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on
the water
the reflection
of a wanderer
no path but this one —
I walk alone
Begging : I accept
the blazing sun
The wind in the pines
morning and evening
carries the sound of the temple belll
Wet with morning dew
I go in the direction I want
Darkness
wet with
the sound of the waves
silently
I put on
today’s straw sandals
This straight road
full of loneliness
Stretching out my feet:
some daylight still remains
aimlessly
I walk through the withered grass
In the spring wind
one small begging bowl
my begging bowl
accepts the fallen leaves
spring
walking with my begging bowl
until the end
going deeper
and still deeper
the green mountains
there is nothing else I can do;
I walk on and on
slightly tips ;
the leaves fall
one by one
not a cloud anywhere;
I take of my kasa
looking at the mountains
all day no need
to put on my kasa
The dragon flies
perch on my kasa
as I walk along
from the back
walking away soaking wet?
these few ashes
are all that remain
of my diary?
No more houses to beg from;
the clouds cover the mountains
I have no home
autumn deepens
Daily torn and tattered
turning to shreds
my robe for travelling
flowing with water
I walked down to the village
the sunlight freely reflects off
my freshly shaven head
within life and death
snow falls ceaselessly
I walk in the winds
brightness and darkness
daybreak
alone I warm myself
in the waters of the hot spring
all together
we pick the persimmons
we eat the persimmons
nothing left to eat
today’s sunrise
If it shines, it bleats;
if it is cloudy, it bleats
the single goat
now I stand here
where the ocean’s blueness
is without limit
warm fallen leaves
I savour the rice’s whiteness
waking from a nap
either way I look: mountains
wearing rags
in the coolness
I walk alone
well which way should I go?
the wind blows
sleeping on a soft futon
I dream of my native village
nothing remains
of the house I was born in —
fireflies
winter rain
everyone is drenched
pressing on and on
until finally falling down;
the grass along the roadside
obediently blooming
becoming white flowers
Oh! this louse
I’ve caught
is so warm
the few flies that remain
seem to remember me
the small Buddha statue
rained on for the sake of human beings
sunset the ploughmans shadow
grows deeper
in the mountain all day
the ants too are marching
baggage I cannot throw off
so heavy front and back
winter rain
people have been so kind
my eyes fill with tears
the thistles
bright and fresh
just after the morning rain
peace for the heart
life in the mountains
all day I said nothing
the sound of waves
late at night
the harsh sound
of gambling
the reflection of a one-sen coin
thrown my way
in the grass trampled by the horse
flowers in full bloom
each day we meet
both demons and buddhas
we’ve separated;
my back pack is heavy
just as it is —
it rains, I get wet, I walk
completely drenched —
this stone marks the way
I haven’t met a soul;
the road is bumpy
men, women
and their shadows
dancing
the rain soaked persimmon leaves
become even more beautiful
spring cold
I cross
form island to island
here again
I shave off my white hair
as they are
the weeds
sprout new buds
in happiness
or sadness
weeds grow and grow
weeds that may die
any time
blooming and seeding
I sit in the withered beauty
of the wild grasses
after all
its sad to be alone —
the withered grasses
after all
its good to be alone
the wild grasses
when I walk, weed seeds
when I sit, weed seeds
dew and
fallen leaves
swept up together
a lonely night
eating the leftover food
and…
in the evening loneliness
again tilling the field
in spring snow
women are so beautiful
the drifting clouds
and the temples splendour
reflect off the water
lets strike
the big temple bell
I’ve made it this far;
I drink the pure water and go
thrusting my feet
into the rough sea
my life as a traveller
I enter the green forest
thinking of Ryokan
who also passed this way
my heart is empty;
the violent waves come and go
in the thick grass
puddles scattered
among the temple ruins
at last! the moon and I
arrive in Tokyo
since we parted
every day snow falls
I present my cool begging bowl as arms
at the six-o’clock siren
marching together
on the ground
they will never step on again
young men march away
the mountain greenness
is at its peak
winter rain clouds
thinking: going to china
to be torn to pieces
the moon’s brightness
does it know
where the bombing will be?
brave, yes;
sorrowful, yes —
the white boxes
I sweep the garden
after a long absence;
the flowers in the hedge are blooming
where the walls of my hut have crumbled
vines and grass grow
the butterfly
floating, fluttering
above the temple roof
in the ceaseless sound
of the water
there is Buddha
I slipped and fell —
the mountains are still
notes written before my trip
rewritten and put down
a single bird comes
but does not sing
its enough;
I sweep up the fallen leaves
stretching out their branches
the winter trees
the frosty night
where am I going to sleep
using a stone for a pillow
I drift toward the clouds
flowing down the mountain steepness
the bright water
throwing myself
into the drenched mountains
no inn to spend the night
the moon leads the way
|
it may be sunset
but still there is no inn
shrikes sing
the dry parched stones
roll and roll
the days are short
evening comes quickly
my backpack is so heavy
birds in the rain
they have nothing to eat
soaking wet
I cant read the letters
on the signpost
sitting by myself
the mosquitoes
wont leave me alone
today, still alive
I stretch out my feet
some life remains
I scratch my body
the mountain stillness
makes the rain still
the sky at sunset
a cup of sake
would taste so good!
