When the wild turnip
burst into full blossom
a skylark sang
The distant mountains
are reflected in the eye
of the dragonfly

What's the lord's vast wealth
to me, his millions and more?
Dew on trembling grass
Before this autumn wind
even the shadows of mountains
shudder and tremble


Your song caresses
the depth of loneliness,
O high mountain bird
Tremble, oh my gravemound
in time my cries will be
only this autumn wind

On New Year's Day
each thought a loneliness
as winter dusk descends


Sick on my journey,
only my dreams will wander
these desolate moors

from The pocket haiku 


Trên TV đã đi 1 đường giới thiệu nhà thơ Đại Hàn, Ko Un, qua bài viết thần sầu, dài thòng của Robert Hass, với tí tiếc nuối là, những nhà thơ Mít, do khiêm tốn quá, nên chưa đấng nào khoe khoang, [chưa] có thằng mũi lõ viết về tao, nhưng chúng có đưa thơ của tao vô sách giáo khoa Mẽo rùi!
Có bài giới thiệu của TNH.

Nhưng, nè, Thầy TNH có giới thiệu nhà thơ Mít nào chưa, chăng, nhỉ?
A woman is gathering
the ashes of someone she loves
a violet flowering close to her
Một người đàn bà thu gom tro than của một người thân thương của bà
Một bông hoa nở tím, ngay kế bên bà.
Collected Haiku of Yosa Buson

Translated by W.S. Merwin & Takako Lento
Note: Bài thơ haiku, trên, làm GCC nhớ tới bài thơ của Thích Nhất Hạnh, rất nổi tiếng, trong thời chiến tranh Mít, và hình như đã từng được PD phổ nhạc, dưới đây.
Lạ, là khi đặt hai bài thơ song song, thì 1 hình ảnh mới, bật ra, với GCC, và nó lại làm GCC nhớ đến cái lần, thằng em trai, vô nhà bảo sanh thăm thằng con trai lớn của Gấu, mới sinh, rồi đi luôn:
Liệu cái bông hoa màu tím, mớ tro than thu gom, là một?
They woke me this morning
To tell me my brother had been killed in battle.
Yet in the garden, uncurling moist petals,
A new rose blooms on the bush.
And I am alive, can still breathe the fragrance of roses and
Eat, pray, and sleep.
But when can I break my long silence?
When can I speak the unuttered words that are choking me?
                                                                         -Nhat Hanh
Hòa Bường
Người ta đánh thức tôi
Để báo tin thằng em tôi tử trận
Ngoài vườn, một bông hoa mới nở....

Yosa Buson (1716-1783)
Today the haiku master Buson is regarded as one of the greatest of Japanese poets. Yet for a century after his death his work was in eclipse, overshadowed by the fame and popularity of Basho. That all changed with Masaoka Shiki's treatise Haiku Poet Buson (1896, revised 1899), in which he analyzed Buson's haiku, in part, from the viewpoint of modern realism.
    Shiki acknowledged Basho's "reputation as the incomparable haiku poet." Then he made the startling declaration that Buson is "equal to, or even surpasses Basho."
    At the time Japan was in the process of transforming itself into a modern nation, and haiku seemed like a relic of the past. Shiki took Buson as his inspiration in establishing and leading a reform movement that successfully revived haiku as a viable poetic form for the twentieth century.
    This was actually the second time Buson had been central to reviving the art of haiku. In his own lifetime, when verse writing was too often treated as a social game, he himself had led a movement to return to the aesthetics of Basho.

    Buson deeply respected and paid homage to his great predecessor throughout his life, but his poetry is utterly his own in its materials, themes, and voice. He was a major artist as well as a master poet, and his artist's powers of observation are evident in his verse. He is uniquely carefree and unbound by convention, conveying the realities of life with immediacy and warmth. His stated aesthetic principle was "use the commonplace and transcend the worldly."
    His achievement in Japanese poetry extends beyond haiku. Buson also wrote free-form poems that blended Japanese and Chinese verse styles. These are now known as haishi, a term applied to them in the twentieth century. Some say that they are forerunners of Japanese modern poetry, a hundred years ahead of their time.


Yosa Buson

[Bạn cần 1 câu thơ cho 1 bức họa 1 con chó đen]
His bark comes
out of the darkness inside him
deep in the autumn night

Tiếng sủa từ khối đen trong nó
Vọng ra
Ở cõi tít mù của đêm thu

            It is autumn in me
            but tomorrow will come
            and I will miss tonight

            Thu chìm trong Gấu
            Nhưng ngày mai sẽ tới
            Và Gấu sẽ nhớ đêm nay

Is it a winter shower
or a mouse running
over the koto strings

Đậu bằng quá giá vũ như ti
Hay chỉ là con chuột dạo chơi trên mấy sợi dây đờn?

Thăm mộ Basho

I will die too
let me be a dry grass flower
here by the monument

Tớ sẽ chết
Hãy cho tớ là bông hoa cỏ khô
Bên nấm mồ

            In the wild winter wind
            the voice of the water is torn
            falling across the rocks

            Gió Đông hung bạo,
            Tiếng nước bị xé giữa những tảng đá mới dữ dằn làm sao

I bury the charcoal embers
in the ashes
my hut is covered with snow

            I wear this hood
            rather than look as though
            I belonged to the drifting world

of an oak grove
the moon high in the trees

            A mouse peeps out
            eyeing the freezing oil
            of my lamp

Whenever I go to bed
with my socks on
I have bad dreams


Since Basho went
not a single year
has lived up to its promise

Kể từ Basho đi xa,
Không có năm nào vươn tới chỉ,
Như nó hứa hẹn với ông!

1990-2010, haiku
translated with Takaka Lento

W.S. Merwin


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