With a bit of madness in me,
Which is poetry,
I plod along like Chikusai
Among the wails of the wind.
Who is it that runs with hurried steps,
Flowers of sasanqua dancing on his hat?
Sleeping on a grass pillow
I hear now and then
The nocturnal bark of a dog
In the passing rain.
*
In the utter darkness
Of a moonless night,
A powerful wind embraces
The ancient cedar trees.
*
The Poet Saigyo
Would have written a poem
Even for the woman
Washing potatoes.
*
A Butterfly
Poised on a tender orchid,
How sweetly the incense
Burns on its wings.
*
A ivy spray
Trained up over the wall
And a few bamboos
Invinting a tempest.
*
I like to wash
By way of experiment,
The dust of this world
In the droplets of dew.
by Matsuo Basho