SPRING*
The spring sea;
gently, quietly,
all day long.
SUMMER
what a joy!
wading through summer rivers,
sandals in hand.
AUTUMN
vacant teahouse,
atop the mountain:
a harvest moon.
WINTER
neighbors detest me
for my whistling kettle:
a cold winter night.
* Translation by: Wilson, William Scott. 2023. A Beginner’s Guide to Japanese Haiku. Tuttle Publishing: North Clarendon, VT.
rainclouds crawl nearer,
like a battle cruiser
inching towards war.
O sweet spontaneous
earth how often have
the
doting
fingers of
prurient philosophers pinched
and
poked
thee
, has the naughty thumb
of science prodded
thy
beauty how
often have religions taken
thee upon their scraggy knees
squeezing and
buffeting thee that thou mightest conceive
gods
(but
true
to the incomparable
couch of death thy
rhythmic
lover
thou answerest
them only with
spring)
muddy clogs
beside each gate;
Spring is here.
"don't swat!"
the fly rubs its hands,
then rubs its feet.
autumn rain,
a small sumo wrestler
pushes through.
sleeping in a row,
the Shinano mountains:
under snow blanket.
In Japanese:
門門の下駄の泥より春立ちぬ
やれ打つな蠅が手を摺り足をする
秋の雨小さき角力通りけり
寝ならぶやしなのの山も夜の雪
From: Wilson, William Scott. 2023. A Beginners Guide to Japanese Haiku. North Clarendon, VT: Tuttle Publishing, 224pp.
after Spring rains, puddles throw reflections of light-fringed clouds.
Spring wildflowers cluster among the rocks; sheep bells clang nearby.
A pot of wine, under blossoms. I drink alone, no friends in sight. I raise a cup to lustrous Moon: Me, Moon, and Shadow will make three. But Moon is a teetotaler. And Shadow just skulks at my feet. Still, Moon & Shadow are my chums. We need a bash before Spring's end. But my singing makes Moon recoil. And Shadow flops hard when I dance. At first, we have a grand old time, But we part ways when I drift off. We should keep this epic friendship rolling, and meet again in the River of Stars.
NOTE: I produced this “translation” / arrangement, using translations by Arthur Waley, Ezra Pound, and that of “The Anchor Book of Chinese Poetry” [ed. by Tony Barnstone and Chou Ping] to get varied takes on the source poem.
the green hills, lit through monsoon clouds, change shape before me.
Tiger Riding for Beginners 