Best Famous Zu Poems

Here is a collection of the all-time best famous Zu poems. This is a select list of the best famous Zu poetry. Reading, writing, and enjoying famous Zu poetry (as well as classical and contemporary poems) is a great past time. These top poems are the best examples of zu poems.

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• All Famous Zu Poems

Written by Matsuo Basho | The old pond Following are several translations of the 'Old Pond' poem, which may be the most famous of all haiku: Furuike ya kawazu tobikomu mizu no oto -- Basho Literal Translation Fu-ru (old) i-ke (pond) ya, ka-wa-zu (frog) to-bi-ko-mu (jumping into) mi-zu (water) no o-to (sound) The old pond-- a frog jumps in, sound of water. Translated by Robert Hass Old pond... a frog jumps in water's sound. Translated by William J. Higginson An old silent pond... A frog jumps into the pond, splash! Silence again. Translated by Harry Behn There is the old pond! Lo, into it jumps a frog: hark, water's music! Translated by John Bryan The silent old pond a mirror of ancient calm, a frog-leaps-in splash. Translated by Dion O'Donnol old pond frog leaping splash Translated by Cid Corman Antic pond-- frantic frog jumps in-- gigantic sound. Translated by Bernard Lionel Einbond MAFIA HIT MAN POET: NOTE FOUND PINNED TO LAPEL OF DROWNED VICTIM'S DOUBLE-BREASTED SUIT!!! 'Dere wasa dis frogg Gone jumpa offa da logg Now he inna bogg.' -- Anonymous Translated by George M. Young, Jr. Old pond leap -- splash a frog. Translated by Lucien Stryck The old pond, A frog jumps in:. Plop! Translated by Allan Watts The old pond, yes, and A frog is jumping into The water, and splash. Translated by G.S. Fraser

Written by Rainer Maria Rilke | Autumn Day Four Translations Lord: it is time. The summer was immense. Lay your shadow on the sundials and let loose the wind in the fields. Bid the last fruits to be full; give them another two more southerly days, press them to ripeness, and chase the last sweetness into the heavy wine. Whoever has no house now will not build one anymore. Whoever is alone now will remain so for a long time, will stay up, read, write long letters, and wander the avenues, up and down, restlessly, while the leaves are blowing. Translated by Galway Kinnell and Hannah Liebmann, "The Essential Rilke" (Ecco) Lord, it is time. The summer was too long. Lay your shadow on the sundials now, and through the meadow let the winds throng. Ask the last fruits to ripen on the vine; give them further two more summer days to bring about perfection and to raise the final sweetness in the heavy wine. Whoever has no house now will establish none, whoever lives alone now will live on long alone, will waken, read, and write long letters, wander up and down the barren paths the parks expose when the leaves are blown. Translated by William Gass, "Reading Rilke: Reflections on the Problem of Translation" (Knopf) Lord: it is time. The huge summer has gone by. Now overlap the sundials with your shadows, and on the meadows let the wind go free. Command the fruits to swell on tree and vine; grant them a few more warm transparent days, urge them on to fulfillment then, and press the final sweetness into the heavy wine. Whoever has no house now, will never have one. Whoever is alone will stay alone, will sit, read, write long letters through the evening, and wander the boulevards, up and down, restlessly, while the dry leaves are blowing. Translated by Stephen Mitchell, "The Selected Poetry of Rainer Maria Rilke" (Random House) Lord, it is time now, for the summer has gone on and gone on. Lay your shadow along the sun- dials and in the field let the great wind blow free. Command the last fruit be ripe: let it bow down the vine -- with perhaps two sun-warm days more to force the last sweetness in the heavy wine. He who has no home will not build one now. He who is alone will stay long alone, will wake up, read, write long letters, and walk in the streets, walk by in the streets when the leaves blow. Translated by John Logan, "Homage to Rainer Maria Rilke," (BOA Editions) Original German Herbsttag Herr: es ist Zeit. Der Sommer war sehr gross. Leg deinen Schatten auf die Sonnenuhren, und auf den Fluren lass die Winde los. Befiehl den letzten Fruchten voll zu sein; gieb innen noch zwei sudlichere Tage, drange sie zur Vollendung hin und jage die letzte Susse in den schweren Wein. Wer jetzt kein Haus hat, baut sich keines mehr. Wer jetzt allein ist, wird es lange bleiben, wird wachen, lesen, lange Briefe schreiben und wird in den Alleen hin und her unruhig wandern, wenn die Blatter treiben. -- Rainer Maria Rilke, Paris, Sept. 21, 1902

