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Haiku of Sôen Nakagawa (1907-1984)
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Shigan (“Coffin of Poems”), 1936

"Ten Haiku of My Choice", 1973

Endless Vow: The Zen Path of Soen Nakagawa (presented with an Introduction by Eido Tai Shimano, Shambhala 1996)
In his "Preface" Kazuaki Tanahashi writes: "Zen Master Soen Nakagawa was a key figure in the transmission of Zen Buddhism from Japan to the Western world. As abbot of the historic Ryutaku Monastery, he trained monks and lay practitioners. Among them were Robert Aitken and Philip Kapleau, who later became two of the first Westerners to teach Zen in the United States . . . Soen Nakagawa was also an extraordinary poet. In Japan his haiku are renowned, even though no substantial collection of his work has been made available to the general public."

Gratitude!
tears melting into
mountain snow

March 11, 1931

How solemn
each patch of grass
illumined by the moon

Autumn 1932

Having entered monastery
I now know
my life is less than a dewdrop

Autumn 1932

Splendid affinity
sun's great halo
green leaves

May 5, 1933

Straw sandals tossed aside
approaching distant mountain slopes
haze!

Spring 1935

Bowing to Hakuin's Stupa at Ryutaku-ji in Mishima

Endless is my vow
under the azure sky
boundless autumn

Autumn 1937

May this maple leaf
from Hakuin's stupa
cross the ocean

Autumn 1937

On the occasion of the Death of Inido Sensei

One note of the shakuhachi
resounds endlessly
piercing the winter clouds

Winter 1938

A nun has come to visit
now in the moonlight
how bright the icicles!

Winter 1938

Disappearing
snow on mountain peak
unfurls a rainbow

April 1938

Spring approaches
the Pacific Ocean
will be my sitting mat

March 1949

Vast emptiness
as the year comes to a close
I re-enter the mountain

December 1949

Your slightest sorrow --
how dense the summer forest! --
my sorrow deepens

Summer 1949

Wisteria blossoms
fading
saha world

Spring 1953

Step by step
a new-born lamb
eternal spring

Spring 1955

ZEN HAIKU OF SOEN NAKAGAWA

Endless is my vow
under the azure sky
boundless autumn

Out in the blizzard
a monk sits
life and death matter

Vast solitude
my thinning body
transparents autumn

Touching one another
each becomes
a pebble of the world

On his travels, Soen Nakagawa Roshi liked to pick up pebbles from the different countries he visited and place them in a bag. Swinging the bag around, he would listen to the sound they made.

Snow of all countries
Melting into
Namu Dai Bosa.

Sound of mountain
sound of ocean
everywhere spring rain.

DANCE—

Into the zendo
Twilight maples
Come [dancing]

Soen—perhaps the zaniest Zen master of modern times—was, among other things, an accomplished haiku poet, and this was one of his favorite verses. It is featured in his book "Ten Haiku of My Choice." Soen often recalled the crimson leaves dancing in the twilight of the meditation hall at Ryutaku-ji in Japan, and he frequently brushed this poem. Here the character for dance forms a one-word barrier that is really moving.

HOME

Wherever I go
My HOME is here
This Boar Year!

The inscription, formed around the large character for HOME, is one of Soen's haiku. Soen spent much of his life traveling far abroad, but his real home was always Japan, and as he wrote in his poetic diary in January of 1971: "Mine is a homeless home and a selfless self."

Haiku in Nakagawa's own hand
(短冊 tanzaku)

「春の雨石を/ま古登尓/ぬらしけり」
(春の雨石をまことにぬらしけり)

The spring rain earnestly
wets the stones, deeply imbuing—
old becomes anew.

「露の寺いよ／＼古起軒畳ミ」
(露の寺いよいよ古き軒畳み)

At the dew-soaked temple,
Truly, the ancient eaves deepen—
A layered past.

「松よりも薄の高き月明り」

Higher than the pines,
the moonlight shines, sheer and bright—
a delicate glow.

「白つヽしはかりの/寺とおもうべし」
(白つつじばかりの寺とおもうべし)

Imagine a temple,
where only white azaleas bloom—
a pure white haven.

「禅堂の久る里の闇能今年竹」
(禅堂のぐるりの闇の今年竹)

Around the Zen hall,
darkness envelops—this year's bamboo
emerges in contrast.

中川宋淵の俳句集
Nakagawa Sōen's Haiku Collection
Commentaries generated by ChatGPT-4

人と馬親しみ合へる夜寒かな
手術衣に糊のこはばる夜寒哉
時計二つ音を合はせる夜寒哉
子鼠の梁渡る夜寒かな
物音の隣まぢかき夜寒哉
生きて此処に湯の香いたゞく夜寒かな
荷ぐるみに駅を追はれし夜寒かな
寥々と秋は澄みゆく身のほそり  
立秋の大日輪に歩み入 る
泳ぎつく魚の白さよ今朝の 秋
嶺近く新涼の身をひるがへ す
たらちねと湯にゐる二百十日か な
死相得しことにはふれず秋なか ば
秋彼岸近づく経をよみ習 ふ
晩秋や山越えて来し人の 顔
晩秋や蔵の中吹く風の 音
晩秋や藪ころげ出る栗のい が
浮世なほ酒に酔ひ哭く秋のくれ  
生みたての卵掌におく秋の 暮
秋の夜は夢を見て又泣くばか り
爽かに眼の光る別れ哉  
秋深き石の小臼のおきどこ ろ
ゆく秋のわれにあつまる異族の 目
おん像遥かの雲に鳥渡 る
樹海晴れてはや渡り来る小鳥 哉
鶸啼いて君が住む山寒から ん
氷ともならで鴫鳴く夜明か な
花の世の花のやうなる人ばか り
紅葉の色きはまりて風を絶 つ
竹の子の夜更けて生る露の中
聖燭に更けゆく露の身な里けり

人と馬親しみ合へる夜寒かな

• 人と馬 (hito to uma): "People and horses"
• 親しみ合へる (shitashimiaeru): "Becoming close" or "forming a bond"
• 夜寒かな (yosamu kana): "The cold night" or "How cold the night is"

Putting it all together, the haiku conveys a scene where people and horses are forming a close bond or getting familiar with each other in the chill of the night. The phrase "夜寒かな" (yosamu kana) adds an emotive element, expressing a sense of wonder or perhaps the bitter-sweetness of the moment amidst the cold. The haiku encapsulates a moment of connection and warmth between humans and animals against the backdrop of nature's coldness, highlighting a contrast between the warmth of companionship and the cold environment.

