This World of Dew

Dew is often used as a metaphor for the brevity of life in a genre of Japanese literature called zen death poetry. A related genre is the jisei or death poem.

This world of dew
is a dewdrop world indeed;
and yet, and yet ...
― Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Kobayashi Issa's most famous haiku, often referred to as "A World of Dew," was written after the death of his daughter Satoyo.

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?
—Kigen, loose translation/interpretation of his jisei (death poem) by Michael R. Burch

Both victor and vanquished are dewdrops:
flashes of light
briefly illuminating the void.
—Ôuchi Yoshitaka, loose translation/interpretation of his jisei (death poem) by Michael R. Burch

This world—to what may we compare it?
To autumn fields darkening at dusk,
dimly lit by lightning flashes.
—Minamoto no Shitago, 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

Let this body
be dew
in a field of wildflowers.
—Tembo, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Let us arise and go,
following the path of the clear dew.
—Fojo, loose translation/interpretation of his jisei (death poem) by Michael R. Burch

Like a lotus leaf’s evaporating dew,
I, too ...
vanish.
—Senryu, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Like dew glistening
on a lotus leaf,
so too I soon must vanish.
—Shinsui, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Farewell! I pass
as all things do:
dew drying on grass.
—Banzan, 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

Here an aging Basho may be the butterfly while chrysanthemum dew symbolizes the good things in life.

My life appeared like dew
and disappears like dew.
All Naniwa was a series of dreams.
—Toyotomi Hideyoshi, loose translation/interpretation of his jisei (death poem) by Michael R. Burch

I wish I could wash
this perishing earth
in its shimmering dew.
—Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

But as critics of Sigmund Freud might point out, sometimes dew is just dew…

Dabbed with morning dew
and splashed with mud,
the melon looks wonderfully cool.
—Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

I thought I felt a dewdrop
plop
on my head
as I lay in bed!
―Masaoka Shiki, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Honeysuckle
blesses my knuckle
with affectionate dew
― Michael R. Burch

Falling and wilting flowers and browning grass are also metaphors for the brevity and transience of life…

Grasses wilt:
the braking locomotive
grinds to a halt
― Yamaguchi Seishi, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

While you decline to cry,
high on the mountainside
a single stalk of plumegrass wilts.
― Ō no Yasumaro (circa 711), loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Plumes of pampas grass
Trembling in every wind . . .
Hush, my lonely heart!
―Kobayashi Issa, translator unknown

The dew-damp grass
weeps silently
in the setting sun
―Yosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Oh, fallen camellias,
if I were you,
I'd leap into the torrent!
― Takaha Shugyo, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Petals I amass
with such tenderness
prick me to the quick.
― Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch



Ancient Greek epitaphs can match the best haiku in simplicity, honesty, clarity and forthrightness about death:

Does my soul abide in heaven, or hell?
Only the sea gull
in his high, lonely circuits, may tell.
― Michael R. Burch, after Glaucus

Mariner, do not ask whose tomb this may be,
but go with good fortune: I wish you a kinder sea.
― Michael R. Burch, after Plato



Poems about autumn, winter, sunset, nightfall, twilight, clouds, kites, cicadas and crickets are also suggestive of transience…

Dusk-gliding swallow,
please spare my small friends
flitting among the flowers!
―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

Come, investigate loneliness:
a solitary leaf
clings to the Kiri tree
― 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

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

Picking autumn plums
my wrinkled hands
once again grow fragrant
― Yosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

One apple, alone
in the abandoned orchard
reddens for winter
― Patrick Blanche, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

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

Things never stand still,
not even for a second:
consider the trees’ colors.
—Seiju, loose translation/interpretation of his jisei (death poem) 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

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

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

Depths of the cold,
incalculable ocean’s roar.
—Kasenjo, loose translation/interpretation of her jisei (death poem) by Michael R. Burch

Bitter winter winds!
But later, river willow,
reopen your buds ...
—Senryu, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Don't weep, we are all insects!
Lovers, even the stars themselves,
must eventually part.
―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

I toss in my sleep,
so watch out,
cricket!
― Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

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

Lately the nights
dawn
plum-blossom white.
—Yosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation of his jisei (death poem) by Michael R. Burch

Who cares
where aimless clouds are drifting?
—Bufu, loose translation/interpretation of his jisei (death poem) by Michael R. Burch

