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Taneda Santôka's Haiku
(December 3, 1882 - October 11, 1940)

"Here in the stillness of snow falling on snow"

Taneda Santoka (1882-1940), a haiku nonconformist who cast aside all the rules including the 5-7-5 syllable structure, is also associated with Matsuyama. Santoka, an ordained Zen priest, after spending most of his life wandering all over the country as a begging monk, chose to settle in Matsuyama only to die 10 months later. The humble cottage where he dwelt -- Isso-an (A Blade of Grass Hermitage) is preserved north of Ehime University. His books and documents are also preserved in Shiki Memorial Museum.

Teihon Santôka Zenshu, Tokyo, Shun’yudô, 1972-1973.
[Complete works in seven volumes]
http://www.aozora.gr.jp/cards/000146/files/44914_18742.html

A History of Haiku. By R. H. Blyth. Tokyo: The Hokuseido Press, 1964. Volume 2: From Issa to the Present. 430 pp.

Abrams, James. Hail in the Begging Bowl: The Odyssey and Poetry of Santoka.
Monumenta Nipponica, Volume 32, No. 3. (Autumn, 1977), pp. 269-302.

Santoka (1882-1940), from Bofu, Yamaguchi-ken. A confirmed alcoholic, Taneda, is described by James Abrams as one of the last of the “raucous itinerant monk[s]” who produced as much haiku as he drank saké - which is to say, abundantly. His was a lifestyle that “despite their inevitable mental and physical hardship has an alluring sense of romanticism and nostalgia for the majority of people burdened with the responsibilities of family and job.” Although he Taneda sometimes described his wanderings less optimistically, he has become a romantic figure of the happy wandering monk, unburdened by life or monetary cares.
One of his famous poems expresses “the pure delight of drinking.” Horohoro is the mellowed happy-go-lucky drunken state, and describes the drifting fall of leaves in autumn.
Horohoro yoppaute
ki no ha chiru.
A soft whirling drunk
a scattering of leaves.

For All My Walking: Free-Verse Haiku of Taneda Santôka with Excerpts from His Diaries, translated by Burton Watson. New York, Columbia University Press, 2003, 118 pp., [245 haiku]
http://search.japantimes.co.jp/print/features/books2004/fb20040125dr.htm

nearly run over
by a car
cold cold road
nothing left of the house
I was born in
fireflies
the mail came
and after that
just persimmon leaves falling
utsuri kite/ o-higanbana no/ hana zakari
moving in
higan lilies [spider lilies on the graves - tr. Gabi Greve]
at their best
-------------
yoote koorogi to nete ita yo
so drunk / I slept / with the crickets !
ippai yaritai yunayake-zora
a drink / would be nice now / sunset sky
yoeba iro-iro no koe ga kikoeru fuyuname
get drunk / you hear all sorts of voices / winter rain
yoi yado de dochira mo yama de mae wa sakaya de
nice inn / mountains all around / sake store in front
futo yoizame ne kao go aru baketsu no mizu
suddenly / that hangover face / bucket water
yoizame no hana koboreru koboreru
hangover / and blossoms / scattering scattering
aru dake no sake o tabe kaze o kiki
finish the last / of the sake / hear the wind
midori yoeba iyo-iyo midori
green -- / drunk and it gets / even greener

Mountain Tasting: Zen Haiku by Santoka Taneda, translated and introduced by John Stevens. New York & Tokyo, Weatherhill, 1980, 130 pp., [372 haiku], White Pine Press, 2009, 200 pp.

Santoka's life may seem tragic. Son of a womanizing father who lost the family property through an unwise business venture; a mother who committed suicide by throwing herself into a well when he was eight; himself a university dropout; failed jobs; alcoholism; a failed marriage; a series of nervous breakdowns; a suicide attempt which failed when the train was just able to stop in time. How could such a man have become one of Japan's best-loved poets? And what, we wonder, could we ourselves possibly have to learn from him? The answer to this last, in a word, is everything.
Santoka was pulled from the tracks and taken to a nearby Zen temple. The head priest, Gian Mochizuki Osho, a shrewd and kindly man, simply took him in without any reprimands or questions, and offered to let him stay as long as he liked. Santoka had always been interested in Buddhism, and after one year of Zen meditation, chanting sutras, and working around the temple, at the age of forty-two he was ordained a Zen priest. The Zen he was ultimately to practice, however, though traditional, was unusual. It was the Zen of solitary walking. The open road was to become his home and his monastery.
John Stevens has provided a truly interesting and moving account of Santoka's life and work which will fill you in on the details. Suffice to say here that Santoka's first walking pilgrimage through Japan, begging as he went from village to village, began in April 1926 and was to last for four years. During this trip to Shikoku, he visited the 88 shrines and temples associated with the Buddhist saint Kukai (774-835) to pray for the troubled spirit of his departed mother.
There is a wonderful photograph of Santoka on page 30, which shows him setting out on a similar pilgrimage in 1933. With his straw sandals, white cotton pants, long robe, monk's staff, and large woven straw hat, he looks an odd, if not laughable, figure. Few would suspect they were looking at a person of incredible courage, someone who had undertaken the most fearsome and difficult task of all, the full acceptance and savoring of the moment, despite what it may bring.
All told, Santoka is said to have walked more than twenty-eight thousand miles, starting out each morning penniless and with no food, and not knowing where he would stay or even if he would find lodging for the night. These were very hard miles, miles which brought sun and rain, generosity and hostility, food and hunger, smiles and scowls, health and illness, thirst and pure water, loneliness and moments of companionship, grief and intense happiness, but moments always lived with the thought that everything should be welcomed, whether good or bad, just as he himself was not judged but welcomed and taken in by the kindly Gian.
The record of his various thoughts, feelings, perceptions, and of the myriad sights and sounds he encountered on his walks of self-discovery, will be found in his poems. The poems are characterized by an absolute simplicity, an absolute honesty, a total absence of artifice. In a world such as ours, brimming over as it is with lies, disinformation, propaganda, and the totally phony, Santoka's spontaneous utterances come to us like a pure, cool, and refreshing breath of air. He is even, as Stevens points out, honest about his failure to solve what for him was the ultimate Koan - sake.
After his very fine 29-page Introduction, Stevens has given us 372 of Santoka's free-style haiku in excellent translations. Since the poems are linguistically very simple, their literal meaning carries over easily into English. What is lost, however, as Stevens points out, is the beautiful rhythm, assonance, and onomatopoeia of many of the poems, and to offset this he has thoughtfully provided, at the bottom of each page, the romanized Japanese of the originals, a few of which are accompanied by his notes. He has also provided a useful Selected Bibliography of both Japanese and English sources at the end of the book.
Here, to give you a taste of Santoka, is Poem 18 as translated and annotated by Stevens (with my indication of pronunciation added). A halftone of Santoka's striking brush calligraphy of this poem has been used as frontispiece to the book:
Going deeper
And still deeper -
The green mountains.
Wake itte mo wake itte mo aoi yama [wa-ke it-te mo wa-ke it-te mo a-o-i ya-ma]. This was written in early summer in the mountains of Kumamoto Prefecture and is perhaps Santoka's best-known poem. Deeper and deeper into the human heart without being able to fathom its depth. . . ." (page 37).
The human heart, yes, but also self, nature, time, reality, the mystery of existence, and, ultimately, the world of Buddha, or, for others, God.
Santoka's great merit is that he returns us to a reality that is also ours, though most of the time we choose to overlook it. I can't even begin to do justice to him here - he's just too big. But what can be said is that there is a depth and resonance to his poems that will evoke a powerful response in all sensitive readers. His love of the simple things in life, of nature, and of all life-forms and living creatures, is infectious.
Chanting the sutras,
I receive the rice;
The shrikes sing.
Nothing remains
Of the house that I was born in--
Fireflies.
From the back,
Walking away soaking wet?
The green grass!
I return barefoot.
Even the sound of the raindrops
Has grown older.
The moonlight
pierces
my empty stomach.

Santoka: Grass and Tree Cairn by Taneda Santôka. Translations by Hiroaki Sato; illustrations by Stephen Addiss, Winchester, Va.: Red Moon Press, 2002, xxii + 74 pp., [230 haiku]

http://www.modernhaiku.org/bookreviews/Santoka2002.html
saying nothing
today’s waraji
donned
Into the evening sky streaks a narrow road
The moon bright I go home
Morning sparrows, their voices say the snow’s
arrived in the distant mountains
Your back in winter shower you go I see
My back view as I go,
Wetted with the winter rain?
Holding out its branches a winter tree
No more houses to beg at above the mountain clouds
Or I stop begging and am looking at the mountain
Even my hat has started to leak I see
This frosty night’s bed must be somewhere

Walking Into the Wind: A Sweep of Poems by Santoka, versions of Cid Corman (1924-2004). San Francisco, Cadmus Editions, 1990, 160 pp., [140 haiku]

Taneda, Santoka. Stikhi i proza; perevod s iaponskogo Aleksandra Dolina. Sankt-Peterburg : Giperion, 2001. 252 str. (Iaponskaia klasicheskaia biblioteka)
http://www.wtr.ru/aphorism/santoka.htm
http://www.ipmce.su/~lib/santoka.html
http://graf-mur.holm.ru/classic/santoka.htm

Zen Saké Haiku. Un puissant désir de vivre - poésie bilingue japonais-français de Santoka,
traduits du japonais par CHENG Wing fun et Hervé COLLET,
Editions Moundarren, Millemont, 1995, 140 p.