手術衣に糊のこはばる夜寒哉

• 手術衣に (shujutsui ni): "On the surgical gown"
• 糊のこはばる (nori no kohabaru): "The starch is stiff"
• 夜寒哉 (yosamu kana): "The cold night" or "How cold the night is"

The haiku describes a scene where the surgical gown has become stiff with starch. This detail, combined with the mention of the cold night, evokes a sense of the clinical or austere environment, possibly of a hospital or medical setting, under the chill of a cold night. The phrase "夜寒哉" (yosamu kana) at the end emphasizes the coldness of the night, adding an emotive layer to the scene, perhaps suggesting the loneliness or the stark reality of the medical profession, or the vulnerability of human life contrasted against the impersonal nature of medical attire and settings. The haiku captures a moment that is both specific in its imagery and broad in its emotional resonance.

時計二つ音を合はせる夜寒哉

• 時計二つ (tokei futatsu): "Two clocks"
• 音を合はせる (oto wo awaseru): "Synchronize their sounds" or "match their sounds"
• 夜寒哉 (yosamu kana): "The cold night" or "How cold the night is"

The haiku depicts a scene where two clocks are synchronizing their sounds or ticking in harmony during a cold night. The mention of "夜寒哉" (yosamu kana) emphasizes the chilliness of the night, adding a layer of depth to the moment of synchronicity. This imagery might evoke feelings of solitude, contemplation, or the passage of time, as the ticking clocks provide a steady, comforting rhythm against the backdrop of the cold night. It suggests a quiet, reflective moment where the only companionship is the synchronized ticking of the clocks, highlighting a sense of order and continuity amidst the cold and potentially lonely environment.

子鼠の梁渡る夜寒かな

• 子鼠の (konezumi no): "A baby mouse's"
• 梁渡る (hari wataru): "crossing the beam"
• 夜寒かな (yosamu kana): "The cold night" or "How cold the night is"

The haiku portrays a scene where a baby mouse is crossing a beam, set against the backdrop of a cold night. The mention of "夜寒かな" (yosamu kana) emphasizes the chill of the night, adding an emotive layer to the visual of the small, vulnerable creature navigating its way. This moment captures the quiet survival and activity of even the smallest beings amidst the stillness and harshness of the cold night. It evokes feelings of solitude, resilience, and the unnoticed moments of life that continue regardless of the surrounding conditions.

物音の隣まぢかき夜寒哉

• 物音の (monooto no): "The sound of things" or "noises"
• 隣まぢかき (tonari majikaki): "very close to the neighbor"
• 夜寒哉 (yosamu kana): "The cold night" or "How cold the night is"

The haiku portrays a scene where the noises or sounds of objects are felt as being very close to the neighbor during a cold night. The phrase "夜寒哉" (yosamu kana) at the end of the haiku emphasizes the chilliness of the night, suggesting that the cold amplifies the experience of these sounds or perhaps makes the silence between them more profound.
This haiku might evoke feelings of closeness or intrusion, reflecting on how the quiet of a cold night can make every sound seem louder or more significant. It also touches on the theme of proximity and perhaps isolation, as the awareness of a neighbor's presence through sounds highlights both physical closeness and the emotional distance that can exist between individuals. The cold night serves as a backdrop that enhances the intimacy and intensity of these mundane sounds, creating a moment of reflection or heightened awareness.

生きて此処に湯の香いたゞく夜寒かな

• 生きて此処に (ikite koko ni): "Living here" or "Being alive here"
• 湯の香 (yu no kaori) いただく (itadaku): "Receiving the scent of hot water" or more naturally, "Enjoying the fragrance of the bath"
• 夜寒かな (yosamu kana): "The cold night" or "How cold the night is"

The haiku conveys a moment where the speaker, being alive and present in a specific place, enjoys the fragrance of a hot bath during a cold night. The phrase "夜寒かな" (yosamu kana) emphasizes the coldness of the night, creating a contrast between the chill of the outside world and the warmth and comfort provided by the hot bath.
This juxtaposition highlights a deep appreciation for the simple, yet profound pleasure of experiencing warmth in the midst of cold, suggesting themes of gratitude, presence, and the beauty of life's simple comforts. The haiku captures a fleeting moment of contentment and the sensory pleasure of warmth, suggesting a mindfulness or appreciation of the present moment amidst the harshness of nature.

荷ぐるみに駅を追はれし夜寒かな

• 荷ぐるみに (nigurumi ni): "With all one's belongings" or "laden with baggage"
• 駅を追はれし (eki wo owareshi): "Driven from the station" or "having been chased away from the station"
• 夜寒かな (yosamu kana): "The cold night" or "How cold the night is"

The haiku paints a picture of someone who, burdened with all their belongings, has been chased away or forced to leave the train station, all occurring on a cold night. The phrase "夜寒かな" (yosamu kana) underscores the harshness of the cold, adding a layer of physical discomfort to the emotional distress of being uprooted or expelled.
This imagery evokes feelings of vulnerability and displacement, highlighting the contrast between the cold, unwelcoming outside environment and the warmth, safety, and connection that the individual is presumably seeking but has been denied. The haiku captures a moment of hardship and loneliness, emphasizing the struggle against both social and natural elements.

寥々と秋は澄みゆく身のほそり 

• 寥々と (ryōryō to): "Sparse" or "desolate"
• 秋は澄みゆく (aki wa sumiyuku): "Autumn is clearing" or "Autumn becomes clear"
• 身のほそり (mi no hosori): "Thinning of oneself" or "becoming slender"

The phrase conjures an image of autumn progressing into a clearer, more transparent state, perhaps indicating the late stages of the season where the air is crisp, and the surroundings become more sparse as leaves fall. The mention of "身のほそり" (mi no hosori) metaphorically suggests a personal reflection of becoming leaner or more refined, possibly in spirit or character, mirroring the seasonal transition.
This expression captures a moment of introspection and natural beauty, evoking a sense of solitude and contemplation. It reflects the emotional resonance with the changing season, where the external world's transformation mirrors an internal process of clarification or purification. The sparse beauty of autumn, with its clear skies and dwindling foliage, is paralleled by a personal journey towards simplicity or essence.

