Yosa Buson Poems

Blown from the west,
fallen leaves gather
in the east.
...

My arm for a pillow,
I really like myself
under the hazy moon.
...

Listening to the moon,
gazing at the croaking of frogs
in a field of ripe rice.
...

Evening wind:
water laps
the heron's legs.
...

Harvest moon--
called at his house,
he was digging potatoes.
...

Lighting one candle
with another candle--
spring evening.
...

You left in the morning, at evening my heart is in a
thousand pieces.
Why is it so far away?
...

Old well,
a fish leaps--
dark sound.
...

He's on the porch,
to escape the wife and kids--
how hot it is!
...

His Holiness the Abbot
is shitting
in the withered fields.
...