La vie de Taneda Shoichi (1882-1940) débute sous le signe de la souffrance. Son pere, coureur de jupons invétéré, conduit sa famille a la ruine; sa mere se suicide, imprimant sa mémoire d'enfant d'un souvenir indélébile : le corps pantelant retiré du puits ou elle s'est jetée.
A vingt ans il s'inscrit au département "Littérature" de l'université Waseda de Tokyo et prend le nom de plume de "Santoka" qui signifie "Feu au sommet de la montagne". Mais la dépression et l'alcool l'empechent de poursuivre ses études. Il faudra attendre 1913 pour que son gout et ses aptitudes pour la poésie le poussent a devenir le disciple d'Ogiwara Seisensui, ardent défenseur d'une totale liberté dans la composition des haikus.
Les années suivantes sont difficiles, assombries par un mariage malheureux. Une nuit de décembre 1924, Santoka attend, debout sur une voie ferrée, le train qui l'écrasera. Sauvé in extremis, il est recueilli par le maître zen d'un temple proche ou, apres avoir étudié les textes bouddhiques, il sera ordonné moine. De longues heures de méditation lui permettent d'affirmer " qu'il n'y a rien de plus facile a dire et de plus difficile a faire que de lâcher prise. Il ne s'agit la ni d'un mol abandon de soi ni d'une obéissance aveugle. Dans ce lâcher-prise réside la paix de l'esprit. "
Haikus et zen sont désormais indissociables. L'un et l'autre, sous la banalité du quotidien, s'ouvrent a l'infinie richesse du Présent. Le saké est l'instrument de cette perception que le poete nous restitue avec tant de vivante simplicité.
En 1932, il s'installe a l'ermitage "Au Coeur du Monde" ou il retrouve un équilibre que l'alcool avait a nouveau perturbé. Il est heureux: "J'ai erré longtemps. J'ai vécu avec angoisse la nécessité d'exister. Enfin j'ai trouvé la paix avec l'existence".
Huit ans durant, il partagera son temps entre son ermitage et des voyages a pied qui lui permettent de comprendre véritablement les gens, la poésie et la nature. Ce chemin, a la merci des vents, le rend libre. Il visite de nombreux amis, parle avec eux de poésie, boit du saké et dans le meme temps publie plusieurs recueils de ses poemes.
Le 10 octobre 1940, a la veille d'une rencontre poétique, Santoka confie a un ami: "Apres la réunion, j'entamerai un dernier voyage. Je veux me jeter une derniere fois dans la nature. Je n'en ai plus pour tres longtemps a vivre et j'aimerais, comme les oiseaux et les éléphants, mourir seul, en paix, dans un champ". La réunion aura lieu sans lui; ivre, il dort lorsque ses amis arrivent. Dans la nuit, apres cinquante-huit ans d'ombres et de lumieres, il quitte ce monde de poussiere.
Il nous legue, entre autre, ces instantanés saisissants d'une confrontation a la mort, imminente, suivis du retour de la vie, simple et lumineuse:

le corbeau croasse
le corbeau vole
nulle part ou se fixer

***
rien a manger
le ciel pourpre de l'aube
d'aujourd'hui

***
plus rien d'autre
que mourir
les montagnes dans la brume

***
le calme de la mort
beau temps
les arbres sans feuilles

***
aux prises avec la mort
le piment
rouge vif

***
la mort
devant moi
un petit vent frais

***
ma mort
les herbes
la pluie

***
pluie d'automne
pas encore
mort

***
aujourd'hui encore
en vie
j'allonge les jambes

***
le vent des montagnes
dans la clochette
un puissant désir de vivre

***
calme pénétrant
de la poussiere
sur la table

***
...et la vie reprend son cours.
j'ai du riz
j'ai des livres
j'ai meme du tabac

***
j'ouvre la fenetre
la fenetre pleine
de printemps

***
sur la table inondée de soleil
j'écris une longue
longue lettre

***
de la montagne
des fleurs blanches
sur la table

***
éblouissant
dans le soleil
mon repas de riz

***
saveur du riz
le ciel bleu
bleu

***
dans les herbes
d'automne
assis

***
sur ma robe de moine
toute déchirée
des graines d'herbes

***
le voyage continue...

ma silhouette vue de dos
s'éloignant
dans la pluie d'automne.

Robert F. Wittkamp: Santoka - Haiku, Wandern, Sake.
Tokyo : Deutsche Gesellschaft fur Natur- und Volkerkunde Ostasiens, OAG Taschenbuch, Nr. 66, 1996, 155 S.

La poesía zen de Santoka : 70 haikus esenciales / Taneda Santoka ; traducción de Vicente Haya y Hiroko Tsuji ; prologo de Chantal Maillard. -- Malaga : Servicio de Publicaciones, Centro de Ediciones de la Diputacion de Malaga, 2002. -- 93 p.

Saborear el agua : Cien haikus de un monje zen / Taneda Santôka, Traducción de Vicente Haya & Hiroko Tsuji ; Poesía Hiperión, 477 ; Madrid, 2004 ; 168 pág. ISBN: 84-7517-804-9

Santôka es el heredero de una larga tradición de poetas vagabundos en un siglo como el XX que ya apenas permitía ese modo de vida. Su poesía lo consagra, además, como el último de los clásicos japoneses, el poeta actual más citado y leído, omnipresente en librerías y editoriales niponas, comparable en reconocimiento general a lo que podría ser Federico García Lorca en Espana.
La razón de la popularidad de Santôka está en su carácter simbólico. Santôka no es sólo el genio del haiku sin metro fijo; es mucho más. Es una muestra de cómo lo antiguo puede vivir en lo moderno, un espejo en el que a pesar de todo hay que mirarse, un ejemplo de cómo transformar el fracaso en aprendizaje espiritual, y hasta un mártir del amor a la libertad de uno mismo, al propio camino, sin objeto, sin orgullo. Santôka no es un héroe nacional; es un hombre que transforma en poesía mística lo que otros considerarían las circunstancias materiales de una vida miserable.
Vicente Haya es Doctor en Filosofía y autor de El corazón del haiku: la expresión de lo sagrado (ed. Mandala, Madrid, 2002) y ya trabajó junto con Hiroko Tsuji en La poesía zen de Santôka (ed. Maremoto, Diputación Provincial de Málaga, 2002).

Taneda Santoka. Fire on the Mountain: the Selected Haiku of a Wandering Zen Monk Taneda Santoka. Japanese, and English translated by Hisashi Miura and James Green, N.p.: n.n., 1998? [MS Reader format] [174 haiku]
http://gaku2003.hp.infoseek.co.jp/AOZORA/FIRE.html#ANK2
http://rica.cside.com/haiku/html/art/soumokutou/e/index.html

About Taneda Santôka and his Sômokutô
Somokuto (A Grass and Tree Pagoda) is the most important book of haiku by Taneda Santoka (1882-1940). It was published by Yagumo Shorin of Tokyo in April,1940, about six months before he passed away at the age of 57. It is a compilation of six booklets of haiku privately published by Santoka, the first one being Hachinoko published in 1932 and the second one entitled Somokuto published in 1933.
Santoka, whose real name was Taneda Shoichi, was born in a village in Yamaguchi Prefecture (present-day Hofu city). When he was young his life was full of such tribulations as his mother's suicide and his family's bankruptcy.In 1925, at the age of 43, he became an ordained Soto Zen monk. From then on he travelled all over Japan as a mendicant monk, writing haiku. The haiku included in Somokuto were written after he became a Zen monk. He opened up a new field of writing free-style haiku under the tutelage of Ogiwara Seisensui. It could be even said that thanks to Santoka haiku became "songs" born from the depths of the minds of modern men.
Though in the original Somokuto there are 701 haiku, we put in this Aozora Bunko version 150 poems from Somokuto and 24 written after Somokuto.
Differing from the complete Somokuto and other haiku books already registered in Aozora Bunko, this "Selected Haiku from Somokuto" has two parts ; the original haiku in Japanese and its English translation. The source book for the original haiku is Collected Haiku of Santoka published by Chikuma Shobo.The haiku not found in this book are from Haiku (IV)published by Shunyodo Santoka Bunko.
About the English Translation
The English translation of these haiku by Santoka was done in 1974 by Hisashi Miura and James Green. They were schoolmates in the late 60s at the University of California Santa Barabara, majoring in Religious Studies.In 1973, in order to study Zen in Japan (after studying at Mt. Baldy Zen Center near Los Angeles alongside Leonard Cohen), James Green came to Kyoto where Hisashi was living and they started working on the translation.They had hoped to publish it in the States, but it never materialized.
24 years later Satoru Hamano heard of the existence of the translation and decided to put it in Aozora Bunko. He hopes that their translation will inspire other people to translate Santoka's haiku, so that the understanding of Santoka may be deepened. Haiku, the shortest form of poetry, can be interpreted in many ways, which can be easily seen by the sheer number of translations for Basho's famous haiku about a frog jumping into an old pond.

