"antic" poems
Following are several translations
of the 'Old Pond' poem, which may be
the most famous of all haiku:
Furuike ya
kawazu tobikomu
mizu no oto
-- Basho
Literal Translation
Fu-ru (old) i-ke (pond) ya,
ka-wa-zu (frog) to-bi-ko-mu (jumping into)
mi-zu (water) no o-to (sound)
The old pond--
a frog jumps in,
sound of water.
Translated by Robert Hass
Old pond...
a frog jumps in
water's sound.
Translated by William J. Higginson
An old silent pond...
A frog jumps into the pond,
splash! Silence again.
Translated by Harry Behn
There is the old pond!
Lo, into it jumps a frog:
hark, water's music!
Translated by John Bryan
The silent old pond
a mirror of ancient calm,
a frog-leaps-in splash.
Translated by Dion O'Donnol
old pond
frog leaping
splash
Translated by Cid Corman
Antic pond--
frantic frog jumps in--
gigantic sound.
Translated by Bernard Lionel Einbond
MAFIA HIT MAN POET: NOTE FOUND PINNED TO LAPEL
OF DROWNED VICTIM'S DOUBLE-BREASTED SUIT!!!
'Dere wasa dis frogg
Gone jumpa offa da logg
Now he inna bogg.'
-- Anonymous
Translated by George M. Young, Jr.
Old pond
leap -- splash
a frog.
Translated by Lucien Stryck
The old pond,
A frog jumps in:.
Plop!
Translated by Allan Watts
The old pond, yes, and
A frog is jumping into
The water, and splash.
Translated by G.S. Fraser
11.2k
Little shadows, little shadows
Dancing on the chamber wall,
While I sit beside the hearthstone
Where the red flames rise and fall.
Caps and nightgowns, caps and nightgowns,
My three antic shadows wear;
And no sound they make in playing,
For the six small feet are bare.
Dancing gayly, dancing gayly,
To and fro all together,
Like a family of daisies
Blown about in windy weather;
Nimble fairies, nimble fairies,
Playing pranks in the warm glow,
While I sing the nursery ditties
Childish phantoms love and know.
Now what happens, now what happens?
One small shadow's tumbled down:
I can see it on the carpet
Softly rubbing its hurt crown.
No one whimpers, no one whimpers;
A brave-hearted sprite is this:
See! the others offer comfort
In a silent, shadowy kiss.
Hush! they're creeping; hush! they're creeping,
Up about my rocking-chair:
I can feel their loving fingers
Clasp my neck and touch my hair.
Little shadows, little shadows,
Take me captive, hold me tight,
As they climb and cling and whisper,
"Mother dear, good night! good night!"
4.1k
I blend cry not,
An antic land, lest not
Trot
Blot
On a sparkling terrain
Epitome Heaven,
Lo!
That I hearken an Archangel yet?
Gabriella tears, rears, near:
I saw a stag, reindeer, lag, and flag in the distant snowy mountains…
Sep 17, 2009
Sep 17, 2009 at 5:13 AM UTC
This is the time lean woods shall spend
A steeped-up twilight, and the pale evening drink,
And the perilous roe, the leaper to the west brink,
Trembling and bright to the caverned cloud descend.
Now shall you see pent oak gone gusty and frantic,
Stooped with dry weeping, ruinously unloosing
The sparse disheveled leaf, or reared and tossing
A dreary scarecrow bough in funeral antic.
Then, tatter you and rend,
Oak heart, to your profession mourning; not obscure
The outcome, not crepuscular; on the deep floor
Sable and gold match lustres and contend.
And rags of shrouding will not muffle the slain.
This is the immortal extinction, the priceless wound
Not to be staunched. The live gold leaks beyond,
And matter’s sanctified, dipped in a gold stain.
