Eric Hoffman


The Final Group of Translations of Haiku by Ozaki Hōsai

1925-26  (Nangō-an, Shōdo Island)  


眼の前魚がとんで見せる島の夕陽に来て居る

Island sunset—
fish leap from the sea


ここまで来てしまつて急な手紙書いてゐる

I write an impromptu note 
before returning home


いつしかついて来た犬と浜辺に居る

I walk the beach—
for how long has that dog been following me?


山の和尚の酒の友とし丸い月ある

I drink sake with the mountain priest—
round moon


さはにある髪をすき居る月夜
 
Moonlit night—
I comb my hair


すばらしい乳房だ蚊が居る

Mosquito bite 
on a perfect breast


牛の眼なつかしく堤の夕の行きずり

In the gaze of an ox, 
sweet nostalgia on the quay 
where I pass this evening


あらしが一本の柳に夜明けの橋

Storm approaches a bridge at dawn—
lone willow


あらしの中のばんめしにする母と子

Stormy night—
mother and child alone 
prepare their supper


あらしのあとの馬鹿がさかなうりにくる

After the storm 
a fool comes 
to sell us fish


足のうら洗へば白くなある

When washed 
feet whiten


蛍光らない堅くなつてゐる

Firefly dims—
stops moving


大松一本雀に与へ庵ある

In my hermitage 
a large solitary pine 
where sparrows gather


海が少し見える小さい窓一つもつ

Small window 
with a slight view 
of the sea


わが顔があつた小さい鏡買うてもどる

Pleased by my reflection, 
I purchase the small mirror 


ここから浪音きこえぬほどの海の青さの

From here you cannot hear the waves—
so blue is the sea


わが庵とし鶏頭がたくさん赤うなつて居る

I cannot stop thinking 
of the chickens’ red wings


すさまじく蚊がなく夜の痩せたからだが一つ

A skinny body 
makes mosquitos hungry


とんぼが淋しい机にとまりに来てくれた

A dragonfly drops by 
my lonely desk 
for a visit


夜更けの麦粉が畳にこぼれた

Late night—
barley powder spilled 
on tatami


松かさも火にして豆が煮えた

To cook beans—
pinecone kindling


井戸のほとりがぬれて居る夕風

Well rim wet—
evening wind

なん本もマツチの棒を消し海風に話す

Matches used up—
we speak
in the violent wind


山に登れば淋しい村がみんな見える

From the mountain top
all of the lonely villages 
are visible


雨の椿に下駄辷らしてたづねて来た

Camellias in the rain—
on their getas
stopped by to inquire


叱ればすぐ泣く児だと云つて泣かせて居る

You cry 
and I threaten you 
with tears


花がいろいろ咲いてみな売られる

Hundreds of flowers bloom, 
waiting to be sold


掃く程もない朝朝の松の葉ばかり

Morning—
it isn't worth it to sweep
only pine needles


秋風の石が子を産む話

Autumn wind—
stones announce
the birth of a child


投げ出されたやうな西瓜が太つて行く

I look for discarded watermelons to eat—
I’m going to grow fat


壁の新聞の女はいつも泣いて居る

In the newspaper clipping on the wall 
the woman is always crying


盆休み雨となつた島の小さい家家

Small house on an island 
where it always rains


風音ばかりのなかの水汲む

Only the sound of wind 
while I draw water


鼠にジヤガ芋をたべられて寝て居た
 
While I slept, 
the rats ate all the potatoes


盆燈籠の下ひと夜を過ごし故里立つ

Hometown—
night spent under garden lantern,
soon to depart


少し病む児に金魚買うてやる

I buy a goldfish 
for a small sick child


風吹く家のまはり花なし

No flowers
around the house
where the wind blows


青田道もどる窓から見られる

Green paddies seen
from the rear window


これでもう外に動かないでも死なれる

Now I may die 
without the need
of going outside


山は海の夕陽をうけてかくすところ無し

The sea reflects the setting sun
onto the mountains—
nowhere to hide


水を呑んでは小便しに出る雑草

Water drank—
I go outside 
to piss in the weeds


一疋の蚤をさがして居る夜中

Early morning darkness—
I search for a single flea


木槿の花がおしまいになつて風吹く

Hibiscus flowers
crumble in the wind


ぴつたりしめた穴だらけの障子である

Shōji filled with holes 
shut tight


思ひがけもないとこに出た道の秋草

Strange place for a road, 