From Sômokutô
"I dedicate this book before the soul of my mother who hurried to die while still young."
In February of 1929 I received ordination as a monk and became resident priest at Mitori Kannon-do in the countryside of Kumamoto Prefecture. It was truly a 'solitary forest life' (sanrin dokuju); as for quietness it was quiet, as for loneliness it was lonely -- such a life it was.
All the pines,
With hanging branches,
Chant Namu Kanzeon.
* Namu Kanzeon means "Hail, Kannon" who is the Bodhisattva of mercy and compassion. This phrase occurs in many sutras (e.g. Kannon-gyo) that Santoka chanted every day as part of his daily life as a monk.
Morning and evening,
Striking the temple bell,
Wind in the pines.
Sweeping,
After long neglect,
Hedge-flowers blooming.
April of 1925, I started out on a mendicant journey with unsolvable delusions on my back.
Wading through,
And wading through,
Yet green mountains still.
Thoroughly wet,
This is a stone signpost.
* In old Japan to show distance and direction to towns short stone signposts were used.
Above my head -
The burning summer sky,
Begging and walking.
In unison with Hosai Koji's haiku:
The cawing of a crow -
I also am alone.
* Hosai was a haiku poet who belonged to the same school of free haiku originated by Seisensui Ogiwara. Santoka and he knew of each other but never met. Hosai wrote many poems of his loneliness and the above poem is in unison with his famous haiku:
Even coughing -
I am alone.
"To resolve life and to resolve death are the most important Karma for a Buddhist" - Shushogi.
Amidst life and death,
Snow continues to fall.
* The Shushogi was an abridged text of the Shobo-genzo written by Dogen Zenji the founder of the Soto sect of Zen in Japan.
1927-28, I drifted around Sanyo, Sanin, Shikoku, and Kyushu without purpose.
Parting with my steps -
Bush clovers,
Pampas grass.
* Bush clovers and pampas grass are the plants of autumn.
This trip -
An endless trip,
Tsu-ku-tsu-ku-boshi.
* A tsukutsukuboshi is an insect related to the cicada or locust which chirps in a high and shrill trill. It chirps only during the twilight after sunset. It is a melancholic sound for Japanese people.
Free as the blowing wind -
I taste the water.
* "Free as the blowing wind" in the translation is 'hyohyo' in Japanese, which is difficult to render into English precisely. The character 'hyo' is composed of three elements meaning separately, the west, to show, and the wind. Together the feeling is a wind which shows the west, the west being the direction of peace and serenity. So the meaning is to be as carefree as a west wind.
Watching the setting moon,
I am by myself.
Alone,
Being eaten by mosquitos.
Sprawling for a rest,
On my legs still -
Sunlight.
From mountain depths,
Borne on my back -
This cocoon!
I walk -
Letting perch on my kasa,
A dragonfly.
* A kasa is a large thatched bamboo hat worn by travelling Zen monks.
Stretching ahead -
The straight road,
Loneliness.
Putting on,
Without a word,
Today's straw-sandals.
* "Straw-sandals" in the translation is 'waraji' in Japanese, which are worn by travelling or begging Zen monks.
I am drunk,
Mellowly,
The leaves are falling.
* "Mellowly" in the translation is 'horohoro' in Japanese, which modifies both the drunkness and the way in which the leaves fall. Santoka used to say it's best to get drunk 'horohoro'. That is, not too much, but just mellow. However, he seldom stuck to this maxim.
It's drizzling,
Here I am,
Still alive.
* Basho wrote a famous haiku at his death:
Sick while travelling -
My dreams on desolate fields,
Running around.
Santoka also wrote the above haiku when he was gravely sick while travelling.
Within this room,
Of freshly papered shoji,
Alone.
* Shoji are sliding doors of wooden lattice covered over with white rice paper. They, being fragile, are repapered at appropriate times. Hosai wrote a relevent haiku:
Closing up the shoji -
Filling the room with loneliness.
In the water,
A traveler's reflection -
As I pass.
The snow,
As I watch,
Keeps falling and falling.
Drizzling,
Into drizzling mountains,
I enter.
Begging -
Receiving just enough to eat,
It began to rain.
This body,
Which has survived so long,
I am scratching.
In 1929-30 there was nothing I could do but continue travelling. I walked here and there in Kyushu.
This mountain,
Which I will never see again,
Becoming farther and farther away.
With their sound,
Nothing but crickets
Deluging me.
In the beautiful radiance,
Water birds,
Making love.
The shrike's crying -
For discarding my body,
There is no place.
* Although Santoka may not have been refering to it, there is a famous story about Kuya, a priest who taught the chanting of Buddha's name in the Kyoto area in the tenth century: when Kuya was living amongst the beggars in Kyoto a high-ranked priest named Senkan recognized him at the river side near Shijo Street (nowadays downtown Kyoto), Senkan asked Kuya, "How can I be saved after death?" Kuya answered, "How strange. I rather, should ask you such a question. I'm just a vagrant person who wanders around confusedly. I've never thought of such a thing." Senkan didn't give up, and very respectfully asked him again. Kuya said, "Just discard your body anywhere", and hurried off.
Me -
Helpless and good for nothing,
Walking.
From a vine -
Dangling,
Two snake-gourds.
The light,
Through the pampas grass,
There is no obstruction.
I slipped and fell down -
The mountain is silent.
Early morning,
One star remaining,
It's a good day too.
Coming to perch,
On my tired-out legs -
A dragonfly.
I can't discard it -
My heavy pack,
In front and in back.
* When travelling, Zen monks have two bags. One hangs around the neck and rests on the chest; the other is on the back like a knapsack.
My monk's robe like this!
Tattered,
Covered with grass seeds.
Behind the boulder,
Water trickling,
Just as I thought.
* In Santoka's diary he says at one point, "Begging should be like the flowing clouds and like the flowing water. If I stay at a place for even a moment I become tangled up. My mind, be like water! My mind, be like sky!" He compared his good haiku to water, and hoped that their purity would come up to that of water. Not only because of its simple function as the most refreshing drink, water was a very special thing to Santoka. Water thus became the subject matter of many of his haiku.
At this place,
Shaving off my grey hair,
I leave.
It has become autumn -
I sit in the weeds.
* The word 'weeds' occurs in Santoka's haiku very often. Not only does it refer to the actual weeds, but also sometimes to the confused weeds in his mind. Thus, Santoka had a special feeling for weeds.
Growing old -
Missing the old hometown,
Tsu-ku-tsu-ku-boshi.
As they are,
Things are fine,
Sweeping fallen leaves.
Eating this rice-only meal,
Quietly,
Alone.
* "Quietly" in the translation is 'shimijimi' in Japanese, which is not possible to render precisely in English. Its feeling is being cold, alone, yet quietly and reverentially accepting the way things are.
Oh, I slept,
In drunkeness,
With this cricket.
No more houses to beg from -
Clouds on the mountain.
On certain days -
Resting from my begging,
Gazing at the mountains.
Expressing my sentiments:
What?
My kasa too,
Is leaking.
In 1931, I tried hard to stay in Kumamoto but in vain, and couldn't help but travel here and there.
Self-reflection:
A vague shape from behind -
Into the drizzle,
Disappearing.
* This poem among all of Santoka's haiku is the most difficult to translate accurately. The subject and object and figure-ground relationships are so merged that complete expression of the feeling-impact is impossible.
Into the begging bowl also -
Hailstones.
* The teppatsu or begging bowl is held in front of the begging monk as he walks along chanting. The monk, traditionally, impartially accepts anything put into the bowl.
Until when,
This traveling?
Clipping my toenails.
Coming out,
From a good bath -
A fine moon.
* The sento or public bath is a particularly Japanese tradition. The bath water is very hot and invigorating, especially in the winter.
Plop!
On my kasa -
A camellia.
Eating and satisfied,
One man's chopsticks,
Are put down.
Autumn wind -
Picking up a stone.
My hometown,
In falling rain -
Walking barefoot.
* This and the following twelve haiku were written while living at Go-chu. Go-chu was the name of Santoka's hut in Ogori, Yamaguchi Prefecture, where he stayed when not travelling. The words 'Go-chu' come from a phrase of the Lotus Sutra which says "if even one man among these (many) chants the words 'Namu Kanzeon' they will all be safe". 'Go-chu ' means 'among these', Santoka being the one man.
In the early summer of 1933 Santoka dropped in at his hometown, but the house where he was born was gone. No relatives were living there except a married younger sister. Nobody recognized him as the son of the once wealthy Taneda family since he looked like a beggar-monk wearing a battered kasa and holding a begging bowl. Children followed him jeering, "Beggar, beggar". He stayed at his sister's house that night but it was apparent he was an unwelcome guest. Early the next morning she said, "Brother, please leave early before the neighbors get up. I don't want to hear people call you 'beggar'". Stepping outside, it was raining so he took off his straw sandals and, walking barefoot with tears in his eyes, he left town.
Receiving,
From the evening sky -
One citron.
* "Citron" in the translation is 'yuzu' in Japanese, which is a small orange fruit with a very sweet fragrance.
Letting the fall -
As they fall,
The tea flowers.
The moon has risen -
Not waiting for anything.
Water sound -
Just as it is,
I became serene.
The last fruit,
From the snowy-sky,
I pick.
* Citrons or persimmons are ripe from mid-November to the end of December. Although unmentioned it is supposed the fruit is a persimmon or citron.
At Go-chu snow is falling -
I am alone,
Tending a fire.
On snow, snow falling,
In this silence -
I am.
Each person,
Walking by himself,
Snow falling.
By tea bushes,
Surrounded -
My simple daily life.
* Tea bushes grow to about three feet in height but are very bushy.
Pulling out and pulling out -
Attachments of the weeds,
Pulling out.
Sparrows dancing -
Dandelion flowers falling.
* This reminds us of famous haiku by Issa:
Come,
Play with me -
Motherless sparrows.
It will be dawn soon,
Opening the window -
Green leaves.
Today again,
No one came,
Fireflies .
A cool pine wind,
Man eating,
Horse eating.
* This and the next nine haiku were written around 1933.
What they are -
I don't know.
But they're all blooming.
The thistles -
How vivid!
After the morning rain.
Alone,
Listening -
A woodpecker.
The clouds,
Hurrying by,
Making a good moon.
Always alone -
A red dragonfly.
Spring wind -
One begging bowl.
Wet,
Yet walking in the rain,
This is a care-free journey.
Returning home:
Returning,
After a long time -
Here and there bamboo shoots.
Soaking wet.
The plow-horse,
Always getting scolded.
Taking off my kasa,
Getting wet,
Satisfied within.
Not having a house -
Only the deepening of autumn.
This shows the emptiness of a life of begging and traveling as well as the loneliness of a self-righteous life of solitude. Though I've been drifting around here and there, now I 've been given a bed which I have longed for so long.
Manjushage are blooming,
This is where I sleep.
I like sake and I like water too. I liked sake better than water till yesterday. Today I like water as much as sake. Tomorrow I might come to like water better than sake. In "Hachi no Ko" there were many haiku like sake (not regarding the degree of their purity) . In "Gochu Hitori" and in "Gyokotsu Tojo" there are haiku both like sake and like water. I hope there will be more haiku like water from now on. "Pure like water" I hope will be the state of my mind.
Santoka, Gochu-an
October 15, 1933.
* Manjushage are small red flowers that bloom in the fall.
In the sunshine,
The face of good old Jizo -
Smiling.
* Who's smiling? Jizo is a Bodhisattva who appears after the death of Shakamuni, and before the coming of the Future Buddha (Maitreya), to help people. In Japan Jizo is regarded mostly as the protector of children. Small shrines dedicated to Jizo, or simply statues of Jizo, are found by the roadside.
The figs within my reach -
How ripe they are!
Unexpectedly -
Images of my son,
The shrikes's crying.
* Santoka did not like small children or babies. When he got a divorce from his wife he left his infant son as well. He was an irresponsible parent but this haiku shows there was some feeling that Santoka could not ignore.
Over the mountains,
Seeing off the sun,
Now to eat!
Seeing someone off,
On a muddy path -
Coming back alone.
A moonlit night -
Washing what rice there is.
Fallen leaves.
At the water's bottom,
The deep sky.
Ah, how peaceful the sky -
With citron fruits,
Two or three.
Like this,
I am put here,
A winter night.
Gathering kindling -
Enough for a fire,
The mountains are clear.
Snow's radiance,
Filling the house -
Stillness.
Waking from sleep -
Snow falling,
I'm not usually lonely but. . .
The owl on its part,
I on mine,
Not able to fall asleep.
Returning home from Shinshu with sickness:
Grasses and trees,
Have become rampant -
Returning home alive.
* From Shinshu to his hut in Yamaguchi is around 700 miles.
Being sick -
Lonely morning becoming night,
Green leaves.
The shadows,
Very clear -
Young leaves.
Happy things,
Sad things also,
The weeds grow abundantly.
Quietly, by itself -
The bamboo shoot,
Becomes bamboo.
Under the burning sky -
A procession of ants,
Without end.
The weeds,
On which I can die anytime,
Some blooming, some bearing seeds.
In the bright sunlight,
One falling leaf.
In the grass,
Wind has started up -
By now the tofu must be chilled.
* Tofu is a soft curd of cooked and compressed soybeans. Santoka liked tofu more than he would normally because he had bad teeth and it could be eaten easily.
In the autumn wind -
It's an angry praying mantis.
The mailman:
He brought mail,
Ate a ripe persimmon,
And left.
* In many haiku that have not been translated here, Santoka mentions the mailman and mail which perhaps shows his longing for companionship.
Anyhow,
I'm being kept alive,
Amongst the weeds.
Waking from a nap -
Everywhere I look,
Mountains.
* The next eight poems were written around 1934.
A good inn -
Mountains everywhere,
In front, a sake shop.
* Sake, as can be seen from many previous poems, had special meaning for Santoka.
As I sit,
In the autumn weeds -
There is a wind.
Falling leaves,
In my begging bowl,
Falling also.
There is no other road -
Spring snow falling.
Today -
As far as this,
Taking off my straw sandals.
Walking and begging,
Everywhere,
Water sound.
As the mountains are quiet -
I take off my kasa.
I have returned to "the world of existence" after a long struggle and feel as if I have "come back to my own home sitting comfortably". I have drifted for a long time -- not only my body but my mind. I suffered from things that should exist, and was troubled by things that can not help but exist, and now finally I can be peaceful with things that exist. This is where I found myself.
Both things that should exist and things that can not help but exist, are contained in things that exist. When one knows things that exist, he knows all things. I am not trying to abandon things that should exist, nor am I trying to escape from things that can not help but exist, this is the present attitude of me who wants to understand the "world of existence".
The essential thing for one who writes poetry has to be writing poetry itself. I must express myself as poetry -- it is my duty as well as my hope.
Santoka, Autumn 1934.
However hard I think -
Still it's the same,
Walking on fallen leaves.
* The following twelve haiku were written around 1935.
On my penitent mind -
The sun shining,
And a small bird coming to chirp?
On the beauty,
Of withering grasses -
I sit.
In a withered tree,
A crow,
New Year's is over.
* New Year's is the biggest holiday of the year in Japan when all members of the family return home to celebrate together. A particularly melancholic time for Santoka.
Alone,
Hoeing,
Singing a song.
Bleating when it's sunny,
Bleating when it's cloudy,
A goat.
Into the sky,
A young bamboo -
Without pain.
In the tree's shade -
A wind,
Travellers both.
When I'm dead and gone -
Rain on the weeds.
* This haiku as well as the next two were written when Santoka was gravely ill.
Before death -
A cool wind.
No parting regrets -
Evening potato leaves,
Fluttering in the wind.
* The Japanese potato or satoimo has large elephant-ear leaves on tall stalks.
I am nothing but a person like a weed, but I am content as I am.
It is alright for a weed to sprout, grow, and bloom, and finally wither as a weed.
Sometimes I am lucid, sometimes I am muddy, but whether lucid or muddy it is without question a shinjin datsuraku ("falling away of body and mind") each time I write a haiku.
I feel I have lived for ten years in one year this year (at one time I had felt I had lived for one year in ten years) , and I can't help but feel that the older I become, the more delusions I have. When I look back I just feel ashamed of the weakness of my mind and the poorness of my haiku.
Santoka, December 20, 1935 travelling far from home.
December 6, 1935, I couldn't bear sitting alone in my hut so I started travelling.
In the water,
Clouds shadows -
Restlessness there too.
* The next ten haiku were written in 1936.
Pausing awhile,
Wind crossing the sky -
Far, far away.
Again,
One layer of clothes discarded.
From journey to journey.
At the border between Koshu and Shinshu (Yamanashi Prefecture and Nagano Prefecture) :
Becoming dark on the way,
The water around here -
How tasty.
Casually taking a piss -
Young weeds all over.
Self-blame:
Waking from a drunken sleep -
A sad wind,
Blowing through.
* He had already returned to Go-chu from the long journey to Hiraizumi.
Self-ridicule:
Shadows late at night -
As I eat alone,
Making a little noise.
Self-portrait:
In old rags,
Bundled up -
Wearing a foolish face.
Being kept alive -
Quietly alone,
As I patch my clothes.
In the spring wind,
A dangling caterpillar,
Peeps outside.
* If you have walked through a forest you have perhaps seen a small caterpillar dangling from a silk thread inside of a little bark - 'house'. This is the beast described here. This haiku is the second in a small book of haiku titled 'Kokan' or 'Cold and Alone' Santoka seems to see his experience of this reflected in the caterpillar.
'Midst the wind -
Reproaching myself,
Walking along.
Evening,
Parent spider, child spiders -
Happy together.
Forty-seventh anniversary of my mother's death:
Offering udon:
Mother,
I will eat it too.
* All the while Santoka travelled he carried with him the funeral tablet of his mother (a narrow wooden plaque about 6" to 8" long). The forty seventh anniversary of his mother's death was when he was fifty-seven years old (1938). He was bitterly poor having no rice or fruit which are usually offered at funeral anniversaries, but only some udon (noodles).
Opening the window -
A windowful of Spring.
Self-ridicule:
My first grandchild was born,
So I hear,
The wind-bell ringing.
The tops of the reeds,
Where the wind wants to go -
Going.
From nowhere,
Clouds coming out -
Autumn clouds.
Like a log in the grass -
As my fundoshi dried.
* Fundoshi is old style Japanese men's underwear. They are rather like a thick loincloth in appearance.
With an old hobo:
Flattening the grass -
Eating a shared lunch,
Going our separete ways.
The house where I was born,
There is no trace -
Fireflies.
I don't think that even I Iike the words 'Kokan' (cold and alone), but I am existing in the world that is expressed by these words. I would like to get out of it as soon as possible. If I can't pass this barrier, my writing of haiku cannot be mugejizai ("free and without obstructions"). In many cases the word 'Koko' ('alone and dignified') is a synonym for an arrogant man.
My grandmother lived long, but because she lived long she had the bitter experience of seeing the downfall and breaking up of the family. She used to whisper to herself, "It is Karma, it is Karma." And now these days when I write haiku or, I am ashamed to say, when I drink sake, I think to myself, "It is Karma, It is Karma."
My grandmother's saying, "It is Karma" was a sad resignation, but my saying, "It is Karma" is a lonely self-awareress. I am accepting this Karma; or, rather, I am enjoying it.
Santoka, at Gochu-an October 1938.
Letting the moon,
Into my bedroom -
I'll go to sleep.
* The following five haiku were written in 1939.
Putting my things in order:
Burning it all up,
Only these ashes,
Blowing in the wind.
* Nine years before Santoka wrote a haiku:
Burning my old diary,
Ashes -
Only this much?
A crow,
Cawing and flying -
No place to settle down.
An inn in Kiso:
Feeling uneasy,
The futon is too heavy,
To fall asleep under.
* When he travelled Santoka usually stayed at cheap inns (as on this occasion), only sleeping outside when he had to (which was often).
A futon is a heavy quilt stuffed with cotton.
How hot today!
In the shops,
No cigarettes.
After all, it is to know myself. I will follow my stupidity.
Santoka, at Isso-an February 1940.
-----------------------------------------------

