Haiku

HAIKU
Translated by Harold G. Henderson

Matsuo Basho (1644 – 1694)

Many, many things
They bring to mind –
Cherry blossoms.

On a withered branch
A crow has settled –
Autumn nightfall.

Around existence twine
(Oh, bridge that hangs across the gorge!)
ropes of twisted vine.

Cool it is, and still:
Just the tip of a crescent moon
Over Black-wing Hill.

The summer grasses grow.
Of mighty warriors’ splendid dreams
the afterglow.

Old pond:
Frog-jump-in
water-sound.

A village where they ring
no bells! - Oh what they do
at dusk in spring?

Some of them with staves,
and white-haired – a whole family
visiting the graves!

Fall of the night
Over the sea – the wild duck voices
Shadowy and white

No rice? – In that hour
We put into the gourd
A maiden-flower.

A lightning-gleam:
Into darkness travels
A night-heron’s scream.

Taniguchi Buson ((1715-1783)

Spring rain! And as yet
The little froglets’ bellies
Haven’t got wet!

No poem you send
In answer – O, young lady!
Spring is at its end.

Blossoms on the pear;
And a woman in the moonlight
Reads a letter there…

What piercing cold I feel!
My dead wife’ comb, in our bedroom,
Under my heel.