hidden in the tall autumn grass


わが肩につかまつて居る人に眼がない

I guide an eyeless man 
who clutches at my shoulders


蓮の葉押しわけて出て咲いた花の朝だ

Morning—
a flower blooms forth 
from lotus leaves


切られる花を病人見てゐる

Flowers cut—
a sick person watches


乞食日の丸の旗のふろしきもつ

A beggar uses a flag as a sling


玉子袂に一つづつ買うてもどる

I buy two eggs,
one for each sleeve—
then head home


お祭り赤ン坊寝させてゐる

Shrine festival—
the baby still sleeps


陽が出る前の濡れた烏とんでる

Before sunrise 
a wet crow flies


お遍路木槿の花をほめる杖つく

Mendicant with a walking stick
passes by, praises
my flowers


葬式のもどりを少し濡れて来た

Headed home from the funeral,
a little wet from rain


道を教へてくれる煙管 から煙が出てゐる

A smoky pipe 
points the way—
smoke pours out


病人花活けるほどになりし

Invalid recovered enough 
to arrange 
the cut flowers


さつさと大根の種まいて行つてしまつた

Planted radish seeds, 
then vanished 


すでに秋の山山となり机に迫り来

Autumn already—
the mountain leans
towards my desk


蛙釣る児を見て居るお女郎だ

Child clasps frogs—
a courtesan watches


久し振りの雨の雨だれの音

Over time, 
the sound of the rainfall 
changes


障子あけて置く海も暮れきる

I keep the shōji open—
the sea darkens


山に大きな牛追ひあげる朝露

Morning dew—
bulls guided up
the mountainside 


畳を歩く雀の足音知つて居る

Sparrow on tatami mat—
I recognize the sound
of its footsteps


あすのお天気をしやべる雀等と掃いてゐる

While sweeping
I discuss the weather 
with the morning sparrow


あらしがすつかり青空にしてしまつた

A sky made blue 
by storm


窓には朝風の鉢花

Morning wind—
potted flowers on a windowsill


淋しきままに熱さめて居り

Alone—
at least the fever’s gone


火の無い火鉢が見えて居る寝床だ

From my bed 
I see the fire in the brazier 
increase


風にふかれ信心申して居る

Devotions spoken 
into the blowing wind


小さい家で母と子とゐる

In a small house 
I speak with a mother and child


淋しい寝る本がない

I go to bed without a book—
loneliness


竹藪に夕陽吹きつけて居る

Dusk—
the setting sun 
bathes the bamboo shoots


月夜風ある一人咳して

Moonlit night, wind, loneliness—
I cough


お粥煮えてくる音の鍋ぶた

Pot of boiling rice—
noise from the rim


一つ二つ蛍見てたづねる家

I visit a house—
see one or two fireflies


早さとぶ小鳥見て山路行く

I walk a mountain path—
a small bird flies by


草花たくさん咲いて児が留守番してゐる

Flowers in bloom—
the child stays at home


爪切つたゆびが十本ある

I clip my nails—
ten fingers trimmed 


来る船来る船に一つの島

Ship after ship arrive—
lone island


夜の木の肌に手を添へて待つ

Nightfall—
waiting I place my hand
on the skin of a tree


秋日さす石の上に背の児を下ろす

Child carried on my back—
I place him on the stone
warmed by the autumn sun


浮草風に小さい花咲かせ

Small flower blooms
on a floating weed 


障子の穴から覗いて見ても留守である

Look through the hole in the shōji—
no one’s home


朝がきれいで鈴を振るお遍路さん

Gorgeous morning—
a pilgrim rings her bell


入れものが無い両手で受ける

Without a bowl, 
I receive in both hands


朝月嵐となる

Moon at dawn—
storm comes ashore


口あけぬ蜆死んでゐる

Dead shijimi—
mouth closed


せきをしてもひとり
(咳をしても一人)

Even when I cough
I am still 
alone


汽車が走る山火事

Wildfire—
a train races by


静かに撥が置かれた畳

Pliers placed on the tatami 
quietly


菊枯れ尽くしたる海少し見ゆ

Through withered chrysanthemums 
part of the sea appears


流れに沿うて歩いてとまる

I walk along
the flowing stream 
and stop


とんぼの尾をつまみそこねた

Nearly caught a dragonfly 
by its tail


墓地からもどつて来ても一人

Home from the cemetery—
still alone 


恋心四十にして穂芒

Forty years old 
and still I love 
the pampas grass


なんと丸い月が出たよ窓

Look out the window—
a round moon!


