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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required THIS WORLD OF DEW This world? Moonlit dew flicked from a crane's bill. —Eihei Dogen Kigen, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Seventy-one? How long can a dewdrop last? —Eihei Dogen Kigen, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Dewdrops beading grass-blades die before dawn; may an untimely wind not hasten their departure! —Eihei Dogen Kigen, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch This world of dew is a dew-drop world indeed; and yet, and yet... —Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Both victor and vanquished are dewdrops, flashes of lightning briefly illuminating the void. —Ôuchi Yoaka, loose translation/interpretation of his jisei death poem by Michael R. Burch My aging body: a drop of dew bulging at the leaf-cliff. —Kiba, loose translation/interpretation of his jisei death poem by Michael R. Burch As autumn deepens, a butterfly sips chrysanthemum dew. —Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch I wish I could wash this perishing earth in its shimmering dew. —Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Like a lotus leaf's evaporating dew, I vanish. —Senryu, loose translation/interpretation of his jisei death poem by Michael R. Burch Let us arise and go, following the path of the clear dew. —Fojo, loose translation by Michael R. Burch Farewell! I pass away as all things do: dew drying on grass. —Banzan, loose translation by Michael R. Burch My life appeared like dew and disappears like dew. All Naniwa was a series of dreams. —Toyotomi Hideyoshi, loose translation by Michael R. Burch Let this body be dew in a field of wildflowers. —Tembo, loose translation by Michael R. Burch Like dew glistening on a lotus leaf, so too I soon must vanish. —Shinsui, loose translation by Michael R. Burch Dew-damp grass: the setting sun's tears — Yosa Buson, loose translation by Michael R. Burch The dew-damp grass weeps silently in the setting sun —Yosa Buson, loose translation by Michael R. Burch Dabbed with morning dew and splashed with mud, the melon looks wonderfully cool. —Basho, loose translation by Michael R. Burch I thought I felt a dewdrop plop on my head as I lay in bed! —Masaoka Shiki, loose translation by Michael R. Burch Honeysuckle blesses my knuckle with affectionate dew —Michael R. Burch honeydew, honeydont by michael r. burch I sampled honeysuckle and it made my taste buds buckle. The Song of Amergin loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch I am the sea blast I am the tidal wave I am the thunderous surf I am the stag of the seven tines I am the cliff hawk I am the sunlit dewdrop I am the fairest of flowers I am the rampaging boar I am the swift-swimming salmon I am the placid lake I am the summit of art I am the vale echoing voices I am the battle-hardened spearhead I am the God who inflames desire Who knows the secrets of the unhewn dolmen Who announces the ages of the moon Who knows where the sunset settles Marsh Song by Michael R. Burch Here there is only the great sad song of the reeds and the silent herons, wraithlike in the mist, and a few drab sunken stones, unblessed by the sunlight these late sixteen thousand years, and the beaded dews that drench strange ferns, like tears collected against an overwhelming sadness. Here the marsh exposes its dejectedness, its gutted rotting belly, and its roots rise out of the earth’s distended heaviness, to claw hard at existence, till the scars remind us that we all have wounds, and I ... I have learned again that living is despair as the herons cleave the placid, dreamless air. Canticle by Michael R. Burch, circa age 15 Misty morning sunlight hails the dawning of new day; dreams drift into drowsiness before they fade away. Dew drops on the green grass echo splendors of the sun; the silence lauds a songstress and the skillful song she's sung. Among the weeping willows the mist clings to the leaves; and, laughing in the early light among the lemon trees, there goes a brace of bees! Describing You by Michael R. Burch, circa age 16 How can I describe you? The fragrance of morning rain mingled with dew reminds me of you; the warmth of sunlight stealing through a windowpane brings you back to me again. Morning by Michael R. Burch, circa age 14 It was morning and the bright dew drenched the grasses like tears the trembling lashes of my lover; another day had come. And everywhere the flowers were turning to the sun, just as the night before I had turned to the one for whom my heart yearned. It was morning and the sun shone in the sky like smoldering embers in the eyes of my lover— another night gone by. And everywhere the terraces were refreshed by bright assurances of the early-fallen rain which had doused the earth and morning’s birth with their sweet refrain. It was morning and the bright dew drenched the grasses like tears the trembling lashes of my lover; another day had come. Ivy by Michael R. Burch “Van trepando en mi viejo dolor como las yedras.” – Pablo Neruda “They climb on my old suffering like ivy.” Ivy winds around these sagging structures from the flagstones to the eave heights, and, clinging, holds intact what cannot be saved of their loose entrails. Through long, blustery nights of dripping condensation, cured in the humidors of innumerable forgotten summers, waxy, unguent, palely, indifferently fragrant, it climbs, pausing at last to see the alien sparkle of dew beading delicate sparrowgrass. Coarse saw grass, thin skunk grass, clumped mildewed yellow gorse grow all around, and here remorse, things past, watch ivy climb and bend, and, in the end, we ask if grief is worth the gaps it leaps to mend. Keywords/Tags: dew, dewdrop, haiku, jisei, zen, time, transience, mortality, impermanence, death, life, age, art
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