After Sômokutô
In sunrise beauty,
Saying farewell.
Autumn sky -
Floating clouds,
Becoming alone.
After reading Bokusui's tanka.
Autumn deepens -
Today also,
Travelling.
* Bokusui died in the early twentieth century. The famous tanka (5-7-5-7-7) alluded to is:
If I cross -
How many mountains and rivers,
When shall I reach,
The realm of no loneliness.
Today also travelling.
I feel death hemming me in -
How good the water is!
Sleeping outside, Oct. 28, 29:
Dozing off -
A hometown dream,
Reeds rustling.
All day -
Without a word,
Waves crashing.
On December 15, 1939, thanks to my friends in Matsuyama, and by following circumstances, I have decided to stay here for sometime or, perhaps, until I die.
A good friend, Ichijun, carried me on his back from the inn in Dogo to this new house at the foot of Mikizan. This house is on a high ground and very quiet. The mountain is beautiful, the water tastes good, and people here seem to be nice. It is actually too good of a house for an old hobo. It is more than I deserve but I accepted it with thanks. This 'hobo's house' is more beautiful and warmer than that in Yamaguchi (Gochu-an).
To Ichijun:
The weeds,
On which I can die calmly,
Withering.
(As I grow older I cannot help feeling profoundly that it is more difficult to die than to be born. )
* The following nineteen haiku were written up until his death in October of 1940 at age of 59.
At the mountain's foot -
A peaceful,
Toothless life.
Drizzling -
Kind enough to come so far,
The mailman.
Returning to the hut:
My past,
My future,
The snow's radiance.
Withered and wet,
The weeds beauty,
Morning.
One day at Isso-an:
Rain -
Catching a bucketful,
Enough for today.
Lying down,
On the withered weeds,
Smelling spring.
It bloomed quietly -
It fell with a plop.
49th anniversary of my mother's death.
Dandelion's falling -
My mother's death,
The thing I'm incessantly thinking of.
Today,
Feeling good mail will come,
Keeping the shoji open.
My hut is at the foot of Mikizan, embraced by a shrine and a temple. As I tend to lose interest in things in my old age - 'one man-one weed' simplicity is sufficient. After all, my way is nothing but the way of following my stupidity to the end.
The weeds,
On which I can die calmly,
Sprouting.
* 'One weed' is the name of Santoka's hut.
A fluttering butterfly,
Came riding on the wind.
Even if I have nothing-
The cherry blossoms,
Bloom and fall.
* The cherry blossoms stay on the tree a very short time and a mere gust of wind can scatter them, thus they image the transiency of life for Japanese people.
The Milky Way,
At midnight -
A drunkard dances.
* Who is this drunkard?
Self-reflection:
Swatting flies,
Swatting mosquitoes,
Swatting myself.
Sunset,
Quietness ,
Scrubbing the rice-pot.
A passing rain,
Ojizo-san and I,
Both drenched.
* In summer there is what is called a yudachi. Even if the whole day there has been no clouds, at evening clouds suddenly form and there is a short hard rain.
A bug in the fire -
An aromatic odor.
-----------------------------

