Eric Hoffman


Translations of Haiku by Ozaki Hōsai


大空
from Taikū
(The Big Sky)
________________________________________


Further haiku from 1924-25 (Suma Temple, Hyōgo)


今朝の夢を忘れて草むしりをして居た
kesa no yume o wasurete kusamushiri oshite ita

Waking dream forgotten, I weed the garden



児に草履をはかせ秋空に放つ
ko ni zōri o hakase akizora ni hanatsu

I place zori on the child’s feet, then release him to the autumn sky



ぶつりの鼻緒が切れた闇の中なる
butsuri no hanao ga kireta yami no naka naru

Snap—thong broken in darkness



鳩がなくま昼の屋根が重たい
hato ga naku ma hiru no yane ga omotai

Pigeon coos—afternoon roof grows heavy



土運ぶ黙々とひかげをつくる
tsuchi hakobu mokumokuto hi-kage o tsukuru

Wheelbarrow full of earth—my shadow silent



財布はたいてしまひつめたい鼻だ
saifu hataite shimai tsumetai hana da

Completely broke and my nose is cold



マツチの棒で耳かいて暮れてる
machi no bō de mimi kaite kureteru

Dusk—matchstick stuck deep in ear



わが足の格好の古足袋ぬぎすてる
waga ashi no kakkō no ko tabi nugisuteru

Old socks retain the shape of feet



栗が落ちる音を児と聞いて居る夜
kuri ga ochiru oto o ko to kiite iru yoru

Chestnuts fall—the child and I listen

 

夕べ落葉たいて居る赤い舌出す
yūbe rakuyō taite iru akai shita dasu

I burn leaves at evening and watch them flash their fiery tongues



落葉燃え居る音のみ残して去る
rakuyō moe iru oto nomi nokoshite saru

I wander off—in my wake the sound of burning leaves



落葉へばりつく朝の草履干しておく
rakuyō hebaritsuku asa no zōri hoshite oku

Dead leaves cling to my zori—I hang them out to dry



何か求める心海へ放つ
nanika motomuru kokoro umi e hanatsu

The heart that searches, release everything to the sea



波音正しく明けて居るなり
namioto tadashiku akete irunari

Daybreak—waves arrive with regularity  



青空ちたと見せ暮るるか
aozora chita to mise kureruru ka

Evening already and only a brief glimpse of blue sky



大空のました帽子かぶらず
taikū no mashita boshi kaburazu

A big sky just above me—my head is bare



どつかの池が氷つて居さうな朝で居る
dotsu ka no ike ga kōri tsute i-sau na asa de iru

Morning—somewhere a pond is frozen and so am I



児に木箱つくつてやる眼の前
ko ni kibako tsukutte yaru-me no mae

A child watches as I fashion him a small wooden box



ふくふく陽の中たまるのこくず
fuku fuku yō no naka tamaru no kokuzu

Sunlight—sawdust accumulates



落葉たく煙の中の顔である
rakuyō taku kemuri no naka no kaodearu

Dead leaves burn—smoke stings the eyes



晩の煙を出して居る古い窓だ
ban no kemuri o dashite iru furui madoda

Chimney smoke in the living room—I open an old window



佛体にほられて石ありけり
hotoke-tai ni hora rete ishi arikeri

The stone Buddha sits motionless



足音一つ来る小供の足音
ashioto hitotsu kuru ko kyō no ashioto

One set of footsteps approach—a small child



足袋ぬいで石ころ捨てる
tabi nui de ishikoro suteru

I remove my socks and toss a pebble into the darkness



何かつかまへた顔で児が藪から出て来た
nani ka tsukama eta kao de ko ga yabu kara dete kita

A child returns from the field—his face says ‘I caught this’



昼だけある茶屋で客がうたつてる
hiru dake aru chaya de kyaku ga uta tsuteru

In a tea shop, daylight hours only—the patrons sing



馬の大きな足が折りたたまれた
uma no ōkina ashi ga oritatama reta

The horse bows—his massive legs fold



打ちそこねた釘が首を曲げた
uchi sokoneta kugi ga kubi o mageta

Bended nail—hammer off-center



烏がだまつてとんで行つた
karasu ga damatte tonde itta

A crow, in silence, departs



一人つめたくいつまで藪蚊出る事か
hitori tsumetaku itsu made Yabu ka deru koto ka

Mosquitoes—alone and cold, for how long will I be bothered?



小さい火鉢でこの冬を越さうとする
chīsai hibachi de kono fuyu o kosau to suru

With only this small brazier I struggle through the long winter



朝朝を掃く庭石のありどころ
asa asa o haku niwaishi no ari-dokoro

Morning—I sweep among the garden rocks



佛にひまをもらつて洗濯してゐる
hotoke ni hima o moratsute sentaku shite wiru

A few more days’ reprieve from worship of the Buddha—I do the laundry 



大根が太つて来た朝ばん佛のお守する
daikon ga futotsute kita asa ban hotoke no o Mamoru suru

Radishes fatten—day and night I attend to the Buddha



ただ風ばかり吹く日の雑念
tada kaze bakari fuku hi no zatsunen

The wind, my sole companion, blows all day long



かぎ穴暮れて居るがちがちあはす
kagiana kurete iru gachigachi a hasu

In darkness—I struggle to fit the key into the keyhole 



酔のさめかけの星が出てゐる
yoi no same kake no hoshi ga dete wiru

The clarity of the stars is sobering



考へ事して橋渡りきる
kangahe koto shite hashi watari kiru

Preoccupied, I walk the length of the bridge without noticing



おほらかに鶏なきて海空から晴れる
o hora ka ni niwatori nakite misora kara hareru

Rooster crows loudly, the clouds depart


 
板じきに夕餉の両ひざをそろへる
ita jikini yūge no ryō hi zawosoroheru

At supper I sit on the wooden floor, my legs neatly folded 



わがからだ焚火にうらおもてあぶる
waga karada takibi ni ura omote aburu

I warm my body by the bonfire, front and back



傘干して傘のかげある一日
kasa hoshite kasa no kage aru tsuitachi

Umbrella dries by the doorway, casts its shadow all day



こんあよい月を一人で見て寝る
konnani yoi tsuki o hitori de mite neru

The moon so clear—I watch it alone, then fall asleep



夜中菊をぬすまれた土の穴ぽつかりとある
yōnaka kiku o nusumareta tsuchi no ana hotsukari to aru

Chrysanthemum stolen overnight—in its place an empty hole in the dirt



便所の落書が秋となり居る
benjo no rakugaki ga aki to nari iru

Old toilet wall graffiti becomes an artifact



竹の葉さやさや人恋しくて居る
take no ha sayasaya hitokoishikute iru

Bamboo leaves flutter in the wind—I hope for a familiar companion



めしたべにおりるわが足音
meshi tabe ni oriru waga ashioto

Descending the stairs to eat my meal—footsteps



小さい家をたてて居る風の中
chīsai ie o tatete iru kaze no naka

A small house built in the wind



淋しいぞ一人五本のゆびを開いて見る
sabishii zo hitori go-hon no yubi o hiraite miru

Loneliness—I spread open my five fingers just to look at them

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 Conversations with John Berryman (University Press of Mississippi, 2021).

 
 

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