Eric Hoffman

Translations of Haiku by Ozaki Hōsai, 尾崎 放哉


大空
from Taikū
(The Big Sky)

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1924-25 (Suma Temple, Hyōgo)


あすは雨らしい青葉の中の堂を閉める
asu wa amerashī aoba no naka no dō o shimeru

Rain tomorrow—I close the temple ringed by green leaves


雨の日は御灯ともし一人居る
ame no hi wa gohitomoshi hitori iru

Rain all day, holy candles lit—alone


静もれる森の中をののける此の一葉
sei mo reru mori no naka o no nokeru kono ichi yō

In a quiet forest—a single leaf


井戸の暗さにわが顔を見出す
ido no kurasa ni waga kao o midasu

In the well’s darkness, a face reflects


鐘ついて去る鐘の余韻の中
kane tsuite saru kane no yoin no naka

Bell rung, its hum accompanies my departure


炎天の底の蟻等ばかりの世となり
enten no soko no ari-tō bakari no yo to nari

The world’s culmination—ants beneath a fiery sky


山の夕陽の墓地の空海へかたぶく
yama no yūhi no bochi no kūkai e katabuku

Sky over mountain graveyard leans toward the serene sea


赤いたすきをかけて台所がせまい
akai tasuki o kakete daidokoro ga semai

Narrow kitchen—not even room enough for my sleeves


佛飯ほの白く蚊がなき寄るばかり
hotoke meshi ho no shiroku ka ga naki yoru bakari

Buddha’s rice, pale white—only mosquitos approach


雨に降りつめられて暮るる外なし御堂
ame ni ori tsumera rete kure ruru soto nashi midō

Rainy day—nothing to be done but wander these sacred halls


げつそり痩せて竹の葉をはらつてゐる
getsu sori yasete take no ha o haratsute wiru

Emaciated—whisking away bamboo leaves


御祭の夜明の提灯へたへたとたたまれる
omatsuri no Yoake no chōchin hetaheta to tatama reru

Festival at dusk—the lanterns folded, collapse


何も忘れた気で夏帽かぶつて
nani mo wasureta ki de natsubōshi ka butsute

I wear a chillba hat and pretend to forget everything


ねむの花の昼すぎの釣鐘重たし
nemu no hananohiru-sugi no tsurigane omotashi

Afternoon bell oppresses—mimosa flowers


両手に清水をさげてくらい路を通る
ryōte ni shimizu o sagete kurai michi o tōru

Buckets of spring water in both hands, passing a dark road


父子（おやこ）で住んで言葉少なく朝顔が咲いて
fushi de sunde kotoba sukunaku asagao ga saite

Wordless, father and son go about their day—morning glories blossom


蛇が殺されて居る炎天をまたいで通る
hebi ga korosa rete iru enten o mataide tōru

Sky ablaze—I step over a dead snake


むつつり木槿が咲く夕べ他人の家にもどる
mutsu tsuri mukuge ga saku yūbe tanin no ie ni modoru

Evening, althea blossoms—I return from a neighbor’s home


空に白い陽を置き火葬場の太い煙突
sora ni shiroi yō o oki kasōjō no futoi entotsu

White sun in sky—thick crematorium smoke


裏木戸出入りす朝顔実となる
ura Kidode-iri su asagao mi to naru

Backyard wooden gate: in, out—morning glories return to seed


いつ迄も忘れられた儘で黒い蝙蝠傘
itsumade mo wasurerareta mama de kuroi kōmorigasa

Still forgotten—a black, bat-like umbrella


朝顔の白が咲きつづくわりなし
asagao no shiro ga saki tsudzuku wari nashi

White of the morning glories—endless


陽がふる松葉の中で大きな竹かごおろす
yō ga furu matsuba no naka de ōkina take kago orosu

Placing the bamboo basket on a bed of sun-drenched pine needles


蛙の子がふえたこと地べたのぬくとさ
kawazunoko ga fueta koto jibeta no nukuto-sa

Hundreds of tadpoles—summer garden


何かしら児等は山から木の実見つけてくる
nanikashira-ji-tō wa yama kara konomi mitsukete kuru

Children return from the hills with nuts—how do they find so many?


