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
â Yamaguchi Seishi, loose translation by Michael R. Burch
Oh, fallen camellias,
if I were you,
I'd leap into the torrent!
â Takaha Shugyo, loose translation by Michael R. Burch
The first soft snow:
leaves of the awed jonquil
bow low
â Matsuo Basho, loose translation by Michael R. Burch
Come, investigate loneliness!
a solitary leaf
clings to the Kiri tree
â Matsuo Basho, loose translation by Michael R. Burch
Lightning
shatters the darknessâ
the night heron's shriek
â Matsuo Basho, loose translation by Michael R. Burch
One apple, alone
in the abandoned orchard
reddens for winter
â 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
â Hisajo Sugita, loose translation by Michael R. Burch
This day of chrysanthemums
I shake and comb my wet hair,
as their petals shed rain
â Hisajo Sugita, loose translation by Michael R. Burch
This sheer kimonoâ
how the moon peers through
to my naked skin!
âHisajo Sugita (1890-1946), loose translation by Michael R. Burch
These festive flowery robesâ
though quickly undressed,
how their colored cords still continue to cling!
âHisajo Sugita (1890-1946), loose translation by Michael R. Burch
Chrysanthemum petals
reveal their pale curves
shyly to the moon.
âHisajo Sugita (1890-1946), loose translation by Michael R. Burch
Loneliness â
reading the Bible
as the rain deflowers cherry blossoms.
âHisajo Sugita (1890-1946), loose translation by Michael R. Burch
How deep this valley,
how elevated the butterfly's flight!
âHisajo Sugita (1890-1946), loose translation by Michael R. Burch
How lowly this valley,
how lofty the butterfly's flight!
âHisajo Sugita (1890-1946), loose translation by Michael R. Burch
Echoes from the hillsâ
the mountain cuckoo sings as it will,
trill upon trill
âHisajo Sugita (1890-1946), loose translation by Michael R. Burch
This darkening autumn:
my neighbor,
how does he continue?
â Matsuo Basho, loose translation by Michael R. Burch
Let us arrange
these lovely flowers in the bowl
since there's no rice
â Matsuo Basho, loose translation by Michael R. Burch
An ancient pond,
the frog leaps:
the silver plop and gurgle of water
â Matsuo Basho, loose translation by Michael R. Burch
The butterfly
perfuming its wings
fans the orchid
â Matsuo Basho, loose translation by Michael R. Burch
Pausing between clouds
the moon rests
in the eyes of its beholders
â Matsuo Basho, loose translation by Michael R. Burch
The first chill rain:
poor monkey, you too could use
a woven cape of straw
â Matsuo Basho, loose translation by Michael R. Burch
This snowy morning:
cries of the crow I despise
(ah, but so beautiful!)
â Matsuo Basho, loose translation by Michael R. Burch
Like a heavy fragrance
snow-flakes settle:
lilies on the rocks
â Matsuo Basho, loose translation by Michael R. Burch
The cheerful-chirping cricket
contends gray autumn's gay,
contemptuous of frost
â Matsuo Basho, loose translation by Michael R. Burch
Whistle on, twilight whippoorwill,
solemn evangelist
of loneliness
â Matsuo Basho, loose translation by Michael R. Burch
The sea darkening,
the voices of the wild ducks:
my mysterious companions!
â Matsuo Basho, loose translation by Michael R. Burch
Will we meet again?
Here at your flowering grave:
two white butterflies
â Matsuo Basho, loose translation by Michael R. Burch
Fever-felled mid-path
my dreams resurrect, to trek
into a hollow land
â Matsuo Basho, loose translation by Michael R. Burch
Too ill to travel,
now only my autumn dreams
survey these withering fields
â 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...
â Matsuo Basho, loose translation by Michael R. Burch
Graven images of long-departed gods,
dry spiritless leaves:
companions of the temple porch
â Matsuo Basho, loose translation by Michael R. Burch
See: whose surviving sons
visit the ancestral graves
white-bearded, with trembling canes?
â Matsuo Basho, loose translation by Michael R. Burch
An empty road
lonelier than abandonment:
this autumn evening
â Matsuo Basho, loose translation by Michael R. Burch
Spring has come:
the nameless hill
lies shrouded in mist
â 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 Ć no Yasumaro. The Kojiki relates Japanâs 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.
â Ć 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!
â Ć 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.
â Ć 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?
â Kobayashi Issa, loose translation by Michael R. Burch
Our world of dew
is a world of dew indeed;
and yet, and yet...
â Kobayashi Issa, loose translation by Michael R. Burch
Oh, brilliant moon
can it be true that even you
must rush off, like us, tardy?
â Kobayashi Issa, loose translation by Michael R. Burch
Standing unsteadily,
I am the scarecrowâs
skinny surrogate
âKobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Autumn wind ...
She always wanted to pluck
the reddest roses
âKobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Issa wrote the haiku above after the death of his daughter Sato with the note: âSato, girl, 35th day, at the grave.â
The childless woman,
how tenderly she caresses
homeless dolls ...
âHattori Ransetsu, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Clinging
to the plum tree:
one blossom's worth of warmth
âHattori Ransetsu, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
One leaf falls, enlightenment!
Another leaf falls,
swept away by the wind ...
âHattori Ransetsu, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
This has been called Ransetsuâs âdeath poem.â In The Classic Tradition of Haiku, Faubion Bowers says in a footnote to this haiku: âJust as âblossomâ, when not modified, means âcherry flowerâ in haiku, âone leafâ is code for âkiriâ. 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 ... âTotsuâ 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.â
This world?