Written by Bertolt Brecht | Kinderhymne (Childrens Hymn) [original] Anmut sparet nicht noch M?he Leidenschaft nicht noch Verstand Da? ein gutes Deutschland bl?he Wie ein andres gutes Land Da? die V?lker nicht erbleichen Wie vor einer R?uberin Sondern ihre H?nde reichen Uns wie andern V?lkern hin. Und nicht ?ber und nicht unter Andern V?lkern wolln wir sein Von der See bis zu den Alpen Von der Oder bis zum Rhein. Und weil wir dies Land verbessern Lieben und beschirmen wir's Und das liebste mag's uns scheinen So wie andern V?lkern ihrs. [translation] Spare no grace or pains of yours Spare no passion or insight So that a good Germany flowers Like many another good country. So that the peoples do not turn pale Before us as before a bird of prey— But that they reach out their hands To us as to other peoples. And so that we desire to be not above, and not below other peoples, >From the ocean to the Alps, from the Oder to the Rhein. And because we are tending to this land, May we love and protect it; And may it seem to us the dearest, Just as to others their own land seems.

Written by T S (Thomas Stearns) Eliot | The Burial Of The Dead April is the cruellest month, breeding Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing Memory and desire, stirring Dull roots with spring rain. Winter kept us warm, covering Earth in forgetful snow, feeding A little life with dried tubers. Summer surprised us, coming over the Starnbergersee With a shower of rain; we stopped in the colonnade, And went on in sunlight, into the Hofgarten, 10 And drank coffee, and talked for an hour. Bin gar keine Russin, stamm' aus Litauen, echt deutsch. And when we were children, staying at the archduke's, My cousin's, he took me out on a sled, And I was frightened. He said, Marie, Marie, hold on tight. And down we went. In the mountains, there you feel free. I read, much of the night, and go south in the winter. What are the roots that clutch, what branches grow Out of this stony rubbish? Son of man, 20 You cannot say, or guess, for you know only A heap of broken images, where the sun beats, And the dead tree gives no shelter, the cricket no relief, And the dry stone no sound of water. Only There is shadow under this red rock, (Come in under the shadow of this red rock), And I will show you something different from either Your shadow at morning striding behind you Or your shadow at evening rising to meet you; I will show you fear in a handful of dust. 30 Frisch weht der Wind Der Heimat zu Mein Irisch Kind, Wo weilest du? "You gave me hyacinths first a year ago; "They called me the hyacinth girl." —Yet when we came back, late, from the Hyacinth garden, Your arms full, and your hair wet, I could not Speak, and my eyes failed, I was neither Living nor dead, and I knew nothing, 40 Looking into the heart of light, the silence. Od' und leer das Meer. Madame Sosostris, famous clairvoyante, Had a bad cold, nevertheless Is known to be the wisest woman in Europe, With a wicked pack of cards. Here, said she, Is your card, the drowned Phoenician Sailor, (Those are pearls that were his eyes. Look!) Here is Belladonna, the Lady of the Rocks, The lady of situations. 50 Here is the man with three staves, and here the Wheel, And here is the one-eyed merchant, and this card, Which is blank, is something he carries on his back, Which I am forbidden to see. I do not find The Hanged Man. Fear death by water. I see crowds of people, walking round in a ring. Thank you. If you see dear Mrs. Equitone, Tell her I bring the horoscope myself: One must be so careful these days. Unreal City, 60 Under the brown fog of a winter dawn, A crowd flowed over London Bridge, so many, I had not thought death had undone so many. Sighs, short and infrequent, were exhaled, And each man fixed his eyes before his feet. Flowed up the hill and down King William Street, To where Saint Mary Woolnoth kept the hours With a dead sound on the final stroke of nine. There I saw one I knew, and stopped him, crying "Stetson! "You who were with me in the ships at Mylae! 70 "That corpse you planted last year in your garden, "Has it begun to sprout? Will it bloom this year? "Or has the sudden frost disturbed its bed? Line 42 Od'] Oed'— Editor. "Oh keep the Dog far hence, that's friend to men, "Or with his nails he'll dig it up again! "You! hypocrite lecteur!— mon semblable,— mon frere!"

