Eric Hoffman


More Translations of Haiku by Ozaki Hōsai

At Jōkō Temple, Obama, 1925
 
 
背を汽車通る草ひく顔をあげず
 
 
A train passes as I weed the grass—
I don’t look up
 
 
 
あたまをそつて帰る青梅たくさん落ちてる
 

Head shaved, I return home—
the plums have fallen
 
 
 
時計が動いて居る寺の荒れてゐる
 
 
Time passes—
the temple falls
into decay
 
 
 
するどい風の中で別れようとする
 
 
We try to say goodbye—
our words lost
to the wind
 
 
 
どんどん泣いてしまつた児の顔
 
 
Face red and wet—
the child stops crying
 
 
 
新緑の山となり山の道となり
 
 
The mountain greens
and a path reappears
 
 
 
田舎の小さな新聞をすぐに読んでしまつた


Small town newspaper takes only moments to read
 
 
 
どろぼう猫の目と睨みあつてる自分であつた
 

I recognize the eyes
of the alley cat
 
 
 
留守番をして地震にゆられて居る
 
 
Alone in the temple
shaken by an earthquake
 
 
 
臍に湯をかけて一人夜中の温泉である
 
 
Midnight—
alone at a hot spring,
splash water on my belly
 
 
 
病人らしう見て居る庭の雑草
 
 
I stare at the garden weeds
as though bedridden
 
 
 
豆を水にふくらませて置く春ひと夜
 

Beans swell in spring water—
evening
 
 
 
かぎりなく蟻が出てくる穴の音なく
 

In silence
a thousand ants
appear
 
 
 
戻りは傘をかついで帰る橋であつた
 
 
Headed home—
umbrella on my shoulder
as I cross the bridge
 
 
 
笑ふ時の前歯がはえて来たは
 
 
Laughter—
teeth increase!
 
 
 
百姓らしい顔が庫裡の戸をあけた
 
 
He opens the door to the temple kitchen—
his face like a peasant’s
 
 
 
和尚とたつた二人で呑んで酔って来た
 
 
Drinking with the Buddhist priest,
I become tipsy
 
 
 
釘箱の釘がみんな曲つて居る
 
 
Every nail in the box is crooked
 
 
 
豆を煮つめる自分の一日だつた
 
 
Beans to cook—
more daylight
than water
 
 
 
二階から下りて来てひるめしにする
 
I descend the stairs
and decide to eat
 
 

海がよく凪いで居る村の呉服屋
 

Village fabric store—
ocean of calm
 
 
 
蜘蛛がすうと下りて来た朝を眼の前にす
 

I awake to see
the spider’s slow descent
 
 
 
銅像に悪口ついて行つてしまつた
 

He cursed the bronze statue
then left
 
 
 
雨のあくる日の柔らかな草をひいて居る
 
 
Easy to weed
the rain-soaked ground
 
 
 
きちんと座つて居る朝の竹四五本ある
 
 
Solemn morning—
three or four bamboo threads
 
 
 
蛙たくさん鳴かせ灯を消して寝る
 
 
Frogs croak—
I turn off the lamp
then go to sleep
 
 
 
池の朝がはじまる水すましである
 
 
Pond illuminated
by the morning sun
 
 
 
うつろの心に眼が二つあいてゐる
 
 
Empty mind, hollow heart—
eyes wide open
 
 
 
小さい橋に来て荒れる海が見える
 
 
Rough sea approaches a small bridge
 
 
 
淋しいからだから爪がのび出す
 
 
From my lonely body
nails grow
 
 
 
屋根草風ある田舎に来てゐる
 
 
Grassy countryside—
we greet one another
 
 
 
ころりと横になる今日が終つて居る
 

The day ends—
I lie on my stomach
 
 
 
海がまつ青な昼の床屋にはいる
 

The sea is blue—
I’m at the barber’s
 
 
 
久しぶりのわが顔がうつる池に来てゐる
 
 
I pass by a pond—
my reflection is a stranger
 
 
何やら鍋に煮えて居る僧をたづね
 
 
I visit the monk—
something’s cooking in a pot


1925 (Kyoto)
 
 
 
山寺灯されて見て通る
 
 
Mountain pass,
lights of a temple
 
 
 
宵のくちなしの花を嗅いで君に見せる
 
 
I smell the gardenia
and show it to you
 
 
 
蜘蛛 がとんぼをとつた軒の下に住んでる
 
 
Under the eaves—
a spider catches a dragonfly
 
 
 
旧暦の節句の鯉がをどつて居る
 
 
New Year’s Eve—
now the calendar is old

Eric Hoffman is the author of Circumference of the Sun (Dos Madres, 2021), and the editor of Conversations with John Berryman (University Press of Mississippi, 2021) and a new edition of Philip Pain's Daily Meditations (Spuyten Duyvil, 2021). He lives in Connecticut.

 
 

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