Moonlit dew
flicked from a crane's bill.
âEihei Dogen Kigen (1200-1253) loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Seventy-one?
How long
can a dewdrop last?
âEihei Dogen Kigen, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Dewdrops beading grass-blades
die before dawn;
may an untimely wind not hasten their departure!
âEihei 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!
âEihei 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.
âEihei Dogen Kigen, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Disdaining grass,
the firefly nibbles nettlesâ
this is who I am.
âTakarai Kikaku (1661-1707), loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
A simple man,
content to breakfast with the morning gloriesâ
this is who I am.
âBasho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
This is Bashoâs response to the Takarai Kikaku haiku above
The morning glories, alas,
also turned out
not to embrace me
âBasho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
The morning glories bloom,
mending chinks
in the old fence
âBasho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Morning glories,
however poorly painted,
still engage us
âBasho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
I too
have been accused
of morning glory gazing ...
âoriginal haiku by by Michael R. Burch
Taming the rage
of an unrelenting sunâ
autumn breeze.
âBasho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
The sun sets,
relentlessly red,
yet autumnâs in the wind.
âBasho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
As autumn deepens,
a butterfly sips
chrysanthemum dew.
âBasho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
As autumn draws near,
so too our hearts
in this small tea room.
âBasho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Nothing happened!
Yesterday simply vanished
like the blowfish soup.
âBasho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
The surging sea crests around Sado ...
and above her?
An ocean of stars.
âBasho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Revered figure!
I bow low
to the rabbit-eared Iris.
âBasho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Come, butterfly,
itâs late
and weâve a long way to go!
âBasho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Nothing in the cry
of the cicadas
suggests they know they soon must die.
âBasho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
I wish I could wash
this perishing earth
in its shimmering dew.
âBasho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Dabbed with morning dew
and splashed with mud,
the melon looks wonderfully cool.
âBasho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Cold white azaleaâ
a lone nun
in her thatched straw hut.
âBasho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Glimpsed on this high mountain trail,
delighting my heartâ
wild violets
âBasho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
The bee emerging
from deep within the peonyâs hairy recesses
flies off heavily, sated
âBasho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
A crow has settled
on a naked branchâ
autumn nightfall
âBasho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Except for a woodpecker
tapping at a post,
the house is silent.
âBasho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
That dying cricket,
how he goes on about his life!
âBasho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Like a glorious shrineâ
on these green, budding leaves,
the sunâs intense radiance.
âBasho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Yosa Buson haiku translations
On the templeâs great bronze gong
a butterfly
snoozes.
âYosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Hard to describe:
this light sensation of being pinched
by a butterfly!
âYosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Not to worry spiders,
I clean house ... sparingly.
âYosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Among the fallen leaves,
an elderly frog.
âYosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
In an ancient well
fish leap for mosquitoes,
a dark sound.
âYosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Flowers with thorns
remind me of my hometown ...
âYosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Reaching the white chrysanthemum
the scissors hesitate ...
âYosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
A kite floats
at the same place in the sky
where yesterday it floated ...
âYosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Picking autumn plums
my wrinkled hands
once again grow fragrant
âYosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
A silk robe, casually discarded,
exudes fragrance
into the darkening evening
âYosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Whose delicate clothes
still decorate the clothesline?
Late autumn wind.
âYosa 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 heronâs legs.
âYosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
gills puffing,
a hooked fish:
the patient
âYosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
The stirred morning air
ruffles the hair
of a caterpillar.
âYosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Intruder!
This white plum tree
was once outside our fence!
âYosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Tender grass
forgetful of its roots
the willow
âYosa 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."âMRB
Since I'm left here alone,
I'll make friends with the moon.
âYosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
The hood-wearer
in his self-created darkness
misses the harvest moon
âYosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
White blossoms of the pear treeâ
a young woman reading his moonlit letter
âYosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
The pear tree flowers whitely:
a young woman reading his letter
by moonlight
âYosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
On adjacent branches
the plum tree blossoms
bloom petal by petalâlove!
âYosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
A misty spring moon ...
I entice a woman
to pay it our respects
âYosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Courtesans
purchasing kimonos:
plum trees blossoming
âYosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
The spring sea
rocks all day long:
rising and falling, ebbing and flowing ...
âYosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
As the whale
    dives
its tail gets taller!
âYosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
While tilling the field
the motionless cloud
vanished.
âYosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Even lonelier than last year:
this autumn evening.
âYosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
My thoughts return to my Mother and Father:
late autumn
âYosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Late autumn:
my thoughts return to my Mother and Father
âYosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
This roaring winter wind:
the cataract grates on its rocks.
âYosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
While snow lingers
in creases and recesses:
flowers of the plum
âYosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Plowing,
not a single bird sings
in the mountain's shadow
âYosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
In the lingering heat
of an abandoned cowbarn
only the sound of the mosquitoes is dark.
âYosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
The red plum's fallen petals
seem to ignite horse ****.
âYosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Dawn!
The brilliant sun illuminates
sardine heads.
âYosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
The abandoned willow shines
between bright rains
âYosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Dew-damp grass:
the setting sunâs tears
âYosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
The dew-damp grass
weeps silently
in the setting sun
âYosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
White plum blossomsâ
though the hour grows late,
a glimpse of dawn
âYosa 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.
âYosa 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
âYosa 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?
âTakaha Shugyo or Yosa Buson, loose translation by Michael R. Burch
I thought I felt a dewdrop
plop
on me as I lay in bed!