乞食の児が銀杏の実を袋からなんぼでも出す
kojiki no ko ga gin'nan no mi o fukuro kara nanbo demo dasu

A beggar’s child empties his bag of gingko nuts—there are hundreds


古き家のひと間灯されて客となり居る
furuki ie no hito-kan tomosa rete kyaku to nari iru

An old house, one room illuminated—someone’s guest


たばこが消えて居る淋しさをなげすてる
tabako ga kiete iru sabishi-sa o nagesuteru

Extinguished cigarette, desertedness discarded


おだやかに流るる水の橋長々と渡る
odayaka ni nagareruru mizu no hashi naganaga to wataru

Calm stream—journey across the bridge prolonged


空暗く垂れ大きな蟻が畳をはつてる
sora kuraku tare ōkina ari ga tatami o hatsu teru

Dark sky—a big ant crawls across my mat


蟻を殺す殺すつぎから出てくる
ari o korosu korosu tsugi kara detekuru

I kill an ant and more appear


雨の幾日かつづき雀と見てゐる
ame no ikunichi ka tsudzuki suzume to mite wiru

Days of rain—the sparrows and I sit by idly watching


雑巾しぼるペンだこが白たたけた手だ
zōkin shiboru pen-dako ga shiro tataketa teda

Wringing out the rag, my pen callus whitens


友の夏帽が新しい海に行かうか
tomo no natsubōshi ga atarashī umi ni ikau ka

Brand new chillba—shall we go out to sea?


すでにあかつき佛前に米こぼれあり
sudeni akatsuki hotoke mae ni bei kobore ari

Dawn—already rice has spilled beside the Buddha altar


写真うつしたきりで夕風にわかれてしまつた
shashin utsu shita kiri de yufu ni waka rete shima Tsuta

Photograph taken—evening wind dies down


昼の蚊たたいて古新聞よんで
hirunoka tataite ko shinbun yonde

Read yesterday’s news—slap afternoon mosquitoes


人をそしる心をすて豆の皮むく
hito o soshiru kokoro o sute mame no kawa muku

Shell peas, decide to be kind


はかなさは燈明の油が煮える
hakana-sa wa tōmyō no abura ga nieru

Holy lamp oil boils—impermanence


苅田で烏の顔をまぢかに見た
karita de karasu no kao o machikani mita

Harvested field—a crow’s face up close


傘さしかけて心寄り添へる
kasa sashikakete kokoro yoriso heru

I offer the umbrella—my heart draws near


障子しめきつて淋しさをみたす
shōji shime kitte sabishisa mitasu

Shōji closed—loneliness fulfilled


庭石一つすゑられて夕暮が来る
niwaishi hitotsu Sue rarete yūgure ga kuru

One stone placed in the garden—sunset


寒さころがる落葉が水ぎはでとまつた
samusa korogaru ochiba ga mizugiwa de tomatta

Autumn leaves scatter along the cold shore


墓石洗ひあげて扇子つかつてゐる
hakaishi araiagete sensu tsukatte iru

Gravestone cleansed—I fan my face and neck


藁屋根草はえれば花さく
wara yane kusa wa ereba hana saku

Straw roof—grass grows, flowers bloom




Ozaki Hōsai was the haigo (haikai pen name) of Ozaki Hideo (1885 - 1926), a Japanese poet of the late Meiji and Taishō periods of Japan and a practitioner of the modern free verse haiku movement.

Eric Hoffman is the author of several collections of poetry, most recently This Thin Mean: New Selected Poems (Spuyten Duyvil, 2020) and the editor of the forthcoming Conversations with John Berryman (University Press of Mississippi, 2021).

 
 

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