立秋の大日輪に歩み入る

• 立秋の (Risshū no): "The beginning of autumn" or "Start of autumn"
• 大日輪に (Dainichiwa ni): "Into the great sun" or "towards the large sun"
• 歩み入る (Ayumi iru): "Step into" or "walk into"

The phrase captures a moment of entering the early days of autumn, symbolized by moving towards or into the great sun. "立秋の" (Risshū no) refers to the beginning of autumn, a specific point in the traditional Japanese lunar calendar marking the end of summer and the start of the cooler season. "大日輪" (Dainichiwa) evokes the image of the sun, suggesting not just the physical sun but possibly its warmth, the passage of time, or the cyclical nature of seasons. "歩み入る" (Ayumi iru) implies action and intention, suggesting a journey or a deliberate movement into this new phase of the year.
This expression paints a picture of embracing change, of moving forward with purpose into a season that symbolizes transition and the inevitable cycle of life. It conveys a sense of acceptance and readiness to face what comes with the changing seasons, reflecting a deeper contemplation of nature's rhythms and the human experience within them.

泳ぎつく魚の白さよ今朝の秋

• 泳ぎつく (Oyogi tsuku): "Swimming exhaustively" or "having swum to the point of exhaustion"
• 魚の白さよ (Uo no shirosa yo): "The whiteness of the fish"
• 今朝の秋 (Kesa no aki): "This morning's autumn"

The line beautifully describes a scene where the exhaustive effort of a fish swimming is highlighted by its stark whiteness, perhaps against the backdrop of clear or shallow water, under the light of a morning in autumn. The emphasis on "魚の白さよ" (Uo no shirosa yo) not only points to the physical appearance of the fish but also to its visibility or prominence within the setting, making it a poignant symbol or focal point within the natural landscape of early autumn.
The mention of "今朝の秋" (Kesa no aki) situates this observation in the early hours of an autumn day, suggesting a connection between the season's characteristic clarity and freshness and the scene being described. This line evokes a sense of momentary beauty and the fleeting nature of life, as seen in the exhaustive swim of the fish, set against the seasonal transition into autumn. It conveys a deep appreciation for the subtle, often overlooked moments in nature, highlighting the interconnectedness of all things within the cycle of seasons.

嶺近く新涼の身をひるがへす

• 嶺近く (Mine chikaku): "Near the mountain peak" or "close to the ridge"
• 新涼の (Shinryō no): "New coolness" or "fresh coolness"
• 身をひるがへす (Mi wo hirugaesu): "Turning one's body over" or more figuratively, "refreshing oneself"

The phrase describes someone near a mountain peak experiencing a fresh, new coolness, perhaps indicating the arrival of early autumn or a change in the weather. The act of "身をひるがへす" (Mi wo hirugaesu) suggests a physical or metaphorical rejuvenation or revitalization, as if the coolness is so refreshing that it compels one to turn over or embrace this change fully.
This imagery conveys a sense of escape or relief from the heat, likely of the summer, and a welcoming of the cooler, more comfortable temperatures. The proximity to the mountain peak might suggest a closer connection to the natural world and its cycles, emphasizing the physical and emotional impact of seasonal changes on the individual. It evokes a moment of solitude and reflection, a pause to fully immerse oneself in the sensory experience of the natural world's shift from warmth to coolness.

たらちねと湯にゐる二百十日かな

This Japanese haiku, "たらちねと湯にゐる二百十日か な", can be broken down for a more nuanced understanding. However, it's important to note that translating poetry, especially haiku, involves interpreting both the literal and the deeper, often symbolic meanings that the original language conveys through specific word choices and cultural references. Haiku traditionally capture moments in nature, emotions, or seasons with a set structure and often include a seasonal word (kigo) and a cutting word (kireji).

• たらちねと (tarachine to): "Tarachine" is an old Japanese term that refers to one's parents or ancestors. The particle "to" is often used in Japanese to mean "and" or "with," so this phrase could be interpreted as "with my parents" or "alongside my parents," suggesting a sense of companionship or reflection on familial bonds.
• 湯にゐる (yu ni wiru): This part is written with archaic Japanese characters. "湯にゐる" (yu ni wiru) in modern Japanese would be "湯にいる" (yu ni iru), meaning "in the hot water" or "in the bath." It implies a scene of being in a hot bath, which can be associated with relaxation, cleansing, or a moment of tranquility.
• 二百十日 (nihyaku toka): "Nihyaku toka" translates directly to "two hundred and ten days." In the context of Japanese culture, this refers to a specific day known as "二百十日" (Hachijū-hachiya), or the 210th day after the first day of spring according to the traditional Japanese lunar calendar. This day is traditionally believed to mark a period prone to natural disasters, especially typhoons. It's a day often associated with paying attention to the weather and the forces of nature.
• か な (ka na): In haiku, "か" (ka) and "な" (na) are often used as a "kireji" or cutting word, which provides a pause or an emotional, reflective, or questioning emphasis to the poem. It doesn't have a direct translation into English but serves to give depth or an introspective quality to the haiku, often inviting the reader to ponder or feel the emotion or scene more deeply.

Putting these elements together, this haiku invokes an image of being in a bath, perhaps in contemplation or in a moment of tranquility, with a reference to one's parents or ancestors. It connects this personal, intimate scene with the broader, more universal experience of the passage of time and the cyclical nature of the seasons, specifically pointing to a day associated with potential turmoil yet doing so in a reflective, possibly calm manner. The use of "ka na" at the end emphasizes this reflective quality, inviting the reader to ponder the connections between personal experience, familial bonds, and the larger cycles of nature and life.

死相得しことにはふれず秋なかば

• 死相得しことにはふれず (Shisō toku koto ni wa furezu): This segment of the haiku can be roughly translated as "not touching upon the matter of the deathly aspect [one has] acquired." The phrase suggests an avoidance or an unspoken acknowledgment of an evident, perhaps impending, mortality or a significant change symbolizing a 'deathly aspect'—not necessarily physical death but could be the end or transformation of something significant in one's life or nature.
• 秋なかば (Aki nakaba): "Aki nakaba" translates directly to "the middle of autumn." In the context of a haiku, mentioning a specific season is critical as it sets the temporal and emotional backdrop of the poem. Autumn, with its connotations of change, maturity, and the transient beauty of falling leaves, often symbolizes transition, impermanence, and the cycle of life and death in Japanese literature and poetry.