3.3k
Verbiage
Sagacious humans would concur
Salacious verbiage is trenchant
Verdant language withers a guileless soul
Hubristic linguists deem limpid oratory irksome
A Didactic, petulant, boorish, garrulous, nefarious, obtuse, and insolent
Overtone is not my intent
Puckish, risible, mannered, jocular, antic, and adroit
Reverberations I am manifesting
TRANSLATION
Words
Smart people would agree
Healthy words are sharp
Unripe words die naive spirits
Self-confident word users find simple language annoying
Moral instruction, rude, insensitivity, wordy, wicked, blunt, and contemptuous
Feelings are not my purpose
Impish (silly), laughable, artificial, playful, clownish, and clever
Reactions I'm hoping to create
Jan 6, 2013
Jan 6, 2013 at 12:15 PM UTC
I was told about this special book. I was told it was a magical book! Amazingly full of bright, light and insight. Allegedly one look and you were hooked and took! This great book of life baited, charted and crafted with will, quill feathers, leather and of weather. The great book of life highly and showily regarded the ******** the rife and strife.
Brilliant parts of art from heart! Boldly guarded by angel’s darts! Holding from different angles. Behold! The pages of this book mangled, spangled and tangled. Through the ages… the corners scorned, torn and worn. In theory the inseams very weary and old. Amazingly and appraisingly with thrill they still fold! Merrily told
and eagerly sold. The great book of life’s pages is of age, cages
and wages, stages and rages! The great book of life each a way to encourage or engage courage. The great book of life was inspired and transpired by a baby in a manger. Some pages spell and tell of a stranger danger! The great book of life is about the beloved also of
the unloved. Chapters in capture, scriptures in measure, rapture-
or torture. The great book of life listen to my envision with precision! The great book of life envisions death’s breath. Missions, those enclosed in prisons and visions! The many, many scenes serene and obscene. The in-betweens, the kings and queens! Dragons, drones
and many, many thrones! The antic, frantic and gigantic! Magic, satanic and tragic! blizzards or wizards! Ancient, distant chants and rants! The great book of life, a chance from a glance. Traces of many faces, places and races! The great book of life claimed to have named those bordered, cornered, loitered and murdered. The great book of
life is it! Amazingly it tells bits of it all! Basically about the small that brawl. The tall, including some that awesomely, eventually fall! The great book of life collects and reflects the surreal or unnatural. The frail and the pale. Actions hailed while eluding a whale! This great book of life will it prevail? Yes prevail! Amen! The great book of life amen, amen.
Mar 29, 2012
Mar 29, 2012 at 10:06 PM UTC
*So it's that time again!
Where was I?
Oh yeah, somewhere else!*
The pragmatic man is back again!
Anti-climactic game plan with slack in the chain
Snagged the habit, kicked it's *** until it's hemorrhagic
A spiky crawlspace,
Dogmatic thematics; slit your throat then cry about it
What an antic! It's kinda romantic... pack your bags and leave you nomad,
No man, would ever wanna deal with your vatic manic fits!
Every fabric of Satan's being isn't satin, it's chintz
Chances are my polysyllabic magic is tragically a product of status;
Maybe it's forced? Course it is, like a birthday party, you get gifts
I think I got this one, and now, I'm an addict
My words are indelible ink, spun in webs like the ones in your attic.