â Masaoka Shiki, loose translation by Michael R. Burch
We cannot see the moon
and yet the waves still rise
â Shiki Masaoka, loose translation by Michael R. Burch
The first morning of autumn:
the mirror I investigate
reflects my fatherâs face
â Shiki Masaoka, loose translation by Michael R. Burch
Wild geese pass
leaving the emptiness of heaven
revealed
â Takaha Shugyo, loose translation by Michael R. Burch
Inside the cracked shell
of a walnut:
one empty room.
âTakaha Shugyo, loose translation by Michael R. Burch
Bring me an icicle
sparkling with the stars
of the deep north
âTakaha Shugyo, loose translation by Michael R. Burch
Seen from the skyscraper
the trees' fresh greenery:
parsley sprigs
âTakaha Shugyo, loose translation by Michael R. Burch
Are the geese flying south?
The candle continues to flicker ...
âTakaha Shugyo, loose translation by Michael R. Burch
Still clad in its clown's costumeâ
the dead ladybird.
âTakaha Shugyo, loose translation by Michael R. Burch
A single tree,
a heart carved into its trunk,
blossoms prematurely
âTakaha Shugyo, loose translation by Michael R. Burch
Silently observing
the bottomless mountain lake:
water lilies
â Inahata Teiko, loose translation by Michael R. Burch
Cranes
flapping ceaselessly
test the sky's upper limits
â Inahata Teiko, loose translation by Michael R. Burch
Falling snowflakes'
glitter
tinsels the sea
â Inahata Teiko, loose translation by Michael R. Burch
Blizzards here on earth,
blizzards of stars
in the sky
â Inahata Teiko, loose translation by Michael R. Burch
Completely encircled
in emerald:
the glittering swamp!
â Inahata Teiko, loose translation by Michael R. Burch
The new calendar!:
as if tomorrow
is assured...
â Inahata Teiko, loose translation by Michael R. Burch
Ah butterfly,
what dreams do you ply
with your beautiful wings?
â Fukuda Chiyo-ni, loose translation by Michael R. Burch
Because morning glories
hold my well-bucket hostage
I go begging for water
â Fukuda Chiyo-ni, loose translation by Michael R. Burch
Spring
stirs the clouds
in the sky's teabowl
â Kikusha-ni, loose translation by Michael R. Burch
Tonight I saw
how the peony crumples
in the fire's embers
â Katoh Shuhson, loose translation by Michael R. Burch
It fills me with anger,
this moon; it fills me
and makes me whole
â Takeshita Shizunojo, loose translation by Michael R. Burch
War
stood at the end of the hall
in the long shadows
â 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
â Shimazu Ryoh, loose translation by Michael R. Burch
Pale mountain sky:
cherry petals play
as they tumble earthward
â Kusama Tokihiko, loose translation by Michael R. Burch
The frozen moon,
the frozen lake:
two oval mirrors reflecting each other.
â Hashimoto Takako, loose translation by Michael R. Burch
The bitter winter wind
ends here
with the frozen sea
â Ikenishi Gonsui, loose translation by Michael R. Burch
Oh, bitter winter wind,
why bellow so
when there's no leaves to fell?
â Natsume SĂŽseki, loose translation by Michael R. Burch
Winter waves
roil
their own shadows
â Tominaga FĂ»sei, loose translation by Michael R. Burch
No sky,
no land:
just snow eternally falling...
â Kajiwara Hashin, loose translation by Michael R. Burch
Along with spring leaves
my child's teeth
take root, blossom
â Nakamura Kusatao, loose translation by Michael R. Burch
Stillness:
a single chestnut leaf glides
on brilliant water
â Ryuin, loose translation by Michael R. Burch
As thunder recedes
a lone tree stands illuminated in sunlight:
applauded by cicadas
â Masaoka Shiki, loose translation by Michael R. Burch
The snake slipped away
but his eyes, having held mine,
still stare in the grass
â Kyoshi Takahama, loose translation by Michael R. Burch
Girls gather sprouts of rice:
reflections of the water flicker
on the backs of their hats
â Kyoshi Takahama, loose translation by Michael R. Burch
Murmurs follow the hay cart
this blossoming summer day
â Ippekiro Nakatsuka (1887-1946), loose translation by Michael R. Burch
The wet nurse
paused to consider a bucket of sea urchins
then walked away
â Ippekiro Nakatsuka (1887-1946), loose translation by Michael R. Burch
May I be with my mother
wearing her summer kimono
by the morning window
â Ippekiro Nakatsuka (1887-1946), loose translation by Michael R. Burch
The hands of a woman exist
to remove the insides of the spring cuttlefish
â Sekitei Hara, loose translation by Michael R. Burch
The moon
hovering above the snow-capped mountains
rained down hailstones
â Sekitei Hara, loose translation by Michael R. Burch
Oh, dreamlike winter butterfly:
a puff of white snow
cresting mountains
â Kakio Tomizawa, loose translation by Michael R. Burch
Spring snow
cascades over fences
in white waves
â Suju Takano, loose translation by Michael R. Burch
Tanka and Waka translations:
If fields of autumn flowers
can shed their blossoms, shameless,
why canât I also frolic here â
as fearless, and as blameless?
âOno no Komachi, loose translation by Michael R. Burch
Submit to you â
is that what you advise?
The way the ripples do
whenever ill winds arise?
âOno no Komachi, loose translation by Michael R. Burch
Watching wan moonlight
illuminate trees,
my heart also brims,
overflowing with autumn.
âOno 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.
