Short Poems

Raising my head, I make out my house in the twilight
She must be leaning against the front door,
her hair white now, holding my little brother,
thinking, “This spring, surely she'll come again this spring.”

Old post town, two or three houses—
a male cat moans out for a mate,
no female comes.

Three whole days off,
she leaves Osaka, reaches
the Nagara River.

Is it hard fare, or is it love
That makes the cat's goodwife so lean?

Rebel Jack sculped wimmin in his day
He'll do the same by you fellers
that shoot his turkey fowls.

Time even for the grass hut
to change owners—
house of dolls.

Rest, little Guest,
Beneath my breast.
Feed, sweet Seed,
At your need.
I took Love for my lord
And this is my reward,
My body is good earth,
That you, dear Plant, have birth.

'Tis dead of night. Behold the Milky Way;
Its situation is entirely changed.

All meine Rede und jegliches Wort
Und jeder Druck meiner Hände,
Und meiner Augen kosender Blick,
Und alles, was ich geschrieben:
Das ist kein Hauch und ist keine Luft,
Und ist kein Zucken der Finger,
Das ist meines Herzens flammendes Blut,
Das dringt hervor durch tausend Tore.

The white sun leaning on the mountain disappears,
The Yellow River flows on into the sea;
To stretch your gaze a thousand leagues,
Climb up still another story.