The Spring of My Life
Once snows have melted,
the village soon overflows
with friendly children
A gust of spring wind —
unhappily — lifts the skirts
of the roof thatcher
The turnip farmer
with a turnip points the way
back to the road
Calm, indifferent
as if nothing's transpired —
the goose, the willow
Give me a homeland,
and a passionate woman,
and winter alone
With my folding fan
I measured the peony —
as it demanded
In early spring rain
the ducks that were not eaten
are quacking happily
A child has drawn
a river from snowmelt lakes
leading to my gate
As old age arrives,
considering just the day's length
can move one to tears
All alone at home,
my wife, like me, is watching
this full moon rise
________________________
Kobatashi Issa (1763-1827)
from The Spring of My Life
and Selected Haiku
translated by Sam Hamill
Shambhala
___________________________________
Nothing can go wrong with Issa, nothing.
First of all, even a bad translator can't quite knock
the Issa touch and wisdom off the tracks — somewhere
in that tangle of Japanese to American there is a light.
And no matter how miserable your life may be, or
is going to be, Issa is ready for you — more than likely
his life has been more miserable, and still he counsels
with the grasshopper, the stars, the breezes, the tears.
He's your guy. Maybe more than anyone away
from your home. Take him along. Most of his
books are lightweight, thin, pocketful, treasures.
For a translator here, we've got a good one in
Sam Hamill — poet, translator, essayist, printer,
publisher, jack of all poetry trades, and like
Issa he's dead, and also like Issa, not dead.
Hello, Sam.
[ BA ]