âOno no Komachi, loose translation by Michael R. Burch
That which men call "love" â
is it not merely the chain
preventing our escape
from this world of pain?
âOno no Komachi, loose translation by Michael R. Burch
Once-colorful flowers faded,
while in my drab cell
lifeâs impulse also abated
as the long rains fell.
âOno 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 Fujiâwhite, aglowâ
through flakes of drifting downy snow.
â 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.
âMatsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
The fragrance of plum blossoms
on a foggy path:
the sun rising.
âMatsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
The sea darkens ...
yet still faintly white
the wild duck protests.
âMatsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Pear tree blossoms
whitened by moonlight:
a young woman reading a letter.
âYosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Outlined in the moonlight ...
who is that standing
among the pear trees?
âYosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Your coolness:
the sound of the bell
departing the bell.
âYosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
As the moon flies west
the flowers' shadows
creep eastward.
âYosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
By such pale moonlight
even the wisteria's fragrance
seems distant.
âYosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Leaves
like crowsâ shadows
flirt with a lonely moon.
Kaga no Chiyo (1703-1775), loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Let me die
covered with flowers
and never again wake to this earthly dream!
âOchi Etsujin, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
To reveal how your heart flowers,
sway like the summer grove.
âTagami 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.
âKyoshi 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.
âKyoshi Takahama (1874-1959), loose translation by Michael R. Burch
ISSA TRANSLATIONS
Petals I amass
with such tenderness
***** me to the quick.
â Kobayashi Issa, loose translation by Michael R. Burch
This world of dew
is a world of dew indeed;
and yet...
â Kobayashi Issa, loose translation by Michael R. Burch
Standing beneath cherry blossoms
who can be strangers?
â Kobayashi Issa, loose translation by Michael R. Burch
An enormous frog!
We stare at each other,
both petrified.
â Kobayashi Issa, loose translation by Michael R. Burch
Skinny frog,
hang on...
Issa to the rescue!
â Kobayashi Issa, loose translation by Michael R. Burch
Right at my feet!
When did you arrive here,
snail?
â Kobayashi Issa, loose translation by Michael R. Burch
I toss in my sleep,
so watch out,
cricket!
â Kobayashi Issa, loose translation by Michael R. Burch
In a better world
I'd leave you my rice bowl,
little fly!
â Kobayashi Issa, loose translation by Michael R. Burch
Cries of the wild geese...
Spreading rumors about me?
â Kobayashi Issa, loose translation by Michael R. Burch
While a cicada
sings softly
a single leaf falls...
â Kobayashi Issa, loose translation by Michael R. Burch
Wake up, old tomcat,
then with elaborate yawns and stretchings
prepare to pursue love
â Kobayashi Issa, loose translation by Michael R. Burch
This windy nest?
Open your hungry mouth in vain,
Issa, orphaned sparrow!
â Kobayashi Issa, loose translation by Michael R. Burch
The ghostly cow comes
mooing mooing mooing
out of the morning mist
â Kobayashi Issa, loose translation by Michael R. Burch
The snow melts
and the village is flooded with children!
â Kobayashi Issa, loose translation by Michael R. Burch
Full moon,
my ramshackle hut
is an open book!
â 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?
â Kobayashi Issa, loose translation by Michael R. Burch
Don't weep, we are all insects!
Lovers, even the stars themselves,
must eventually part.
â Kobayashi Issa, loose translation by Michael R. Burch
In our world
we walk suspended over hell
admiring flowers.
â Kobayashi Issa, loose translation by Michael R. Burch
In the thicketâs shade
a solitary woman
sings the rice-planting song.
âKobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
If my father were here,
we would gaze
over dawnâs green fields together.
âKobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Unaware of these degenerate times,
cherry blossoms abound!
âKobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
These silent summer nights
even the stars
seem to whisper.
âKobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
The enormous firefly
weaves its way, this way and that,
as it passes by.
âKobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Composed like the Thinker, he sits
contemplating the mountains:
the sagacious frog!
âKobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Smug boss
plopped on his throne:
pompous bullfrog!
âKobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Serene-faced
contemplating the stars:
Buddha-frog.
âKobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Standing stone-still
for the horse to smell:
Buddha-frog.
âKobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Such a racket!
Will I be your next meal,
cawing crows?
âKobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
New Yearâs Day
I welcome a guest:
nestless bird.
âKobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Likewise homeless,
this first day,
in Edo.
âKobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
New Yearâs first rain:
my grass-roofed hutâs
first leak.
âKobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
The wild daisies
celebrate:
first day of spring.
âKobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Spring returns:
more excuses for foolishness
from this fool.
âKobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Pretty
fresh-faced girls
multiplying like spring!
âKobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
As the snow melts
the village brims
with children.
âKobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
The child
gives her dolls
a good scolding.
âKobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
The old doll
suns herself
in the store window.
âKobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Mocking
the perspiring farmer,
the jaunty crow.
âKobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Lit
by the lightning-flash:
spring snow falling.
âKobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Youâve ruined my dream,
nightmare crow,
with your cawing!
âKobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Spring returns
simply but elegantly
with a pale blue sky.
âKobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
The springâs
first butterfly
swaggers.
âKobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
The pretty rice-planting girl
with a butterfly
asleep on her back.
âKobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
The butterfly
flutters back
to Buddhaâs lap.
âKobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Hole in the wall?
Peeping Tom!
I spy on the pretty sky.
âKobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Time flies,
so fast
the bonfires burn out.
âKobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
A ritzy kite
smirks above
a beggarâs hut.
âKobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
The great bronze
Buddhaâs nose
itched by baby sparrows.
âKobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
From serene Jizoâs
holy neck it hangs:
the rice dumpling.
âKobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Little snail,
conquer Mount Fuji,
inch by inch!
âKobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Intruder!
A loitering pheasant
pecks at my gate.
âKobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Donât migrate geese!
There is sorrow everywhere.
âKobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Donât cry,
migrating geese;
everywhere the worldâs the same.
âKobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
How they glare
when I return:
the geese at my gate.
(Or is it theirs?)
âKobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
A talented goose
posed on one foot
in the rice field.
âKobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Winter breeze:
snowflakes flutter down
like confetti.
âKobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
The old banner
***** lonely and cold
in the winter thicket.
âKobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Back door amusement:
******* scribbles
in winterâs first ice.
âKobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
How cold?
My only hand towel
frozen stiff.
âKobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
If you cross it,
cross carefully and lightly:
ice.
âKobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Safe beneath the ice,
the catâs eyes follow
crazy fish.
âKobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
From the tip of Buddhaâs
honorable nose
an icicle dangles.
âKobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Steering me home
to my hut:
winter rain.
âKobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Teased by the winter wind,
the pig giggles
in his sleep.
âKobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
The winter wind
generously
sweeps my gate.
âKobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Winter night:
scratching at my window,
a banished cat.
âKobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Likewise in no mood
to sweep the snow,
the scarecrow.
âKobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
My little straw mat:
the cat arrives
with a coat of snowflakes.
âKobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
The girl hugs
her ragcloth monkey:
winter hailstorm.
âKobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Patched
with wastepaper,
my ragged winter coat.
âKobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
The cricketâs
cozy winter residence:
my quilt.
âKobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Hey mice,
quit ******* on my new friendâs
domicile!
âKobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Forlorn sight:
from distant fields
a little hutâs light.
âKobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
The generous wind
sweeps
my sooty hut.
âKobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
A lonely
plum tree blooms
among pines.
âKobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Plum blossoms
giggle
at my rags.
âKobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
At the edge
of a reeking well,
elegant plum blossoms.
âKobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Are you illuminating
plum blossoms for stealing,
vagrant moon?
âKobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Moonlit gate:
the mosquito-eating bats
make their rounds.
âKobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Like the bats
moonlit streetwalkers also
make their slow rounds.
âKobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
A hot, humid night ...
bats dangle
by the riverbank.
âKobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
A hot, humid day ...
I engage in a staring contest
with a gargoyle.
âKobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Glaring
like heâd devour the winter moon,
the gargoyle.
âKobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
The dragonfly
works the late shift:
night fishing.
âKobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Having peeled off your skin,
snake,
are you any cooler?
âKobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Left in Buddhaâs lap,
a snakeâs
discarded garment.
âKobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
From the great bronze Buddhaâs
nose
morning mist emerges.
âKobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
On the great bronze Buddhaâs
nose,
a **** bug.
âKobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Chestnuts falling:
even the stone Buddha
has an umbrella hat!
âKobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
A sparrow chirps
in his lap:
the snowbound Buddha.
âKobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Boars and bears
my only neighbors:
winter seclusion.
âKobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
My sinful dog
my sole companion:
winter seclusion.
âKobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
No good deeds
but unable to sin:
winter seclusion.
âKobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
The winter houseguest
I spared, a little fly,
my cat murdered.
âKobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Eyeing the potato
baking on the banked fire,
a criminal crow.
âKobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Even the bullfrog
gapes
at brilliant fireflies.
âKobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Why do you
play with fire,
tiger moth?
âKobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Mosquitoes
so thick
I exhale them.
âKobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Do you also
mourn your mother,
cicada?
âKobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Even the insects
huddle at the window:
a cold night.
âKobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
My evicted fleas
have re-made me their landlord:
autumn rain.
âKobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Autumn cacophony:
the cicadasâ grumblings
grow louder.
âKobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
âItâs cold,â
the cicadasâ complaints
have begun.
âKobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
The strutting crow
splashes
into the silver dew.
âKobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
The woodpecker
sizes up
my tasty hut.
âKobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Unaware of lifeâs passage
the dewdrops
frolic.
âKobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
He makes
a splendid windbreak,
the sumo wrestler.
âKobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Standing alone
in a world of tranquility,
the scarecrow.
âKobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
As among men,
so among insects:
good singers, bad singers.
âKobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Settling to sleep
on the helpless scarecrow,
the dauntless dragonfly.
âKobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
An autumn butterfly
clings
to the scarecrowâs sleeve.
âKobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Reflected in the dragonflyâs
somber eyes,
the distant mountain.
âKobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
The dragonfly
siestas
on the steerâs head.
âKobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
The praying mantis
clings by one claw
to the temple bell.
âKobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
The village dog
waters
chrysanthemums.
âKobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
There no shame
if we teeter-totter,
old chrysanthemum.
âKobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
The briar chrysanthemum
blooms
in secret.
âKobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Atop the guady chrysanthemum
a caterpillar
snoozes.
âKobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Thanks to morning-glories
my hut
becomes a palace.
âKobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Eating my rice
alone
among morning-glories.
âKobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Droplets form
on the still, silent
morning-glories.
âKobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Rice field dew,
half of it
human perspiration?
âKobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Through nightâs gloom,
bit by bit it grows,
the gourd.
âKobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Clever as foxes,
the children
hide amid plume grass.
âKobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Even plume grass
waves farewell at last
to autumn.
âKobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
On the sleeping dog
gently descends
a leaf-hat.
âKobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Avert your eyes
while I **** in your field,
little wren!
âKobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
This stand of trees:
my head
just as barren of leaves.
âKobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Lacking common sense
out-of-season flowers
bloom on my fence.
âKobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
All alone,
babbling nonsense,
I toast the departing year.
âKobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Kyoto:
even beneath bridges
beggars toast the departing year.
âKobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Living alone,
one bottle suffices
for toasting the departing year.
âKobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Come what may,
trust the New Year to Buddha
despite his former failures.
âKobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
A wind chimeâs
bubbly babble
ends the year on a bright note.
âKobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
It takes two
temple nuns
to yank out one radish.
âKobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Berating
my heavy drinking,
the mountain cuckoo.
âKobayashi 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.
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
For yet a little while,
the pale moon
floating among blossoms...
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Moon past full:
darkness
increasing.
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Spring rains
so heavy
they overflow the waterfall.
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Iâll catch up
about cascading waterfall blossoms
when I drink with Li Bai.
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Fluttering rose petals
fall
into the riverâs gurgling waters.
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Spring rains
overwhelming the falls,
overflowing...
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
The rainy season downpour
sours even the ears
of ripening plums.
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Flood!
Stars will soon sleep
atop a rock.
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Iâll dare drenching
my paper robes
to nab a sprig of spring blossoms.
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Where is that handsome man
no long with us:
the rain-hidden moon.
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
So much harsher
than other mouths,
the wind devours newborn blossoms.
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
So taken by their beauty,
I long to take
the maiden flowers.
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Trembling, feeble,
heavy with dew:
the maiden flowers.
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Other flowers bloom,
the camellias
remain indifferent.
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
An orchidâs
lingering fragrance
veils the bedchamber.
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
The boyâs bangs
retain the scent
of youthful grass.
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Spring winds
tickle the flowers
till they burst out in laughter.
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Falling to the ground,
returning to its roots,
the flowerâs farewell.
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
So many things
recur in memory:
spring blossoms reopen.
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Seeing them naked
almost makes me caress
the ******* flowers.
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
As temple bells fade
flowers strike their fragrance
into the silence.
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
The bat also emerges
into the birdsâ
world of flowers.
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
When planting,
please handle the infant cherry tree tenderly,
gently, like a baby.
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
How can one fret
during cherry blossom time?
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
How I envy them,
growing high above our transient world,
the mountain cherries.
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Curiosity:
a butterfly alights
on nectarless grass.
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
A solitary butterfly
hovers over
its own shadow.
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
A solitary butterfly
flutters above
its own shadow.
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Since spring showers insist,
the eggplant seeds
commence sprouting.
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Never belittle
the tiniest seeds:
the spunky pepper reddens.
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Once green,
behold!
The red pepper.
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
After spring rains
mugwort shoots up
in grassy lanes.
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Higher than the larks,
resting amid the blue,
this mountain pass.
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
The blossom-filled day
makes the treeâs sadness
seem all the darker.
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Goodbye, old friend:
no longer beckoning
miscanthus plumes.
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Spying plum blossoms
the infatuated ox
bellows, âYes!â
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
The day-lily,
dripping water
into the grassesâ forgetfulness.
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Scooped up by my hands,
the springwater
shocks my teeth with its iciness.
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
The catsâ noisy mating subsides;
now into our bedroom
creeps the quiet moonlight.
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Here at Wakanoura
Iâm finally in step
with fleeting and fleeing spring.
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
A bell-less village?
Who will ring in
the end of spring?
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
The temple bell unheeded?
Unheard?
Still, spring is fleeting.
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
The sunâs about to set:
the springâs last shimmering heat ray.
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
SUMMER
Such coolness
when shouldered:
the summerâs first melon.
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
A wicker basket
shields the coolness
of the first melon.
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Morning dew:
the muddy melon
exudes coolness.
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Early summer rain:
the green spikemoss,
how long to remain?
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Timidly the willow
refrains from touching
deutzia blossoms.
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
An oiled paper umbrella
attempts to push aside
unobliging willows.
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
The ancient river
ogles
the slender willow.
âMatsuo 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.
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
This summer world
floats in the lakeâs
silver waves.
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
A weary horse
collapsing in barley:
travelerâs rest.
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
On the distant plain
the deerâs voice
seems an inch tall.
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
How sad, the bellowing of bucks,
The bleatings of does,
at night.
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Even woodpeckers
hold this old hut sacred,
still standing in the summer grove.
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Toppling from the topmost bough,
emptiness aloft:
the cicadaâs husk.
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
The hollyhock
leans sunward
in the summer rain.
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Ah, the splendid resplendence
of sunlight
on tender evergreen leaves!
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
The fragrance of oranges...
In whose farmyard
is the cuckoo calling?
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Temple bells reverberate:
cicadas singing.
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Shouldering hay bales,
someone left enough straw
to mark our way.
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Fireflies
turn our trees
into well-lit lodges.
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
A noontime firefly,
dim by daylight,
hides behind a pillar.
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Firefly watching,
the tipsy boatman
rocks the boat.
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Rising above fields of rice and barley,
the cry of the summer cuckoo.
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Tedious life!
Plowing the rice field
back and forth...
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Lying in the summer grass,
discarded like a kingâs robe,
the snakeskin.
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
The shrubby bush-clover?
How impudent
her appearance!
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Glistening dew
sways without spilling
from the bush-clover.
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
I bow low
to the venerable
rabbit-eared Iris.
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Rabbit-eared Iris,
pausing to chit-chat,
one joy of my journey.