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

A kite floats
at the same place in the sky
where yesterday it floated ...
― Yosa Buson, 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

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

Too ill to travel,
now only my autumn dreams
survey these withering fields
― Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch; this has been called Basho's death poem

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

Buddha on the hill . . .
From your holy nose indeed
Hangs an icicle!
―Kobayashi Issa, translator unknown

In our world
we walk suspended over hell
admiring flowers.
―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Nothing happened!
Yesterday simply vanished
like the blowfish soup.
—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

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

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

Our life here on earth:
to what shall we compare it?
It is not like a rowboat
departing at daybreak,
leaving no trace of us in its wake?
― Takaha Shugyo, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

I'm trying to sleep!
Please swat the flies
lightly
― Masaoka Shiki, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

As I slept in isolation
my desired beloved appeared to me;
therefore, dreams have become my reality
and consolation.
—Ono no Komachi, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

On rain-drenched branches
buds of the apricot tree
swell into blossom,
trembling anxiously,
as if waiting to be deflowered ...
― Kazuhiko Ito, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Spring!
A nameless hill
shrouded in mist.
—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

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

The night is clear;
the moon shines quietly;
the wind strums the trees like lyres ...
but when I’m gone, who the hell will hear?
Farewell!
—Higan Choro aka Zoso Royo, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

I entered the world empty-handed
and leave it barefoot.
My coming and going?
Two uncomplicated events
that became entangled.
—Kozan Ichikyo, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Brittle autumn leaves
crumble to dust
in the bittercold wind.
—Takao, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

This frigid season
nothing but the shadow
of my corpse survives.
—Tadatomo, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

My life was mere lunacy
until
the moon shone tonight.
Tokugen, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Bury me beneath a wine barrel
in a bibber’s cellar:
with a little luck the keg will leak.
—Moriya Senan, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Learn to accept the inevitable:
the fall willow
knows when to abandon its leaves.
—Tanehiko, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

I wish only to die
swiftly, with my eyes
fixed on Mount Fuji.
—Rangai, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

A strident cricket
accompanies me
through autumn mountains.
—Shiko, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

The cherry orchard’s owner
soon becomes compost
for his trees.
—Utsu, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Autumn ends ...
the frogs find their place
submerged in the earth.
—Shogetsu, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

First one hidden face is revealed,
then the other; thus spinning it falls,
the autumn leaf.
—Ryokan, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Forbearing the night
with its growing brilliance:
the summer moon.
—Tsukioka Yoshitoshi, loose translation/interpretation of his jisei (death poem) by Michael R. Burch

Blow if you must,
autumn wind,
but the flowers have already faded.
—Gansan, loose translation/interpretation of his jisei (death poem) by Michael R. Burch

Time to go ...
They say this journey is a short trek:
this final changing of robes.
—Roshu, loose translation/interpretation of his jisei (death poem) by Michael R. Burch

The moon departs;
frost paralyzes the morning glories.
— Kato, loose translation/interpretation of his jisei (death poem) by Michael R. Burch

Stumble,
tumble,
fall,
slide down the slippery snow slope.
— Getsurei, loose translation/interpretation of his jisei (death poem) 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 word choices in some of 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.

Except for a woodpecker
tapping at a post,
the house is silent.
—Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

That dying cricket,
how he goes on about his life!
—Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Oasis
by Michael R. Burch

for Beth

I want tears to form again
in the shriveled glands of these eyes
dried all these long years
by too much heated knowing.

I want tears to course down
these parched cheeks,
to star these cracked lips
like an improbable dew

in the heart of a desert.
I want words to burble up
like happiness, like the thought of love,
like the overwhelming, shimmering thought of you

to a nomad who
has only known drought.



in Your orbit
by Michael R. Burch

for Beth

once like a dew-infused Orchid you lured me
far away from the hive and the gaudy rosebeds —
i fed on you nectar till my intoxicated head,
enraptured, cried “whee!”

so i orbited You — You became my Horizon —

Note: “whee!” is a pun on “we.” The poem is a bit mock-comic, but I think there is some truth to it. Flowers are attractive to honeybees; that’s how nature gets things started. (I’m sure this has something to do with women adorning themselves with lipstick, fingernail polish, perfume and hair spray!) This poem is written a bit in the style of two of my favorite poets: William Blake and e. e. cummings. The dashes are a nod to America’s first great female poet, Emily Dickinson.

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