse: the moonflowers’ whiteness. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Seeing a moonflower, I poke my sake-addled face through a hole in the window. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Nighttime folly: grabbing a thorn, expecting a firefly. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch More nighttime weirdness: a fox stalking a melon? —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch It’s better to become a beggar than a critic. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch No rest: the carpenter hangs his own shelf. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Blowing away the volcano’s molars: the typhoon. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch What decays have you endured, watchful tomb ferns? —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch A disgusting smell slimed on waterweeds: pale chub entrails. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch A country boy shucking husks gazes at the moon. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch The poet’s heart? Will we ever really understand ume blossoms? —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch For at least today let all the poets be melodious as winter rains. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch I believe the haiku above was written during a gathering of poets. What tree blossoms here? I do not know its mysterious aroma. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch I will lodge here until the tender goosefoot matures into a walking stick. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch I’d compare a flower to a delicate child but the field is barren. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Basho wrote the poem above for a friend, Rakugo, who had lost a child. Even a poorly-painted morning glory pleases. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch The morning glories ignore our drinking, drunk on themselves. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Slender glistener! Each dewdrop a burden for the maiden flower. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch The moon absent, treetops cling to the nighttime rain. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch May you tumble safely onto sand or snow, sake-addled horse rider. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch I miss my mother and father so much: the kiji’s cry. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch The kiji is a green pheasant but also a metaphor for the love of one’s family and kiji is also a homophone for “orphaned child.” I pause from my journey to observe the fleeting world going about its housecleaning. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch No simile! Nothing compares to the crescent moon. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch The overstaying moon and I linger in Sarawhina. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Her ascent easy and yet still hesitant, the cloud-veiled moon. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch A cuckoo flying, cawing, crying and cajoling: busybody. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch What’s all the ado about this busybody crow? —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Art begins with ancient rice-planting chants drifting on the wind. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Today’s words vanish tomorrow: evaporating dew. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Basho may have proved himself wrong with the poem above, since so many of his poems are still being read, studied and translated. Unregarded by the high-minded the lowly chestnut blossoms by the eaves. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Clinging for dear life to the bridge, these winding vines. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch This swinging bridge: hard to imagine horses crossing. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Even in Kyoto, a longing for Kyoto, the cuckoo calling. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch The cuckoo symbolizes nostalgia. Here Basho seems to be in Kyoto but longing for the Kyoto of his past. Rock azaleas dyed red by the cuckoo’s tears. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch In Japan the cuckoo is said to shed tears of blood. I would wipe away the tears brimming in your eyes with these tender leaves. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Reincarnation? The fawn’s first dawn falls on Buddha’s birthday. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Forbidden to speak of holy Yudono, my sleeves wet with tears. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Let us learn from the travails of these ancient pilgrims. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch The samurai’s overlong discourse: the tang of bitter daikon. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Tender-horned snail, point those tiny tips toward distant mountains! —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch A dragonfly clings tentatively to the air, hovering above waving grasses. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Tiny river crab creeping up my leg? Back to the water! —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch The windblown butterfly is unable to settle in the waving grass. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Even the wild boar is blown about by buffeting winds. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch The boat comes to rest on a beach of peach blossoms. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Lightning does not enlighten, of what value? —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch A banked fire, the shadow of a guest. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Remember: the thicket guards plum blossoms. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Don’t chortle with glee: through the leaves of the silk tree stars wink at me. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch The Kiyotaki’s unblemished waves gently dispersing still-green pine needles. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch This is said to have been Basho’s last haiku. Kiyotaki means “clear” and is the name of a river. Immaculate white chrysanthemums: no matter how closely investigated, without a blemish. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch I suspect the two poems above are related because the first poem in one version had “without a blemish” or “nary a blemish.” Faint in a trace of water: floating chrysanthemums. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch OTHER POETS Observe: see how the wild violets bloom within the forbidden fences! —Shida Yaba (1663-1740), loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch When no wind at all ruffles the Kiri tree leaves fall of their own free will. —Nozawa Boncho (1640-1714), loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Keywords/Tags: Basho, haiku, translation, Japan, Japanese, Oriental, Orient Occident, nature, season, seasons, waka, tanka, life and death, compassion, empathy, mrbhaiku, mrbbasho
