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These are English translations Haiku by the Japanese Masters of the form, including Matsuo Basho, Yosa Buson, Fukuda Chiyo-ni, Kobayashi Issa, Yamaguchi Seishi and Hisajo Sugita. Grasses wilt: the braking locomotive grinds to a halt ― Yamaguchi Seishi, loose translation by Michael R. Burch Oh, fallen camellias, if I were you, I'd leap into the torrent! ― Takaha Shugyo, loose translation by Michael R. Burch The first soft snow: leaves of the awed jonquil bow low ― Matsuo Basho, loose translation by Michael R. Burch Come, investigate loneliness! a solitary leaf clings to the Kiri tree ― Matsuo Basho, loose translation by Michael R. Burch Lightning shatters the darkness― the night heron's shriek ― Matsuo Basho, loose translation by Michael R. Burch One apple, alone in the abandoned orchard reddens for winter ― Patrick Blanche, loose translation by Michael R. Burch The poem above is by a French poet; it illustrates how the poetry of Oriental masters like Basho has influenced poets around the world. I remove my beautiful kimono: its varied braids surround and entwine my body ― Hisajo Sugita, loose translation by Michael R. Burch This day of chrysanthemums I shake and comb my wet hair, as their petals shed rain ― Hisajo Sugita, loose translation by Michael R. Burch This sheer kimono— how the moon peers through to my naked skin! —Hisajo Sugita (1890-1946), loose translation by Michael R. Burch These festive flowery robes— though quickly undressed, how their colored cords still continue to cling! —Hisajo Sugita (1890-1946), loose translation by Michael R. Burch Chrysanthemum petals reveal their pale curves shyly to the moon. —Hisajo Sugita (1890-1946), loose translation by Michael R. Burch Loneliness — reading the Bible as the rain deflowers cherry blossoms. —Hisajo Sugita (1890-1946), loose translation by Michael R. Burch How deep this valley, how elevated the butterfly's flight! —Hisajo Sugita (1890-1946), loose translation by Michael R. Burch How lowly this valley, how lofty the butterfly's flight! —Hisajo Sugita (1890-1946), loose translation by Michael R. Burch Echoes from the hills— the mountain cuckoo sings as it will, trill upon trill —Hisajo Sugita (1890-1946), loose translation by Michael R. Burch This darkening autumn: my neighbor, how does he continue? ― Matsuo Basho, loose translation by Michael R. Burch Let us arrange these lovely flowers in the bowl since there's no rice ― Matsuo Basho, loose translation by Michael R. Burch An ancient pond, the frog leaps: the silver plop and gurgle of water ― Matsuo Basho, loose translation by Michael R. Burch Bashed by Basho by Michael R. Burch He came to me like an early birdie and said, “My, my, you are REALLY wordy!” The butterfly perfuming its wings fans the orchid ― Matsuo Basho, loose translation by Michael R. Burch Pausing between clouds the moon rests in the eyes of its beholders ― Matsuo Basho, loose translation by Michael R. Burch The first chill rain: poor monkey, you too could use a woven cape of straw ― Matsuo Basho, loose translation by Michael R. Burch This snowy morning: cries of the crow I despise (ah, but so beautiful!) ― Matsuo Basho, loose translation by Michael R. Burch Like a heavy fragrance snow-flakes settle: lilies on the rocks ― Matsuo Basho, loose translation by Michael R. Burch The cheerful-chirping cricket contends gray autumn's gay, contemptuous of frost ― Matsuo Basho, loose translation by Michael R. Burch Whistle on, twilight whippoorwill, solemn evangelist of loneliness ― Matsuo Basho, loose translation by Michael R. Burch The sea darkening, the voices of the wild ducks: my mysterious companions! ― Matsuo Basho, loose translation by Michael R. Burch Will we meet again? Here at your flowering grave: two white butterflies ― Matsuo Basho, loose translation by Michael R. Burch Fever-felled mid-path my dreams resurrect, to trek into a hollow land ― Matsuo Basho, loose translation by Michael R. Burch Too ill to travel, now only my autumn dreams survey these withering fields ― Matsuo Basho, loose translation by Michael R. Burch; this has been called Basho's death poem These brown summer grasses? The only remains of "invincible" warriors... ― Matsuo Basho, loose translation by Michael R. Burch Graven images of long-departed gods, dry spiritless leaves: companions of the temple porch ― Matsuo Basho, loose translation by Michael R. Burch See: whose surviving sons visit the ancestral graves white-bearded, with trembling canes? ― Matsuo Basho, loose translation by Michael R. Burch An empty road lonelier than abandonment: this autumn evening ― Matsuo Basho, loose translation by Michael R. Burch Spring has come: the nameless hill lies shrouded in mist ― Matsuo Basho, loose translation by Michael R. Burch The Oldest Haiku These are my translations of some of the oldest Japanese waka, which evolved into poetic forms such as tanka, renga and haiku over time. My translations are excerpts from the Kojiki (the "Record of Ancient Matters"), a book composed around 711-712 A.D. by the historian and poet Ō no Yasumaro. The Kojiki relates Japan’s mythological beginnings and the history of its imperial line. Like Virgil's Aeneid, the Kojiki seeks to legitimize rulers by recounting their roots. These are lines from one of the oldest Japanese poems, found in the oldest Japanese book: While you decline to cry, high on the mountainside a single stalk of plumegrass wilts. ― Ō no Yasumaro (circa 711), loose translation by Michael R. Burch Here's another excerpt, with a humorous twist, from the Kojiki: Hush, cawing crows; what rackets you make! Heaven's indignant messengers, you remind me of wordsmiths! ― Ō no Yasumaro (circa 711), loose translation by Michael R. Burch Here's another, this one a poem of love and longing: Onyx, this gem-black night. Downcast, I await your return like the rising sun, unrivaled in splendor. ― Ō no Yasumaro (circa 711), loose translation by Michael R. Burch More Haiku by Various Poets Right at my feet! When did you arrive here, snail? ― Kobayashi Issa, loose translation by Michael R. Burch Our world of dew is a world of dew indeed; and yet, and yet... ― Kobayashi Issa, loose translation by Michael R. Burch Oh, brilliant moon can it be true that even you must rush off, like us, tardy? ― Kobayashi Issa, loose translation by Michael R. Burch Standing unsteadily, I am the scarecrow’s skinny surrogate ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Autumn wind ... She always wanted to pluck the reddest roses ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Issa wrote the haiku above after the death of his daughter Sato with the note: “Sato, girl, 35th day, at the grave.” The childless woman, how tenderly she caresses homeless dolls ... —Hattori Ransetsu, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Clinging to the plum tree: one blossom's worth of warmth —Hattori Ransetsu, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch One leaf falls, enlightenment! Another leaf falls, swept away by the wind ... —Hattori Ransetsu, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch This has been called Ransetsu’s “death poem.” In The Classic Tradition of Haiku, Faubion Bowers says in a footnote to this haiku: “Just as ‘blossom’, when not modified, means ‘cherry flower’ in haiku, ‘one leaf’ is code for ‘kiri’. Kiri ... is the Pawlonia ... The leaves drop throughout the year. They shrivel, turn yellow, and yield to gravity. Their falling symbolizes loneliness and connotes the past. The large purple flowers ... are deeply associated with haiku because the three prongs hold 5, 7 and 5 buds ... ‘Totsu’ is an exclamation supposedly uttered when a Zen student achieves enlightenment. The sound also imitates the dry crackle the pawlonia leaf makes as it scratches the ground upon falling.” This world? Moonlit dew flicked from a crane's bill. —Eihei Dogen Kigen (1200-1253) loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Seventy-one? How long can a dewdrop last? —Eihei Dogen Kigen, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Dewdrops beading grass-blades die before dawn; may an untimely wind not hasten their departure! —Eihei Dogen Kigen, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Dewdrops beading blades of grass have so little time to shine before dawn; let the autumn wind not rush too quickly through the field! —Eihei Dogen Kigen, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Outside my window the plums, blossoming, within their curled buds, contain the spring; the moon is reflected in the cup-like whorls of the lovely flowers I gather and twirl. —Eihei Dogen Kigen, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Disdaining grass, the firefly nibbles nettles— this is who I am. —Takarai Kikaku (1661-1707), loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch A simple man, content to breakfast with the morning glories— this is who I am. —Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch This is Basho’s response to the Takarai Kikaku haiku above The morning glories, alas, also turned out not to embrace me —Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch The morning glories bloom, mending chinks in the old fence —Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Morning glories, however poorly painted, still engage us —Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch I too have been accused of morning glory gazing ... —original haiku by by Michael R. Burch Taming the rage of an unrelenting sun— autumn breeze. —Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch The sun sets, relentlessly red, yet autumn’s in the wind. —Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch As autumn deepens, a butterfly sips chrysanthemum dew. —Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch As autumn draws near, so too our hearts in this small tea room. —Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Nothing happened! Yesterday simply vanished like the blowfish soup. —Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch The surging sea crests around Sado ... and above her? An ocean of stars. —Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Revered figure! I bow low to the rabbit-eared Iris. —Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Come, butterfly, it’s late and we’ve a long way to go! —Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Nothing in the cry of the cicadas suggests they know they soon must die. —Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch I wish I could wash this perishing earth in its shimmering dew. —Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Dabbed with morning dew and splashed with mud, the melon looks wonderfully cool. —Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Cold white azalea— a lone nun in her thatched straw hut. —Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Glimpsed on this high mountain trail, delighting my heart— wild violets —Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch The bee emerging from deep within the peony’s hairy recesses flies off heavily, sated —Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch A crow has settled on a naked branch— autumn nightfall —Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Except for a woodpecker tapping at a post, the house is silent. —Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch That dying cricket, how he goes on about his life! —Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Like a glorious shrine— on these green, budding leaves, the sun’s intense radiance. —Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Yosa Buson haiku translations On the temple’s great bronze gong a butterfly snoozes. ―Yosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Hard to describe: this light sensation of being pinched by a butterfly! ―Yosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Not to worry spiders, I clean house ... sparingly. ―Yosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Among the fallen leaves, an elderly frog. ―Yosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch In an ancient well fish leap for mosquitoes, a dark sound. ―Yosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Flowers with thorns remind me of my hometown ... ―Yosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Reaching the white chrysanthemum the scissors hesitate ... ―Yosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch A kite floats at the same place in the sky where yesterday it floated ... ―Yosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Picking autumn plums my wrinkled hands once again grow fragrant ―Yosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch A silk robe, casually discarded, exudes fragrance into the darkening evening ―Yosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Whose delicate clothes still decorate the clothesline? Late autumn wind. ―Yosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch This is an example of a translation in which I interpreted the poem before translating it. In the original poem the clothes were thin (suggesting suggestive garments). In Japanese poetry an autumn wind can represent loneliness. So I interpreted the poem to be about an aging woman who still wears enticing clothes but is increasingly lonely. Since in the West we don't normally drape clothes on screens, I moved the clothes to a clothesline, which works well with the wind. For me it's a sad poem about something that happens all too often to people as they age. An evening breeze: water lapping the heron’s legs. ―Yosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch gills puffing, a hooked fish: the patient ―Yosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch The stirred morning air ruffles the hair of a caterpillar. ―Yosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Intruder! This white plum tree was once outside our fence! ―Yosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Tender grass forgetful of its roots the willow ―Yosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch I believe the poem above can be taken as commentary on ungrateful children. It reminds me of Robert Hayden's "Those Winter Sundays."―MRB Since I'm left here alone, I'll make friends with the moon. ―Yosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch The hood-wearer in his self-created darkness misses the harvest moon ―Yosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch White blossoms of the pear tree― a young woman reading his moonlit letter ―Yosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch The pear tree flowers whitely: a young woman reading his letter by moonlight ―Yosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch On adjacent branches the plum tree blossoms bloom petal by petal―love! ―Yosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch A misty spring moon ... I entice a woman to pay it our respects ―Yosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Courtesans purchasing kimonos: plum trees blossoming ―Yosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch The spring sea rocks all day long: rising and falling, ebbing and flowing ... ―Yosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch As the whale     dives its tail gets taller! ―Yosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch While tilling the field the motionless cloud vanished. ―Yosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Even lonelier than last year: this autumn evening. ―Yosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch My thoughts return to my Mother and Father: late autumn ―Yosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Late autumn: my thoughts return to my Mother and Father ―Yosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch This roaring winter wind: the cataract grates on its rocks. ―Yosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch While snow lingers in creases and recesses: flowers of the plum ―Yosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Plowing, not a single bird sings in the mountain's shadow ―Yosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch In the lingering heat of an abandoned cowbarn only the sound of the mosquitoes is dark. ―Yosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch The red plum's fallen petals seem to ignite horse **** ―Yosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Dawn! The brilliant sun illuminates sardine heads. ―Yosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch The abandoned willow shines between bright rains ―Yosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Dew-damp grass: the setting sun’s tears ―Yosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch The dew-damp grass weeps silently in the setting sun ―Yosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch White plum blossoms― though the hour grows late, a glimpse of dawn ―Yosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch The poem above is believed to be Buson's jisei (death poem) and he is said to have died before dawn. Lately the nights dawn plum-blossom white. ―Yosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch This is a second interpretation of Buson's jisei (death poem). In the deepening night I saw by the light of the white plum blossoms ―Yosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch This is a third interpretation of Buson's jisei (death poem). Our life here on earth: to what shall we compare it? Perhaps to a rowboat departing at daybreak, leaving no trace of us in its wake? —Takaha Shugyo or Yosa Buson, loose translation by Michael R. Burch I thought I felt a dewdrop plop on me as I lay in bed! ― Masaoka Shiki, loose translation by Michael R. Burch We cannot see the moon and yet the waves still rise ― Shiki Masaoka, loose translation by Michael R. Burch The first morning of autumn: the mirror I investigate reflects my father’s face ― Shiki Masaoka, loose translation by Michael R. Burch Wild geese pass leaving the emptiness of heaven revealed ― Takaha Shugyo, loose translation by Michael R. Burch Inside the cracked shell of a walnut: one empty room. —Takaha Shugyo, loose translation by Michael R. Burch Bring me an icicle sparkling with the stars of the deep north —Takaha Shugyo, loose translation by Michael R. Burch Seen from the skyscraper the trees' fresh greenery: parsley sprigs —Takaha Shugyo, loose translation by Michael R. Burch Are the geese flying south? The candle continues to flicker ... —Takaha Shugyo, loose translation by Michael R. Burch Still clad in its clown's costume— the dead ladybird. —Takaha Shugyo, loose translation by Michael R. Burch A single tree, a heart carved into its trunk, blossoms prematurely —Takaha Shugyo, loose translation by Michael R. Burch Silently observing the bottomless mountain lake: water lilies ― Inahata Teiko, loose translation by Michael R. Burch Cranes flapping ceaselessly test the sky's upper limits ― Inahata Teiko, loose translation by Michael R. Burch Falling snowflakes' glitter tinsels the sea ― Inahata Teiko, loose translation by Michael R. Burch Blizzards here on earth, blizzards of stars in the sky ― Inahata Teiko, loose translation by Michael R. Burch Completely encircled in emerald: the glittering swamp! ― Inahata Teiko, loose translation by Michael R. Burch The new calendar!: as if tomorrow is assured... ― Inahata Teiko, loose translation by Michael R. Burch Ah butterfly, what dreams do you ply with your beautiful wings? ― Fukuda Chiyo-ni, loose translation by Michael R. Burch Because morning glories hold my well-bucket hostage I go begging for water ― Fukuda Chiyo-ni, loose translation by Michael R. Burch Spring stirs the clouds in the sky's teabowl ― Kikusha-ni, loose translation by Michael R. Burch Tonight I saw how the peony crumples in the fire's embers ― Katoh Shuhson, loose translation by Michael R. Burch It fills me with anger, this moon; it fills me and makes me whole ― Takeshita Shizunojo, loose translation by Michael R. Burch War stood at the end of the hall in the long shadows ― Watanabe Hakusen, loose translation by Michael R. Burch Because he is slow to wrath, I tackle him, then wring his neck in the long grass ― Shimazu Ryoh, loose translation by Michael R. Burch Pale mountain sky: cherry petals play as they tumble earthward ― Kusama Tokihiko, loose translation by Michael R. Burch The frozen moon, the frozen lake: two oval mirrors reflecting each other. ― Hashimoto Takako, loose translation by Michael R. Burch The bitter winter wind ends here with the frozen sea ― Ikenishi Gonsui, loose translation by Michael R. Burch Oh, bitter winter wind, why bellow so when there's no leaves to fell? ― Natsume Sôseki, loose translation by Michael R. Burch Winter waves roil their own shadows ― Tominaga Fûsei, loose translation by Michael R. Burch No sky, no land: just snow eternally falling... ― Kajiwara Hashin, loose translation by Michael R. Burch Along with spring leaves my child's teeth take root, blossom ― Nakamura Kusatao, loose translation by Michael R. Burch Stillness: a single chestnut leaf glides on brilliant water ― Ryuin, loose translation by Michael R. Burch As thunder recedes a lone tree stands illuminated in sunlight: applauded by cicadas ― Masaoka Shiki, loose translation by Michael R. Burch The snake slipped away but his eyes, having held mine, still stare in the grass ― Kyoshi Takahama, loose translation by Michael R. Burch Girls gather sprouts of rice: reflections of the water flicker on the backs of their hats ― Kyoshi Takahama, loose translation by Michael R. Burch Murmurs follow the hay cart this blossoming summer day ― Ippekiro Nakatsuka (1887-1946), loose translation by Michael R. Burch The wet nurse paused to consider a bucket of sea urchins then walked away ― Ippekiro Nakatsuka (1887-1946), loose translation by Michael R. Burch May I be with my mother wearing her summer kimono by the morning window ― Ippekiro Nakatsuka (1887-1946), loose translation by Michael R. Burch The hands of a woman exist to remove the insides of the spring cuttlefish ― Sekitei Hara, loose translation by Michael R. Burch The moon hovering above the snow-capped mountains rained down hailstones ― Sekitei Hara, loose translation by Michael R. Burch Oh, dreamlike winter butterfly: a puff of white snow cresting mountains ― Kakio Tomizawa, loose translation by Michael R. Burch Spring snow cascades over fences in white waves ― Suju Takano, loose translation by Michael R. Burch Tanka and Waka translations: If fields of autumn flowers can shed their blossoms, shameless, why can’t I also frolic here — as fearless, and as blameless? —Ono no Komachi, loose translation by Michael R. Burch Submit to you — is that what you advise? The way the ripples do whenever ill winds