Haiku: Four Seasons by Kobayashi Issa
Haiku: Spring
At every door,
Spring has begun
With mud in the clogs.
Spring has arrived
In all simplicity:
A light yellow sky.
When we get old
Even the length of the day
It is cause for tears.
click, clack,
The man approaches in the mist. –
Who is he?
Also today, also today,
Living in the fog
A small house.
A foggy and misty day:
Surely the Inhabitants of Paradise
Are bored and languid.
Cherry blossoms at night!
Like angels
Descending from the sky.
After dark
I wanted to change
The way I grafted it.
A beautiful kite
Rises from
The beggar’s shack.
The magpie
Wipes his muddy paws
In the plum blossoms.
Little sparrow,
Get out of the way, get out of the way
Mister Horse approaches.
An exhausted sparrow
In the middle
From a bunch of kids.
Trowing rice away too
Is a sin:
The chickens fight each other.
The fawn
Gets rid of the butterfly,
While still sleeping.
The butterfly fluttered
Desperate
From this world.
The flying butterfly:
I feel
A creature of dust.
It doesn’t seem
Very eager to bloom,
This plum tree, at the door.
We human beings
Writhing between
The flowers that open.
How weird,
be so alive
Under the cherry blossoms!
Flowers spreading:
The water we want to drink,
In the mist, far away.
In the fall of the flowers,
They see no Buddha,
No Law.
Under the moon and the flowers
forty-nine years
Of fruitless wandering.
Just trust:
Don’t they flutter like that
Also the petals?
Haiku: Summer
Poor, poor, yes, poor,
The poorest of the provinces,
Feels this freshness!
I have nothing, –
More than this tranquility!
This freshness!
He has put the child to sleep,
And now he washes the clothes;
The summer moon.
Just the sound of him, –
but it was a night
With a summer shower.
Naked,
On a naked horse
Under the pouring rain.
My hometown,
Crushed by bamboos,
Under the summer rains.
Just a little waterfall
But its sound
Cools the night.
The change of clothes;
mind your head
At that door!
The change of servants;
Wherever you are,
The same plum blossoms.
The cool of the night,
Aware that the bell
Rings our lives to death.
The road to Shinano;
Higher and still higher
The song of the rice planters.
In the shade of a bush,
A woman alone
Sings the song of the planters.
Breastfeeding the child in bed,
The mother counts
Flea bites.
My cabin is so small
But please, practice your jumps,
Fleas of mine!
Hitting the fly,
I hit too
A plant, in flower.
All is well in the world;
let another fly
It perches on the rice.
A human being,
A fly,
In a spacious room.
“I make My Appearance,
I, the Toad,
I emerge from My Thicket.”
This morning, a red sky
For you, snail:
You are happy?
When did you get here?
Next to me,
This snail?
“The peony was that big,”
The girl says,
Opening her arms.
Making her way through the crowd,
A poppy
In her hand.
Haiku: Fall
Whose is it then?
My sons,
This red, red moon?
The autumn breeze;
These scarlet flowers open
That the dead girl wanted to catch.
“I will have nothing more to do
With this sordid world”
And the dew disappears.
Of the white drops of dew,
Learn the way
Towards the Pure Land.
Visiting the graves:
The old dog
Goes ahead.
The people, you know!
But not even the scarecrows
Are straight anymore.
Grasshopper,
Don’t tear to pieces
The pearls of bright dew.
The old dog
Seems impressed by the singing
Of the worms in the underground.
The morning glory;
In the faces of men
There are flaws.
The weak plant
Finally,
Has a wavering flower.
A single paulownia leaf
Has slowly fallen
This morning.
Wild medlars,
The mother eats
The bitter part.
How great, how beautiful,
Was the chestnut
Which I couldn’t get to!
The plum tree of my cabin;
Couldn’t help it.
It flourished.
Haiku: Winter
The previous dweller:
I know very well
He was very cold.
Arriving at the door,
The bell of the Mii Temple
Froze.
Still, still,
Submissive in front of the Afterlife,
The end of the year.
The crescent moon
It’s crooked and curved
Pervasive is the cold.
In the winter storm,
Someone calls the masseur
In vain.
Simple and sincere,
The servant sweeps
The snow from next door too.
Under the cold rain
For the love of mankind,
Have mercy, Buddha!
This coal fire;
Our years’ decay
Likewise.
Sacred music at night;
Up to the bonfires
Dyed leaves flutter down.
The people are few;
A leaf falls here
Falls there.
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