Short Poems

Comfortably fixed for clothing and food, young ones married off,
from now on family affairs are no concern of mine.
In nightly rest, I'm a bird who's found its way to the forest;
at morning meals, I'm one in heart with the monk who begs his food.
Clear cries, several voices—cranes under the pines;
one spot of cold light—the lamp among the bamboo.
Late at night I practice meditation, sitting in lotus posture.
My daughter calls, my wife hoots—I don't answer either of them.

On Udo Beach,
on Udo Beach in Suruga, waves roll in and break;
my love like seven grasses says things that please me,
says things that please me;
my love like seven grasses says things that please me;
when she comes to me, yes, we'll go to bed!
my love like seven grasses says things that please me!

Here she lies, a pretty bud,
Lately made of flesh and blood:
Who as soon fell fast asleep
As her little eyes did peep.

Give her strewings, but not stir
The earth that lightly covers her.

Fight thou with shafts of silver, and o'rcome,
When no force else can get the masterdome.

Though short her strain nor sung with mighty boast;
Yet there the power of song had dwelling room;
So lives her name for ever, nor lies lost
Beneath the shadow of the wings of gloom,
While birds of after days, in countless host,
Slumber and fade forgotten in the tomb,
Better the swan's brief note than thousand cries
Of rocks in springtime blown about the skies.

Thou alive on earth, sweet boy,
Hadst an angel's wit and face;
And now dead, thou dost enjoy,
In high Heaven, an angel's place.

This very remarkable man
Commends a most practical plan:
You can do what you want
If you don't think you can't,
So don't think you can't think you can.

This shirt,
once white, now
so frayed, a gift
from my parents, packs
tightly
meat and sweat: my

the butterfly—
its face is the same
as a caterpillar's

There is a moment country children know
When half across the field the shadows go
And even the birds sing leisurely and slow.

There's timelessness in every passing tread;
Even the far-off train as it puffs ahead,
Even the voices calling them to bed.