Therefore, when these elements are combined, the haiku could be expressing a poignant moment in the midst of autumn, a season rich with metaphorical significance. The poet may be reflecting on the themes of change and mortality, perhaps in their own life or in the natural world around them, without directly confronting or dwelling on the 'deathly aspect' they have observed or experienced. Instead, there's an implicit acknowledgment of this aspect, set against the backdrop of autumn, which itself is a subtle reminder of impermanence and the beauty found within these cycles of change.
The haiku evokes a feeling of reflective contemplation, perhaps suggesting that in the midst of life's inevitable transitions and the acknowledgment of mortality, there is still a choice to focus on the present moment, the beauty of now, and the ongoing flow of life that autumn so elegantly symbolizes.

秋彼岸近づく経をよみ習ふ

• 秋彼岸 (Aki Higan): "秋彼岸" refers to the autumn equinox, a period in Japan that is traditionally observed as a time to honor ancestors and to visit family graves. The term "彼岸" (Higan) itself means the "other shore" in Buddhist terms, signifying enlightenment, and the transition from the world of suffering to the world of nirvana. The autumn equinox, being one of two equinoxes in the year, is a time when day and night are of equal length, symbolizing balance and reflection.
• 近づく (Chikazuku): "近づく" means "to approach" or "to draw near." In the context of this haiku, it indicates that the time of the autumn equinox is approaching, suggesting a period of coming reflection, remembrance, and spiritual or familial observance.
• 経を (Kyō o): "経" refers to Buddhist sutras or scriptures. These are religious texts that are read, chanted, or studied as part of Buddhist practice, often used in rituals or as a form of meditation and guidance.
• よみ習ふ (Yomi Narau): "よみ習う" is a compound verb formed from "読み" (yomi, meaning "reading") and "習う" (narau, meaning "to learn" or "to practice"). Thus, it translates to "practicing reading" or "learning to recite," indicating the act of studying or reciting the sutras.

Putting it all together, the haiku speaks to the practice of preparing for the autumn equinox, a significant time for reflection and honoring the dead in Japanese culture, by learning to read or recite Buddhist sutras. This preparation is both a spiritual discipline and a way to connect with the traditions of honoring one's ancestors. The haiku captures a moment of personal growth and reverence, set against the backdrop of the changing seasons, highlighting the cyclical nature of life, remembrance, and spiritual practice.

晩秋や山越えて来し人の顔

• 晩秋 (Banshū) or 晩秋や (Banshū ya): "晩秋" means "late autumn," indicating the time of year this haiku is set in. The "や" (ya) following "晩秋" is a particle often used in haiku for emphasis or to set the scene. It can convey a sense of exclamation or a pause to reflect, introducing the subject with a nuanced appreciation of the season, which in this case is the late autumn.
• 山越えて (Yama koete): "山越えて" means "crossing over the mountain" or "having crossed the mountain." This phrase conveys movement and transition, suggesting a journey or a passage through a natural barrier. It implies effort, change, or overcoming obstacles, and in the context of this haiku, it adds a sense of journey or pilgrimage that the subject has undertaken.
• 来し (Kishi): "来し" is the past form of "来る" (kuru), which means "to come." It indicates that the action of coming has been completed, so in this context, it refers to someone who has arrived or come here after crossing the mountain.
• 人の顔 (Hito no kao): "人の顔" translates directly to "the person's face." It signifies the focus of the haiku on the individual, specifically their face, which could imply an examination of their expression, emotions, or state of being after their journey.

When put together, "晩秋や山越えて来し人の顔" evokes an image of someone who has arrived after a journey over the mountains, in the late autumn. The haiku captures a moment that could reflect a range of emotions or conditions—weariness, relief, contemplation, transformation—mirrored in the person's face. The setting of late autumn adds layers of meaning related to the end of a cycle, the transition into winter, and perhaps the melancholy or reflective mood associated with this season. This haiku, like many, leaves much to the imagination, inviting readers to ponder the deeper story behind the person's journey and their expression upon arrival.

晩秋や蔵の中吹く風の音

• 晩秋や (Banshū ya): "晩秋" means "late autumn," marking the time of year this haiku is set in. The particle "や" (ya) is often used in haiku to add emphasis or to introduce the scene, here highlighting the season with a sense of poignancy or significance.
• 蔵の中 (Kura no naka): "蔵" refers to a storehouse or warehouse, traditionally used in Japan to store rice, valuables, and other goods. "の中" means "inside," so "蔵の中" translates to "inside the storehouse." This setting suggests a specific, perhaps intimate or secluded space, invoking images of a place filled with history, memories, or stored treasures, now quiet and possibly neglected as winter approaches.
• 吹く風 (Fuku kaze): "吹く" means "to blow," and "風" means "wind," so "吹く風" refers to the blowing wind. The mention of wind adds a dynamic element to the scene, suggesting movement and the passage of time, as well as the unseen forces of nature that continue to affect even the most stationary and stable of human constructs.
• 音 (Oto): "音" means "sound," indicating the focus of the haiku on the auditory experience. The sound of the wind blowing through the storehouse becomes the central sensory detail around which the poem's mood is built.

Combined, "晩秋や蔵の中吹く風の音" paints a vivid scene of a late autumn moment, where the sound of the wind blowing through an empty storehouse evokes feelings of solitude, nostalgia, or the melancholic beauty of the changing seasons. The specific mention of the storehouse suggests themes of preservation, memory, and the passage of time, while the wind's sound highlights the ephemeral, transient nature of life and the seasons. This haiku invites reflection on the quiet, often unnoticed moments that deeply connect us to the cycles of the natural world.

