Eric Hoffman
Translations of Haiku, 1916-1919 by Ozaki Hōsai, 尾崎 放哉
大空
from Taikū
(The Big Sky)
1916 (Tokyo)
海が明け居り窓一つ開かれたり
umi ga akeori mado hitotsu hirakaretari
Window open—dawn illumines the sea
手紙つきし頃ならん宿の灯の見ゆ
tegami tsukishi korona ran yado no akari no mi yu
Evening—letter written in hotel light
水の音が濃くなり行けば赤い灯が
mizunone ga koku nari ikeba akai akari ga
The sea grows dark yet red lights brighten
児等と行く足もと浪がころがれり
kora to yuku ashi moto nami ga korogareri
Among school-children—ocean waves crash at our feet
あかつきの林をぬらして過ぎし雨
akatsuki no kigi o nurashite sugishi ame
Dawn—forest bathed by a passing rain
灯をともし来る女の瞳
akari o tomoshi kuru on'na no hitomi
A lady draws near—lamplight illumines her eyes
1917 (Tokyo)
海は黒く眠りをり宿につきたり
umi wa kuroku nemuriori yado ni tsukitari
Darkened sea sleeps—arrival at a quiet inn
窓あけて居る朝の女しじみ売
mado akete iru asa no on'na shijimiuri
Morning—a girl opens her window
つと叫びつつ駈け去りし人の真夜中
tsuto sakebitsutsu kakesarishi hito no mayonaka
Scream heard in darkness—someone runs away
しつとりと濡れし橋を行く雨の明るさ
shitsu tori to nureshi hashi o iku ame no akaru-sa
Wet footbridge—rain brightens the sky
つめたく咲き出でし花のその影
tsumetaku sakiideshi hana no sono kage
Spring flower blossoms—morning air chills petal shadows
休め田に星うつる夜の暖かさ
yasumeta ni hoshi utsuru yoru no atataka-sa
Warm night—shallow pools reflect the stars
駈けざまにこけし児が泣かで又駈ける
kake zama ni kokeshi-ji ga nakade mata kakeru
The child who loves to cry can cry again
焼き場の煙突の大いさをあふぐ
yakiba no entotsu no dai Isawo a fugu
Immense crematory smokestack of Isawo—the dead burn
御佛の黄な花に薫りもなくて
o hotoke no kina hana ni kaori mo nakute
Scentless yellow flowers belong to the Buddha
今日一日の終りの鐘をききつつあるく
kyō ichinichi no owari no kane o kikitsutsu aruku
Bells at dusk—walking by
1918 (Tokyo)
霜ふる音の家が鳴る夜ぞ
shimo furu oto no ie ga naru yoru zo
Frost at nightfall—wooden beams creak
妻が留守の障子ぽつとり暮れたり
tsuma ga rusu no shōji potsu tori kure tari
Wife away from home—shōji darkens
雪は晴れたる小供等の声に日が当る
yuki wa haretaru kodomora no koe ni hi ga ataru
Warm sun melts snow—touches and brightens children’s cries
眼をやめば片眼淋しく手紙書き居る
me o yameba katame sabishiku tegami kakioru
In pain—letter written with one lonely eye
赤い房さげて重い車を引く馬よ
akai bō sagete omoi kuruma o hiku uma yo
Red tufts hang precariously from the horse cart
元日暮れたりあかりしづかに灯して
ganjitsu kuretari akari shizuka ni tomoshite
Dusk at New Year’s Day—evening lamp lit quietly
日が少し長くなり夕煙あかるく
hi ga sukoshi nagakunari yūkemuri akaruku
Spring night—smoke fires lengthen
冷やかな灯ありけり朝の竹藪
hiyayakana tomoshi arikeri asa no takeyabu
Bamboo forest—cold light of morning
流るる水にそれぞれの灯をもちて船船
nagareruru mizu ni sorezore no akari o mochite fune-sen
Guided by tide— orange and yellow lanterns of the boats
肴屋が肴読みあぐる陽だまり
uoya ga uoyomiaguru yōdamari
Fish vendors—sunlight for sale
芽ぐめるもの見てありく土の匂
megumeru mono mite ari ku tsuchi no nioi
The earth smelled to determine what will sprout
わが肌をふむあんま何を思ひつつ
waga hada o momu amma nani o omoi tsutsu
She kneads my back—what occupies her thoughts?