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
The rabbit-eared iris
inspires
another hokku.
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Rabbit-eared Iris,
admiring your reflection?
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Inside Uchiyama,
unknown to outsiders,
blossoms full-bloom.
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Uchiyama was a temple little-known to the outside world. In fact, uchi means âinside.â
AUTUMN
First of autumn:
the sea and the rice fields
the same green hue.
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
The autumn wind
like a ventriloquist
projects its piercing voice.
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Voices in the reeds?
Ventriloquism
of the autumn wind.
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
East and West
united by the autumn wind
into a single melancholy.
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Seeing a friend off,
his hunched back
lonely in the autumn wind.
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Illuminating
sawn-off tree trunks:
the harvest moon.
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
After pausing
for harvest moon viewing,
we must be on our way.
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Our moon-viewing interrupted
on Asamutsu Bridge,
dark yields to dawn.
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Consider lonesomeness
surpassing even Sumaâs:
this deserted autumn beach.
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
The temple bell
drowned in the sea,
and where is the moon?
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
My humble take on the world?
Withered leaves
at autumnâs end.
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Withering flowers:
out of such sadness
seeds emerge.
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Red on red on red,
the sun relentless,
yet autumnâs unimpressed.
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
This lusciously cool autumn day
we peel
aubergine melons.
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Cling to your leaves,
peach trees!
Autumn wind.
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
This whiteness,
whiter than mountain quartz:
autumn wind.
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Shocking the grave,
my grief-filled cry:
autumn wind.
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Spider,
to whom do you cry?
Autumn wind.
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
How to reach safe haven?
An insect adrift
on a leaf.
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Reverential tears:
the falling leaves
bid their trees goodbye.
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Plates and bowls
gleaming dimly in the darkness:
evening coolness.
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Twice the pity:
beneath the headless helmet,
a chirping cricket.
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Secretly
by moonlight
weevils bore chestnuts.
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Cranes on stilts
surveying the rice paddies:
autumn village.
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Thankfulness:
someone else harvests rice
for me.
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
How touching
to survive the storm,
chrysanthemum.
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Slender again,
somehow the chrysanthemum
will yet again bud.
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
As autumn deepens
a butterfly sips
chrysanthemum dew.
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
His loosened jacket collar
invites the cool breeze.
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Butterfly wings:
how many times have they soared
over human roofs?
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Mosquitos drone
with dusky voices
deep within the cattle shed.
âMatsuo 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.
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
The dew drips, drop-by-drop...
Iâd rinse this world clean,
if I could.
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
The fireâs banked ashes
extinguish
your tearsâ hisses.
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Turn to face me,
for I am also lonesome
this autumn evening.
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Plucking white hairs
while beneath my pillow
a cricket creaks.
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Everything that blossoms
dies in the end:
wilted pampas grass.
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
As autumn departs,
shivering
I scrunch under too-small bedding.
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
It seems, to dullard me,
that hell must be like this:
late autumn.
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
WINTER
The yearâs first snowfall;
such happiness to be
at home in my hut.
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Fire-making friend,
let me show you something grand:
a huge snowball!
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Written for Bashoâs dear friend Sora, who visited Bashoâs hut to feed the fire, cook, break ice and make tea.
Come, children,
letâs frolic in the snowstorm,
dodge the hail.
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Farewell for now,
weâre off to find snow
until we tumble into it.
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Letâs get up
until we fall into
the snow we seek.
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Yesteryearâs snows,
have they fallen anew?
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Winter drizzle;
irate, I await
snow adorning the pines.
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Practicing bowing,
the bamboo
anticipates snow.
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Bowing low,
the upside-down world
of snow-laden bamboo.
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Melancholic flowers
shrivel
in the frost.
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Hailstones
stitching
the silken snow.
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Oars slapping waves,
the stomach a-shiver,
these nighttime tears.
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Icefish
shoaling through seaweed
swim into my hands.
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Sunrise:
one-inch sliver
of the whitefishâs iciness.
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Alive
but congealed into one:
the frozen sea cucumbers.
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Somehow alive
yet congealed into a single solid mass:
the frozen sea cucumbers.
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Water so cold,
rocks so hard,
where will the seagull sleep?
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Plovers depart
as evening deepens
windward toward Hiei.
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Crying in the darkness,
unable to locate its nest,
the homeless plover.
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
The plovers cry:
âBe watchful of the darkness
at Star Cape!â
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Mushroom-gathering,
rushing to beat
cold evening rains.
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Ceremonious
hailstones
assail my hinoki hat.
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Caught hatless
in a winter shower?
So it goes.
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
How many frosts
have tested
this pineâs mettle?
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
A winter drizzle
obscures
the fieldâs freshcut stubble.
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
The drinkersâ faces
paler than the snow:
a flash of lightning.
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
The polished mirror
clear as snowflake petals.
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
The relentless wind
sharpens rocks and stones,
topples cedars.
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Cold fear
desolate as a deserted
frost-crusted shack.
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
How marvelous,
the winter snow
will return as rain.
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Children come running,
dodging jewels:
hailstones.
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
At least the world has left,
unblemished and unbegrimed,
a single wooden bowl.
âMatsuo 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 snailâs closed lid:
winter confinement.
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Inside my hut,
watching my own breath:
winter confinement.
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
So weary of Kyoto,
of the withering wind
and winter life.
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
I will soon be included
among the fortunate ones:
beyond winter.
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
VARIOUS
As clouds drift apart,
so we two separate:
wild geese departing.