晩秋や藪ころげ出る栗のいが

• 晩秋や (Banshū ya): "晩秋" means "late autumn," indicating the season in which this haiku is set. The particle "や" (ya) is often used in haiku to add nuance, emphasizing the setting or the mood, in this case, highlighting the time of year with its deep seasonal connotations of ending, maturity, and preparation for winter.
• 藪ころげ出る (Yabu koroge deru): This phrase combines "藪" (yabu), which means "thicket" or "bush," with "ころげ出る" (koroge deru), which translates to "rolling out" or "tumbling out." Together, they describe the action of something rolling out of a thicket or bush, suggesting a sudden or natural movement within a dense, perhaps untamed, part of the landscape.
• 栗のいが (Kuri no iga): "栗" (kuri) means "chestnut," and "いが" (iga) refers to the spiky outer shell or burr of the chestnut. So, "栗のいが" describes the spiky chestnut burrs, which are a common sight in autumn as chestnuts ripen and fall to the ground.

The haiku, therefore, captures a moment in late autumn when the spiky chestnut burrs tumble out of the thickets onto the ground. This imagery evokes the seasonal cycle of growth, maturation, and harvest, reflecting on the natural processes of change and renewal. The specific mention of the chestnut burrs rolling out of the thicket may also suggest the hidden treasures or surprises that the natural world reveals, especially in a season of transformation and decay. Through this scene, the haiku conveys a sense of the passage of time and the beauty found in the simple, ephemeral moments of nature.

浮世なほ酒に酔ひ哭く秋のくれ 

• 浮世 (Ukiyo): Traditionally, "浮世" refers to the transient, fleeting world, capturing the concept of impermanence and the everyday life and pleasures of the Edo period (1603-1868) in Japan. It is often associated with the floating world of pleasure and entertainment, such as in ukiyo-e, the famous woodblock prints. However, it can also imply the sorrowful aspects of life's transience.
• なほ (Nao): This word can mean "still," "even more," or "as ever," indicating continuation or emphasis on the state described.
• 酒に酔ひ (Sake ni yoi): "酒に酔ひ" means "drunk on sake" or "intoxicated with alcohol." Sake, a traditional Japanese rice wine, often appears in Japanese literature and poetry as a symbol of escape, celebration, or sorrow.
• 哭く (Naku): "哭く" means "to weep" or "to cry." Its use here suggests deep emotion or grief, a strong response to the feelings or situations being described.
• 秋のくれ (Aki no kure): "秋のくれ" translates to "the end of autumn," indicating the time of year. This period can symbolize the culmination of growth and the beginning of the end, leading to winter. It often evokes feelings of melancholy, reflection, and the beauty of impermanence.

Putting it all together, "浮世なほ酒に酔ひ哭く秋のくれ" can be interpreted as a poignant reflection on the enduring, perhaps bittersweet nature of life ("浮世") in which one is "still" or "as ever" finding solace or escape in being "intoxicated with sake," leading to tears ("哭く") as autumn fades ("秋のくれ"). This haiku captures a deeply emotional and introspective moment, likely reflecting on the transience of life and the mixed emotions that come with change and the passage of time. The act of weeping while intoxicated as autumn ends suggests a lamentation for the passing of time, the impermanence of joy, and the inevitable approach of the colder, harsher season of winter, all while immersed in the fleeting pleasures and sorrows of the floating world.

生みたての卵掌におく秋の暮

• 生みたての卵 (Umidate no tamago): "生みたての" translates to "freshly laid," and "卵" means "egg." Together, "生みたての卵" refers to a freshly laid egg, evoking a sense of newness, warmth, and the beginning of life. The mention of a freshly laid egg immediately introduces a natural, almost intimate element to the haiku, emphasizing the connection between life and the cycles of nature.
• 掌におく (Tenohira ni oku): "掌" (tenohira) means "palm (of the hand)," and "におく" (ni oku) means "to place" or "to lay on." So, "掌におく" translates to "laying on the palm," indicating a gentle, careful act of holding or cradling something precious or delicate in one's hand. This action brings a tactile intimacy to the moment, focusing on the physical sensation of holding life in the form of a freshly laid egg.
• 秋の暮 (Aki no kure): "秋の暮" refers to "the end of autumn," a time when the season transitions into winter. This period is often associated with reflection, completion, and the preparation for colder days ahead. The term "暮" (kure) suggests dusk or the end of something, in this case, the autumn season, adding a layer of temporal depth and a sense of fleeting beauty to the haiku.

When combined, "生みたての卵掌におく秋の暮" captures a moment of serene beauty and profound reflection. The haiku juxtaposes the warmth and potential of a freshly laid egg, a symbol of new life and beginnings, with the palm of a hand, a personal, human touch that connects the individual to the cycles of nature. This moment is set against the backdrop of late autumn, a time of change and introspection. The haiku invites the reader to contemplate the cycle of life, the fleeting moments of beauty in nature, and the personal connections to these universal experiences. It's a snapshot that encapsulates the transient yet enduring beauty of the natural world and our place within it.

秋の夜は夢を見て又泣くばかり

• 秋の夜は (Aki no yoru wa): This phrase translates to "on an autumn night," setting the temporal and atmospheric context. Autumn, with its changing leaves and cooler air, often symbolizes transition, melancholy, and reflection in Japanese literature and poetry. The night amplifies these feelings, adding a layer of introspection and solitude.
• 夢を見て (Yume wo mite): "夢を見て" means "having seen a dream" or "after dreaming." Dreams, in literature, often represent desires, fears, memories, and the subconscious. The act of dreaming here suggests a journey through inner thoughts or experiences that evoke strong emotional responses.
• 又泣くばかり (Mata naku bakari): "又泣くばかり" can be translated as "just end up crying again." The word "又" (mata) indicates repetition or continuation, "泣く" (naku) means "to cry," and "ばかり" (bakari) implies that crying is the sole or primary outcome. This phrase expresses a cycle of emotion, where the dreams experienced lead invariably to tears.

Together, "秋の夜は夢を見て又泣くばかり" can be interpreted as a poignant reflection on the emotional depth of autumn nights, where dreams—perhaps filled with longing, loss, or unattainable desires—lead to a sense of sorrow so profound that it results in tears. This line captures the essence of human vulnerability, the power of our dreams to affect us deeply, and the melancholic beauty of autumn as a season of reflective emotion. It speaks to the universal experience of confronting our innermost feelings in the quiet, introspective hours of the night, and the sometimes overwhelming nostalgia or sadness that can accompany our dreams.