チヤブ台に置かるる縁日の赤い花
chabudai ni okaruru ennichi no akai hana
Left on the table— festival chrysanthemum
山深々と来て親しくはなす
yama fukabuka to kite shitashiku hanashi
Our intimate words— whispered immensities in the mountain depths
じつと子の手を握る大きなわが手
jitsu to ko no tewonigiru ōkina wa ga te
Child’s hand, small in my palm, held carefully
落つる日の方へ空ひとはけにはかれたり
otsuru hi no hō e sora hitohake ni hakaretari
Sunset—brush stroke swept across the sky
佛の花に折れば咲きつづくけしの花
hotoke no hana ni oreba saki tsudzuku keshinohana
Poppies cut for the Buddha continue to bloom
松はあくまで光りて砂にならぶ墓
matsu wa akumade hikarite suna ni narabu haka
Green pine in sunlight—rows of graves in sand
嵐の夜あけ朝顔一つ咲き居たり
arashi no yoru ake asagao hitotsu saki i tari
Morning after storm—chrysanthemums bloom
大風の空の中にて鳴る鐘
taifū no sora no naka nite naru kane
Stormy sky—in the distance a bell rings
マツチつかぬ夕風の涼しさに話す
matsuchi tsukanu yufu no suzushi-sa ni hanasu
Wind too strong to light a match—we speak in that cold
日まはりこちらに向く夕べの机となれり
hi ma hari kochira ni muku yūbe no tsukue to nareri
The sunflowers bow toward my evening desk
妻を叱りてぞ暑き陽に出て行く
tsuma o shikarite zo atsuki yō ni dedeyuku
Tired of arguing, I walk outside into the hot sun
寺の屋根見つつ木の葉ふる山を下り行く
tera no yane mitsutsu konoha furu yama o ori yuku
Temple roofs, mountain top—as we descend, autumn leaves fall
1919 (Tokyo)
葬列足早な足に暮色まつはり
soretsu ashibayana ashi ni boshoku matsuwari
Funeral at twilight—all is blue
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 John Berryman: Conversations (University Press of Mississippi, 2021).
[Some more translations of Ozaki Hōsai by Eric Hoffman appeared in an earlier issue of Otoliths.]
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Translations of Haiku, 1916-1919 by Ozaki Hōsai, 尾崎 放哉
大空
from Taikū
(The Big Sky)
1916 (Tokyo)
海が明け居り窓一つ開かれたり
umi ga akeori mado hitotsu hirakaretari
Window open—dawn illumines the sea
手紙つきし頃ならん宿の灯の見ゆ
tegami tsukishi korona ran yado no akari no mi yu
Evening—letter written in hotel light
水の音が濃くなり行けば赤い灯が
mizunone ga koku nari ikeba akai akari ga
The sea grows dark yet red lights brighten
児等と行く足もと浪がころがれり
kora to yuku ashi moto nami ga korogareri
Among school-children—ocean waves crash at our feet
あかつきの林をぬらして過ぎし雨
akatsuki no kigi o nurashite sugishi ame
Dawn—forest bathed by a passing rain
灯をともし来る女の瞳
akari o tomoshi kuru on'na no hitomi
A lady draws near—lamplight illumines her eyes
1917 (Tokyo)
海は黒く眠りをり宿につきたり
umi wa kuroku nemuriori yado ni tsukitari
Darkened sea sleeps—arrival at a quiet inn
窓あけて居る朝の女しじみ売
mado akete iru asa no on'na shijimiuri
Morning—a girl opens her window
つと叫びつつ駈け去りし人の真夜中
tsuto sakebitsutsu kakesarishi hito no mayonaka
Scream heard in darkness—someone runs away
しつとりと濡れし橋を行く雨の明るさ
shitsu tori to nureshi hashi o iku ame no akaru-sa
Wet footbridge—rain brightens the sky
つめたく咲き出でし花のその影
tsumetaku sakiideshi hana no sono kage
Spring flower blossoms—morning air chills petal shadows
休め田に星うつる夜の暖かさ
yasumeta ni hoshi utsuru yoru no atataka-sa
Warm night—shallow pools reflect the stars
駈けざまにこけし児が泣かで又駈ける
kake zama ni kokeshi-ji ga nakade mata kakeru
The child who loves to cry can cry again
焼き場の煙突の大いさをあふぐ
yakiba no entotsu no dai Isawo a fugu