Jan 17, 2015
Jan 17, 2015 at 7:29 PM UTC
It's here and now
Not then
I'm ready to face my fears
I've been avoiding for years
I'm ready to get up
Tower over them
Eyes shining so immensely
Armor around me
I feel strong
I feel like the warrior
Of the amazon
That I am
Sword raised
A battle Cry at my tounge
Charging into the abyss
Of this battle
I fight do fericly
No one will knock me down
My blood will not spill
Upon the ground
I am to high
Wings spread with the grace and beauty
Of a queen
Tall with pride
Armed by confidence
Ive never felt this before
This is new
Unique
Antic
But my stride doesnt falter
I am ready to do this
Prove myself to myself
These shadows comfort
Is not needed
I am ready
Sep 18, 2012
Sep 18, 2012 at 7:44 AM UTC
O' the beat of the Shaman's drum
gathering the statures of Skills embrace
Whose liquid fire flows from dream's burning Kiln
upon the roaring ancient thunders of leather skin
revolutionary moments of spiritual embrace
the Shaman cooing in his antic pantomime
of symbolic gestures and ideals
Crafting always anew the Heaven's sky
pounding the Earth upon charging hoofs
the sacred land arises like a giant
all characters of the Shaman's drum
Swooping God's on feathers of Eagles
trout swarm into the tribal dance
Mountains of golden rock shake the dust
For all engulfs the visions being
Thrusting the news and glory of the Fathers
the land becomes their Eternal coats of skin
Their Souls fluffy, white, float softly above
filled with the midnight rain
In the Dance of Shaman to Shaman
The Eternals pay their honour and respects
before the mighty Shaman's call
His vocal dialect and sacred Soul
Invoking as all before had done
With a Shaman's will and a Shaman's Drum.
Alisdaire O'Caoimph
Mar 21, 2011
Mar 21, 2011 at 8:02 AM UTC
Whilst licking the salt from the niche
betwixt thumb and index
my eyes tilt into
your mutually skewed gaze
Your tongue grazes
your fleshy recess in unison.
Escapade gleaned
From occipital across
somatic plane
Wanton brow flourish
signs antic invitation
Insistence consortia encodes
in labyrinthine circling hips
Rushing urgency surges in acknowledged wake
Jan 26, 2014
Jan 26, 2014 at 8:31 PM UTC
Amidst the twelfth hour
When I shut my eyes
It is always you I see
Very still before me
Overwhelmed by your intriguing beauty
Distressed by your magnetic glow
Invariably my old wounds slash wide
As my sullen moods follow
I freeze at the yells
Of the sacrificed ones
And helpless witness them flood
Your antic temples
With innocent blood
Like the spinning moth
In the merciless light
The stage is set
For my untimely death
Have you drawn closer
Or is it me
Pray hurry
Torture afresh till dawn
Your victim’s ready
I won’t cry I won’t flee
Of a perfect lover and slayer
Oh Venus I swear
I could never have dreamt
Of none other than thee!
Feb 18, 2019
Feb 18, 2019 at 7:02 AM UTC
Night roses dipped in purkinje, tendencies of blue
lost inside this dream I urge the winds to carry me
onto the hammocks of the night where antic roses lie,
moonlit soaked and mulched aside a big blue moon ;
Festoons of flowers strung across the midnight sky
scented boutonnieres for Saints and Gods
Angel wraps and gauzy shawls caressing softly stars
lost in a shimmer high above the sea , I am nigh
In exploration I am closing in, onto sweet allay
loosening the strings of yearn for my turtle dove
here in home sweet heaven, timeless as a rune
soaked in purkinje, eternally making room.
Jun 1, 2021
Jun 1, 2021 at 10:44 PM UTC
Sky spreads black threads
on walking dusk
Someone is moving into yesterdays
on the yellow ribbon
As a small marble slowly
to the land of nostalgia.
Closing eyes in the depth of meditation
More and more blue lotuses are flourishing
Scarlet butterflies are flying around-
I've discovered a zone of small grasses
A person is shutting down
the extensive antic door of eye lids.
Poem 10
Book 'Beckoning Jade-Dreams' April 2007
Copyright Musharrat Mahjabeen
Mizan Publishers, Dhaka, Bangladesh
ISBN 984-8700-82-X
Aug 16, 2012
Aug 16, 2012 at 2:01 AM UTC
Snow flakes falling in the abyss
Cold antic whispers of sin
The frozen trail deaths finger tips leave across your soul
Mendacious eyes in the dark
A crook of a finger
Leads you farther into the dark
Hand in hand with the beast with wings of the angles
Satans halo warped and bloodied
Stains of the sinners sins on his robe
Evil lays in wake, but slumbers deeply
Hope is running out
Tick of the cracked face clock
The night of an eclipse
Alls dark for a few seconds
****** a few innocents
Corrupt them
Then consume
Sep 20, 2012
Sep 20, 2012 at 10:44 PM UTC
It all ends up
realizing that
Every downside,
failures and ruins
has a root cause
of somewhat
related to
a basic foundation of
human society.