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
The old nest deserted,
how empty now
my next-door neighborâs hut.
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Yesterday?
Departed,
like the blowfish soup.
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Exciting,
but with a sad conclusion:
cormorant fishing.
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
The one who died:
her delicate kimono
hung out to dry.
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Behind the veiling curtain,
the wife in her bedchamber:
plum blossoms.
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
See her slim figure:
the ingenue moon
not yet ripened.
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Clouds now and then
offer intermissions
from moon-viewing.
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Drinking
alone with the moon,
my shadow makes three.
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
The moon and the blossoms
lack only a man
drinking sake, alone.
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Unbar the door,
allow moonlight
to enter Ukimido.
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Ukimido was a temple Basho visited in 1691.
Drinking morning tea,
the monks
silent amid chrysanthemums.
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Its fragrance whiter
than the peach blossomsâ whiteness:
the narcissus.
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
The narcissus
reflects the whiteness
of a paper screen.
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Hibiscus flowers
garland
an otherwise naked child.
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
The overproud
pink begonia
thinks itâs a watermelon.
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Echo my lonesomeness,
mountain cuckoo.
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
The cuckooâs lone voice
lingers
over the inlet.
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Solitary hawk,
a heavenly vision
over Cape Irago.
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
At Cape Irago
the incomparable cry
of the hawk.
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Better than any dream,
the thrilling reality
of a hawkâs cry.
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
The hawkâs eye narrows
at the quailâs call.
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Naptime!
But my drowsiness is nixed
by busybody warblers.
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Carolers:
the sparrows smile
at their warbling.
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Giving thanks to the flowers
for brightening my visit:
farewell.
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Melancholy nub!
The bamboo budâs
sad end.
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
This lightning flash
the hand receives in darkness:
a candle.
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Carrying a candle
into the dark outhouse:
the moonflowersâ whiteness.
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Seeing a moonflower,
I poke my sake-addled face
through a hole in the window.
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Nighttime folly:
grabbing a thorn,
expecting a firefly.
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
More nighttime weirdness:
a fox stalking
a melon?
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Itâs better to become a beggar
than a critic.
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
No rest:
the carpenter
hangs his own shelf.
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Blowing away
the volcanoâs molars:
the typhoon.
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
What decays
have you endured,
watchful tomb ferns?
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
A disgusting smell
slimed on waterweeds:
pale chub entrails.
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
A country boy
shucking husks
gazes at the moon.
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
The poetâs heart?
Will we ever really understand
ume blossoms?
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
For at least today
let all the poets be
melodious as winter rains.
âMatsuo 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.
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
I will lodge here
until the tender goosefoot
matures into a walking stick.
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Iâd compare a flower
to a delicate child
but the field is barren.
âMatsuo 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.
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
The morning glories
ignore our drinking,
drunk on themselves.
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Slender glistener!
Each dewdrop a burden
for the maiden flower.
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
The moon absent,
treetops cling
to the nighttime rain.
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
May you tumble safely
onto sand or snow,
sake-addled horse rider.
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
I miss my mother and father
so much:
the kijiâs cry.
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
The kiji is a green pheasant but also a metaphor for the love of oneâs family and kiji is also a homophone for âorphaned child.â
I pause from my journey
to observe the fleeting world
going about its housecleaning.
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
No simile!
Nothing compares
to the crescent moon.
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
The overstaying moon
and I
linger in Sarawhina.
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Her ascent easy
and yet still hesitant,
the cloud-veiled moon.
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
A cuckoo flying,
cawing, crying and cajoling:
busybody.
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Whatâs all the ado
about this busybody crow?
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Art begins
with ancient rice-planting chants
drifting on the wind.
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Todayâs words
vanish tomorrow:
evaporating dew.
âMatsuo 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.
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Clinging for dear life
to the bridge,
these winding vines.
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
This swinging bridge:
hard to imagine
horses crossing.
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Even in Kyoto,
a longing for Kyoto,
the cuckoo calling.
âMatsuo 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 cuckooâs tears.
âMatsuo 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.
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Reincarnation?
The fawnâs first dawn
falls on Buddhaâs birthday.
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Forbidden to speak
of holy Yudono,
my sleeves wet with tears.
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Let us learn
from the travails
of these ancient pilgrims.
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
The samuraiâs
overlong discourse:
the tang of bitter daikon.
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Tender-horned snail,
point those tiny tips
toward distant mountains!
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
A dragonfly
clings tentatively to the air,
hovering above waving grasses.
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Tiny river crab
creeping up my leg?
Back to the water!
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
The windblown butterfly
is unable to settle
in the waving grass.
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Even the wild boar
is blown about
by buffeting winds.
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
The boat
comes to rest
on a beach of peach blossoms.
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Lightning
does not enlighten,
of what value?
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
A banked fire,
the shadow
of a guest.
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Remember:
the thicket
guards plum blossoms.
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Donât chortle with glee:
through the leaves of the silk tree
stars wink at me.
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
The Kiyotakiâs unblemished waves
gently dispersing
still-green pine needles.
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
This is said to have been Bashoâs last haiku. Kiyotaki means âclearâ and is the name of a river.
Immaculate white chrysanthemums:
no matter how closely investigated,
without a blemish.
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
I suspect the two poems above are related because the first poem in one version had âwithout a blemishâ or ânary a blemish.â
Faint
in a trace of water:
floating chrysanthemums.
âMatsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Keywords/Tags: haiku, oriental, masters, translation, Japanese, nature, seasons, Basho, Buson, Issa, waka, tanka, mrbhaiku
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.