Not quite dark yet
above the withered fields.Translated by Robert Hass
Blown from the west,
in the east.Translated by Robert Hass
My arm for a pillow,
under the hazy moon.Translated by Robert Hass
Evening wind:
the heron’s legs.Translated by Robert Hass
Harvest moon–
he was digging potatoes.Translated by Robert Hass
You left in the morning, at evening my heart is in a
Why is it so far away?Thinking of you, I go up on the hill and wander.Around the hill, why is it such a sadness?Dandelions yellow and shepherds-purse blooming white —not anyone to look at them.I hear a pheasant, calling and calling fervently.Once a friend was there across the river, living.Ghostly smoke rises and fades away…
Old well,
dark sound.Translated by Robert Hass
He’s on the porch,
how hot it is!Translated by Robert Hass
His Holiness the Abbot
in the withered fields.Translated by Robert Hass
Sparrow singing–
open.Translated by Robert Hass