At the end of the day,
It sums as the most important,
ultimate essential.
It has no metrics,
though an over-said Antic,
sparks most of the conflicts,
pragmatic.
Mind what you're saying,
Check what you're doing.
Go back to basics.
Consider ethics.
Sep 30, 2010
Sep 30, 2010 at 8:32 AM UTC
sitting down to write
is overly romantic
and words
saccharine semantic
and words and worse
never once pedantic
and words and worse and worst
avidly self-mantric
and words and worse and worst and were
this just an antic
Jul 18, 2011
Jul 18, 2011 at 11:35 PM UTC
My Bunny Rabbit
Adorable furry bunny
little rascal and very funny
he'd twitch, wiggle his nose
nibble on and then a pose
hop, hop and scamper
like desperate thumper
as was his antic and habit
my lovable gentle rabbit.
Cute as in caricature
sadly for this tiny creature
could'nt make it to Easter
with outstretched right ear
cold lifeless he lay
my little bunny died today.
Delilah, January 21, 2015
Jan 26, 2015
Jan 26, 2015 at 2:09 AM UTC
Everywhere I look these things exist
No matter where you are these things persist
Hardly ever noticed and sometimes taken for granted
But in very few places are they an antic
They don’t squeeze they don’t bind
If you are confined by one you are fine
Everyone has one believe it or not
But you and I are different because we do not
While they are stuck with nowhere to go
We are free and can only grow
With no limits we are freer than free
And because of this difference we are happy as can be
Aug 1, 2016
Aug 1, 2016 at 4:13 AM UTC
Your utter complacence is
Perpetually mitigated by your patience;
Yet, since we've met,
Your ubiquitous,
Splendidly liquidous,
Serendipitous humor,
Like a tumor,
Has beguiled me,
Defiled me,
Riled me.
Your delicious,
Surreptitious,
Obfuscation of superfluous condemnation is
Erroneous and felonious
A frantic and pedantic antic.
Nov 24, 2015
Nov 24, 2015 at 9:23 PM UTC
Of a round-shaped chocolate cake,
Of unlit candles of which the numbers has increased by one since the last time
Of empty chairs
Of balloons hanging on the wall
Of colorful hats neatly arranged on the table cloth
Of empty porcelain saucers
Like many years before
The boy sits there in silence
On an old wooden chair adjacent to the round table
No surprise nor gift
Nor people nor appetite
Like many years before
He acts like the cool Han Solo
Minus his 200 years old Chewbacca
‘Cause he only has his little antic toy car
No matter how luxurious it may seem
The cake, candles, confetti, balloons and all
The missing essence of people
And happiness and serenity
Could not make it up for him
He is a birthday boy who is not cherished or cheered on
He is a birthday boy with no joy
Like many years before
He finger crosses for the next year to be better
Nov 21, 2020
Nov 21, 2020 at 8:49 AM UTC
the ANTIC Breezes
........................................(authentic)
nothing wasted here
theBLINDED CHILD staggers on
paying the price
for Utter Dependency
the Earth
..........................(struggling
to NURTURE)
devours "the human"
to save
..................the Root
preserving
..................................creation's Seed
in the ***** OF THE REAL
(amid the talk of the
Deeper, Underlying Peace
each Breath .....(the "up"
and the "down")
seeking for YOU
as best it can
the WILDERNESS
....................................(waterless)
RAGES
in the Sand
...............................(soon covering over
ALL OUR FOOTSPEPS)
as the ANTIC Breezes cease
and nothing is left
Jul 26, 2010
Jul 26, 2010 at 11:07 AM UTC
I want Neptune
to come out
of the Gulf
reining
pale
untame
charioted waves
I want his imprint
on the brined wash
and
I want to ask him questions.