Laying down chopsticks -
enough.
I'm grateful.
Dragonfly
perched on my shoulder,
out for a stroll.
----------------------------------------

Ichinichi ware to waga ashi-oto o kikitsutsu ayumu
Du matin au soir
Écoutant le bruit de mes pas
Je marche
Amadare no oto mo toshi totta
Le bruit des gouttes de pluie aussi
A vieilli
Ashi wa te wa shina ni nokoshite futatabi nihon ni
Laissant mains et jambes
En Chine
Les soldats reviennent au Japon
Mizu no aji mo mi ni shimu aki to naru
Le goût de l'eau
Me pénètre le coeur
Voici l'automne
Futto kage ga kasumete itta kaze
Soudain une ombre passe
Le vent
Tsuki kara hirari kaki no ha
De la lune
Tombe légère une feuille de kaki
Fumumai to shita sono kani wa katawa da
Je n'ai pas voulu
Marcher sur le crabe
Il est infirme
Ha no ochite ochiru ha wa nai taiyo
Les feuilles sont tombées
Plus de feuille à tomber
Soleil
Kare-yuku kusa no utsukushisa ni suwaru
Je m'assieds sur la beauté
De quelques herbes en train de se dessécher
Omoni o oute mekura de aru
Portant sur le dos un lourd fardeau
Un aveugle
----------------------------------------

ma silhouette vue de dos
s'éloignant
dans la pluie d'automne?
je frappe les mouches
je frappe les moustiques
je me frappe moi-meme
dans mon nombril
la sueur
s'est accumulée
ivre
je m'endors
avec les grillons

1.
Pine trees
With branches all drooping--
Namu-kanzeon sutra.
(Matsu wa mina/ eda tarete/ namu-kanzeon)

2.
Ringing the temple-bell
To the sound of pine trees;
Mornings and evenings.
(Matsukaze ni/ ake kure no/ kane tsuite)

3.
Sweeping the yard for a change,
Flowers in the hedge are in bloom.
(Hisashiburini haku/ kakine no hana ga saita)

4.
Getting further and further
Into the mountains,
But still deep blue mountains.
(Wakeittemo/ wakeittemo/ aoi yama)

5.
Soaked and Soggy to the core,
It's a milestone.
(Shitodo ni nurete/ korewa michishirube no ishi)

6.
Under the canopy of scorching heaven
I walk and beg.
(Enten wo itadaite/ koi aruku)

7.
Lone crow is cawing;
I'm alone too.
(Karasu naite/ watashi mo hitori)

8.
In the midst of life and death
Snow's falling thick and fast.
(Shoji no naka no/ yuki furishikiru)

9.
Leaves are falling;
I walk and walk.
(Konoha chiru/ aruki tsumeru)

10.
All alone,
Letting mosquitoes bite my flesh.
(Hitoride/ ka ni kuwareteiru)

11.
Stretching my legs
To the light of a westering sun.
(Nagedashite/ mada hi no aru ashi)

12.
Walking with a dragonfly
Resting on my sedge-hat.
(Kasa ni tombo wo/ tomarasete/ aruku)

13.
It's a straight road
That makes me feel lonely.
(It's a lonely road that has no turning.)
(Massuguna michi de/ samishii)

