Haiku of Issa
KOBAYASHI ISSA (1763-1828) is renowned as a writer of endearing poetry.
Much harassed by his stepmother, unhappy Issa (1763-1827) was a continual butt of fate. He is considered less poetic but more lovable than Basho and Buson. His tender, witty haiku about his dead children, his bitter poverty, his little insect friends, endear him to a reader.
The humbled Issa got rather far out when it comes to concerns, farther than many a modern pet-owner. Such a focus makes his poetry interesting.
Under his gaze everyday subjects are treated with ordinary language, but take on a lyrical qualitythrough sharp, inquisitive wit and overt sympathy too.
His way with words is of simple, unpretentious language. He often writes about moments and landscape elements, and captures isolation very well. His haiku poetry is called one of sentimental simplicity – and first and foremost endearing.
Poems by Issa
A sudden shower falls –
and naked I am riding
on a naked horse.
Summer shower –
naked horse
a naked rider.
A frog and I,
eyeball to eyeball.
My empty face,
betrayed by lightening.
Cool breeze,
tangled
in a grass-blade.
Step by step
up a summer mountain –
suddenly: the sea.
Cries of wild geese,
rumors spread about me.
Stillness –
clouds peak
in the lake.
Just by being,
I’m here –
in the snow-fall.
Showering
onto Mount Kiso,
the Milky Way.
What a moon –
if only my grumbling wife
were here.
In this windy nest
open your hungry
mouth in vain . . .
Issa, stepchild bird
On the death of his child:
Dew evaporates
and all our world
is dew . . . So dear,
So fresh, so fleeting
A gate made all of twigs
With woven grass
For hinges . . .
For a lock . . . This snail
Arise from sleep, old cat,
and with great yawns
and stretchings . . .
Amble out for love
Hi! My little hut
is newly-thatched
I see . . .
Blue morning-glories
Dim the grey cow comes
mooing mooing
and mooing
Out of the morning mist
What a peony . . .
demanding to be
measured
By my little fan!
A nursemaid scarecrow . . .
frightening the
wind and sun
From playing baby
A saddening world:
flowers whose sweet
blooms must fall . . .
As we too, alas . . .
Hi! Kids mimicking
cormorants . . . You are
more like
Real cormorants than
They!
Over the mountain
bright the full white
moon now smiles . . .
On the flower-thief
Good friend grasshopper
will you play
the caretaker
For my little grave?
Giddy grasshopper
take care . . . Do not
leap and crush
These pearls of dewdrop
Now be a good boy
take good care of
our house . . .
Cricket my child
Good evening breeze!
crooked and
meandering
Your homeward journey
The turnip farmer rose
and with a fresh-
pulled turnip . . .
Pointed to my road
I am going out . . .
be good and play
together
My cricket children
If strangers threaten
turn into fat
green bullfrogs . . .
Pond-cooling melons
Live in simple faith . . .
just as this
trusting cherry
Flowers, fades, and falls
Oh do not swat them . . .
unhappy flies
forever
Wringing their thin hands
In the city fields
contemplating
cherry-trees . . .
Strangers are like friends
Yellow autumn moon . . .
unimpressed
the scarecrow stands
Simply looking bored
Cruel autumn wind
cutting to the
very bones . . .
Of my poor scarecrow
I must turn over . . .
beware of local
earthquakes
Bedfellow cricket!
Visiting the graves . . .
trotting on to show
the way . . .
Old family dog
Before boiled chestnuts
cross-legged lad
is squatting . . .
Carved wooden Buddha
Nice: wild persimmons . . .
and notice how
the mother
Eats the bitter parts
What a gorgeous one
that fat sleek huge
old chestnut
I could not get at . . .
Oh former renter
I know it all, all . . .
down to
The very cold you felt
Plume of pampas grass
trembling
in every wind . . .
Hush, my lonely heart
Considerate dogs . . .
stepping off
into the snow
As I walk the path
Buddha on the hill . . .
from your holy
nose indeed
Hangs an icicle
The orphan speaks:
the year-end party . . .
I am even envious
Of scolded children |