arise? —Ono no Komachi, loose translation by Michael R. Burch Watching wan moonlight illuminate trees, my heart also brims, overflowing with autumn. —Ono no Komachi, loose translation by Michael R. Burch I had thought to pluck the flower of forgetfulness only to find it already blossoming in his heart. —Ono no Komachi, loose translation by Michael R. Burch That which men call "love" — is it not merely the chain preventing our escape from this world of pain? —Ono no Komachi, loose translation by Michael R. Burch Once-colorful flowers faded, while in my drab cell life’s impulse also abated as the long rains fell. —Ono no Komachi, loose translation by Michael R. Burch I set off at the shore of the seaside of Tago, where I saw the high, illuminated peak of Fuji―white, aglow― through flakes of drifting downy snow. ― Akahito Yamabe, loose translation by Michael R. Burch New Haiku Translations, added 6/27/2022 As the monks sip their morning tea, chrysanthemums quietly blossom. —Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch The fragrance of plum blossoms on a foggy path: the sun rising. —Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch The sea darkens ... yet still faintly white the wild duck protests. —Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Pear tree blossoms whitened by moonlight: a young woman reading a letter. —Yosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Outlined in the moonlight ... who is that standing among the pear trees? —Yosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Your coolness: the sound of the bell departing the bell. —Yosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch As the moon flies west the flowers' shadows creep eastward. —Yosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch By such pale moonlight even the wisteria's fragrance seems distant. —Yosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Leaves like crows’ shadows flirt with a lonely moon. Kaga no Chiyo (1703-1775), loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch The next seven autumn moon translations are dedicated to Stephen I. Hsu, who suggested the Chiyo-ni poems to me. Bright autumnal moon, but no matter how far I walked, unreachable. —Fukuda Chiyo-ni, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Bright autumnal moon, but no matter how far I walked, distant beyond my grasp. —Fukuda Chiyo-ni, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Here, “grasp” in both the sense of touch and understanding. Walking, walking toward the bright autumn moon, never the nearer. —Fukuda Chiyo-ni, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch I walk and walk toward the autumn moon, yet it remains distant. —Fukuda Chiyo-ni, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch "meigetsu ya": "bright moon" or "harvest moon" "ittemo ittemo": "however far I walked," or "no matter how much I walk" "yoso no sora": "distant sky," "unknown sky," or "another's sky" *** The bright autumn moon even for those we keenly miss shines just as full. The bright autumn moon even for those far from us shines just as full. The bright autumn moon even for those far from us seems just as close. meigetsu ya: "bright moon" or "harvest moon" rusu no hito ni mo: "for those far away" maru nagara: "while round" or perhaps "remains round/full" *** Let me die covered with flowers and never again wake to this earthly dream! —Ochi Etsujin, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch To reveal how your heart flowers, sway like the summer grove. —Tagami Kikusha-Ni (1753-1826), loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch In the thicket's shade a solitary woman sings the rice-planting song. Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Unaware of these degenerate times, cherry blossoms abound! Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch These silent summer nights even the stars seem to whisper. Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch The enormous firefly weaves its way, this way and that, as it passes by. Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Composed like the Thinker, he sits contemplating the mountains: the sagacious frog! Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch A fallen blossom returning to its bough? No, a butterfly! Arakida Moritake (1473-1549), loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Illuminated by the harvest moon smoke is caught creeping across the water ... Hattori Ransetsu (1654-1707), loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Fanning its tail flamboyantly with every excuse of a breeze, the peacock! Masaoki Shiki (1867-1902), loose translation by Michael R. Burch Waves row through the mists of the endless sea. Masaoki Shiki (1867-1902), loose translation by Michael R. Burch I hurl a firefly into the darkness and sense the enormity of night. —Kyoshi Takahama (1874-1959), loose translation by Michael R. Burch As girls gather rice sprouts reflections of the rain ripple on the backs of their hats. —Kyoshi Takahama (1874-1959), loose translation by Michael R. Burch ISSA TRANSLATIONS Petals I amass with such tenderness ***** me to the quick. ― Kobayashi Issa, loose translation by Michael R. Burch This world of dew is a world of dew indeed; and yet... ― Kobayashi Issa, loose translation by Michael R. Burch Standing beneath cherry blossoms who can be strangers? ― Kobayashi Issa, loose translation by Michael R. Burch An enormous frog! We stare at each other, both petrified. ― Kobayashi Issa, loose translation by Michael R. Burch Skinny frog, hang on... Issa to the rescue! ― Kobayashi Issa, loose translation by Michael R. Burch Right at my feet! When did you arrive here, snail? ― Kobayashi Issa, loose translation by Michael R. Burch I toss in my sleep, so watch out, cricket! ― Kobayashi Issa, loose translation by Michael R. Burch In a better world I'd leave you my rice bowl, little fly! ― Kobayashi Issa, loose translation by Michael R. Burch Cries of the wild geese... Spreading rumors about me? ― Kobayashi Issa, loose translation by Michael R. Burch While a cicada sings softly a single leaf falls... ― Kobayashi Issa, loose translation by Michael R. Burch Wake up, old tomcat, then with elaborate yawns and stretchings prepare to pursue love ― Kobayashi Issa, loose translation by Michael R. Burch This windy nest? Open your hungry mouth in vain, Issa, orphaned sparrow! ― Kobayashi Issa, loose translation by Michael R. Burch The ghostly cow comes mooing mooing mooing out of the morning mist ― Kobayashi Issa, loose translation by Michael R. Burch The snow melts and the village is flooded with children! ― Kobayashi Issa, loose translation by Michael R. Burch Full moon, my ramshackle hut is an open book! ― Kobayashi Issa, loose translation by Michael R. Burch Oh, brilliant moon can it be true that even you must rush off, late for some date? ― Kobayashi Issa, loose translation by Michael R. Burch Don't weep, we are all insects! Lovers, even the stars themselves, must eventually part. ― Kobayashi Issa, loose translation by Michael R. Burch In our world we walk suspended over hell admiring flowers. ― Kobayashi Issa, loose translation by Michael R. Burch In the thicket’s shade a solitary woman sings the rice-planting song. —Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch If my father were here, we would gaze over dawn’s green fields together. —Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Unaware of these degenerate times, cherry blossoms abound! —Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch These silent summer nights even the stars seem to whisper. —Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch The enormous firefly weaves its way, this way and that, as it passes by. —Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Composed like the Thinker, he sits contemplating the mountains: the sagacious frog! —Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Smug boss plopped on his throne: pompous bullfrog! ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Serene-faced contemplating the stars: Buddha-frog. ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Standing stone-still for the horse to smell: Buddha-frog. ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Such a racket! Will I be your next meal, cawing crows? ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch New Year’s Day I welcome a guest: nestless bird. ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Likewise homeless, this first day, in Edo. ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch New Year’s first rain: my grass-roofed hut’s first leak. ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch The wild daisies celebrate: first day of spring. ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Spring returns: more excuses for foolishness from this fool. ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Pretty fresh-faced girls multiplying like spring! ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch As the snow melts the village brims with children. ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch The child gives her dolls a good scolding. ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch The old doll suns herself in the store window. ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Mocking the perspiring farmer, the jaunty crow. ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Lit by the lightning-flash: spring snow falling. ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch You’ve ruined my dream, nightmare crow, with your cawing! ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Spring returns simply but elegantly with a pale blue sky. ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch The spring’s first butterfly swaggers. ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch The pretty rice-planting girl with a butterfly asleep on her back. ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch The butterfly flutters back to Buddha’s lap. ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Hole in the wall? Peeping Tom! I spy on the pretty sky. ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Time flies, so fast the bonfires burn out. ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch A ritzy kite smirks above a beggar’s hut. ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch The great bronze Buddha’s nose itched by baby sparrows. ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch From serene Jizo’s holy neck it hangs: the rice dumpling. ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Little snail, conquer Mount Fuji, inch by inch! ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Intruder! A loitering pheasant pecks at my gate. ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Don’t migrate geese! There is sorrow everywhere. ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Don’t cry, migrating geese; everywhere the world’s the same. ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch How they glare when I return: the geese at my gate. (Or is it theirs?) ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch A talented goose posed on one foot in the rice field. ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Winter breeze: snowflakes flutter down like confetti. ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch The old banner ***** lonely and cold in the winter thicket. ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Back door amusement: ******* scribbles in winter’s first ice. ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch How cold? My only hand towel frozen stiff. ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch If you cross it, cross carefully and lightly: ice. ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Safe beneath the ice, the cat’s eyes follow crazy fish. ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch From the tip of Buddha’s honorable nose an icicle dangles. ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Steering me home to my hut: winter rain. ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Teased by the winter wind, the pig giggles in his sleep. ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch The winter wind generously sweeps my gate. ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Winter night: scratching at my window, a banished cat. ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Likewise in no mood to sweep the snow, the scarecrow. ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch My little straw mat: the cat arrives with a coat of snowflakes. ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch The girl hugs her ragcloth monkey: winter hailstorm. ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Patched with wastepaper, my ragged winter coat. ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch The cricket’s cozy winter residence: my quilt. ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Hey mice, quit ******* on my new friend’s domicile! ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Forlorn sight: from distant fields a little hut’s light. ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch The generous wind sweeps my sooty hut. ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch A lonely plum tree blooms among pines. ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Plum blossoms giggle at my rags. ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch At the edge of a reeking well, elegant plum blossoms. ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Are you illuminating plum blossoms for stealing, vagrant moon? ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Moonlit gate: the mosquito-eating bats make their rounds. ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Like the bats moonlit streetwalkers also make their slow rounds. ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch A hot, humid night ... bats dangle by the riverbank. ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch A hot, humid day ... I engage in a staring contest with a gargoyle. ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Glaring like he’d devour the winter moon, the gargoyle. ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch The dragonfly works the late shift: night fishing. ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Having peeled off your skin, snake, are you any cooler? ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Left in Buddha’s lap, a snake’s discarded garment. ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch From the great bronze Buddha’s nose morning mist emerges. ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch On the great bronze Buddha’s nose, a **** bug. ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Chestnuts falling: even the stone Buddha has an umbrella hat! ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch A sparrow chirps in his lap: the snowbound Buddha. ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Boars and bears my only neighbors: winter seclusion. ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch My sinful dog my sole companion: winter seclusion. ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch No good deeds but unable to sin: winter seclusion. ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch The winter houseguest I spared, a little fly, my cat murdered. ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Eyeing the potato baking on the banked fire, a criminal crow. ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Even the bullfrog gapes at brilliant fireflies. ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Why do you play with fire, tiger moth? ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Mosquitoes so thick I exhale them. ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Do you also mourn your mother, cicada? ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Even the insects huddle at the window: a cold night. ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch My evicted fleas have re-made me their landlord: autumn rain. ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Autumn cacophony: the cicadas’ grumblings grow louder. ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch “It’s cold,” the cicadas’ complaints have begun. ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch The strutting crow splashes into the silver dew. ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch The woodpecker sizes up my tasty hut. ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Unaware of life’s passage the dewdrops frolic. ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch He makes a splendid windbreak, the sumo wrestler. ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Standing alone in a world of tranquility, the scarecrow. ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch As among men, so among insects: good singers, bad singers. ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Settling to sleep on the helpless scarecrow, the dauntless dragonfly. ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch An autumn butterfly clings to the scarecrow’s sleeve. ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Reflected in the dragonfly’s somber eyes, the distant mountain. ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch The dragonfly siestas on the steer’s head. ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch The praying mantis clings by one claw to the temple bell. ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch The village dog waters chrysanthemums. ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch There no shame if we teeter-totter, old chrysanthemum. ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch The briar chrysanthemum blooms in secret. ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Atop the guady chrysanthemum a caterpillar snoozes. ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Thanks to morning-glories my hut becomes a palace. ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Eating my rice alone among morning-glories. ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Droplets form on the still, silent morning-glories. ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Rice field dew, half of it human perspiration? ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Through night’s gloom, bit by bit it grows, the gourd. ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Clever as foxes, the children hide amid plume grass. ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Even plume grass waves farewell at last to autumn. ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch On the sleeping dog gently descends a leaf-hat. ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Avert your eyes while I **** in your field, little wren! ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch This stand of trees: my head just as barren of leaves. ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Lacking common sense out-of-season flowers bloom on my fence. ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch All alone, babbling nonsense, I toast the departing year. ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Kyoto: even beneath bridges beggars toast the departing year. ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Living alone, one bottle suffices for toasting the departing year. ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Come what may, trust the New Year to Buddha despite his former failures. ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch A wind chime’s bubbly babble ends the year on a bright note. ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch It takes two temple nuns to yank out one radish. ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Berating my heavy drinking, the mountain cuckoo. ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation 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 Keywords/Tags: haiku, oriental, masters, translation, Japanese, nature, seasons, Basho, Buson, Issa, waka, tanka, mrbhaiku
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Sep 22, 2020
Sep 22, 2020 at 3:06 AM UTC
michael-r-burch
English Translations of the Japanese Masters of Haiku
These are English translations Haiku by the Japanese Masters of the form, including Matsuo Basho, Yosa Buson, Fukuda Chiyo-ni, Kobayashi Issa, Yamaguchi Seishi and Hisajo Sugita. Grasses wilt: the braking locomotive grinds to a halt ― Yamaguchi Seishi, loose translation by Michael R. Burch Oh, fallen camellias, if I were you, I'd leap into the torrent! ― Takaha Shugyo, loose translation by Michael R. Burch The first soft snow: leaves of the awed jonquil bow low ― Matsuo Basho, loose translation by Michael R. Burch Come, investigate loneliness! a solitary leaf clings to the Kiri tree ― Matsuo Basho, loose translation by Michael R. Burch Lightning shatters the darkness― the night heron's shriek ― Matsuo Basho, loose translation by Michael R. Burch One apple, alone in the abandoned orchard reddens for winter ― Patrick Blanche, loose translation by Michael R. Burch The poem above is by a French poet; it illustrates how the poetry of Oriental masters like Basho has influenced poets around the world. I remove my beautiful kimono: its varied braids surround and entwine my body ― Hisajo Sugita, loose translation by Michael R. Burch This day of chrysanthemums I shake and comb my wet hair, as their petals shed rain ― Hisajo Sugita, loose translation by Michael R. Burch This sheer kimono— how the moon peers through to my naked skin! —Hisajo Sugita (1890-1946), loose translation by Michael R. Burch These festive flowery robes— though quickly undressed, how their colored cords still continue to cling! —Hisajo Sugita (1890-1946), loose translation by Michael R. Burch Chrysanthemum petals reveal their pale curves shyly to the moon. —Hisajo Sugita (1890-1946), loose translation by Michael R. Burch Loneliness — reading the Bible as the rain deflowers cherry blossoms. —Hisajo Sugita (1890-1946), loose translation by Michael R. Burch How deep this valley, how elevated the butterfly's flight! —Hisajo Sugita (1890-1946), loose translation by Michael R. Burch How lowly this valley, how lofty the butterfly's flight! —Hisajo Sugita (1890-1946), loose translation by Michael R. Burch Echoes from the hills— the mountain cuckoo sings as it will, trill upon trill —Hisajo Sugita (1890-1946), loose translation by Michael R. Burch This darkening autumn: my neighbor, how does he continue? ― Matsuo Basho, loose translation by Michael R. Burch Let us arrange these lovely flowers in the bowl since there's no rice ― Matsuo Basho, loose translation by Michael R. Burch An ancient pond, the frog leaps: the silver plop and gurgle of water ― Matsuo Basho, loose translation by Michael R. Burch Bashed by Basho by Michael R. Burch He came to me like an early birdie and said, “My, my, you are REALLY wordy!” The butterfly perfuming its wings fans the orchid ― Matsuo Basho, loose translation by Michael R. Burch Pausing between clouds the moon rests in the eyes of its beholders ― Matsuo Basho, loose translation by Michael R. Burch The first chill rain: poor monkey, you too could use a woven cape of straw ― Matsuo Basho, loose translation by Michael R. Burch This snowy morning: cries of the crow I despise (ah, but so beautiful!) ― Matsuo Basho, loose translation by Michael R. Burch Like a heavy fragrance snow-flakes settle: lilies on the rocks ― Matsuo Basho, loose translation by Michael R. Burch The cheerful-chirping cricket contends gray autumn's gay, contemptuous of frost ― Matsuo Basho, loose translation by Michael R. Burch Whistle on, twilight whippoorwill, solemn evangelist of loneliness ― Matsuo Basho, loose translation by Michael R. Burch The sea darkening, the voices of the wild ducks: my mysterious companions! ― Matsuo Basho, loose translation by Michael R. Burch Will we meet again? Here at your flowering grave: two white butterflies ― Matsuo Basho, loose translation by Michael R. Burch Fever-felled mid-path my dreams resurrect, to trek into a hollow land ― Matsuo Basho, loose translation by Michael R. Burch Too ill to travel, now only my autumn dreams survey these withering fields ― Matsuo Basho, loose translation by Michael R. Burch; this has been called Basho's death poem These brown summer grasses? The only remains of "invincible" warriors... ― Matsuo Basho, loose translation by Michael R. Burch Graven images of long-departed gods, dry spiritless leaves: companions of the temple porch ― Matsuo Basho, loose translation by Michael R. Burch See: whose surviving sons visit the ancestral graves white-bearded, with trembling canes? ― Matsuo Basho, loose translation by Michael R. Burch An empty road lonelier than abandonment: this autumn evening ― Matsuo Basho, loose translation by Michael R. Burch Spring has come: the nameless hill lies shrouded in mist ― Matsuo Basho, loose translation by Michael R. Burch The Oldest Haiku These are my translations of some of the oldest Japanese waka, which evolved into poetic forms such as tanka, renga and haiku over time. My translations are excerpts from the Kojiki (the "Record of Ancient Matters"), a book composed around 711-712 A.D. by the historian and poet Ō no Yasumaro. The Kojiki relates Japan’s mythological beginnings and the history of its imperial line. Like Virgil's Aeneid, the Kojiki seeks to legitimize rulers by recounting their roots. These are lines from one of the oldest Japanese poems, found in the oldest Japanese book: While you decline to cry, high on the mountainside a single stalk of plumegrass wilts. ― Ō no Yasumaro (circa 711), loose translation by Michael R. Burch Here's another excerpt, with a humorous twist, from the Kojiki: Hush, cawing crows; what rackets you make! Heaven's indignant messengers, you remind me of wordsmiths! ― Ō no Yasumaro (circa 711), loose translation by Michael R. Burch Here's another, this one a poem of love and longing: Onyx, this gem-black night. Downcast, I await your return like the rising sun, unrivaled in splendor. ― Ō no Yasumaro (circa 711), loose translation by Michael R. Burch More Haiku by Various Poets Right at my feet! When did you arrive here, snail? ― Kobayashi Issa, loose translation by Michael R. Burch Our world of dew is a world of dew indeed; and yet, and yet... ― Kobayashi Issa, loose translation by Michael R. Burch Oh, brilliant moon can it be true that even you must rush off, like us, tardy? ― Kobayashi Issa, loose translation by Michael R. Burch Standing unsteadily, I am the scarecrow’s skinny surrogate ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Autumn wind ... She always wanted to pluck the reddest roses ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Issa wrote the haiku above after the death of his daughter Sato with the note: “Sato, girl, 35th day, at the grave.” The childless woman, how tenderly she caresses homeless dolls ... —Hattori Ransetsu, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Clinging to the plum tree: one blossom's worth of warmth —Hattori Ransetsu, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch One leaf falls, enlightenment! Another leaf falls, swept away by the wind ... —Hattori Ransetsu, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch This has been called Ransetsu’s “death poem.” In The Classic Tradition of Haiku, Faubion Bowers says in a footnote to this haiku: “Just as ‘blossom’, when not modified, means ‘cherry flower’ in haiku, ‘one leaf’ is code for ‘kiri’. Kiri ... is the Pawlonia ... The leaves drop throughout the year. They shrivel, turn yellow, and yield to gravity. Their falling symbolizes loneliness and connotes the past. The large purple flowers ... are deeply associated with haiku because the three prongs hold 5, 7 and 5 buds ... ‘Totsu’ is an exclamation supposedly uttered when a Zen student achieves enlightenment. The sound also imitates the dry crackle the pawlonia leaf makes as it scratches the ground upon falling.” This world? Moonlit dew flicked from a crane's bill. —Eihei Dogen Kigen (1200-1253) loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Seventy-one? How long can a dewdrop last? —Eihei Dogen Kigen, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Dewdrops beading grass-blades die before dawn; may an untimely wind not hasten their departure! —Eihei Dogen Kigen, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Dewdrops beading blades of grass have so little time to shine before dawn; let the autumn wind not rush too quickly through the field! —Eihei Dogen Kigen, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Outside my window the plums, blossoming, within their curled buds, contain the spring; the moon is reflected in the cup-like whorls of the lovely flowers I gather and twirl. —Eihei Dogen Kigen, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Disdaining grass, the firefly nibbles nettles— this is who I am. —Takarai Kikaku (1661-1707), loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch A simple man, content to breakfast with the morning glories— this is who I am. —Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch This is Basho’s response to the Takarai Kikaku haiku above The morning glories, alas, also turned out not to embrace me —Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch The morning glories bloom, mending chinks in the old fence —Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Morning glories, however poorly painted, still engage us —Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch I too have been accused of morning glory gazing ... —original haiku by by Michael R. Burch Taming the rage of an unrelenting sun— autumn breeze. —Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch The sun sets, relentlessly red, yet autumn’s in the wind. —Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch As autumn deepens, a butterfly sips chrysanthemum dew. —Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch As autumn draws near, so too our hearts in this small tea room. —Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Nothing happened! Yesterday simply vanished like the blowfish soup. —Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch The surging sea crests around Sado ... and above her? An ocean of stars. —Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Revered figure! I bow low to the rabbit-eared Iris. —Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Come, butterfly, it’s late and we’ve a long way to go! —Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Nothing in the cry of the cicadas suggests they know they soon must die. —Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch I wish I could wash this perishing earth in its shimmering dew. —Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Dabbed with morning dew and splashed with mud, the melon looks wonderfully cool. —Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Cold white azalea— a lone nun in her thatched straw hut. —Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Glimpsed on this high mountain trail, delighting my heart— wild violets —Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch The bee emerging from deep within the peony’s hairy recesses flies off heavily, sated —Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch A crow has settled on a naked branch— autumn nightfall —Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Except for a woodpecker tapping at a post, the house is silent. —Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch That dying cricket, how he goes on about his life! —Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Like a glorious shrine— on these green, budding leaves, the sun’s intense radiance. —Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Yosa Buson haiku translations On the temple’s great bronze gong a butterfly snoozes. ―Yosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Hard to describe: this light sensation of being pinched by a butterfly! ―Yosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Not to worry spiders, I clean house ... sparingly. ―Yosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Among the fallen leaves, an elderly frog. ―Yosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch In an ancient well fish leap for mosquitoes, a dark sound. ―Yosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Flowers with thorns remind me of my hometown ... ―Yosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Reaching the white chrysanthemum the scissors hesitate ... ―Yosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch A kite floats at the same place in the sky where yesterday it floated ... ―Yosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Picking autumn plums my wrinkled hands once again grow fragrant ―Yosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch A silk robe, casually discarded, exudes fragrance into the darkening evening ―Yosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Whose delicate clothes still decorate the clothesline? Late autumn wind. ―Yosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch This is an example of a translation in which I interpreted the poem before translating it. In the original poem the clothes were thin (suggesting suggestive garments). In Japanese poetry an autumn wind can represent loneliness. So I interpreted the poem to be about an aging woman who still wears enticing clothes but is increasingly lonely. Since in the West we don't normally drape clothes on screens, I moved the clothes to a clothesline, which works well with the wind. For me it's a sad poem about something that happens all too often to people as they age. An evening breeze: water lapping the heron’s legs. ―Yosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch gills puffing, a hooked fish: the patient ―Yosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch The stirred morning air ruffles the hair of a caterpillar. ―Yosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Intruder! This white plum tree was once outside our fence! ―Yosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Tender grass forgetful of its roots the willow ―Yosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch I believe the poem above can be taken as commentary on ungrateful children. It reminds me of Robert Hayden's "Those Winter Sundays."