ゆふべ底がぬけた柄杓で朝

This morning I use the water dipper 
and find its bottom rotted out


風凪いでより落つる松の葉

Wind dies down—
pine needles fall


自分が通つただけの冬ざれの石橋

Winter—
I walk over an stone bridge


藪のなかの紅葉見てたづねる

Autumn leaves 
in an azure sky


麦まいてしまひ風吹く日ばかり

Wheat sewn—
the wind never dies down


となりにも雨の葱畑

Green onion field 
full of rain 
next door too


くるりと剃つてしまつた寒ン空

Cold shaved head—
frozen empty sky


夜なせが始まる河音

Work begins at night—
the sound of the river


寒なぎの帆を下ろし帆柱

Out on the cold sea 
we lower the sails


庵の障子あけて小ざかな買つてる

I open the shōji 
to buy some fish


松かさそつくり火になつた

The pinecone, 
just as it is, 
lights on fire


風吹きくたびれて居る青草

Green grass, 
wind-blown, 
tired of wind


嵐が落ちた夜の白湯を呑んでゐる

The evening storm dies down—
I drink hot water


鉄砲光つて居る深雪

Deep snow—
sunlight gleams 
on gun hilt


一人でそば刈つてしまつた

Cutting buckwheat for soba—
alone


冬川せつせと洗濯してゐる

Winter river—
with a washboard 
I wash my clothes


昔は海であつたと榾をくべる

“The sea used to be here” 
he says as he tosses wood 
into the fire


寒ン空シヤツポがほしいな

It’s so cold outside 
I wish I had a hat


蜜柑たべてよい火にあたつて居る

I eat mandarin oranges 
warmed by fire


とつぷり暮れて足を洗つて居る

Exhausted, I wash my feet 
in complete darkness


昼の鶏なく漁師の家ばかり

Fisherman’s house at noon—
no chickens


海凪げる日の大河を入れる

Today the sea has calmed—
we swim in the big river


働きに行く人ばかりの電車

Only people headed to work 
ride the trains today


家のぐるり落葉にして顔出してゐる

Autumn leaves fall around the house—
a face appears


墓原花無きこのごろ

Lately the graves 
remain flowerless


月夜の葦が折れとる

Moonlit night—
the reed is broken


墓のうらに廻る

I walk around 
to the back of the tomb


あすは元日が来る仏とわたくし

Tomorrow is the first day of the year 
for both the Buddha and I


掛取も来てくれぬ大晦日も独り

New Year’s Eve—
not even a bill collector visits


雪積もる夜のランプ

Snow piled up tonight—
a lamp burns


雨の舟岸により来る

From out of the rain 
a boat approaches the shore


夕空見てから夜食の箸とる

I watch the sun set 
then pick up the chopsticks 


冬木の窓があちこちあいてる

Snowy winter forest—
windows open everywhere 
to the light


窓あけた笑ひ顔だ

Opened window—
laughing face 


夜釣から明けてもどつた小さい舟だ

Shoreline—
a small boat returns 
from nightfishing


児を連れて城跡に来た

I and a child visit the castle ruins


風吹く道のめくら

Blind man on windy road


旅人夫婦で相談してゐる

Traveling,
a married couple in discussion—
exile


ぬくい屋根で仕事してゐる

Hard work, hot roof


山風山を下りるとす

Windy mountain
descent


裸木春の雨雲行くや

Bare trees, spring rain, 
clouds come and go 


松の根方が凍ててつはぶき

Pine roots frozen, 
tinged with silver


舟をからつぽにして上つてしまつた

The boat has emptied 
and everyone climbs aboard


名残の夕陽ある淋しさ山よ

Solitary mountain—
remnants of sunset


故郷の冬空にもどつて来た

Return to my hometown—
winter sky


雨の中泥手を洗ふ

Muddy hands washed 
with rainwater


一日雪ふるとなりをもつ

All day long it snows 
on both my neighbor and I 


春が来たと大きな新聞広告

Full-page newspaper ad: 
“Spring is here!”


枯枝ほきほき折るによし

Dead, fallen branches 
good for breaking


静かなる一つのうきが引かれる

Fishing buoy tugged 
like heart strings


山畑麦が青くなる一本松

Mountain meadow—
blue wheat 
and a lone pine tree


貧乏して植木鉢並べて居る

Miserably poor and yet 
a row of potted flowers


霜とけ烏光る

Melted frost—
birds shimmer


久しぶりに片目が蜜柑うりに来た

The one-eyed tangerine salesman 
returns after a long time


障子に近く蘆枯るる風音

Close the shōji—
the wind speaks of dry reeds


八ツ手の月夜もある恋猫

Eight paws, stray cats in love—
moonlit night


仕事探して歩く町中歩く人ばかり

Looking for work, 
I do nothing but walk 
and walk


あついめしがたけた野茶屋

Country teahouse—
hot rice cooks on the stove


どつさり春の終りの雪ふり

Snowfall at the end of spring—
it cannot be real


森に近づき雪のある森

Snow approaches 
a cold forest


肉がやせて来る太い骨である

Thin meat 
from thick bone


一つの湯呑を置いてむせてゐる

The tea strangles me—
I set down the cup


やせたからだを窓に置き船の汽笛

My thin body nestled at the window—
steamboat’s siren


婆さんが寒夜の針箱おいて去んでる

Cold night—
old woman places sewing needles
back in the box


すつかり病人になつて柳の糸が吹かれる

Quite ill—
willow’s slender branches 
in the wind


春の山のうしろから煙が出だした

Spring—
smoke rises 
from behind a hill

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.

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.

 
 

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