0
Oct 2, 2020
Oct 2, 2020 at 5:43 AM UTC
Matsuo Basho Haiku translations
Matsuo Basho Translations There are my English translations of haiku by Matsuo Basho... My Personal Favorites The first soft snow: leaves of the awed jonquil bow low —Matsuo Basho translation by Michael R. Burch Come, investigate loneliness: a solitary leaf clings to the Kiri tree —Matsuo Basho translation by Michael R. Burch The cheerful-chirping cricket contends gray autumn's gay, contemptuous of frost —Matsuo Basho translation by Michael R. Burch Whistle on, twilight whippoorwill, solemn evangelist of loneliness —Matsuo Basho translation by Michael R. Burch The sea darkening, the voices of the wild geese: my mysterious companions! —Matsuo Basho translation by Michael R. Burch The first chill rain: poor monkey, you too could use a woven cape of straw —Matsuo Basho translation by Michael R. Burch This snowy morning: cries of the crow I despise (ah, but so beautiful!) —Matsuo Basho translation by Michael R. Burch I wish I could wash this perishing earth in its shimmering dew —Matsuo Basho translation by Michael R. Burch Dabbed with morning dew and splashed with mud, the melon looks wonderfully cool. —Matsuo Basho translation by Michael R. Burch Basho's Butterflies The butterfly perfuming its wings fans the orchid —Matsuo Basho translation by Michael R. Burch Will we remain parted forever? Here at your grave: two flowerlike butterflies! —Matsuo Basho translation by Michael R. Burch Air ballet: twin butterflies, twice white, meet, match & mate. —Matsuo Basho translation by Michael R. Burch Ballet in the air! ― two butterflies, twice white, meet, mate, unite. ―Matsuo Basho translation by Michael R. Burch A spring wind stirs willow leaves as a butterfly hovers unsteadily. ―Matsuo Basho translation by Michael R. Burch As autumn deepens, a butterfly sips chrysanthemum dew. —Matsuo Basho translation by Michael R. Burch aki o hete / cho mo nameru ya / kiku no tsuyu Come, butterfly, it's late and we've a long way to go! —Matsuo Basho translation by Michael R. Burch Dusk-gliding swallow, please spare my small friends flitting among the flowers! ―Matsuo Basho translation by Michael R. Burch Basho's Famous Frog Poem An ancient pond, the frog leaps: the silver plop and gurgle of water —Matsuo Basho translation by Michael R. Burch An ancient pond sleeps... untroubled by sound or movement...until... suddenly a frog leaps! —Matsuo Basho translation by Michael R. Burch Explosion! The frog returns to its lily pad. —Michael R. Burch original haiku Basho's Heron Lightning shatters the darkness— the night heron's shriek —Matsuo Basho translation by Michael R. Burch Lightning― the night heron's shriek severs the darkness ― Matsuo Basho translation by Michael R. Burch A flash of lightning― the night heron's shriek splits the void ― Matsuo Basho translation by Michael R. Burch Basho's Flowers Let us arrange these lovely flowers in the bowl since there's no rice —Matsuo Basho translation by Michael R. Burch Like a heavy fragrance snowflakes settle: lilies on rocks —Matsuo Basho translation by Michael R. Burch High-altitude rose petals falling falling falling: the melody of a waterfall. ―Matsuo Basho translation by Michael R. Burch Revered figure! I bow low to the rabbit-eared Iris. ―Matsuo Basho translation by Michael R. Burch Cold white azalea— a lone nun in her thatched straw hut. ―Matsuo Basho translation by Michael R. Burch Glimpsed on this high mountain trail, delighting my heart— wild violets ―Matsuo Basho translation by Michael R. Burch Disdaining grass, the firefly nibbles nettles— this is who I am. —Takarai Kikaku translation by Michael R. Burch A simple man, content to breakfast with the morning glories— this is who I am. ―Matsuo Basho translation by Michael R. Burch This is Basho's response to the Takarai Kikaku haiku above asagao ni / ware wa meshi kû / otoko kana Ah me, I waste my meager breakfast morning glory gazing! ―Matsuo Basho translation by Michael R. Burch Morning glories blossom, reinforcing the old fence gate. ―Matsuo Basho translation by Michael R. Burch The morning glories, alas, also turned out not to embrace me ―Matsuo Basho translation by Michael R. Burch Morning glories bloom, mending chinks in the old fence ―Matsuo Basho translation by Michael R. Burch Morning glories, however poorly painted, still engage us —Matsuo Basho translation by Michael R. Burch asagao wa / heta no kaku sae / aware nari I too have been accused of morning glory gazing... —original haiku by by Michael R. Burch Curious flower, watching us approach: meet Death, our famished donkey. —Matsuo Basho translation by Michael R. Burch Basho's Poems about Spring, Summer, Autumn and Winter Spring has come: the nameless hill lies shrouded in mist —Matsuo Basho translation by Michael R. Burch Spring! A nameless hill stands shrouded in mist. —Matsuo Basho translation by Michael R. Burch The legs of the cranes have been shortened by the summer rains. —Matsuo Basho translation by Michael R. Burch These brown summer grasses? The only remains of "invincible" warriors... —Matsuo Basho translation by Michael R. Burch An empty road lonelier than abandonment: this autumn evening —Matsuo Basho translation by Michael R. Burch Autumn darkness descends on this road I travel alone —Matsuo Basho translation by Michael R. Burch Taming the rage of an unrelenting sun— autumn breeze. —Matsuo Basho translation by Michael R. Burch aka aka to / hi wa tsurenaku mo / aki no kaze The sun sets, relentlessly red, yet autumn's in the wind. —Matsuo Basho translation by Michael R. Burch aka aka to / hi wa tsurenaku mo / aki no kaze As autumn draws near, so too our hearts in this small tea room. —Matsuo Basho translation by Michael R. Burch aki chikaki / kokoro no yoru ya / yo jo han Late autumn: my neighbor, how does he continue? —Matsuo Basho translation by Michael R. Burch Winter in the air: my neighbor, how does he fare? ― Matsuo Basho translation by Michael R. Burch Winter solitude: a world awash in white, the sound of the wind —Matsuo Basho translation by Michael R. Burch The year's first day... thoughts come, and with them, loneliness; dusk approaches. —Matsuo Basho translation by Michael R. Burch Basho's Temple Poems Graven images of long-departed gods, dry spiritless leaves: companions of the temple porch —Matsuo Basho translation by Michael R. Burch The temple bells grow