14.
In silence
I put on straw sandals for today.
(Damatte/ kyo no waraji haku)

15.
Late autumn rain's falling;
I have yet to die.
(Shigururu ya/ shinanai de iru)

16.
My shadow on the water,
Traveler I am.
(Mizu ni kage aru/ tabibito de aru)

17.
Late autumn rain's falling
Into the mountain,
Towards which I go on walking.
(Shigururu ya/ shigururu yama e/ ayumi iru)

18.
Buds of trees,
Buds of grasses,
I keep on walking.
(Kinome/ kusanome/ aruki tsuzukeru)

19.
I've survived--
Scratching my body.
(Iki nokotta karada/ kaite iru)

20.
Mountains I've left for good
Are going out of sight.
(Mata miru koto mo nai yama ga/ toozakaru)

21.
Crickets are chirping,
Chirping to me all the time.
(Koorogi ni/ nakarete bakari)

22.
Shrike is chirping;
No place to throw away myself.
(Mozu maite/ mi no sutedokoro nashi)

23.
Slipped, tumbled,
Mountain is quiet and alone.
(Subette koronde/ yama ga hissori)

24.
My tired legs--
Dragonfly landed on one.
(Tsukareta ashi e/ tombo tomatta)

25.
Monk-robe
Threadbare so--
Grass seeds.
(Houe/ konnani yaburete/ kusa no mi)

26.
Behind the rocks,
Sure enough, a fountain;
Eureka!
(Yuwa kage/ masashiku/ mizu ga waite iru)

27.
Those clouds threw a rain shower;
I'm wet through.
(Ano kumo ga/ otoshita ane ni/ nurete iru)

28.
Autumn is come;
Sitting on the weeds.
(Aki to natta/ zasso ni suwaru)

29.
Water so tasty,
Flowing all over.
(Konnani umai mizu ga/ afurete iru)

30.
Have come down to the village
With the sound of water.
(Mizuoto to isshoni/ sato e orite kita)

31.
No clouds whatsoe'er,
I took off my sedge-hat.
(Mattaku kumo ga nai/ kasa wo nugi)

32.
Drunk,
Found myself sleeping with crickets.
(Youte/ koorogi to/ nete itayo)

33.
Sound of raindrops,
You're getting old, too.
(Amadare no oto mo/ toshi totta)

34.
No more doors to beg,
Clouds o'er the mountains.
(Mono gou ie mo nakunari/ yama niwa kumo)

35.
--Reminiscence--
My sedge-hat
Getting leaky at last.
(Kasa mo/ moridashita ka)

36.
--Self-ridicule--
I'm leaving
With my backside wet
In late autumn rain.
Note: Another self of Santoka's is watching himself from behind with
self-scorn. He is dual-eyed, before and hind, like a frog
or a dragonfly.
(Ushiro sugata no/ shigurete yuku ka)

37.
Into begging bowl of iron
Down came the hailstones.
(Teppachu no naka e mo arare)

38.
My native town
Far, far away--
Burgeoning trees.
(Furusato wa/ tooku shite/ ki no me)

39.
Getting out of a nice bath
Into lovely moonlight.
(Yoi yu kara/ yoi tsuki e deta)

40.
Among budding trees
Birds are now singing.
(Haya mebuku ki de/ naite iru)

41.
Something fell on my sedge-hat--
Camellia.
(Kasa e pottori/ tsubaki datta)

42.
Eating fully enough with thanks,
I put down chopsticks;
All alone.
(Itadaite/ tarite hitori no/ hashi wo oku)

43.
In autumn wind
I pick up a pebble.
(Akikaze no/ ishi wo hirou)

44.
Alongside today's road
Dandelions in bloom.
(Kyo nomichi no/ tampopo saita)

45.
It's raining in my hometown;
I'm walking barefoot.
(Ame furu furusato wa/ hadashi de aruku)

46.
Having moved in and settled down,
I'm surrounded by flowers of the opposite shore/
flowers of the autumnal equinox.*
*opposite shore (Higan)--Buddhistic term.
autumnal equinox (Higan/Shuubun-no-hi)--day on the calendar.
(Utsuri kite/ o-higanbana no/ hana zakari)

47.
Glory of the morning sky
Heralds the coming of rain;
Must sow the seeds of radish.
(Asayake/ ame furu/ daikon makou)

48.
Out of the evening sky
I pick and pluck a yuzu-citrus.*
*Yuzu--yellow, sour and fragrant citrus resembling a lemon, not oval
but round and softer. It is symbolic of Japan's winter.
Yuzu-trees, together with persimmon-trees, are seen in the yards of
rural houses--typical scenery of Japan's countryside just as the
apple tree is to the West. On the day of winter solstice, it is the
custom with the Japanese to enjoy yuzu-bath (Yuzu-yu) either in the
household or in public bathhouses (Sentoh). Urban dwellers can get
yuzu at stores. Yuzu is also used as healthy natural vinegar. A
good subject (season-word) for Haiku. Lots of Haikuists like to
compose yuzu-ku around this season. (T. Nonin)
(Yuuzora kara/ yuzu no hitotsu wo morau)

49.
Tea-blossoms keep falling--
Let them fall as they do.
(Cha-no-hana no/ chiru bakari/ chirashite oku)

50.
Winter is come;
Sticks of wood,
Sticks of bamboo.
(Fuyu ga kiteiru/ kigire/ takegire)

51.
The moon has risen;
I'm awaiting nobody and nothing.
(Tsuki ga nobotte/ nani wo matsu deno naku)

52.
There's something to eat,
This and that--
Windy all day.
(Are kore/ taberumo wa atte/ kaze no ichinichi)

53.
Sound of water--
I'm truly settled down and relaxed.
(Mizuoto/ shinjitsu/ ochitsuki mashita)

54.
Falling leaves--
Far beyond,
I see Buddha.
(Ochiba furu oku fukaku/ mi-hotoke wo miru)

55.
Snow is falling
All around Gochu hermitage;
I build a fire as a lonely self.
(Gochu yuki furu/ hitori to shite/ hi wo taku)

56.
Warm day,
I have something more to eat.
(Nukui hi no/ mada taberumono wa aru)

57.
Snow's falling on snow,
I'm in quietude.
(Yuki e yuki furu/ shizukesa ni oru)

58.
Moonlit night,
He came with a handout gift;
I found 'twas rice.
(tsukiyo/ temiyage wa/ kome datta-ka)

59.
Camellias are in bloom;
There are tombstones.
(Tsubaki hiraite/ haka ga aru)

60.
A tiny vase,
A twig of camellia in it.
(Ichirin-zashi no/ tsubaki ichirin)

61.
What's that sound--
Must be a bird
Eating berries since morning.
(Oto wa/ asa kara kinomi wo tabe ni kita tori ka)

62.
Uprooted many a time,
Diehard is the weed;
I pull out its tenacity.
(Nuitemo/ nuitemo/ kusa no shuuchaku wo nuku)

63.
Today I picked butterburrs,
Ate butterburrs.
(Kyo wa/ fuki wo tsumi/ fuki wo tabe)

64.
Sparrows dance,
Dandelions fall.
(Suzume odoru ya/ tanpopo chiru ya)

65.
Morn is about to dawn,
Windows just opened--
Fresh young leaves.
(Mou ake souna/ mado akete/ aoba)

66.
Long hair...
Gray.
(Nagai ke ga/ shiraga)

67.
I'm true and obedient to my mind;
Rice has just been cooked well.
(kokoro sunaoni/ gohan ga fuita)

68.
It's good after all
To be all by myself--
Weeds.
(Yappari/ hitori ga yoroshii/ zasso)

69.
Whole day long
No one has come today--
Firelies.
(Kyo mo ichinichi/ dare mo konakatta/ houtaru)

70.
Stark naked I am,
Dragonfly trying to land on me.
(Suppadaka e/ tombo tomarou to suru ka)

71.
Making a rustling sound,
Mute insect has come.
(Kasari kosori/ oto sasete/ nakanu mushi ga kita)

72.
Wind through the pines;
Cool--
People eat, horses eat.
(matsukaze suzushiku/ hito mo tabe/ uma mo tabe)

73.
All day long, today
I have walked in the wind.
(Kyo mo ichinichi/ Kaze wo aruite kita)

74.
What's this? What's that?
Everything is blooming.
(Nani ga nani yara/ minna saite iru)

75.
When I walk, I see buttercups;
When I sit, I see buttercups.
(Arukeba kinpohge/ suwareba kinpohge)

76.
Thistles--
Bright in the morning
After the rain.
(Azami azayakana/ asa no ame agari)

77.
Hanging down my head,
I see nothing but pebbles.
(Utsumuite/ ishikoro bakari)

78.
Drippings from young leaves,
Drippings from my bamboo-hat.
(Wakaba no shizuku de/ kasa no shizuku de)

79.
Come on, fireflies, come on;
I've come to my native town.
(Houtaru koi koi/ furusato ni kita)

80.
Bamboo sprouts of the temple
Have grown into bamboos.
(Otera no takenoko/ take ni natta)

81.
Wind through the pines,
Shadows of the pines;
I'm lying down in the shade.
(Matsukaze matsukage/ nekoronde)

82.
Day is breaking;
I whet a sickle.
(Akete kuru/ kama wo togu)

83.
I'm listening alone--
Woodpecker.
(Hitori kiite ite/ kitsutsuki)

84.
(The spa--)
Gushing out and overflowing:
I immerse my body in it.
(Waite afureru nakani/ neteiru)