wearily I return to my hut
the moon fills the sky
that was my face
in the cold mirror
rocks and large cliffs
covered with crimson leaves
the long night
made longer
by a dog’s barking
asleep or awake
the night is long
the sound of the rapids
the beauty of the sunset
grieves not for old age
yuyake no utsukushisa wa oi o nageku demo naku
sitting alone
silently in the mosquito net
eating my rice
working
and working harder
still the pampas grass grows
more cutting
more digging
planting
if only one plows the fields
you’ll soon hear a song
settling down again
the distant mountains
covered with snow
so happy to be born
the baby opens
and closes his hands
passing over the mountains
again mountains, winter mountains
good news
bad news
spring snow falls
no road but this one
spring snow falls
beneath the river of heaven
the drunkard dances
all night
the deep cool moon
appears between the buildings
fallen leaves —
deep in the forest
I see Buddha
winter sky
distant dreams
shattered and flown away
returning to my hut
one man’s moon
along the straight road
my endless journey
the smell of sweat
hurrying along the road
I cant look back
in the stillness
after the storm —
flies
I open the window
full of spring
sunrise, sunset
nothing to eat
jumping
one
red frog
gradually I take on the vices
of my dead father
the mountain becomes dark
I listen to its voice
summer heat
soaks into
every living thing
sweat gathered up
in my navel
the nameless weed
blooms all at once —
purple
a dragonfly on the rock;
midday dreams
my new robe
full of sunlight and warmth
high noon — in the deep grass
the cry of a frog
being swallowed by a snake
picking the nameless flower
I offer it to Buddha
my mind is clear;
I pick the frost-covered daikon
I told a lie;
a lonely moon appears
they could feel my hand
the village flies escaped easily
scooping up the water
lifting it towards the moon
full of light
sunset full in my face
after borrowing money
I return in the river wind
the autumn sky
far away
I share your joy
fully rested
I open my eyes —
spring
glad to be alive
I scoop up the water
my hands so thin
even held together
I cant do anything;
my life of contradictions
blown by the wind
is there anything I lack
the leaves fall
breaking the dead branches
thinking of nothing
destitute - melting snow
drips slowly from the roof
rain falls silently
I scoop up the water
the green grass
I return barefoot
no place to hide from the blazing sun
the water flows by
the rain filled bucket
brimming with beautiful water
sweeping falling
sweeping falling
late autumn
the leaves fall
from now on
water will taste even better
from the shadow
of the rocks
water wells up
drunk, I slept
with the crickets
walking in the freezing wind
bitterly reproaching myself
walking on and on
among the endless
blooming higan flowers
thirsty for a drink of water
the sound of a waterfall
sometimes I stop begging
and gaze at the mountains
far, far away
a bird crosses over
the snow covered mountains
the distant snow covered mountains
completely cut off from the world of men
wet with evening dew
I slept
if I sell my rags
and buy some sake
will there still be loneliness
in the heat of the day
crying or laughing —
only one
only wishing to walk
I walk with my full sack —
the evening moon
using a stone for a pillow
truly sleeping: this beggar
all day I said nothing
unable to sleep
the moonlit night
without any destination
I walk between the tombstones
the deep clear blue water
shines brightly —
my sad shadow
from the mountains
white wildflowers
on the desk
in the space between the buildings
look at the mountains greenness!
cold
clouds
hurrying
the reflection n the water
it’s a traveller
the moon rises
I’m not waiting for anything
snow falls
on the snowfall
silently
truly a mountainous country
only mountains, more mountains
and the bright moon
returning home
in the deep stillness
the dust on the desk
thinking of nothing
I walk among
a forest of withered trees
the sound of the waves
now distant now close
how much of my life remains?
I purify myself
in the blue water
rushing over the rocks
the moonlight
pierces
my empty stomach
slapping at the flies
slapping at the mosquietoes
slapping at myself
even the sound of the raindrops
has grown older
the breeze from the mountains
in the wind bell
makes me want to live
slowly, slowly
falling into ruin
my final autumn
today again, soaking wet
I walk on an unknown road
my heart is weary —
the mountains, the sea
are too beautiful
the quietness of death:
a clear sky, leafless trees
when I die
weeds, falling rain |
