HAIKU’S I LOVE
BASHO:
Year after year
on the monkey’s face
a monkey face.
The winter sun—
on the horse’s back
my frozen shadow.
Wintry wind—
passing a man
with a swollen face.
A group of them
gazing at the moon,
not one face beautiful.
Teeth sensitive to the sand
in salad greens—
I’m getting old.
HIS DEATH POEM
Sick on a journey
my dreams wander
the withered fields.
BUSON:
That snail—
one long horn, one short,
what’s on his mind?
The short night—
waves beating in,
an abandoned fire.
I go,
you stay;
two autumns.
Bats flitting here and there;
the woman across the street
glances this way.
By moonlight
the blossoming plum
is a tree in winter.
The old man
cutting barley—
bent like a sickle.
Plum blossoms here and there
it’s good to go north,
good to go south.
A gust of wind
whitens
the water birds.
A tethered horse
snow
in both stirrups.
HIS DEATH POEM
In the white plum blossoms
night to the next day
just turning.
ISSA:
New Year’s Day—
everything is in blossom!
I feel about average.
The snow is melting
and the village is flooded
with children.
Don’t worry, spiders
I keep house
casually.
Climb Mount Fuji,
O snail,
but slowly, slowly.
Mosquito at my ear—
does it think
I’m deaf?
This moth saw brightness
in a woman’s chamber—
burnt to a crisp.
Even with insects—
some can sing,
some can’t.
Even a fleabite,
when she’s young,
is beautiful.
On my portrait:
Even considered
in the most favorable light,
he looks cold.
Fleas in my hut,
it’s my fault
you look so skinny.
The old dog—
listening for the songs
of earthworms?
The holes in the wall
play the flute
this autumn evening.
From now on,
it’s all clear profit,
every sky.
This stupid world—
skinny mosquitoes, skinny fleas,
skinny children.
Insects on a bough
floating downriver,
still singing.
HIS DEATH POEM
A bath when you’re born,
a bath when you die,
how stupid.
James Carman
Lapping milk puddle
whiskers touches
Pink tongue
Water Buffalo grazes
rice paddy
Crunchy Pudding
high on a journey
my tiger soul flies
frozen tundra fields
Kosai
Autumn ends
He didn’t leave behind
Even a snore
Mumon Gensen
Life is an ever-rolling wheel
And everyday is the right one
He who recites poems at his death
Adds frost to snow.
Bokusui
A parting word?
The melting snow is
Odorless
James Carman
Even though moth eaten
It’s warm enough
To die
Seaside resort teepee
Fat Russian belly
floats Hari Krishna skis
Lapping milk puddle
whisker touches
Pink tongue
Water Buffalo grazes
rice paddy
Crunchy Pudding
high on a journey
my tiger soul flies
frozen tundra fields