Written by Rainer Maria Rilke | Herr Es Ist Zeit Herr: es ist Zeit. Der Sommer war sehr gro?. Leg deinen Schatten auf die Sonnenuhren, und auf den Fluren la? die Winde los. Befiehl den letzten Früchten voll zu sein; gieb innen noch zwei südlichere Tage, dränge sie zur Vollendung hin und jage die letzte Sü?e in den schweren Wein. Wer jetzt kein Haus hat, baut sich keines mehr. Wer jetzt allein ist, wird es lange bleiben, wird wachen, lesen, lange Briefe schreiben und wird in den Alleen hin und her unruhig wandern, wenn die Blätter treiben.

Written by Calvin Ziegler | Am Grischtdaag / At Christmas AM GRISCHTDAAG Sis Grischtdaag. Die ganz Welt iwwer Frei die Leit sich sehr, Un alles is harrlich, as wann der Daag Vom Himmel gelosse waer. Ich hock allee in mei Zimmer Un denk so iwwer die Zeit - Wie der Geischt vun Grischt sich immer Weider un weider ausbreid: Un wie heit in yeder Famillye Frehlich un gutes Mut In die liewi aldi Heemet Sich widder versammle dutt. Ach widder deheem! Ach, Yammer! - Net all! Deel sin yo heit Zu weit vun uns ab zu kumme - Fatt in de Ewichkeit. Net all deheem! Verleicht awwer - Unich behaap's kann sei - Im Geischt sin mir all beisamme Un griesse enanner uff's nei! So sin mir vereenicht widder - Loss die Zeit vergeb wiesie will; Ich drink eich ein Gruss, ihr Brieder! Verwas sitzt dir all so schtill? Weit ab - iwwer Barig un Valley, Un iwwer die Ewichkeit's Brick - Vun eich Brieder all, wie Geischdeschall Kummt mir Eier Gruss zerick. AT CHRISTMAS It's Christmas. The whole world over Everyone's filled with love, And everything's joyful, as if the day Was given from above. I sit alone in my room Thinking about the times - How the spirit of Christ always Wider and wider shines. And how today all families With much happiness embrace As they gather once again In the dear old home place. All home again! Oh, not so! - Not all! Some today in reality Are far from us below - Away in eternity! Not all at home! Perhaps though - And I insist I knew - In the spirit we're all together And greet each other anew. So we are together again - May the time go as it will, I drink to you a toast, brothers! Why do you all sit so still? Far away - over valley and ridge, And over the eternal bridge - From you brothers, like a spiritual echo Your greeting returns below.

Written by Bertolt Brecht | To read in the morning and at night.. Morgens und abends zu lesen Der, den ich liebe Hat mir gesagt Da? er mich braucht. Darum Gebe ich auf mich acht Sehe auf meinen Weg und Fürchte von jedem Regentropfen Da? er mich erschlagen könnte. [Translation] To read in the morning and at night My love Has told me That he needs me. That's why I take good care of myself Watch out where I'm going and Fear that any drop of rain Might kill me.

Written by Ingeborg Bachmann | Menschenlos Verwunschnes Wolkenschloß, in dem wir treiben... Wer weiß, ob wir nicht schon durch viele Himmel so ziehen mit verglasten Augen? Wir, in die Zeit verbannt und aus dem Raum gestoßen, wir, Flieger durch die Nacht und Bodenlose. Wer weiß, ob wir nicht schon um Gott geflogen, und, weil wir pfeilschnell schäumten ohne ihn zu sehen und unsre Samen weiterschleuderten, um in noch dunkleren Geschlechtern fortzuleben, jetzt schuldhaft treiben? Wer weiß, ob wir nicht lange, lang schon sterben? Der Wolkenball mit uns strebt immer höher. Die dünne Luft lähmt heute schon die Hände, und wenn die Stimme bricht und unser Atem steht...? Bleibt Verwunschenheit für letzte Augenblicke?