Bashed by Basho

Matsuo Basho was one of the world's greatest poets. These are my modern English translations of some of his best haiku...

Matsuo Basho

Matsuo Bashō (1644-1694) was an ancient Japanese master of brief, startlingly clear and concise haiku/hokku and haikai no renga ("comic linked verse") also known as renku. Bashō influenced many Western poets, including early English/American modernists like Ezra Pound and T. S. Eliot. Indeed, one of the hallmarks of Modernist poetry has been a turn away from highly ornate language toward the clarity and conciseness of Oriental poetry forms such as haiku and tanka.

Lightning
shatters the darkness―
the night heron's shriek
―Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

This is a brilliant image and metaphor, crackling with life and energy. I am continually amazed by how much Basho could do with so few words.

The first soft snow:
leaves of the awed jonquil
bow low
—Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Here the leaves of the jonquil, heavy with snow, seem to bow low in reverence to the power of winter.

Come, investigate loneliness:
a solitary leaf
clings to the Kiri tree
—Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

A single leaf clinging to a tree becomes a symbol of loneliness and isolation.

Whistle on, twilight whippoorwill,
solemn evangelist
of loneliness
—Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

The cheerful-chirping cricket
contends gray autumn's gay,
contemptuous of frost
—Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Dusk-gliding swallow,
please spare my small friends
flitting among the flowers!
—Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Up and at ’em! The sky goes bright!
Let’s hit the road again,
Companion Butterfly!
—Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

The butterfly
perfuming its wings
fans the orchid
—Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Basho's poem is a deceptively simple masterpiece; it subtly illuminates the symbiotic nature of life through a stunning image. The butterfly is attracted by the perfumed nectar of flowers; in the process of imbibing the nectar it helps pollinate the flowers. Basho's poem is an example of art mirroring nature; it's hard to say which is more lovely: the butterfly fanning the orchid, or the exquisitely wrought poem. One might even hazard that the poem is suggestive of a boudoir, with the orchid playing the role of geisha ...

See: whose surviving sons
visit the ancestral graves
white-bearded, with trembling canes?
—Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Winter in the air:
my neighbor,
how does he fare?
―Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Let us arrange
these lovely flowers in the bowl
since there's no rice
—Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

As autumn draws near,
so too our hearts
in this small tea room.
—Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Nothing happened!
Yesterday simply vanished
like the blowfish soup.
—Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

An ancient pond,
the frog leaps:
the silver plop and gurgle of water
—Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

An ancient pond sleeps . . .
untroubled . . . until . . .
suddenly a frog leaps!
—Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Big old pond,
the little frog leaps:
Kerplash!
—Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Explosion! Kerplunk!
The frog returns
to its lily pad.
—Michael R. Burch

I get grief from haiku purists about my translations of Basho's famous frog poem. I have been accused of "adding too much" and "not abiding by the rules." I plead guilty on both charges. Yes, "the silver plop and gurgle of water" does vary from the original poem. But when I encountered the poem the first time, that was the image and sound I heard. Was I, perhaps, inspired by the master? Did the master Basho reach across space and time, through his poem, to help me see and hear what happens when a frog leaps suddenly into a still, unsuspecting pond? But in any case, I don't think my first translation does anyone any harm. If they prefer other translations, they can ignore mine. But I think a third line like "the sound of water" falls flat in English, pardon my pun. In my second translation I focus on the how the pond might "feel" about the frisky frog. In the third translation and my response, I permit myself a bit of comedy. I don't think there is anything wrong with "interpreting" other artists, as long as we don't pretend to be quoting them exactly. It's hard to quote poetry exactly in translation, but sometimes we can interpret and come up with something readers will like that isn't too far from the original poet's intentions.

Dabbed with morning dew
and daubed with mud,
the melon looks wonderfully cool.
—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

The first chill rain:
poor monkey, you too could use
a woven cape of straw
—Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

This snowy morning:
cries of the crow I despise
(ah, but so beautiful!)
—Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Like a heavy fragrance
snow-flakes settle:
lilies on rocks
—Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

The sea darkening,
the voices of the wild geese:
my mysterious companions!
—Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Farewell,
my cloud-parting friends!
Wild geese migrating.
—Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

The moon so bright
a wandering monk carries it
lightly on his shoulder.
—Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Will we remain parted forever?
Here at your grave:
two flowerlike butterflies!
—Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Air ballet:
twin butterflies, twice white,
meet, match & mate.
—Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Ballet in the air!―
two butterflies, twice white,
meet, mate, unite.
―Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Come, butterfly,
it’s late
and we’ve a long way to go!
—Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

A spring wind
stirs willow leaves
as a butterfly hovers unsteadily.
―Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Scrawny tomcat!
Are you starving for fish and mice
or pining away for love?
―Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Pausing between clouds
the moon rests
in the eyes of its beholders
—Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

This poem demonstrates the simplicity and power of haiku in the hands of a master. My translation has a slightly different "take" on the poem than other translations, and I can't say that mine is more correct or faithful to the original, but I like it and I think it captures the "idea" of the original poem, which suggests the connection between the stages of the moon and human life: both consist of passages and rests. Usually we sleep as the moon floats above. If we see the moon at night, slipping between clouds, it can seem eerily lovely, haunting and restful at the same time. When a poet like Basho deftly invokes the image of the moon, he can appeal to all the things we know (or think we know) and feel about the moon.

