Michael Burch Poet Haiku

Issa translations 6

The strutting crow
splashes
into the silver dew.
—Kobayashi Issa, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

The woodpecker
sizes up
my tasty hut.
—Kobayashi Issa, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Unaware of life’s passage
the dewdrops
frolic.
—Kobayashi Issa, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

He makes
a splendid windbreak,
the sumo wrestler.
—Kobayashi Issa, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Standing alone
in a world of tranquility,
the scarecrow.
—Kobayashi Issa, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

As among men,
so among insects:
good singers, bad singers.
—Kobayashi Issa, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Settling to sleep
on the helpless scarecrow,
the dauntless dragonfly.
—Kobayashi Issa, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

An autumn butterfly
clings
to the scarecrow’s sleeve.
—Kobayashi Issa, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Reflected in the dragonfly’s
somber eyes,
the distant mountain.
—Kobayashi Issa, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

The dragonfly
siestas
on the steer’s head.
—Kobayashi Issa, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

The sacrilegious mantis
clings by one claw
to the temple bell.
—Kobayashi Issa, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

The village dog
generously waters
chrysanthemums.
—Kobayashi Issa, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

There’s no shame
if we teeter-totter,
old chrysanthemum.
—Kobayashi Issa, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

The briar chrysanthemum
blooms
in secret.
—Kobayashi Issa, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Atop the gaudy chrysanthemum
a caterpillar
snoozes.
—Kobayashi Issa, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Thanks to morning-glories
my humble hut
becomes a palace.
—Kobayashi Issa, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Eating my rice
alone
among morning-glories.
—Kobayashi Issa, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Droplets form
on the still, silent
morning-glories.
—Kobayashi Issa, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Rice field dew,
half of it
human perspiration?
—Kobayashi Issa, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Through night’s gloom,
bit by bit it grows,
the gourd.
—Kobayashi Issa, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Back door amusement:
pissing scribbles
in winter’s first ice.
—Kobayashi Issa, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

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