爽かに眼の光る別れ哉 

• 爽かに (Sawayaka ni): "爽かに" translates to "refreshingly" or "briskly," conveying a sense of clarity, freshness, or invigorating quality. It suggests a feeling or atmosphere that is vivid, clear, or uplifting in some way.
• 眼の光る (Me no hikaru): "眼の光る" directly translates to "eyes shining" or "glowing eyes." This expression evokes the image of eyes that are bright with emotion or spirit, possibly reflecting a range of feelings like joy, determination, anticipation, or even sadness, given the context.
• 別れ (Wakare): "別れ" means "farewell" or "parting." It is a term laden with emotion, capturing the moment of leaving someone or something behind. Farewells can be poignant, filled with a mix of sadness for the separation and gratitude for the time spent together.
• 哉 (Kana): "哉" is an exclamatory particle used in classical Japanese poetry, including haiku and waka, to add emphasis or an emotional touch to the statement. It can express wonder, exclamation, or a reflective, contemplative mood.

Combined, "爽かに眼の光る別れ哉" can be interpreted as expressing a moment of parting that is, in some way, invigorating or clear-eyed. The shining eyes might convey strong emotions felt during this farewell—perhaps a mix of sadness and a poignant sense of beauty or hope. The use of "哉" (kana) at the end emphasizes the emotional depth and the reflective nature of this moment.
This phrase beautifully captures the complexity of saying goodbye, suggesting that even in moments of separation, there can be a certain freshness or clarity of emotion that leaves a lasting impression. It reminds us of the bittersweet nature of farewells, where the sadness of parting is intertwined with a deeper appreciation for the moments shared and the emotions experienced.

秋深き石の小臼のおきどころ

• 秋深き (Aki fukaki): "秋深き" translates to "deep autumn," referring to the late stage of autumn when the season has fully matured. This time of year is often associated with deeper, more introspective moods, as the vibrant life of summer and early autumn gives way to the quiet and preparation for winter. The phrase suggests a setting that is rich with the seasonal attributes of late autumn: cooler temperatures, changing leaves, and a sense of the cycle of life moving towards dormancy.
• 石の (Ishi no): "石の" means "of stone," indicating that the object described is made from stone. This material reference adds a sense of permanence, stability, or naturalness to the image being depicted.
• 小臼 (Ko usu): "小臼" refers to a "small mortar." In traditional Japanese culture, mortars (usu) were used for grinding or pounding various substances, often food items like grains or seeds, to prepare them for cooking or consumption. A small stone mortar would thus evoke domestic scenes, traditional culinary practices, or the simple, essential tasks of daily life connected to nature and the seasons.
• おきどころ (Oki dokoro): "おきどころ" can be translated as "the place where it is put" or "the proper place for something." This term suggests a focus on the location or setting where the small stone mortar is found or belongs, highlighting the importance of placement and context in understanding or appreciating the object's significance.

Combined, "秋深き石の小臼のおきどころ" conjures an image of a small stone mortar in the context of deep autumn. This setting implies a connection between the season, with its themes of maturity, transition, and reflection, and the traditional, perhaps timeless, practice of using simple, natural tools in daily life. The phrase might evoke the beauty of the ordinary, the blending of human activity with the rhythms of nature, or a moment of pause to contemplate the proper place and role of seemingly simple objects within the broader tapestry of life and the changing seasons.

ゆく秋のわれにあつまる異族の目

• ゆく秋の (Yuku aki no): "ゆく秋" translates to "the passing autumn" or "autumn that is leaving," signifying the transient nature of the season as it progresses towards its end. The phrase sets a temporal context, evoking the melancholy beauty and impermanence characteristic of autumn.
• われにあつまる (Ware ni atsumaru): "われにあつまる" means "gather around me" or "collect towards me." It suggests a convergence or accumulation of attention, focus, or perhaps elements or entities, towards the speaker or the subject of the poem.
• 異族の目 (Izoku no me): "異族" refers to "people of another race" or "foreigners," implying those who are from different cultural, ethnic, or social backgrounds. "目" means "eyes." Together, "異族の目" translates to "the eyes of foreigners" or "the gaze of people from another race." This phrase hints at scrutiny, curiosity, or a variety of perspectives directed towards the speaker by those who are considered outsiders or different in some way.

When combined, "ゆく秋のわれにあつまる異族の目" might be interpreted as reflecting on the feeling of being observed or surrounded by the curious or scrutinizing gazes of outsiders during the waning days of autumn. This could symbolize a moment of introspection or vulnerability, as the speaker becomes the focal point of attention from those who are not from their own community or cultural background. The imagery of "passing autumn" adds a layer of fleeting beauty and the sense of a moment that is both poignant and transient, much like the experience of being singularly noticed or apart from the surrounding crowd.
This phrase evokes a complex interplay of themes, including the passage of time, the feeling of otherness, and the human desire for connection or understanding across cultural divides, all set against the backdrop of the changing, ephemeral nature of autumn.

おん像遥かの雲に鳥渡る

• おん像 (On zō): "おん" is a honorific prefix often used in Japanese to confer respect or reverence. "像" means "image" or "statue," particularly in religious or spiritual contexts. Therefore, "おん像" could be interpreted as referring to a revered image or statue, possibly of a Buddhist deity or an important spiritual figure, though the precise interpretation might depend on additional context not provided here.
• 遥かの (Haruka no): "遥か" means "distant," "far away," or "remote." When used with "の," it describes something that is far in the distance, evoking a sense of vastness or unreachable expansiveness. This could apply to physical distance or a metaphorical sense of something being far-reaching or profound.
• 雲に (Kumo ni): "雲" means "cloud," and "に" is a particle that can indicate location or direction. "雲に" thus means "in the clouds" or "among the clouds," suggesting an image or scene set against the backdrop of the sky, with clouds as a significant element.
• 鳥渡る (Tori wataru): "鳥" means "bird," and "渡る" means "to cross" or "to pass over." Together, "鳥渡る" describes birds flying or passing over something, conveying movement and the act of traversing space, in this case, the sky or clouds.

Putting it all together, "おん像遥かの雲に鳥渡る" can be interpreted as depicting birds flying across the distant clouds, near or in the vicinity of a revered image or statue, perhaps symbolizing a connection between the earthly and the divine. The imagery evokes a sense of peacefulness and transcendence, with the natural grace of the birds' flight juxtaposed against the backdrop of the vast, open sky and the spiritual significance of the revered image. This phrase captures a moment of beauty and spiritual reflection, inviting contemplation of the natural world's wonders and the deeper meanings that lie beyond our immediate perception.