―MRB Since I'm left here alone, I'll make friends with the moon. ―Yosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch The hood-wearer in his self-created darkness misses the harvest moon ―Yosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch White blossoms of the pear tree― a young woman reading his moonlit letter ―Yosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch The pear tree flowers whitely: a young woman reading his letter by moonlight ―Yosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch On adjacent branches the plum tree blossoms bloom petal by petal―love! ―Yosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch A misty spring moon ... I entice a woman to pay it our respects ―Yosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Courtesans purchasing kimonos: plum trees blossoming ―Yosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch The spring sea rocks all day long: rising and falling, ebbing and flowing ... ―Yosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch As the whale     dives its tail gets taller! ―Yosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch While tilling the field the motionless cloud vanished. ―Yosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Even lonelier than last year: this autumn evening. ―Yosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch My thoughts return to my Mother and Father: late autumn ―Yosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Late autumn: my thoughts return to my Mother and Father ―Yosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch This roaring winter wind: the cataract grates on its rocks. ―Yosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch While snow lingers in creases and recesses: flowers of the plum ―Yosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Plowing, not a single bird sings in the mountain's shadow ―Yosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch In the lingering heat of an abandoned cowbarn only the sound of the mosquitoes is dark. ―Yosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch The red plum's fallen petals seem to ignite horse **** ―Yosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Dawn! The brilliant sun illuminates sardine heads. ―Yosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch The abandoned willow shines between bright rains ―Yosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Dew-damp grass: the setting sun’s tears ―Yosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch The dew-damp grass weeps silently in the setting sun ―Yosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch White plum blossoms― though the hour grows late, a glimpse of dawn ―Yosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch The poem above is believed to be Buson's jisei (death poem) and he is said to have died before dawn. Lately the nights dawn plum-blossom white. ―Yosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch This is a second interpretation of Buson's jisei (death poem). In the deepening night I saw by the light of the white plum blossoms ―Yosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch This is a third interpretation of Buson's jisei (death poem). Our life here on earth: to what shall we compare it? Perhaps to a rowboat departing at daybreak, leaving no trace of us in its wake? —Takaha Shugyo or Yosa Buson, loose translation by Michael R. Burch I thought I felt a dewdrop plop on me as I lay in bed! ― Masaoka Shiki, loose translation by Michael R. Burch We cannot see the moon and yet the waves still rise ― Shiki Masaoka, loose translation by Michael R. Burch The first morning of autumn: the mirror I investigate reflects my father’s face ― Shiki Masaoka, loose translation by Michael R. Burch Wild geese pass leaving the emptiness of heaven revealed ― Takaha Shugyo, loose translation by Michael R. Burch Inside the cracked shell of a walnut: one empty room. —Takaha Shugyo, loose translation by Michael R. Burch Bring me an icicle sparkling with the stars of the deep north —Takaha Shugyo, loose translation by Michael R. Burch Seen from the skyscraper the trees' fresh greenery: parsley sprigs —Takaha Shugyo, loose translation by Michael R. Burch Are the geese flying south? The candle continues to flicker ... —Takaha Shugyo, loose translation by Michael R. Burch Still clad in its clown's costume— the dead ladybird. —Takaha Shugyo, loose translation by Michael R. Burch A single tree, a heart carved into its trunk, blossoms prematurely —Takaha Shugyo, loose translation by Michael R. Burch Silently observing the bottomless mountain lake: water lilies ― Inahata Teiko, loose translation by Michael R. Burch Cranes flapping ceaselessly test the sky's upper limits ― Inahata Teiko, loose translation by Michael R. Burch Falling snowflakes' glitter tinsels the sea ― Inahata Teiko, loose translation by Michael R. Burch Blizzards here on earth, blizzards of stars in the sky ― Inahata Teiko, loose translation by Michael R. Burch Completely encircled in emerald: the glittering swamp! ― Inahata Teiko, loose translation by Michael R. Burch The new calendar!: as if tomorrow is assured... ― Inahata Teiko, loose translation by Michael R. Burch Ah butterfly, what dreams do you ply with your beautiful wings? ― Fukuda Chiyo-ni, loose translation by Michael R. Burch Because morning glories hold my well-bucket hostage I go begging for water ― Fukuda Chiyo-ni, loose translation by Michael R. Burch Spring stirs the clouds in the sky's teabowl ― Kikusha-ni, loose translation by Michael R. Burch Tonight I saw how the peony crumples in the fire's embers ― Katoh Shuhson, loose translation by Michael R. Burch It fills me with anger, this moon; it fills me and makes me whole ― Takeshita Shizunojo, loose translation by Michael R. Burch War stood at the end of the hall in the long shadows ― Watanabe Hakusen, loose translation by Michael R. Burch Because he is slow to wrath, I tackle him, then wring his neck in the long grass ― Shimazu Ryoh, loose translation by Michael R. Burch Pale mountain sky: cherry petals play as they tumble earthward ― Kusama Tokihiko, loose translation by Michael R. Burch The frozen moon, the frozen lake: two oval mirrors reflecting each other. ― Hashimoto Takako, loose translation by Michael R. Burch The bitter winter wind ends here with the frozen sea ― Ikenishi Gonsui, loose translation by Michael R. Burch Oh, bitter winter wind, why bellow so when there's no leaves to fell? ― Natsume Sôseki, loose translation by Michael R. Burch Winter waves roil their own shadows ― Tominaga Fûsei, loose translation by Michael R. Burch No sky, no land: just snow eternally falling... ― Kajiwara Hashin, loose translation by Michael R. Burch Along with spring leaves my child's teeth take root, blossom ― Nakamura Kusatao, loose translation by Michael R. Burch Stillness: a single chestnut leaf glides on brilliant water ― Ryuin, loose translation by Michael R. Burch As thunder recedes a lone tree stands illuminated in sunlight: applauded by cicadas ― Masaoka Shiki, loose translation by Michael R. Burch The snake slipped away but his eyes, having held mine, still stare in the grass ― Kyoshi Takahama, loose translation by Michael R. Burch Girls gather sprouts of rice: reflections of the water flicker on the backs of their hats ― Kyoshi Takahama, loose translation by Michael R. Burch Murmurs follow the hay cart this blossoming summer day ― Ippekiro Nakatsuka (1887-1946), loose translation by Michael R. Burch The wet nurse paused to consider a bucket of sea urchins then walked away ― Ippekiro Nakatsuka (1887-1946), loose translation by Michael R. Burch May I be with my mother wearing her summer kimono by the morning window ― Ippekiro Nakatsuka (1887-1946), loose translation by Michael R. Burch The hands of a woman exist to remove the insides of the spring cuttlefish ― Sekitei Hara, loose translation by Michael R. Burch The moon hovering above the snow-capped mountains rained down hailstones ― Sekitei Hara, loose translation by Michael R. Burch Oh, dreamlike winter butterfly: a puff of white snow cresting mountains ― Kakio Tomizawa, loose translation by Michael R. Burch Spring snow cascades over fences in white waves ― Suju Takano, loose translation by Michael R. Burch Tanka and Waka translations: If fields of autumn flowers can shed their blossoms, shameless, why can’t I also frolic here — as fearless, and as blameless? —Ono no Komachi, loose translation by Michael R. Burch Submit to you — is that what you advise? The way the ripples do whenever ill winds arise? —Ono no Komachi, loose translation by Michael R. Burch Watching wan moonlight illuminate trees, my heart also brims, overflowing with autumn. —Ono no Komachi, loose translation by Michael R. Burch I had thought to pluck the flower of forgetfulness only to find it already blossoming in his heart. —Ono no Komachi, loose translation by Michael R. Burch That which men call "love" — is it not merely the chain preventing our escape from this world of pain? —Ono no Komachi, loose translation by Michael R. Burch Once-colorful flowers faded, while in my drab cell life’s impulse also abated as the long rains fell. —Ono no Komachi, loose translation by Michael R. Burch I set off at the shore of the seaside of Tago, where I saw the high, illuminated peak of Fuji―white, aglow― through flakes of drifting downy snow. ― Akahito Yamabe, loose translation by Michael R. Burch New Haiku Translations, added 6/27/2022 As the monks sip their morning tea, chrysanthemums quietly blossom. —Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch The fragrance of plum blossoms on a foggy path: the sun rising. —Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch The sea darkens ... yet still faintly white the wild duck protests. —Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Pear tree blossoms whitened by moonlight: a young woman reading a letter. —Yosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Outlined in the moonlight ... who is that standing among the pear trees? —Yosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Your coolness: the sound of the bell departing the bell. —Yosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch As the moon flies west the flowers' shadows creep eastward. —Yosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch By such pale moonlight even the wisteria's fragrance seems distant. —Yosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Leaves like crows’ shadows flirt with a lonely moon. Kaga no Chiyo (1703-1775), loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch The next seven autumn moon translations are dedicated to Stephen I. Hsu, who suggested the Chiyo-ni poems to me. Bright autumnal moon, but no matter how far I walked, unreachable. —Fukuda Chiyo-ni, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Bright autumnal moon, but no matter how far I walked, distant beyond my grasp. —Fukuda Chiyo-ni, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Here, “grasp” in both the sense of touch and understanding. Walking, walking toward the bright autumn moon, never the nearer. —Fukuda Chiyo-ni, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch I walk and walk toward the autumn moon, yet it remains distant. —Fukuda Chiyo-ni, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch "meigetsu ya": "bright moon" or "harvest moon" "ittemo ittemo": "however far I walked," or "no matter how much I walk" "yoso no sora": "distant sky," "unknown sky," or "another's sky" *** The bright autumn moon even for those we keenly miss shines just as full. The bright autumn moon even for those far from us shines just as full. The bright autumn moon even for those far from us seems just as close. meigetsu ya: "bright moon" or "harvest moon" rusu no hito ni mo: "for those far away" maru nagara: "while round" or perhaps "remains round/full" *** Let me die covered with flowers and never again wake to this earthly dream! —Ochi Etsujin, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch To reveal how your heart flowers, sway like the summer grove. —Tagami Kikusha-Ni (1753-1826), loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch In the thicket's shade a solitary woman sings the rice-planting song. Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Unaware of these degenerate times, cherry blossoms abound! Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch These silent summer nights even the stars seem to whisper. Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch The enormous firefly weaves its way, this way and that, as it passes by. Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Composed like the Thinker, he sits contemplating the mountains: the sagacious frog! Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch A fallen blossom returning to its bough? No, a butterfly! Arakida Moritake (1473-1549), loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Illuminated by the harvest moon smoke is caught creeping across the water ... Hattori Ransetsu (1654-1707), loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Fanning its tail flamboyantly with every excuse of a breeze, the peacock! Masaoki Shiki (1867-1902), loose translation by Michael R. Burch Waves row through the mists of the endless sea. Masaoki Shiki (1867-1902), loose translation by Michael R. Burch I hurl a firefly into the darkness and sense the enormity of night. —Kyoshi Takahama (1874-1959), loose translation by Michael R. Burch As girls gather rice sprouts reflections of the rain ripple on the backs of their hats. —Kyoshi Takahama (1874-1959), loose translation by Michael R. Burch ISSA TRANSLATIONS Petals I amass with such tenderness ***** me to the quick. ― Kobayashi Issa, loose translation by Michael R. Burch This world of dew is a world of dew indeed; and yet... ― Kobayashi Issa, loose translation by Michael R. Burch Standing beneath cherry blossoms who can be strangers? ― Kobayashi Issa, loose translation by Michael R. Burch An enormous frog! We stare at each other, both petrified. ― Kobayashi Issa, loose translation by Michael R. Burch Skinny frog, hang on... Issa to the rescue! ― Kobayashi Issa, loose translation by Michael R. Burch Right at my feet! When did you arrive here, snail? ― Kobayashi Issa, loose translation by Michael R. Burch I toss in my sleep, so watch out, cricket! ― Kobayashi Issa, loose translation by Michael R. Burch In a better world I'd leave you my rice bowl, little fly! ― Kobayashi Issa, loose translation by Michael R. Burch Cries of the wild geese... Spreading rumors about me? ― Kobayashi Issa, loose translation by Michael R. Burch While a cicada sings softly a single leaf falls... ― Kobayashi Issa, loose translation by Michael R. Burch Wake up, old tomcat, then with elaborate yawns and stretchings prepare to pursue love ― Kobayashi Issa, loose translation by Michael R. Burch This windy nest? Open your hungry mouth in vain, Issa, orphaned sparrow! ― Kobayashi Issa, loose translation by Michael R. Burch The ghostly cow comes mooing mooing mooing out of the morning mist ― Kobayashi Issa, loose translation by Michael R. Burch The snow melts and the village is flooded with children! ― Kobayashi Issa, loose translation by Michael R. Burch Full moon, my ramshackle hut is an open book! ― Kobayashi Issa, loose translation by Michael R. Burch Oh, brilliant moon can it be true that even you must rush off, late for some date? ― Kobayashi Issa, loose translation by Michael R. Burch Don't weep, we are all insects! Lovers, even the stars themselves, must eventually part. ― Kobayashi Issa, loose translation by Michael R. Burch In our world we walk suspended over hell admiring flowers. ― Kobayashi Issa, loose translation by Michael R. Burch In the thicket’s shade a solitary woman sings the rice-planting song. —Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch If my father were here, we would gaze over dawn’s green fields together. —Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Unaware of these degenerate times, cherry blossoms abound! —Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch These silent summer nights even the stars seem to whisper. —Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch The enormous firefly weaves its way, this way and that, as it passes by. —Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Composed like the Thinker, he sits contemplating the mountains: the sagacious frog! —Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Smug boss plopped on his throne: pompous bullfrog! ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Serene-faced contemplating the stars: Buddha-frog. ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Standing stone-still for the horse to smell: Buddha-frog. ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Such a racket! Will I be your next meal, cawing crows? ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch New Year’s Day I welcome a guest: nestless bird. ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Likewise homeless, this first day, in Edo. ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch New Year’s first rain: my grass-roofed hut’s first leak. ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch The wild daisies celebrate: first day of spring. ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Spring returns: more excuses for foolishness from this fool. ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Pretty fresh-faced girls multiplying like spring! ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch As the snow melts the village brims with children. ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch The child gives her dolls a good scolding. ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch The old doll suns herself in the store window. ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Mocking the perspiring farmer, the jaunty crow. ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Lit by the lightning-flash: spring snow falling. ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch You’ve ruined my dream, nightmare crow, with your cawing! ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Spring returns simply but elegantly with a pale blue sky. ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch The spring’s first butterfly swaggers. ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch The pretty rice-planting girl with a butterfly asleep on her back. ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch The butterfly flutters back to Buddha’s lap. ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Hole in the wall? Peeping Tom! I spy on the pretty sky. ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Time flies, so fast the bonfires burn out. ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch A ritzy kite smirks above a beggar’s hut. ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch The great bronze Buddha’s nose itched by baby sparrows. ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch From serene Jizo’s holy neck it hangs: the rice dumpling. ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Little snail, conquer Mount Fuji, inch by inch! ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Intruder! A loitering pheasant pecks at my gate. ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Don’t migrate geese! There is sorrow everywhere. ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Don’t cry, migrating geese; everywhere the world’s the same. ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch How they glare when I return: the geese at my gate. (Or is it theirs?) ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch A talented goose posed on one foot in the rice field. ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Winter breeze: snowflakes flutter down like confetti. ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch The old banner ***** lonely and cold in the winter thicket. ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Back door amusement: ******* scribbles in winter’s first ice. ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch How cold? My only hand towel frozen stiff. ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch If you cross it, cross carefully and lightly: ice. ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Safe beneath the ice, the cat’s eyes follow crazy fish. ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch From the tip of Buddha’s honorable nose an icicle dangles. ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Steering me home to my hut: winter rain. ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Teased by the winter wind, the pig giggles in his sleep. ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch The winter wind generously sweeps my gate. ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Winter night: scratching at my window, a banished cat. ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Likewise in no mood to sweep the snow, the scarecrow. ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch My little straw mat: the cat arrives with a coat of snowflakes. ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch The girl hugs her ragcloth monkey: winter hailstorm. ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Patched with wastepaper, my ragged winter coat. ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch The cricket’s cozy winter residence: my quilt. ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Hey mice, quit ******* on my new friend’s domicile! ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Forlorn sight: from distant fields a little hut’s light. ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch The generous wind sweeps my sooty hut. ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch A lonely plum tree blooms among pines. ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Plum blossoms giggle at my rags. ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch At the edge of a reeking well, elegant plum blossoms. ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Are you illuminating plum blossoms for stealing, vagrant moon? ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Moonlit gate: the mosquito-eating bats make their rounds. ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Like the bats moonlit streetwalkers also make their slow rounds. ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch A hot, humid night ... bats dangle by the riverbank. ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch A hot, humid day ... I engage in a staring contest with a gargoyle. ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Glaring like he’d devour the winter moon, the gargoyle. ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch The dragonfly works the late shift: night fishing. ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Having peeled off your skin, snake, are you any cooler? ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Left in Buddha’s lap, a snake’s discarded garment. ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch From the great bronze Buddha’s nose morning mist emerges. ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch On the great bronze Buddha’s nose, a **** bug. ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Chestnuts falling: even the stone Buddha has an umbrella hat! ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch A sparrow chirps in his lap: the snowbound Buddha. ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Boars and bears my only neighbors: winter seclusion. ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch My sinful dog my sole companion: winter seclusion. ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch No good deeds but unable to sin: winter seclusion. ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch The winter houseguest I spared, a little fly, my cat murdered. ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Eyeing the potato baking on the banked fire, a criminal crow. ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Even the bullfrog gapes at brilliant fireflies. ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Why do you play with fire, tiger moth? ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Mosquitoes so thick I exhale them. ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Do you also mourn your mother, cicada? ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Even the insects huddle at the window: a cold night. ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch My evicted fleas have re-made me their landlord: autumn rain. ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Autumn cacophony: the cicadas’ grumblings grow louder. ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch “It’s cold,” the cicadas’ complaints have begun. ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch The strutting crow splashes into the silver dew. ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch The woodpecker sizes up my tasty hut. ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Unaware of life’s passage the dewdrops frolic. ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch He makes a splendid windbreak, the sumo wrestler. ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Standing alone in a world of tranquility, the scarecrow. ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch As among men, so among insects: good singers, bad singers. ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Settling to sleep on the helpless scarecrow, the dauntless dragonfly. ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch An autumn butterfly clings to the scarecrow’s sleeve. ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Reflected in the dragonfly’s somber eyes, the distant mountain. ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch The dragonfly siestas on the steer’s head. ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch The praying mantis clings by one claw to the temple bell. ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch The village dog waters chrysanthemums. ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch There no shame if we teeter-totter, old chrysanthemum. ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch The briar chrysanthemum blooms in secret. ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Atop the guady chrysanthemum a caterpillar snoozes. ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Thanks to morning-glories my hut becomes a palace. ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Eating my rice alone among morning-glories. ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Droplets form on the still, silent morning-glories. ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Rice field dew, half of it human perspiration? ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Through night’s gloom, bit by bit it grows, the gourd. ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Clever as foxes, the children hide amid plume grass. ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Even plume grass waves farewell at last to autumn. ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch On the sleeping dog gently descends a leaf-hat. ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Avert your eyes while I **** in your field, little wren! ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch This stand of trees: my head just as barren of leaves. ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Lacking common sense out-of-season flowers bloom on my fence. ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch All alone, babbling nonsense, I toast the departing year. ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Kyoto: even beneath bridges beggars toast the departing year. ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Living alone, one bottle suffices for toasting the departing year. ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Come what may, trust the New Year to Buddha despite his former failures. ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch A wind chime’s bubbly babble ends the year on a bright note. ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch It takes two temple nuns to yank out one radish. ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Berating my heavy drinking, the mountain cuckoo. ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation 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 Keywords/Tags: haiku, oriental, masters, translation, Japanese, nature, seasons, Basho, Buson, Issa, waka, tanka, mrbhaiku
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hermit crab never at home for long
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Jan 27, 2020
Jan 27, 2020 at 1:09 PM UTC
nene
hermit crab - thinking of Issa and his snail
hermit crab never at home for long
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Like fire If the flames Could burn Themselves.
0
Jul 2, 2018
Jul 2, 2018 at 4:57 AM UTC
III
Auras - Issa
Like fire If the flames Could burn Themselves.
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Invincible? Yes you are. Consequence is like a dream, it fades away. The lessons. Those are what I teach. As if I truly look after you. I am what your friends have warned you about. I will send you walking on glass with bare feet. I am the animal in you. Issa rebellion. Issa wreck. Issa waste of life.
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Dec 4, 2017
Dec 4, 2017 at 11:40 PM UTC
TheRiverStyx
Issa (It's a)
Invincible? Yes you are. Consequence is like a dream, it fades away. The lessons. Those are what I teach. As if I truly look after you. I am what your friends have warned you about. I will send you walking on glass with bare feet. I am the animal in you. Issa rebellion. Issa wreck. Issa waste of life.
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13
For you my dearest, My heart is calling. For you sweet one, I mostly am falling. For you o life's ender, My eyes search. For you they look, In all depths of the earth. you bought me things, My soul rejoiced. My doubts faltered, I had voiced. For you my hopeful love, I can truly see, The wings of God's angels, We're meant to be.
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Jan 26, 2015
Jan 26, 2015 at 6:25 AM UTC
Akolamang
For You
For you my dearest, My heart is calling. For you sweet one, I mostly am falling. For you o life's ender, My eyes search. For you they look, In all depths of the earth. you bought me things, My soul rejoiced. My doubts faltered, I had voiced. For you my hopeful love, I can truly see, The wings of God's angels, We're meant to be.
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Resistance is futile, Explanation is good as none. Emotions are like trash, Words are simply breezes, Fuel my heart o temptress Hate! Make me feel whole once more. Doubt has never been so arrogant as today, Martyrdom is what will rise, Leave me be in my cavern of wonders, I have never needed doubt in mind, nor martyrdom in heart Both wound me, both shatter me, and yet; both create me.
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Jan 22, 2015
Jan 22, 2015 at 6:09 AM UTC
Akolamang
Resistance
Resistance is futile, Explanation is good as none. Emotions are like trash, Words are simply breezes, Fuel my heart o temptress Hate! Make me feel whole once more. Doubt has never been so arrogant as today, Martyrdom is what will rise, Leave me be in my cavern of wonders, I have never needed doubt in mind, nor martyrdom in heart Both wound me, both shatter me, and yet; both create me.
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12
My dearest little one, open thy mind Let it not be tainted with wars and lies. Learn to look back, leave not your past behind, The answer lies there beneath hurt and sighs. Accept what life is to find what is right, In their minds or yours only you decide. You can give up or go down with a fight, In the meeting of fate, you shall preside. Remember our time, remember it all. Mistakes and failures, awards and honor, Protect yourself from temptations call. In this book of life, you are the author. So understand and be open minded, Though be careful, lest you are blind-sided.
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Jan 17, 2015
Jan 17, 2015 at 3:36 AM UTC
Akolamang
My Shakespearean Sonnet
My dearest little one, open thy mind Let it not be tainted with wars and lies. Learn to look back, leave not your past behind, The answer lies there beneath hurt and sighs. Accept what life is to find what is right, In their minds or yours only you decide. You can give up or go down with a fight, In the meeting of fate, you shall preside. Remember our time, remember it all. Mistakes and failures, awards and honor, Protect yourself from temptations call. In this book of life, you are the author. So understand and be open minded, Though be careful, lest you are blind-sided.
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14
Chained by truth, Chained by tears, Chained by dreams, and Chained by fears. Coward to self, Victor to all, Fears naught but one: Which is Death's call. Annoyance is plenty, A straight face is kept. Tears of joy, Have never been wept. Bane is joy, Boon is sorrow. Was there still hope, To be a morrow? Never change, Never bother. To show weakness To another.
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Jan 13, 2015
Jan 13, 2015 at 9:32 AM UTC
Akolamang
What I am...
Chained by truth, Chained by tears, Chained by dreams, and Chained by fears. Coward to self, Victor to all, Fears naught but one: Which is Death's call. Annoyance is plenty, A straight face is kept. Tears of joy, Have never been wept. Bane is joy, Boon is sorrow. Was there still hope, To be a morrow? Never change, Never bother. To show weakness To another.
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