85.
I'm waiting;
Cherries are ripe.
(Matte iru/ sakuranbo urete iru)

86.
Nestling down in the mountain (spa),
I doff my clothes.
(Yama futokoro no/ hadaka to nari)

87.
A whole day in the mountains;
Ants are walking, too.
(Yama no ichinichi/ ari mo aruite iru)

88.
Clouds are sailing fast
To make the moon look better.
(Kumo ga isoide/ yoi tsuki ni suru)

89.
I'm always alone,
Red dragonfly.
(Itsumo hitori de/ akatombo)

90.
I'm on travel;
Until my monk's robe dries up,
Wind comes from the weeds.
(Tabi no houe ga/ kawaku made/ zasso no kaze)

91.
It wiggles;
A bagworm.
(Ugoite/ minomushi datta yo)

92.
Across the water
Lights of the brothels
Began to twinkle.
(Mizu wo hedatete/ onagoya no hi ga/matataki dashita)

93.
The mountains
Hazed and overlapped--
My home town.
(Kasunde Kasanatte/ yama ga furusato)

94.
In the spring breeze
One begging-bowl is there.
(Harukaze no/ hachinoko hitotsu)

95.
--Returning to my hermitage--
I'm home after a long absence;
Bamboo sprouts are shooting forth
Everywhere.
(Hisabisa modoreba/takenoko nyoki nyoki)

96.
Soaked with rain and sweat,
Plough-horse gets many a scolding.
(Bisshori nurete/ shiro kaku uma wa/ shikararete bakari)

97.
Rain and shine--
The fields have turned
Into green paddies.
(Haretari futtari/ aota ni natta)

98.
A thicket--
That's the place
Corpses are cremated.
(kusa shigeru/ soko wa shinin wo/ yaku tokoro)

99.
Wet with morning dew,
I take a wayward course.
(Asatsuyu shittori/ Ikitai hou e iku)

100.
Little cuckoos--
I will go beyond
That mountain morrow.
(Hototogisu/ asu wa ano yama/ koete ikou)

101.
Doffing my bamboo-hat,
I'm thoroughly wet.
(Kasa wo nugi/ shimizimi to nure)

102.
cockroach!
your whiskers are long
and so are mine
http://haiku.cc.ehime-u.ac.jp/shiki.archive/9909/0088.html

Jesse Glass
My Santoka Translations
http://www.sendecki.com/ahadada/archives/2005/03/06/my_santoka_translations.php
These are a few of my translations of the experimental, free-form haiku of Santoka (1882–1940). Santoka practiced “Walking Zen” and traveled Kyushu, Honshu, and Shikoku on foot as an itinerant monk begging enough money for a cup of sake and a bowl of rice a day. Santoka’s father was a womanizer and a spend-thrift and his mother killed herself on account of this. His memory of her body being pulled from the well in which she drowned herself haunted him all of his life.

*
This
journey
without
goal–
weeping
locust.
*
Between life
death/snow
still falling.
*
Road
no end
loneliness.
*
On my straw
hat
dragonfly clings–
keep walking.
*
In this
blizzard
try to
sleep,
not die.
*
Rain
falling on
home
country–
walk barefoot/here.
*
Push
apart
step
thru
push
apart
step
thru
blue-green
mountain.
*
These
my hands
these
my feet
warm inside–
sleep.
*
All night
long
dogs bark,
I walk.

The difficulty in finding an English equivalent to Santoka’s highly compressed haiku is almost impossible. For instance, the famous “Push apart/step thru” haiku above has a sonic element that is apparent to any native speaker of Japanese. My students were kind enough to point it out to me one day during discussion. There is the feeling of a work song to the poem, which barely comes through in English.

WEEDS, FALLING RAIN: a selection of Zen Haikai by Santoka Taneda
new versions by Okami
http://www.beyond-the-pale.co.uk/santoka.htm

Unpleasant days:
days I don't walk, days without booze,
haikuless days.
Sake for flesh, haiku for soul:
sake is the haiku of the flesh
haiku is the sake of the soul.
Walking on and on -
my only course.
So this is what
he calls his "tea grove" -
one miserable bush!
No water but that
trickling from
the farmer in the dry ricefield.
The thistles -
fresh and sparkling
after morning rain.
At the mountain-foot
many graves resting
in the warm sunlight.
This road straight -
and empty of company.
Going deeper
and still deeper
into green mountains.
The sunshine freshly
reflecting from
my freshly-shaven head.
Begging: I accept
the burning sun.
One pot is enough;
I wash the rice.
Shining brightly in the sunshine:
my little bowl of rice.
Within life and death
snow ceaselessly falls.
I have no home;
autumn gets bleaker.
Worn and torn daily
and falling in shreds:
my cloak for travelling.
The giant camphor-tree:
the dog and I
completely soaked.
Nice road
leading to a nice building:
a crematorium.
Rain in my eyes:
I can't read the signpost.
The sky at sunset -
a little alcohol would taste so good.
The long night:
made even longer
by a barking dog.
The louse I've caught
is warmer than I am!
Nonchalantly pissing
off the road
soaking the young weeds.
Winter rain clouds -
soldiers off to China
to be blown to bits.
Marching together
on the ground their feet
will never pound again.
Leaving hands and feet
behind in China:
Japanese soldiers come home.
Will the municipality
stage a banner day
for those brought back as bones ?
Baggage I can't throw off
so heavy front and back.
In the calm stillness
after the rainstorm:
flies.
Slowly but surely
I adopt the vices
of my dead father.
Sweat:
collecting
in my navel.
Today's lunch:
just water.
Breaking the dead branches
thinking of nothing.
Today again
no letters.
Only butterflies.
At last!
The mail's arrived.
Soon ripe fruit will fall.
The leaves fall.
From now on
water will taste better and better.
A little woozy,
leaves fall one by one.
My begging-bowl
accepts the falling leaves.
Hailstones also
drop into my begging-bowl.
If I sell my rags
and buy some alcohol -
will there still be loneliness ?
Twilight - the sound
of a sad letter
dropping into a postbox.
Goallessly
I walk amongst tombstones.
Slowly, slowly
falling apart:
my final autumn.
I've become a real beggar now:
one towel.
The few flies that remain
find me familiar.
Pissing blood -
how long will I be able
to carry on ?
Coughing, coughing -
and nobody to slap my back.
No money, no possessions,
no teeth -
all alone.
My heart's exhausted -
the mountains, the sea
are too beautiful.
Mountains I'll never see again
fade in the distance.
When I die:
weeds,
falling rain.
Some life remains:
I scratch my belly...

Santoka
http://www.cc.matsuyama-u.ac.jp/~kametaro/santoka1.html

In all likelihood Santoka will be misunderstood by those who are repelled by his way of life. his life and his work were extreme, excessive. He was a confirmed drunkard but he was often cold sober. He was a vagabond, a bum who begged at every door, but he was rich in faith, thought, and sesitivity. His haiku are free in style, free in wording, free of everything traditional, just as his life was free of bondage to society and convention. He owed everyone he knew, but he could offer more than he he owed. He was haunted by misery, but he may have been the happiest man who ever breathed: joy abided in his innermost self-joy of life and joy of haiku.
He went his way, looking the world in his face, without concern for the future. One of his friends, Oyama Sumita, described his life this way: "Santoka did not think of yesterday or of tomorrow, but lived each today as it came on him. In Zen every single breath is appreciated to the full. Santoka gave full justice to each breath, each moment, each day, as if it was his last. Each step, each movement, each haiku formed a consummate whole in his life."
His legacy includes several collections of haiku and an idiosyncratic diary called Gochuan, all of literary merit. In that diary, on September 21, 1932, he wrote: "A tumble-down man enters a tumble-down hut. Morning and evening, tranquility, insects, the moon, persimmons, the flowers of the manjushage (an amaryllis)." In perfect solitude he cooks his supper.
Hitotsu areba
koto taru nabeno
kome o togu.
One washes rice
in a metal pot;
only one pot, that's enough
(for me).
or
I wash rice
in a metal pot;
one pot's enough.

or
Washing rice
in a metal pot;
one pot's enough.

Colloquialisms mark his haiku. He used easy, plain language at its best, never the literary, poetic diction of more ordinary writers.
Korogi yo,
asu no kome dake wa
aru.
Oh cricket!
there is enough rice, at least
for tomorrow.