Do mermaids dance?
(for example)
Are hippocamps?
(for another)
Are starfish fallen celestials, antic?
Is drowning frantic?
I want the vasty deep to erupt
into answers, synaptic explosions
connections
connecting
to
me
I seek myself in saltwater
Creation's alphabet soup
to swallow me
to disconnect the disconnection of me.
Come Neptune. Come from my primal self
into my Self and connect me to me
and me to you and us to them.
Push your wild beasts from the sea
and come into me.
c. Roberta Compton Rainwater 2014
Mar 31, 2014
Mar 31, 2014 at 11:35 AM UTC
Born from a carrion crow, a secondary soul
A stumbling first step can get both high and low
Our fall are others inner joy, and inner meaning grotto
Life is a jungle filled with snow, life is a story over-told
It'd be lies without our mouth's constant need for ammo
Let's slide senseless into a fictive reality rather than candid
Where a billion stars all around that seem to think we're attractive
Without assuming they're antic
Lets waste our time on cheap talk and wine
For shallow compliments we need a shirt and tie
A long slow drive, drugs to whirl and jive
Without quivering the sky
Lets pretend that we're beautiful to get something in return
Only to be garnished with coffee stains and cigarette burns
Bewailing about how we enjoyed our youth
We wither irrelevantly, slowly we discern
Slowly we're concerned
Lets drain our energies for over eight hours straight
Burning the faded floral wallpaper to laminate
Lusting feverishly in the tumbled bed to truncate
This isn't for fulfilment, at least it doesn't start that way
Jul 24, 2016
Jul 24, 2016 at 3:35 PM UTC
A home that I saw
It was in a neighborhood that I had to explore
I certainly couldn’t ignore
The best way to describe
The wood paneling was magnified
It was a two family house
There was plenty of room even for a mouse
The antic had to room to store
This I know for sure
The house stood out on the block
The doors were sturdy with a strong lock
There was even a long backyard
There was space to move backward and forward
The fireplace was something to see
I like the house, but this is between you and me
My dream house in my mind
It has every combined
That is my house story, and I am smiling in my glory.
May 28, 2014
May 28, 2014 at 7:03 PM UTC
think of your brain as the attic
For L.B.
where the keepsakes can be divided as follows:
A. “why the heck did I keep that”
with an inner smile,
knowing all the while,
exactly forsooth but why never forsaken,
and which commemoration is
one of your future
lady-poems-in-waiting
B. “rest here, till your first time return"
is appreciated approved appropriate;
your place at the dining table
is set, and you, a new keepsake
are the guest of honor
both old friend, and newborn
there is no riding rush to gush upwards and out
but perhaps the anti-gravity slow pull of
upward percolation
lucky are you in this,
for @4:20am.
my "attic" is the basement
and these wild-eyed creatures come
sparked and sparkling,
covered in creative juices
that like a nouveau beaujolais
must be drunk immediately
and demanding joie de vivre
this bursting Butz antic was first (ha!)
described as follows in terms
less poetical,
and more
apoplectical
*“the best don’t even flow, they fall out of ya, rough and tumbling,
screaming did ya get that, are ya keeping up,
you can be the self-editing-I need-perfection roadblock or the delivery guy,
the one with the towel and the scissors,
who brings ya
a clean new baby, and/or a veggie pizza,
which ya gonna pick?”*
alas the pizza store is shuttered
in the wee morning birth borning,
so I choose natural La-Maze method for
birthing poems,
as my only option,
so says the
poet ****** @ 4:20am on 4/20/18
Apr 20, 2018
Apr 20, 2018 at 4:49 AM UTC