Matsuo Basho: English translations of Haiku about Autumn 2
Matsuo Basho: English translations of Haiku about autumn, fall, falling, trees, leaves, leaving, goodbye, rice, moon, moonlight, words.
Reverential tears:
the falling leaves
bid their trees goodbye.
—Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Plates and bowls
gleaming dimly in the darkness:
evening coolness.
—Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Twice the pity:
beneath the headless helmet,
a chirping cricket.
—Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Secretly
by moonlight
weevils bore chestnuts.
—Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Cranes on stilts
surveying the rice paddies:
autumn village.
—Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Thankfulness:
someone else harvests rice
for me.
—Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
How touching
to survive the storm,
chrysanthemum.
—Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Slender again,
somehow the chrysanthemum
will yet again bud.
—Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
As autumn deepens
a butterfly sips
chrysanthemum dew.
—Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
His loosened jacket collar
invites the cool breeze.
—Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Butterfly wings:
how many times have they soared
over human roofs?
—Matsuo Basho, translation by Michael R. Burch
Mosquitos drone
with dusky voices
deep within the cattle shed.
—Matsuo Basho, translation by Michael R. Burch
Basho leaves shred in the gale;
the basin collects raindrips;
all night I listen, alone in my hut.
—Matsuo Basho, translation by Michael R. Burch
The dew drips, drop-by-drop...
I’d rinse this world clean,
if I could.
—Matsuo Basho, translation by Michael R. Burch
The fire’s banked ashes
extinguish
your tears’ hisses.
—Matsuo Basho, translation by Michael R. Burch
Turn to face me,
for I am also lonesome
this autumn evening.
—Matsuo Basho, translation by Michael R. Burch
Plucking white hairs
while beneath my pillow
a cricket creaks.
—Matsuo Basho, translation by Michael R. Burch
Everything that blossoms
dies in the end:
wilted pampas grass.
—Matsuo Basho, translation by Michael R. Burch
As autumn departs,
shivering
I scrunch under too-small bedding.
—Matsuo Basho, translation by Michael R. Burch
It seems, to dullard me,
that hell must be like this:
late autumn.
—Matsuo Basho, translation by Michael R. Burch
Copyright ©
Michael Burch
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