樹海晴れてはや渡り来る小鳥哉

• 樹海 (Jukai): Literally translates to "sea of trees," often referring to dense, forested areas that resemble a vast ocean of trees. The term can evoke images of deep, expansive woods, suggesting both beauty and mystery.
• 晴れて (Harete): Comes from the verb "晴れる" (hareru), meaning "to clear up" or "to become sunny." Here, it indicates a change in weather, with the skies clearing up, suggesting a sense of renewal or a brightening mood.
• はや (Haya): An adverb meaning "quickly," "promptly," or "soon." It implies that the action following is happening swiftly or immediately after the clearing of the skies.
• 渡り来る (Watarikuru): "渡り" (watari) from the verb "渡る" (wataru), means "to cross over" or "to migrate," and "来る" (kuru) means "to come." Together, "渡り来る" describes the act of coming or arriving through migration or movement, typically used for birds or other animals that travel distances.
• 小鳥 (Kotori): Means "small bird" or "songbird." It specifies the subject of the haiku, focusing on the delicate and often joyful presence of these creatures in nature.
• 哉 (Kana): An exclamatory particle used in traditional Japanese poetry, including haiku, to impart an emotional or reflective quality to the verse. It can express wonder, admiration, or a contemplative mood, and here it serves to underscore the poet's reflective stance or emotional response to the scene.

When combined, "樹海晴れてはや渡り来る小鳥哉" can be interpreted as a moment of natural beauty and transience, where the clearing of the skies over a vast, dense forest prompts the quick arrival or passage of small birds. The haiku captures a fleeting moment of harmony between the elements—light, forest, and wildlife—highlighting the interconnectedness of nature and the simple, yet profound joy found in witnessing such scenes. The use of "哉" (kana) at the end adds a layer of emotional depth, inviting the reader to share in the poet's sense of wonder and appreciation for this natural spectacle.

鶸啼いて君が住む山寒からん

• 鶸啼いて (Hiyodori naite): "鶸" (hiyodori) refers to the Japanese bush warbler, a bird known for its distinctive and beautiful song. "啼いて" (naite) is the te-form of "啼く" (naku), which means "to sing" or "to cry" in the context of a bird's call. Therefore, "鶸啼いて" translates to "the bush warbler sings" or "the bush warbler cries," setting a scene filled with the sounds of nature.
• 君が住む (Kimi ga sumu): "君が" (kimi ga) means "you" in a slightly poetic or affectionate form, indicating the person being addressed or referred to. "住む" (sumu) means "to live" or "to reside." Together, "君が住む" means "where you live" or "you live."
• 山 (Yama): Simply means "mountain." In Japanese poetry, mountains often symbolize solidity, permanence, or a connection to nature, but they can also represent obstacles or the sublime beauty of the natural world.
• 寒からん (Samukaran): This is a conjugated form of "寒い" (samui), which means "cold." The "からん" ending suggests a conditional or speculative mood, akin to saying "it might be cold" or "perhaps it will be cold." It expresses uncertainty or contemplation about the future state of being cold.

Putting it all together, "鶸啼いて君が住む山寒からん" can be interpreted as creating an image of a mountain where the listener or a cherished person resides, with the bush warbler singing, and speculating that it might be cold there. This scene combines the beauty and serenity of nature, represented by the singing bird and the mountain, with a personal, emotional concern for the well-being of someone dear who lives in that potentially cold mountainous area. The phrase beautifully conveys a sense of longing or concern, blending the natural landscape with deep human emotions.

氷ともならで鴫鳴く夜明かな

• 氷ともならで (Kōri tomo narade): This phrase combines "氷" (kōri), meaning "ice," with a construction "ともならで," which is a classical form indicating "without becoming" or "not yet turned into." Thus, "氷ともならで" can be translated as "not yet turned into ice," implying a state of coldness where water is very cold but has not frozen over, suggesting the time is either late autumn or early winter.
• 鴫鳴く (Shigi naku): "鴫" (shigi) refers to a snipe, a type of bird known for its distinctive call. "鳴く" (naku) means "to cry" or "to sing" in the context of a bird's call. Together, "鴫鳴く" means "the snipe cries" or "the snipe sings," introducing the sound of the bird as a central element of the scene, which adds a sense of life and perhaps melancholy or loneliness to the cold setting.
• 夜明かな (Yoake kana): "夜明け" (yoake) means "dawn" or "daybreak," and "かな" (kana) is an exclamatory particle used in classical Japanese poetry to add emotional emphasis or a reflective quality. Therefore, "夜明かな" can be interpreted as "oh, the dawn!" or an expressive way to highlight the moment of transition from night to day.

Combined, "氷ともならで鴫鳴く夜明かな" evokes an image of a cold, perhaps frosty morning just before dawn, where the water has not yet frozen, and the call of a snipe pierces the quiet as daybreak approaches. The scene is filled with anticipation and the natural beauty of a world caught between autumnal decay and the stillness of winter. The mention of the snipe, a bird that might be associated with late autumn or early winter landscapes, adds a poignant touch, suggesting the presence of life and continuity even in the cold pre-dawn hours. The exclamatory "かな" emphasizes the poet's reflective or emotional response to this scene, inviting the reader to share in the moment's quiet beauty and the subtle, fleeting transitions of the natural world.

花の世の花のやうなる人ばかり

• 花の世 (Hana no yo): "花の世" literally translates to "the world of flowers," but metaphorically, it can denote a world filled with beauty and transience, echoing the Buddhist concept of the impermanence of all things. Flowers, with their fleeting beauty, are often used in Japanese poetry to symbolize the ephemeral nature of life and the poignant beauty found in transient moments.
• 花のようなる (Hana no yō naru): This phrase means "becoming like a flower." It suggests adopting the qualities of a flower—beauty, elegance, perhaps a sense of delicacy or a transient nature.
• 人ばかり (Hito bakari): "人" means "people," and "ばかり" indicates "only" or "nothing but." Together, they imply a gathering or group consisting solely of individuals who embody the aforementioned qualities.
• 哉 (Kana): An exclamatory particle used in traditional Japanese poetry, including haiku and waka, to add an emotional or reflective touch. It can express wonder, admiration, melancholy, or a contemplative mood, underscoring the poet's emotional response to the scene or idea being described.