The legs of the cranes
have been shortened
by the summer rains.
―Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

August weeds?
The only remains
of warriors' ambitions ...
—Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

These brown summer grasses?
The only remains
of "invincible" warriors ...
—Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Spring has come:
the nameless hill
lies shrouded in mist
—Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Spring!
A nameless hill
stands shrouded in mist.
—Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Graven images of long-departed gods,
dry spiritless leaves:
companions of the temple porch
—Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Curious flower,
watching us approach:
meet Death, our famished donkey.
―Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

High-altitude rose petals
     falling
     falling
     falling:
the melody of a waterfall.
―Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

The temple bells grow silent
but the blossoms provide their incense―
A perfect evening!
―Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Cold white azalea—
a lone nun
in her thatched straw hut.
—Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Glimpsed on this high mountain trail,
delighting my heart—
wild violets
—Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

A bee emerging
from deep within the peony’s hairy recesses
flies off heavily, sated
—Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Revered figure!
I bow low
to the rabbit-eared Iris.
—Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

This darkening autumn:
my neighbor,
how does he continue?
—Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

An empty road
lonelier than abandonment:
this autumn evening
—Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Autumn darkness
          descends
on this road I travel        alone
—Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Disdaining grass,
the firefly nibbles nettles—
this is who I am.
—Takarai Kikaku (1661-1707), loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

A simple man,
content to breakfast with the morning glories—
this is who I am.
—Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

This is Basho’s response to the Takarai Kikaku haiku above

The morning glories, alas,
also turned out
not to embrace me
—Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Morning glories blossom,
reinforcing the old fence gate.
―Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

The morning glories bloom,
mending chinks
in the old fence
—Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Morning glories,
however poorly painted,
still engage us
—Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Ah me,
I waste my meager breakfast
morning glory gazing!
―Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

I too
have been accused
of morning glory gazing ...
—original haiku by by Michael R. Burch

Fire under the ash
and written on the wall
the shadow of a friend
―Matsuo Basho translation by Cid Corman

Fire levitating ashes:
my companion's shadow
animates the wall ...
―Matsuo Basho loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

The year's first day ...
thoughts come, and with them, loneliness;
dusk approaches.
―Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Nothing in the cicada's cry
hints that it knows
how soon it must die.
—Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

The cicada's cry
contains no hint
of how soon it must die.
―Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Nothing in the cry
of the cicadas
suggests they know how soon they must die.
—Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Among the graffiti
one illuminated name:
Yours.
―Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

A solitary crow
clings to a leafless branch:
autumn twilight
―Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

A raven settles
on a leafless branch:
autumn nightfall
―Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

There has been a debate about the meaning of aki-no kure, which may mean one of the following: autumn evening, autumn dusk, the end of autumn. Or it seems possible that Basho may have intentionally invoked the ideas of both the end of an autumn day and the end of the season as well. In my translations I have tried to create an image of solitary crow clinging to a branch that seems like a harbinger of approaching winter and death. In the first translation I went with the least light possible: autumn twilight. In the second translation, I attempted something more ghostly. Phrases I considered include: spectral autumn, skeletal autumn, autumnal skeleton, phantom autumn, autumn nocturne, autumn nightfall, autumn nightmare, dismal autumn. In the third and fourth translations I focused on the color of the bird and its resemblance to night falling. While literalists will no doubt object, my goal is to create an image and a feeling that convey in English what I take Basho to have been trying to convey in Japanese. Readers will have to decide whether they prefer my translations to the many others that exist, but I think mine are better in conveying the eeriness of the scene in English.

