—BASHÔ
HIDDEN INFLUENCE
A Buddhist sutra, calmly chanted, fills
With cool refreshing air the fields and hills.
—KYORAI
DEATH BY ECSTASY
Discarded, one cicada's casket lay:
Did it utterly sing itself away?
—BASHÔ
RELAXATION
The evening cool: enjoyed beneath the sallows,
Paddling amid my shadow in the shallows.
—BUSON
ISSA'S ADVICE
You plump green watermelons, keeping cool,
Turn into frogs, if boys pass by your pool!
—ISSA
RUSTIC SECURITY
I shut my brushwood gate; but should that fail
To stop intruders, for a lock—this snail!
—ISSA
A SLICE OF MELON
The melon-fields lie waiting under skies
Of sultry darkness for the moon to rise.
—SORA
THE METEOR
Just as that firefly, glowing on a spray
Of leaves, dropped off—it suddenly shot away!
—BASHÔ
FIRST GLIMPSE
Monsoonal rains; and then one night there shines,
As though by stealth, the moon between the pines.
—RYÔTA
SITTING ON KYORAL'S VERANDA
A cuckoo called! The moonlight filters through
Shadow-shifting thickets of cool bamboo.
—BASHÔ
AFTER THE HEAT
A moonlit evening: here beside the pool,
Stripped to the waist, a snail enjoys the cool.
—ISSA
ON A DRAWING BY SOKEI-AN
The black cat's face: an unexpected dawn
Has swallowed midnight in a wide pink yawn.
—HÔ-Ô
FLORAL REPAIRS
The morning-glory flowers have opened, patching
My hermitage's roof which needed thatching.
—ISSA
THE TASK
O timid snail, by nature weak and lowly,
Crawl up the cone of Fuji slowly, slowly. . . .
—ISSA
RESIDUES
A snail has left its netted trail: the faint
Sutra written in silver by a saint.
—HÔ-Ô
BEING AND BECOMING
The sun set on the swamp with orange glare
A hall of gnats revolving in the air.
—HÔ-Ô
BY THE MERE
An evening breeze across the reedy hanks:
Ripples around the blue-grey heron's shanks.
—BUSON
THE OLD FOLLY
The octopus, while summer moonshine streams
Into the trap, enjoys its fleeting dreams.
—BASHÔ
STILL AND CLEAR
A sea beach silvered by the moon; and then
Nearby, the cries of distant fishermen.
—SHÛRIN
NEHAN
A cuckoo's cry is lost in silence, while
Vanishing toward a solitary isle. . . .7
—BASHÔ
AUTUMN
THE GATELESS GATE
Through morning mists and murmurs from the sea
Emerges—one vermilion torii.
—KIKAKU
UNREGARDED DIADEM
Dew on the brambles delicately worn
At sunrise: one clear drop on every thorn.
—BUSON
AT THE WELL
Around the bucket, morning-glories cling:
I beg for water at another spring.
—CHIYO
WITH EVERY BREEZE
The lespedeza blossoms dip and sway,
Yet never spill the dew drops from their spray.8
—BASHÔ
STRANGERS
How soon the morning-glory's hour must end!
Alas! It, too, can never be my friend. . . .
—BASHÔ
ALIVE
So much vitality in so few inches:
A perch of hopping, chirping, spotted finches!
—HÔ-Ô
NO RESPITE
Feast of the Dead: hut even on this day,
Smoke from the burning-ground is blown away.
—BASHÔ
CLINGING
This world is but a single dewdrop, set
Trembling upon a stem; and yet . . . and yet . . .9
—ISSA
THE MEANING OF LIFE
A yearly sweep for our parental tomb:
The youngest child comes carrying the broom.
—ISSA
THE MEANING OF DEATH
Going to tend our family graves today,
The old dog trots ahead to show the way.
—ISSA
THE DIAMOND SPHERE
Let all my life of dust be cleansed in you,
O one clear evanescent drop of dew!
—BASHÔ
A DYING HOUSE
The