When combined, "花の世の花のようなる人ばかり" can be interpreted as a reflection on a world or society populated only by people who possess the ephemeral beauty and grace of flowers. This could symbolize a utopian vision of society, where everyone embodies the ideal qualities of beauty, transience, and perhaps a sense of being in harmony with the natural world's cycles. The use of "哉" at the end of the phrase adds a layer of emotional depth, inviting the reader to ponder the beauty and perhaps the unattainability of such a world.
This phrase beautifully captures the essence of longing or appreciation for beauty and the transient nature of existence, a theme recurrent in much of Japanese literature and poetry, where the beauty of the natural world is often seen as a mirror reflecting the human condition.

紅葉の色きはまりて風を絶つ

• 紅葉 (Momiji): This term refers to "autumn leaves" or "red leaves," specifically the vibrant, colorful leaves of fall that have turned red, yellow, and orange. The beauty of autumn leaves is a popular subject in Japanese literature and poetry, symbolizing the beauty of nature's transience.
• 色き (Iroki): Derived from "色" (iro), meaning "color," with a classical Japanese suffix "-ki" indicating an attributive form. "色き" thus means "colorful" or "being colored," emphasizing the vibrant colors of the autumn leaves.
• はまりて (Hamari te): This is a classical form of the verb "はまる" (hamaru), which means "to be filled," "to be saturated," or "to be perfectly in a state." In this context, it implies that the colors of the autumn leaves are at their peak, fully saturated and embodying the essence of autumn's beauty.
• 風を絶つ (Kaze wo tatsu): "風" (kaze) means "wind," and "絶つ" (tatsu) here is used in the sense of "to stop" or "to cease." The phrase "風を絶つ" thus conveys the idea of the wind being stilled or calmed, possibly suggesting a moment of perfect stillness where the beauty of the autumn leaves can be fully appreciated without disturbance.

Putting it all together, "紅葉の色きはまりて風を絶つ" evokes a scene where the vibrant colors of the autumn leaves have reached their peak, creating a breathtaking tableau of natural beauty. In this moment, the wind has ceased, allowing for a perfect, undisturbed appreciation of the autumnal spectacle. This phrase captures not only the visual beauty of the season but also a sense of temporal and emotional depth, reflecting on the transient, fleeting nature of beauty and the moments of stillness that allow us to fully experience and reflect on such beauty. The cessation of the wind in the presence of the autumn leaves' full glory suggests a harmonious alignment between the observer and the natural world, a moment of peaceful contemplation and profound aesthetic appreciation.

竹の子の夜更けて生る露の中

• 竹の子 (Take no ko): This term refers to "bamboo shoots," which are the young, edible shoots of bamboo plants. Bamboo shoots are a common ingredient in East Asian cuisine, and in Japanese culture, they symbolize purity and the start of new beginnings, as they emerge from the ground in spring.
• 夜更けて (Yofukete): Derived from "夜更ける" (yofukeru), which means "late at night" or "deep into the night." This term evokes a sense of time passing into the quiet, still hours of the night, suggesting a moment of tranquility and introspection.
• 生る (Naru): An older or literary form of "生える" (haeru), meaning "to grow" or "to sprout." It indicates the natural process of growth and emergence, in this context, specifically referring to the bamboo shoots.
• 露の中 (Tsuyu no naka): "露" (tsuyu) means "dew," and "の中" (no naka) means "in" or "among." Together, "露の中" refers to being within or surrounded by dew, suggesting a setting that is damp, fresh, and imbued with the moisture of early morning or the lingering touch of night.

The entire phrase "竹の子の夜更けて生る露の中" can be translated as "bamboo shoots growing late into the night among the dew." It evokes a scene of natural growth and the quiet beauty of the night, where bamboo shoots emerge silently in the cool, dew-saturated air. This imagery conveys a sense of peacefulness and the relentless cycle of life, where new beginnings are nurtured in the quiet and unseen moments. The use of "夜更けて" emphasizes the time of this growth occurring unnoticed, while "露の中" highlights the nurturing environment that surrounds the young shoots. This phrase beautifully captures the intersection of time, nature, and the subtle, often unnoticed moments of growth and renewal.

聖燭に更けゆく露の身な里けり

• 聖燭 (Seishoku): "聖燭" refers to a holy or sacred candle. In a poetic context, the candle's light could symbolize purity, guidance, or a sacred presence, casting a serene or solemn ambiance over the scene.
• に更けゆく (ni fuke yuku): This phrase combines "に" (ni), a particle indicating direction or purpose, with "更けゆく" (fuke yuku), which is derived from "更ける" (fukeru), meaning to grow late or to advance (in terms of time). Thus, "に更けゆく" suggests moving into or deepening into the time, possibly referring to the night growing late or time passing into a more profound phase.
• 露の (Tsuyu no): "露" (tsuyu) means dew. In Japanese poetry, dew often symbolizes ephemerality, purity, or the fleeting nature of life and beauty, reflecting the transient quality of existence.
• 身な里 (Mi na sato): This phrase is a bit more challenging to parse directly without context, as it appears to be a poetic or possibly archaic expression. "身" (mi) commonly refers to the body or oneself, and "里" (sato) can mean village, hometown, or a place of belonging. The phrase might imply a sense of self or being within a particular setting or state, possibly reflecting a personal or intimate connection to the scene or moment described.
• けり (keri): "けり" is a classical Japanese verb ending that is often used in poetry to indicate something that has happened or been completed, often imbuing the sentence with a sense of reflection, nostalgia, or confirmation of the state of things.

When combined, "聖燭に更けゆく露の身な里けり" could be poetically translated to reflect a scene where the presence or light of a sacred candle marks the passage of time into a deeper part of the night, amidst the ephemeral beauty of dew. This imagery might evoke a moment of quiet reflection, spiritual depth, or a connection to a place or state of being that is both transient and sacred. The use of "けり" adds a reflective or conclusive quality to the phrase, suggesting a lingering impression or a deepened understanding that comes from this moment of communion with the night and its symbols of purity and transience.