Lightning
shatters the darkness―
the night heron's shriek
― Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Lightning―
the night heron's shriek
severs the darkness
― Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

A flash of lightning―
the night heron's shriek
splits the void
― Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Winter solitude:
a world awash in white,
the sound of the wind
―Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Fever-felled mid-path
my dreams resurrect, to trek
into a hollow land
—Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

As autumn deepens,
a butterfly sips
chrysanthemum dew.
—Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Taming the rage
of an unrelenting sun—
autumn breeze.
—Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

The sun sets,
relentlessly red,
yet autumn’s in the wind.
—Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

The surging sea crests around Sado ...
and above her?
An ocean of stars.
—Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Sick of its autumn migration
my spirit drifts
over wilted fields ...
―Matsuo Basho said to be his death poem, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Sick of this autumn migration
in dreams I drift
over flowerless fields ...
―Matsuo Basho said to be his death poem, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

While literalists will no doubt object to "flowerless" in the translation above ― along with other word choices in my other translations ― this is my preferred version. I think Basho's meaning still comes through. But "wilted" is probably closer to what he meant. If only we could consult him, to ask whether he preferred strictly literal prose translations of his poems, or more poetic interpretations! My guess is that most poets would prefer for their poems to remain poetry in the second language. In my opinion the differences are minor and astute readers will grok both Basho's meaning and his emotion.

Denied transformation
into a butterfly,
autumn worsens for the worm
—Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Higher than a skylark,
resting on the breast of heaven:
mountain pass.
—Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

An exciting struggle
with such a sad ending:
cormorant fishing.
—Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Secretly,
by the light of the moon,
a worm bores into a chestnut.
—Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

This strange flower
investigated by butterflies and birds:
the autumn sky
—Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Where’s the moon tonight?
Like the temple bell:
lost at sea.
—Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Spring departs;
birds wail;
the pale eyes of fish moisten.
—Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

The moon still appears,
though far from home:
summer vagrant.
—Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Cooling the pitiless sun’s
bright red flames:
autumn wind.
—Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Saying farewell to others
while being told farewell:
departing autumn.
—Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Traveling this road alone:
autumn evening.
—Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Thin from its journey
and not yet recovered:
late harvest moon.
—Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Occasional clouds
bless tired eyes with rest
from moon-viewing.
—Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

The farmboy
rests from husking rice
to reach for the moon.
—Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

The moon aside,
no one here
has such a lovely face.
—Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

The moon having set,
all that remains
are the four corners of his desk.
—Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

The Festival of Souls
is obscured
by smoke from the crematory.
—Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

The Festival of Souls!
Smoke from the crematory?
—Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Family reunion:
those with white hair and canes
visiting graves.
—Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

One who is no more
left embroidered clothes
for a summer airing.
—Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

The moon: glorious its illumination!
Therefore, we give thanks.
Dark clouds cast their shadows on our necks.
―Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

What am I doing,
writing haiku on the threshold of death?
Hush, a bird’s song!
—Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Fallen ill on a final tour,
in dreams I go roving
earth’s flowerless moor.
—Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation of his jisei (death poem) by Michael R. Burch

Striken ill on a senseless tour,
still in dreams I go roving
earth’s withered moor.
—Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation of his jisei (death poem) by Michael R. Burch

Stricken ill on a journey,
in dreams I go wandering
withered moors.
—Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation of his jisei (death poem) by Michael R. Burch

Please note that I call my translations "loose translations" and "interpretations" because they are not literal word-for-word translations. I begin with my personal interpretation of a poem and translate accordingly. To critics who object to variations from the original texts, my response is that there are often substantial disagreements among even the most accomplished translators. Variations begin with the readings because different people get different things from different poems. And a strict word-for-word translation will seldom, if ever, result in poetry. In my opinion translation is much closer to an art than a perfect science and I side with Rabindranath Tagore, who said he needed some leeway in order to produce poetry in another language when he translated his own poems into English!

The following are links to other translations by Michael R. Burch:

Matsuo Basho's Famous Frog Poem
Matsuo Basho
Yosa Buson
Fukuda Chiyo-ni
Kobayashi Issa
Ono no Komachi
Oriental Masters/Haiku
Japanese Death Poems

The Love Song of Shu-Sin: The Earth's Oldest Love Poem?

Ancient Greek Epigrams and Epitaphs
Meleager
Sappho

The Seafarer
Wulf and Eadwacer
Sweet Rose of Virtue
How Long the Night
Caedmon's Hymn
Anglo-Saxon Riddles and Kennings
Bede's Death Song
The Wife's Lament
Deor's Lament
Lament for the Makaris
Tegner's Drapa
Whoso List to Hunt

Miklós Radnóti
Bertolt Brecht
Ber Horvitz
Paul Celan
Primo Levi
Wladyslaw Szlengel
Saul Tchernichovsky

Robert Burns: Original Poems and Translations
The Seventh Romantic: Robert Burns
Ahmad Faraz
Allama Iqbal
Sandor Marai
Alexander Pushkin's tender, touching poem "I Love You" has been translated into English by Michael R. Burch.
Rainer Maria Rilke
Marina Tsvetaeva
Renée Vivien

Free Love Poems by Michael R. Burch

The HyperTexts