Spring rain:telling stories,a straw coat and umbrella walk past
Ploughing the land--not even a bird singingin the mountain's shadow. Translated by Robert Hass
Early summer rain--houses facing the river, two of them. Translated by Robert Hass
Old well,a fish leaps-- dark sound.Translated by Robert Hass
Buying leeksand walking home under the bare trees.Translated by Robert Hass
Listening to the moon,gazing at the croaking of frogsin a field of ripe rice.Translated by Robert Hass
Not quite dark yetand the stars shiningabove the withered fields.Translated by Robert Hass
Blown from the west,fallen leaves gather in the east.Translated by Robert Hass
White blossoms of the pearand a woman in moonlight reading a letter. Translated by Robert Hass
Calligraphy of geeseagainst the sky-- the moon seals it.Translated by Robert Hass
Dawn--fish the cormorants haven't caughtswimming in the shallows.Translated by Robert Hass
SpringThe year's first poem done, with smug self confidencea haikai poet.Longer has become the daytime; a pheasant is fluttering down onto the bridge.Yearning for the ...
Sparrow singing--its tiny mouth open. Translated by Robert Hass
His Holiness the Abbotis shittingin the withered fields.Translated by Robert Hass
Harvest moon--called at his house,he was digging potatoes.Translated by Robert Hass
Washing the hoe--ripples on the water; far off, wild ducks.Translated by Robert Hass
The winter river;down it come floatingflowers offered to Buddha.
He's on the porch,to escape the wife and kids--how hot it is!Translated by Robert Hass
Lighting one candlewith another candle-- spring evening. Translated by Robert Hass
Coolness--the sound of the bell as it leaves the bell. Translated by Robert Hass
My arm for a pillow,I really like myselfunder the hazy moon.Translated by Robert Hass
Straw sandal half sunkin an old pond in the sleety snow.Translated by Robert Hass
Evening wind:water laps the heron's legs.Translated by Robert Hass
The old mancutting barley--bent like a sickle.Translated by Robert Hass
The end of spring--the poet is brooding about editors.Translated by Robert Hass
The spring sea risingand falling, rising and falling all day. Translated by Robert Hass
light of the moonmoves west - flowers' shadowscreep eastward
Below are eleven Buson haikubeginning with the phrase'The short night--'The short night--on the hairy caterpillarbeads of dew.The short night--patrolmenwashing in the river.The ...
You left in the morning, at evening my heart is in athousand pieces.Why is it so far away?Thinking of you, I go up on the hill and wander.Around the hill, why is it such a ...
tilling the field: the man who asked the wayhas disappeared
Over-ripe sushi,The MasterIs full of regret.
They end their flightone by one---crows at dusk.Translated by Robert Hass
The behavior of the pigeonis beyond reproach,but the mountain cuckoo?Translated by Robert Hass
The willow leaves fallen,the spring gone dry, rocks here and there.Translated by Robert Hass
Blow of an ax, Pine scent, The winter woods. Translated by Robert Hass
Before the white chrysanthemum The scissors hesitate A moment. Translated by Robert Hass
A mosquite buzzes Every time flowers Of honeysuckle fall.
A bat flits in moonlight above the plum blossoms. Translated by Robert Hass Yosa Buson