Immense crematory smokestack of Isawo—the dead burn
御佛の黄な花に薫りもなくて
o hotoke no kina hana ni kaori mo nakute
Scentless yellow flowers belong to the Buddha
今日一日の終りの鐘をききつつあるく
kyō ichinichi no owari no kane o kikitsutsu aruku
Bells at dusk—walking by
1918 (Tokyo)
霜ふる音の家が鳴る夜ぞ
shimo furu oto no ie ga naru yoru zo
Frost at nightfall—wooden beams creak
妻が留守の障子ぽつとり暮れたり
tsuma ga rusu no shōji potsu tori kure tari
Wife away from home—shōji darkens
雪は晴れたる小供等の声に日が当る
yuki wa haretaru kodomora no koe ni hi ga ataru
Warm sun melts snow—touches and brightens children’s cries
眼をやめば片眼淋しく手紙書き居る
me o yameba katame sabishiku tegami kakioru
In pain—letter written with one lonely eye
赤い房さげて重い車を引く馬よ
akai bō sagete omoi kuruma o hiku uma yo
Red tufts hang precariously from the horse cart
元日暮れたりあかりしづかに灯して
ganjitsu kuretari akari shizuka ni tomoshite
Dusk at New Year’s Day—evening lamp lit quietly
日が少し長くなり夕煙あかるく
hi ga sukoshi nagakunari yūkemuri akaruku
Spring night—smoke fires lengthen
冷やかな灯ありけり朝の竹藪
hiyayakana tomoshi arikeri asa no takeyabu
Bamboo forest—cold light of morning
流るる水にそれぞれの灯をもちて船船
nagareruru mizu ni sorezore no akari o mochite fune-sen
Guided by tide— orange and yellow lanterns of the boats
肴屋が肴読みあぐる陽だまり
uoya ga uoyomiaguru yōdamari
Fish vendors—sunlight for sale
芽ぐめるもの見てありく土の匂
megumeru mono mite ari ku tsuchi no nioi
The earth smelled to determine what will sprout
わが肌をふむあんま何を思ひつつ
waga hada o momu amma nani o omoi tsutsu
She kneads my back—what occupies her thoughts?
チヤブ台に置かるる縁日の赤い花
chabudai ni okaruru ennichi no akai hana
Left on the table— festival chrysanthemum
山深々と来て親しくはなす
yama fukabuka to kite shitashiku hanashi
Our intimate words— whispered immensities in the mountain depths
じつと子の手を握る大きなわが手
jitsu to ko no tewonigiru ōkina wa ga te
Child’s hand, small in my palm, held carefully
落つる日の方へ空ひとはけにはかれたり
otsuru hi no hō e sora hitohake ni hakaretari
Sunset—brush stroke swept across the sky
佛の花に折れば咲きつづくけしの花
hotoke no hana ni oreba saki tsudzuku keshinohana
Poppies cut for the Buddha continue to bloom
松はあくまで光りて砂にならぶ墓
matsu wa akumade hikarite suna ni narabu haka
Green pine in sunlight—rows of graves in sand
嵐の夜あけ朝顔一つ咲き居たり
arashi no yoru ake asagao hitotsu saki i tari
Morning after storm—chrysanthemums bloom
大風の空の中にて鳴る鐘
taifū no sora no naka nite naru kane
Stormy sky—in the distance a bell rings
マツチつかぬ夕風の涼しさに話す
matsuchi tsukanu yufu no suzushi-sa ni hanasu
Wind too strong to light a match—we speak in that cold
日まはりこちらに向く夕べの机となれり
hi ma hari kochira ni muku yūbe no tsukue to nareri
The sunflowers bow toward my evening desk
妻を叱りてぞ暑き陽に出て行く
tsuma o shikarite zo atsuki yō ni dedeyuku
Tired of arguing, I walk outside into the hot sun
寺の屋根見つつ木の葉ふる山を下り行く
tera no yane mitsutsu konoha furu yama o ori yuku
Temple roofs, mountain top—as we descend, autumn leaves fall
1919 (Tokyo)
葬列足早な足に暮色まつはり
soretsu ashibayana ashi ni boshoku matsuwari
Funeral at twilight—all is blue
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 John Berryman: Conversations (University Press of Mississippi, 2021).
[Some more translations of Ozaki Hōsai by Eric Hoffman appeared in an earlier issue of Otoliths.]
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