if I end up
                   dead
to you,
             I hope you'll keep all
the green bones left at
the funeral pyre — show them
to me the next time we meet

These are modern English translations of Eihei Dogen Kigen, a master of the Japanese waka/tanka poetic form. Eihei Dogen Kigen (1200-1253), also called Dogen Zenji, was born in Kyoto, Japan. He was a Japanese Buddhist monk and a prolific poet, writer and philosopher. He was also the founder of the Soto Zen sect (or Sotoshu) and the Eiheiji monastery in early Kamakura-era Japan. In addition to writing Japanese waka, Dogen Kigen was well-versed in Chinese poetry, which he learned to read at age four.

This world?
Moonlit dew
flicked from a crane’s bill.
—Eihei Dogen Kigen, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Seventy-one?
How long
can a dewdrop last?
—Eihei Dogen Kigen, loose translation/interpretation of his jisei (death poem) by Michael R. Burch

Dewdrops beading grass-blades
die before dawn;
may an untimely wind not hasten their departure!
—Eihei Dogen Kigen, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Outside my window the plums, blossoming,
within their curled buds, contain the spring;
the moon is reflected in the cup-like whorls
of the lovely flowers I gather and twirl.
—Eihei Dogen Kigen, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Unaware it protects
the hilltop paddies,
the scarecrow seems useless to itself.
—Eihei Dogen Kigen, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

The cluttered bucket's bottom broke;
now neither water nor the moon remains.
—Eihei Dogen Kigen, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

I won't stop
at the valley brook
for fear my shadow
may be swept into the world.
—Eihei Dogen Kigen, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Although I may
see it again someday,
how can I sleep
with the autumn moon intruding?
—Eihei Dogen Kigen, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Like a frail blade of grass,
I pass
over Mt. Kinobe,
my feelings drifting with the clouds.
—Eihei Dogen Kigen, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

How meaningless birth-death with its ceaseless ebbing and rising!
I struggle to find my path as if walking in a dream.
And yet there are things I cannot forget:
the lush grass of Fukakusa shimmers after an evening rain.
—Eihei Dogen Kigen, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Living so long without attachments,
having given up paper and pen,
I see flowers and hear birds while feeling very little;
dwelling on this mountain, I’m embarrassed by my meager response.
—Eihei Dogen Kigen, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Peach blossoms begin to fall apart
in a spring wind:
doubts do not grow
branches, leaves and flowers.
—Eihei Dogen Kigen, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Ebb tide.
Not even the wind claims
an abandoned boat.
The moon is a bright herald of midnight.
—Eihei Dogen Kigen, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

ALTERNATE TRANSLATIONS

Dewdrops beading blades of grass
have so little time to shine before dawn;
let the autumn wind not rush too quickly through the field!
—Eihei Dogen Kigen, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

To what shall we compare this world?
To moonlit dew
flicked from a crane’s bill.
—Eihei Dogen Kigen, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Keywords/Tags: Eihei Dogen Kigen, English translation, waka, tanka, haiku, Japan, Japanese, nature, dew, dewdrop, dewdrops, grass, crane, scarecrow, rice paddies, dawn

there is a void in
his shape within me — and there
are these spaces he
left wide open — places that
I have not learned to close yet

we had that one old
photo that always reminds
me how I wanted
to have kids with you, and you
did have kids — just not with me

I'm always stealing
glances and end up getting
lost in your eyes, or
is it the ocean — to be
honest, what's the difference

Anxiety wraps,  
Tight around my fragile soul,  
Like a coat too small,  
A lover who won't love back,  
A fire that won't warm my heart.

The coldest night air,  
No different from space around,  
Stars lost in the dark,  
Silent echoes fill the void,  
Where time and light drift away.

A broken soul weeps,  
Laughing, twirling in the dark,  
Beneath the cold stars,  
The bleeding heavens whisper,  
Tales of sorrow and of grace.

An unlit candle,
a matchstick, waiting in vain—
neither will ignite,
unless one strikes the other,
shadows linger, dim and cold.