silent but the blossoms provide their incense― A perfect evening! —Matsuo Basho translation by Michael R. Burch See: whose surviving sons visit the ancestral graves white-bearded, with trembling canes? —Matsuo Basho translation by Michael R. Burch Like a glorious shrine— on these green, budding leaves, the sun's intense radiance. —Matsuo Basho translation by Michael R. Burch ara toto / aoba wakaba no / hi no hikar Basho's Birds A raven settles on a leafless branch: autumn nightfall ―Matsuo Basho translation by Michael R. Burch A crow has settled on a naked branch— autumn nightfall —Matsuo Basho translation by Michael R. Burch A solitary crow clings to a leafless branch: autumn twilight ―Matsuo Basho translation by Michael R. Burch A solitary crow clings to a leafless branch: phantom autumn ―Matsuo Basho translation by Michael R. Burch A crow roosts on a leafless branch: autumn nightmare ―Matsuo Basho translation by Michael R. Burch NOTE: There has been a debate about the meaning of aki-no kure, which may mean one of the following: autumn evening, autumn dusk, the end of autumn. Or it seems possible that Basho may have intentionally invoked the ideas of both the end of an autumn day and the end of the season as well. In my translations I have tried to create an image of solitary crow clinging to a branch that seems like a harbinger of approaching winter and death. In the first translation I went with the least light possible: autumn twilight. In the second translation, I attempted something more ghostly. Phrases I considered include: spectral autumn, skeletal autumn, autumnal skeleton, phantom autumn, autumn nocturne, autumn nightfall, autumn nightmare, dismal autumn. In the third and fourth translations I focused on the color of the bird and its resemblance to night falling. While literalists will no doubt object, my goal is to create an image and a feeling that convey in English what I take Basho to have been trying to convey in Japanese. Readers will have to decide whether they prefer my translations to the many others that exist, but mine are trying to convey the eeriness of the scene in English. Except for a woodpecker tapping at a post, the house is silent. —Matsuo Basho translation by Michael R. Burch Swallow flitting in the dusk, please spare my small friends buzzing among the flowers! ―Matsuo Basho translation by Michael R. Burch Basho's Insects A bee emerging from deep within the peony's hairy recesses flies off heavily, sated —Matsuo Basho translation by Michael R. Burch That dying cricket, how he goes on about his life! —Matsuo Basho translation by Michael R. Burch The cicada's cry contains no hint of how soon it must die. —Matsuo Basho translation by Michael R. Burch Nothing in the cicada's cry hints that it knows how soon it must die. —Basho translation by Michael R. Burch The cicada's cry contains no hint of how soon it must die. ―Matsuo Basho translation by Michael R. Burch Basho's Moon and Stars Pausing between clouds the moon rests in the eyes of its beholders —Matsuo Basho translation by Michael R. Burch The moon: glorious its illumination! Therefore, we give thanks. Dark clouds cast their shadows on our necks. ―Matsuo Basho translation by Michael R. Burch The surging sea crests around Sado... and above her? An ocean of stars. —Matsuo Basho translation by Michael R. Burch ara umi ya / Sado ni yokotau / Ama-no-gawa Basho's Companions Fire levitating ashes: my companion's shadow animates the wall... —Matsuo Basho translation by Michael R. Burch Among the graffiti one illuminated name: Yours. —Matsuo Basho translation by Michael R. Burch Scrawny tomcat! Are you starving for fish and mice or pining away for love? —Matsuo Basho translation by Michael R. Burch Basho's End of Life and Death Poems Nothing happened! Yesterday simply vanished like the blowfish soup. —Matsuo Basho translation by Michael R. Burch ara nantomo na ya / kino wa sugite / fukuto-jiru Fever-felled mid-path my dreams resurrect, to trek into a hollow land —Matsuo Basho translation by Michael R. Burch Sick of its autumn migration my spirit drifts over wilted fields... ―Matsuo Basho translation by Michael R. Burch Sick of this autumn migration in dreams I drift over flowerless fields... ―Matsuo Basho translation by Michael R. Burch NOTE: While literalists will no doubt object to "flowerless" in the translation above ― along with other word choices in my other translations ― this is my preferred version. I think Basho's meaning still comes through. But "wilted" is probably closer to what he meant. If only we could consult him, to ask whether he preferred strictly literal prose translations of his poems, or more poetic interpretations! My guess is that most poets would prefer for their poems to remain poetry in the second language. In my opinion the differences are minor and astute readers will grok both Basho's meaning and his emotion. Too ill to travel, now only my autumn dreams survey these withering fields ― Matsuo Basho translation by Michael R. Burch New Haiku Translations, Added 10/6/2020 Air ballet: twin butterflies, twice white, meet, match & mate —Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Denied transformation into a butterfly, autumn worsens for the worm —Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Dusk-gliding swallow, please spare my small friends flitting among the flowers! —Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Up and at ’em! The sky goes bright! Let’s hit the road again, Companion Butterfly! —Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch   Higher than a skylark, resting on the breast of heaven: mountain pass. —Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch   Farewell, my cloud-parting friend! Wild goose migrating. —Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch   A crow settles on a leafless branch: autumn nightfall. —Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch An exciting struggle with such a sad ending: cormorant fishing. —Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Secretly, by the light of the moon, a worm bores into a chestnut. —Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch   This strange flower investigated by butterflies and birds: the autumn sky —Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch   Where’s the moon tonight? Like the temple bell: lost at sea. —Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch   Spring departs; birds wail; the pale eyes of fish moisten. —Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch   The moon still appears, though far from home: summer vagrant. —Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch   Cooling the pitiless sun’s bright red flames: autumn wind. —Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch   Saying farewell to others while being told farewell: departing autumn. —Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch   Traveling this road alone: autumn evening. —Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch   Thin from its journey and not yet recovered: late harvest moon. —Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch   Occasional clouds bless tired eyes with rest from moon-viewing. —Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch   The farmboy rests from husking rice to reach for the moon. —Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch   The moon aside, no one here has such a lovely face. —Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch   The moon having set, all that remains are the four corners of his desk. —Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch   The moon so bright a wandering monk carries it lightly on his shoulder. —Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch   The Festival of Souls is obscured by smoke from the crematory. —Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch   The Festival of Souls! Smoke from the crematory? —Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch   Family reunion: those with white hair and canes visiting graves. —Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch   One who is no more left embroidered clothes for a summer airing. —Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch   What am I doing, writing haiku on the threshold of death? Hush, a bird’s song! —Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch   Fallen ill on a final tour, in dreams I go roving earth’s flowerless moor. —Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation of his jisei (death poem) by Michael R. Burch Stricken ill on a senseless tour, still in dreams I go roving earth’s withered moor. —Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation of his jisei (death poem) by Michael R. Burch Stricken ill on a journey, in dreams I go wandering withered moors. —Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation of his jisei (death poem) by Michael R. Burch New Haiku Translations, Added 10/6/2020 Air ballet: twin butterflies, twice white, meet, match & mate —Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Denied transformation into a butterfly, autumn worsens for the worm —Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Dusk-gliding swallow, please spare my small friends flitting among the flowers! —Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Up and at ’em! The sky goes bright! Let’s hit the road again, Companion Butterfly! —Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch   Higher than a skylark, resting on the breast of heaven: mountain pass. —Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch   Farewell, my cloud-parting friend! Wild goose migrating. —Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch   A crow settles on a leafless branch: autumn nightfall. —Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch An exciting struggle with such a sad ending: cormorant fishing. —Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Secretly, by the light of the moon, a worm bores into a chestnut. —Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch   This strange flower investigated by butterflies and birds: the autumn sky —Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch   Where’s the moon tonight? Like the temple bell: lost at sea. —Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch   Spring departs; birds wail; the pale eyes of fish moisten. —Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch   The moon still appears, though far from home: summer vagrant. —Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch   Cooling the pitiless sun’s bright red flames: autumn wind. —Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch   Saying farewell to others while being told farewell: departing autumn. —Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch   Traveling this road alone: autumn evening. —Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch   Thin from its journey and not yet recovered: late harvest moon. —Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch   Occasional clouds bless tired eyes with rest from moon-viewing. —Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch   The farmboy rests from husking rice to reach for the moon. —Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch   The moon aside, no one here has such a lovely face. —Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch   The moon having set, all that remains are the four corners of his desk. —Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch   The moon so bright a wandering monk carries it lightly on his shoulder. —Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch   The Festival of Souls is obscured by smoke from the crematory. —Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch   The Festival of Souls! Smoke from the crematory? —Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch   Family reunion: those with white hair and canes visiting graves. —Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch   One who is no more left embroidered clothes for a summer airing. —Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch   What am I doing, writing haiku on the threshold of death? Hush, a bird’s song! —Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch   Fallen ill on a final tour, in dreams I go roving earth’s flowerless moor. —Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation of his jisei (death poem) by Michael R. Burch Striken ill on a senseless tour, still in dreams I go roving earth’s withered moor. —Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation of his jisei (death poem) by Michael R. Burch Stricken ill on a journey, in dreams I go wandering withered moors. —Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation of his jisei (death poem) by Michael R. Burch NEW BASHO TRANSLATIONS 06-19-2025 SPRING Blame the rainy season for my absence, old friend Moon. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch For yet a little while, the pale moon floating among blossoms... —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Moon past full: darkness increasing. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Spring rains so heavy they overflow the waterfall. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch I’ll catch up about cascading waterfall blossoms when I drink with Li Bai. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Fluttering rose petals fall into the river’s gurgling waters. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Spring rains overwhelming the falls, overflowing... —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch The rainy season downpour sours even the ears of ripening plums. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Flood! Stars will soon sleep atop a rock. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch I’ll dare drenching my paper robes to nab a sprig of spring blossoms. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Where is that handsome man no long with us: the rain-hidden moon. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch So much harsher than other mouths, the wind devours newborn blossoms. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch So taken by their beauty, I long to take the maiden flowers. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Trembling, feeble, heavy with dew: the maiden flowers. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Other flowers bloom, the camellias remain indifferent. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch An orchid’s lingering fragrance veils the bedchamber. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch The boy’s bangs retain the scent of youthful grass. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Spring winds tickle the flowers till they burst out in laughter. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Falling to the ground, returning to its roots, the flower’s farewell. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch So many things recur in memory: spring blossoms reopen. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Seeing them naked almost makes me caress the ********** flowers. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch As temple bells fade flowers strike their fragrance into the silence. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch The bat also emerges into the birds’ world of flowers. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch When planting, please handle the infant cherry tree tenderly, gently, like a baby. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch How can one fret during cherry blossom time? —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch How I envy them, growing high above our transient world, the mountain cherries. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Curiosity: a butterfly alights on nectarless grass. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch A solitary butterfly hovers over its own shadow. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch A solitary butterfly flutters above its own shadow. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Since spring showers insist, the eggplant seeds commence sprouting. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Never belittle the tiniest seeds: the spunky pepper reddens. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Once green, behold! The red pepper. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch After spring rains mugwort shoots up in grassy lanes. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Higher than the larks, resting amid the blue, this mountain pass. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch The blossom-filled day makes the tree’s sadness seem all the darker. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Goodbye, old friend: no longer beckoning miscanthus plumes. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Spying plum blossoms the infatuated ox bellows, “Yes!” —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch The day-lily, dripping water into the grasses’ forgetfulness. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Scooped up by my hands, the springwater shocks my teeth with its iciness. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch The cats’ noisy mating subsides; now into our bedroom creeps the quiet moonlight. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Here at Wakanoura I’m finally in step with fleeting and fleeing spring. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch A bell-less village? Who will ring in the end of spring? —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch The temple bell unheeded? Unheard? Still, spring is fleeting. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch The sun’s about to set: the spring’s last shimmering heat ray. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch SUMMER Such coolness when shouldered: the summer’s first melon. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch A wicker basket shields the coolness of the first melon. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Morning dew: the muddy melon exudes coolness. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Early summer rain: the green spikemoss, how long to remain? —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Timidly the willow refrains from touching deutzia blossoms. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch An oiled paper umbrella attempts to push aside unobliging willows. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch The ancient river ogles the slender willow. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch So like life: this small patch of shade beneath a wicker hat. Still alive despite the slightness of my hat, I cherish its shade. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch This summer world floats in the lake’s silver waves. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch A weary horse collapsing in barley: traveler’s rest. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch On the distant plain the deer’s voice seems an inch tall. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch How sad, the bellowing of bucks, The bleatings of does, at night. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Even woodpeckers hold this old hut sacred, still standing in the summer grove. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Toppling from the topmost bough, emptiness aloft: the cicada’s husk. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch The hollyhock leans sunward in the summer rain. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Ah, the splendid resplendence of sunlight on tender evergreen leaves! —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch The fragrance of oranges... In whose farmyard is the cuckoo calling? —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Temple bells reverberate: cicadas singing. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Shouldering hay bales, someone left enough straw to mark our way. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Fireflies turn our trees into well-lit lodges. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch A noontime firefly, dim by daylight, hides behind a pillar. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Firefly watching, the tipsy boatman rocks the boat. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Rising above fields of rice and barley, the cry of the summer cuckoo. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Tedious life! Plowing the rice field back and forth... —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Lying in the summer grass, discarded like a king’s robe, the snakeskin. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch The shrubby bush-clover? How impudent her appearance! —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Glistening dew sways without spilling from the bush-clover. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch I bow low to the venerable rabbit-eared Iris. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Rabbit-eared Iris, pausing to chit-chat, one joy of my journey. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch The rabbit-eared iris inspires another hokku. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Rabbit-eared Iris, admiring your reflection? —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Inside Uchiyama, unknown to outsiders, blossoms full-bloom. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Uchiyama was a temple little-known to the outside world. In fact, uchi means “inside.” AUTUMN First of autumn: the sea and the rice fields the same green hue. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch The autumn wind like a ventriloquist projects its piercing voice. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Voices in the reeds? Ventriloquism of the autumn wind. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch East and West united by the autumn wind into a single melancholy. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Seeing a friend off, his hunched back lonely in the autumn wind. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Illuminating sawn-off tree trunks: the harvest moon. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch After pausing for harvest moon viewing, we must be on our way. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Our moon-viewing interrupted on Asamutsu Bridge, dark yields to dawn. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Consider lonesomeness surpassing even Suma’s: this deserted autumn beach. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch The temple bell drowned in the sea, and where is the moon? —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch My humble take on the world? Withered leaves at autumn’s end. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Withering flowers: out of such sadness seeds emerge. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Red on red on red, the sun relentless, yet autumn’s unimpressed. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch This lusciously cool autumn day we peel aubergine melons. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Cling to your leaves, peach trees! Autumn wind. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch This whiteness, whiter than mountain quartz: autumn wind. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Shocking the grave, my grief-filled cry: autumn wind. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Spider, to whom do you cry? Autumn wind. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch How to reach safe haven? An insect adrift on a leaf. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Reverential tears: the falling leaves bid their trees goodbye. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Plates and bowls gleaming dimly in the darkness: evening coolness. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Twice the pity: beneath the headless helmet, a chirping cricket. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Secretly by moonlight weevils bore chestnuts. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Cranes on stilts surveying the rice paddies: autumn village. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Thankfulness: someone else harvests rice for me. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch How touching to survive the storm, chrysanthemum. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Slender again, somehow the chrysanthemum will yet again bud. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch As autumn deepens a butterfly sips chrysanthemum dew. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch His loosened jacket collar invites the cool breeze. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Butterfly wings: how many times have they soared over human roofs? —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Mosquitos drone with dusky voices deep within the cattle shed. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Basho leaves shred in the gale; the basin collects raindrips; all night I listen, alone in my hut. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch The dew drips, drop-by-drop... I’d rinse this world clean, if I could. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch The fire’s banked ashes extinguish your tears’ hisses. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Turn to face me, for I am also lonesome this autumn evening. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Plucking white hairs while beneath my pillow a cricket creaks. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Everything that blossoms dies in the end: wilted pampas grass. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch As autumn departs, shivering I scrunch under too-small bedding. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch It seems, to dullard me, that hell must be like this: late autumn. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch WINTER The year’s first snowfall; such happiness to be at home in my hut. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Fire-making friend, let me show you something grand: a huge snowball! —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Written for Basho’s dear friend Sora, who visited Basho’s hut to feed the fire, cook, break ice and make tea. Come, children, let’s frolic in the snowstorm, dodge the hail. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Farewell for now, we’re off to find snow until we tumble into it. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Let’s get up until we fall into the snow we seek. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Yesteryear’s snows, have they fallen anew? —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Winter drizzle; irate, I await snow adorning the pines. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Practicing bowing, the bamboo anticipates snow. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Bowing low, the upside-down world of snow-laden bamboo. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Melancholic flowers shrivel in the frost. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Hailstones stitching the silken snow. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Oars slapping waves, the stomach a-shiver, these nighttime tears. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Icefish shoaling through seaweed swim into my hands. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Sunrise: one-inch sliver of the whitefish’s iciness. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Alive but congealed into one: the frozen sea cucumbers. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Somehow alive yet congealed into a single solid mass: the frozen sea cucumbers. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Water so cold, rocks so hard, where will the seagull sleep? —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Plovers depart as evening deepens windward toward Hiei. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Crying in the darkness, unable to locate its nest, the homeless plover. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch The plovers cry: “Be watchful of the darkness at Star Cape!” —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Mushroom-gathering, rushing to beat cold evening rains. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Ceremonious hailstones assail my hinoki hat. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Caught hatless in a winter shower? So it goes. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch How many frosts have tested this pine’s mettle? —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch A winter drizzle obscures the field’s freshcut stubble. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch The drinkers’ faces paler than the snow: a flash of lightning. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch The polished mirror clear as snowflake petals. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch The relentless wind sharpens rocks and stones, topples cedars. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Cold fear desolate as a deserted frost-crusted shack. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch How marvelous, the winter snow will return as rain. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Children come running, dodging jewels: hailstones. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch At least the world has left, unblemished and unbegrimed, a single wooden bowl. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch The bowl in question had been left by Rotsu in Osaka, and was returned undamaged seven years later. Rotsu was a Basho disciple. The mud snail’s closed lid: winter confinement. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Inside my hut, watching my own breath: winter confinement. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch So weary of Kyoto, of the withering wind and winter life. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch I will soon be included among the fortunate ones: beyond winter. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch VARIOUS As clouds drift apart, so we two separate: wild geese departing. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch The old nest deserted, how empty now my next-door neighbor’s hut. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Yesterday? Departed, like the blowfish soup. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Exciting, but with a sad conclusion: cormorant fishing. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch The one who died: her delicate kimono hung out to dry. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Behind the veiling curtain, the wife in her bedchamber: plum blossoms. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch See her slim figure: the ingenue moon not yet ripened. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Clouds now and then offer intermissions from moon-viewing. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Drinking alone with the moon, my shadow makes three. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch The moon and the blossoms lack only a man drinking sake, alone. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Unbar the door, allow moonlight to enter Ukimido. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Ukimido was a temple Basho visited in 1691. Drinking morning tea, the monks silent amid chrysanthemums. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Its fragrance whiter than the peach blossoms’ whiteness: the narcissus. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch The narcissus reflects the whiteness of a paper screen. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Hibiscus flowers garland an otherwise naked child. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch The overproud pink begonia thinks it’s a watermelon. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Echo my lonesomeness, mountain cuckoo. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch The cuckoo’s lone voice lingers over the inlet. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Solitary hawk, a heavenly vision over Cape Irago. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch At Cape Irago the incomparable cry of the hawk. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Better than any dream, the thrilling reality of a hawk’s cry. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch The hawk’s eye narrows at the quail’s call. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Naptime! But my drowsiness is nixed by busybody warblers. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Carolers: the sparrows smile at their warbling. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Giving thanks to the flowers for brightening my visit: farewell. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Melancholy nub! The bamboo bud’s sad end. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch This lightning flash the hand receives in darkness: a candle. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Carrying a candle into the dark outhouse: the moonflowers’ whiteness. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Seeing a moonflower, I poke my sake-addled face through a hole in the window. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Nighttime folly: grabbing a thorn, expecting a firefly. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch More nighttime weirdness: a fox stalking a melon? —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch It’s better to become a beggar than a critic. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch No rest: the carpenter hangs his own shelf. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Blowing away the volcano’s molars: the typhoon. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch What decays have you endured, watchful tomb ferns? —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch A disgusting smell slimed on waterweeds: pale chub entrails. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch A country boy shucking husks gazes at the moon. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch The poet’s heart? Will we ever really understand ume blossoms? —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch For at least today let all the poets be melodious as winter rains. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch I believe the haiku above was written during a gathering of poets. What tree blossoms here? I do not know its mysterious aroma. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch I will lodge here until the tender goosefoot matures into a walking stick. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch I’d compare a flower to a delicate child but the field is barren. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Basho wrote the poem above for a friend, Rakugo, who had lost a child. Even a poorly-painted morning glory pleases. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch The morning glories ignore our drinking, drunk on themselves. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Slender glistener! Each dewdrop a burden for the maiden flower. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch The moon absent, treetops cling to the nighttime rain. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch May you tumble safely onto sand or snow, sake-addled horse rider. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch I miss my mother and father so much: the kiji’s cry. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch The kiji is a green pheasant but also a metaphor for the love of one’s family and kiji is also a homophone for “orphaned child.” I pause from my journey to observe the fleeting world going about its housecleaning. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch No simile! Nothing compares to the crescent moon. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch The overstaying moon and I linger in Sarawhina. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Her ascent easy and yet still hesitant, the cloud-veiled moon. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch A cuckoo flying, cawing, crying and cajoling: busybody. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch What’s all the ado about this busybody crow? —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Art begins with ancient rice-planting chants drifting on the wind. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Today’s words vanish tomorrow: evaporating dew. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Basho may have proved himself wrong with the poem above, since so many of his poems are still being read, studied and translated. Unregarded by the high-minded the lowly chestnut blossoms by the eaves. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Clinging for dear life to the bridge, these winding vines. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch This swinging bridge: hard to imagine horses crossing. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Even in Kyoto, a longing for Kyoto, the cuckoo calling. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch The cuckoo symbolizes nostalgia. Here Basho seems to be in Kyoto but longing for the Kyoto of his past. Rock azaleas dyed red by the cuckoo’s tears. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch In Japan the cuckoo is said to shed tears of blood. I would wipe away the tears brimming in your eyes with these tender leaves. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Reincarnation? The fawn’s first dawn falls on Buddha’s birthday. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Forbidden to speak of holy Yudono, my sleeves wet with tears. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Let us learn from the travails of these ancient pilgrims. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch The samurai’s overlong discourse: the tang of bitter daikon. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Tender-horned snail, point those tiny tips toward distant mountains! —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch A dragonfly clings tentatively to the air, hovering above waving grasses. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Tiny river crab creeping up my leg? Back to the water! —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch The windblown butterfly is unable to settle in the waving grass. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Even the wild boar is blown about by buffeting winds. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch The boat comes to rest on a beach of peach blossoms. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Lightning does not enlighten, of what value? —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch A banked fire, the shadow of a guest. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Remember: the thicket guards plum blossoms. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Don’t chortle with glee: through the leaves of the silk tree stars wink at me. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch The Kiyotaki’s unblemished waves gently dispersing still-green pine needles. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch This is said to have been Basho’s last haiku. Kiyotaki means “clear” and is the name of a river. Immaculate white chrysanthemums: no matter how closely investigated, without a blemish. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch I suspect the two poems above are related because the first poem in one version had “without a blemish” or “nary a blemish.” Faint in a trace of water: floating chrysanthemums. —Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch OTHER POETS Observe: see how the wild violets bloom within the forbidden fences! —Shida Yaba (1663-1740), loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch When no wind at all ruffles the Kiri tree leaves fall of their own free will. —Nozawa Boncho (1640-1714), loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Keywords/Tags: Basho, haiku, translation, Japan, Japanese, Oriental, Orient Occident, nature, season, seasons, waka, tanka, life and death, compassion, empathy, mrbhaiku, mrbbasho
#basho#haiku#english#translation#japan#japanese#oriental#nature#season#seasons
Written by
michael-r-burch
62/M/Nashville, Tennessee
Oct 2, 2020
Oct 2, 2020 at 5:43 AM UTC
Request permission to use this poem