The following haiku in not grammatically correct Japanese. Santoka often was careless about grammar. He seemed to want us to read between the lines, and more often than not his grammatical mistakes, a sign of his nonchalance, add charm to his work.
Anta to ko-shite kisha ga
itta ri kitari suru
kemuri.
In your company
going this way and that . . .
the smoke of train.
Santoka was the pseudonym of Taneda Shoichi. He was born December 3, 1882, in a village called Nishisaware in Yamaguchi Prefecture, westernmost Honshu. His family was old and affluent. They owned a large estate worked by many tenant farmers, and they lived in a huge sprawling house. The neighbors called them the "Great Taneda."
With his four brothers and sisters Shoichi lived a happy life until he was eleven. Then their mother, distraught by her husband's profiligacy, committed suicide by throwing herself in to a well. The shock scarred his life. Forty years later he wote in his diary: "Mother is not to blame. No one is to blame. If one has to blame anybody, one has to blame everybody. It is the human condition that must be blamed... Oh my mother! what a memory. If I write an autobiography I have to began this way: 'The misfortunes of my family commenced with the suicide of mother.""
Shoichi finished secondary school and in 1901 entered Waseda University, but he left without graduating. In 1916 the ruin of his family was completed when it went bankrupt. He had a job but no interest in it; he escaped into drink and literature. Off and on he went to Tokyo to study haiku under the master Ogihaara Seiwensui; that ended when he moved to Kumamoto, on Kyusyu.
In 1924 he came close to suicide himself. Drunk, he stood in front of a speeding streetcar and by only a hairbreadh escaped death. A priest who was witness took him to a temple where he plunged into Zen. After some years he left the temple, still forlorn, and took to wandering aimlessly, making haiku and begging alms, always haunted by longing for the carefree days of his boyhood.
Ame furu
furu-sato wa
hadashi de aruku.
The old home
in the rain . . .
I walk barefooted.

At last he came to Matsuyama, where haiku devotees built for him at the foot of a mountain a small cottage named Isso-an, "The Hermitage of the Lonely Blade of Grass." Here he lived until his death in 1940.
He kept his diary until almost the end. "My life has been a continual waste," he wrote. "I pour sake. Out of it are born my haiku."
This haiku may be his masterpiece:
Teppatsu no
naka e mo
arare.
Roughly;
Into my begging bowl,
i too,
hailstones.

A single glance shows that it is defective in form, lacking five syllables. But it is so full of implication that it makes up for this formal defect. Its significance is strengthened by its brevity. Chills run up my spine when I read it in Japanese original. The haiku is alive, every word asserts its maximum. It explains nothing, it is actual experience in the actual present. It express eternity in a moment, the univerce in a particle; sound and sight strangely mingle in its impact. This is the essence of haiku.
A few years ago I made a tentative translation of this haiku in collaboration with the late Halord G. Henderson, Professor Emieritus of Columbia University, a distinguished Japanologist and epert on haiku. I remember clearly the lengthly correspondence between New York and Matsuyama as we tried to clarify our ideas about this haiku and archive a translation that would make it understandable to American readers. It was painstaking work, even though we had before us the passage in Santoka's diary in which he tells how the haiku came to be written and what it means, or what he meant it to mean.
As background, we must know that in Japan and other Buddhist contries, begging for alms in front of homes and businesses is among the religeous duties imposed on priests and faithful believers. During the coldest days of winter, mendicants go out on kengyo, "cold weather austerities."
Teppatsu means literally "iron bowl," though usually it is made of brass; it is the kind of begging bowl used exclusively by priests and monks, who hold it in the palms, close to the body, extending it only when alms are offered.
Arare is here the season-words for winter; it refers to the small hailstones of winter, as distinguished from the bigger ones that usually fall in summer.
The monk is Santoka himself. With a linen bag to hold alms hanging from his neck, his robes tattered, his body partly bared, nearly barefoot, he chants a mantra as he strides along with mind composed, shivering but resolute. Suddenly he and his begging bowl are struck by hail.
In his diary he wrote: " The hailstones as they hit, and the coviction that the hail dashing upon me was a divine whip. These points should have been expressed. This haiku should have contained words to express 'hitting' or whipping."'
Perhaps we need not to take Santoka's self-criticism too seriously, since he never altered his haiku. But it does suggest that it might be easier for the English-speaking reader to appreciate this haiku if, as Professor Henderson suggested, it is translated something like this;
Striking
my begging bowl too,
hailstones ...

(July 1980)

The Illustrated Haiku Poems of Santoka Taneda
http://thegreenleaf.co.uk/HP/Santoka/00santoka.htm
http://thegreenleaf.co.uk/HP/Santoka/00haiku.htm

"Westerners like to conquer mountains;
Orientals like to contemplate them.
As for me, I like to taste the mountains."
Santoka

on the water
the reflection
of a wanderer
no path but this one —
I walk alone
Begging : I accept
the blazing sun
The wind in the pines
morning and evening
carries the sound of the temple bell
Wet with morning dew
I go in the direction I want
Darkness
wet with
the sound of the waves
silently
I put on
today’s straw sandals
This straight road
full of loneliness
Stretching out my feet:
some daylight still remains
aimlessly
I walk through the withered grass
In the spring wind
one small begging bowl
my begging bowl
accepts the fallen leaves
spring
walking with my begging bowl
until the end
going deeper
and still deeper
the green mountains
there is nothing else I can do;
I walk on and on
slightly tips ;
the leaves fall
one by one
not a cloud anywhere;
I take of my kasa
looking at the mountains
all day no need
to put on my kasa
The dragon flies
perch on my kasa
as I walk along
from the back
walking away soaking wet?
these few ashes
are all that remain
of my diary?
No more houses to beg from;
the clouds cover the mountains
I have no home
autumn deepens
Daily torn and tattered
turning to shreds
my robe for travelling
flowing with water
I walked down to the village
the sunlight freely reflects off
my freshly shaven head
within life and death
snow falls ceaselessly
I walk in the winds
brightness and darkness
daybreak
alone I warm myself
in the waters of the hot spring
all together
we pick the persimmons
we eat the persimmons
nothing left to eat
today’s sunrise
If it shines, it bleats;
if it is cloudy, it bleats
the single goat
now I stand here
where the ocean’s blueness
is without limit
warm fallen leaves
I savour the rice’s whiteness
waking from a nap
either way I look: mountains
wearing rags
in the coolness
I walk alone
well which way should I go?
the wind blows
sleeping on a soft futon
I dream of my native village
nothing remains
of the house I was born in —
fireflies
winter rain
everyone is drenched
pressing on and on
until finally falling down;
the grass along the roadside
obediently blooming
becoming white flowers
Oh! this louse
I’ve caught
is so warm
the few flies that remain
seem to remember me
the small Buddha statue
rained on for the sake of human beings
sunset the ploughmans shadow
grows deeper
in the mountain all day
the ants too are marching
baggage I cannot throw off
so heavy front and back
winter rain
people have been so kind
my eyes fill with tears
the thistles
bright and fresh
just after the morning rain
peace for the heart
life in the mountains
all day I said nothing
the sound of waves
late at night
the harsh sound
of gambling
the reflection of a one-sen coin
thrown my way
in the grass trampled by the horse
flowers in full bloom
each day we meet
both demons and buddhas
we’ve separated;
my back pack is heavy
just as it is —
it rains, I get wet, I walk
completely drenched —
this stone marks the way
I haven’t met a soul;
the road is bumpy
men, women
and their shadows
dancing
the rain soaked persimmon leaves
become even more beautiful
spring cold
I cross
form island to island
here again
I shave off my white hair
as they are
the weeds
sprout new buds
in happiness
or sadness
weeds grow and grow
weeds that may die
any time
blooming and seeding
I sit in the withered beauty
of the wild grasses
after all
its sad to be alone —
the withered grasses
after all
its good to be alone
the wild grasses
when I walk, weed seeds
when I sit, weed seeds
dew and
fallen leaves
swept up together
a lonely night
eating the leftover food
and…
in the evening loneliness
again tilling the field
in spring snow
women are so beautiful
the drifting clouds
and the temples splendour
reflect off the water
lets strike
the big temple bell
I’ve made it this far;
I drink the pure water and go
thrusting my feet
into the rough sea
my life as a traveller
I enter the green forest
thinking of Ryokan
who also passed this way
my heart is empty;
the violent waves come and go
in the thick grass
puddles scattered
among the temple ruins
at last! the moon and I
arrive in Tokyo
since we parted
every day snow falls
I present my cool begging bowl as arms
at the six-o’clock siren
marching together
on the ground
they will never step on again
young men march away
the mountain greenness
is at its peak
winter rain clouds
thinking: going to china
to be torn to pieces
the moon’s brightness
does it know
where the bombing will be?
brave, yes;
sorrowful, yes —
the white boxes
I sweep the garden
after a long absence;
the flowers in the hedge are blooming
where the walls of my hut have crumbled
vines and grass grow
the butterfly
floating, fluttering
above the temple roof
in the ceaseless sound
of the water
there is Buddha
I slipped and fell —
the mountains are still
notes written before my trip
rewritten and put down
a single bird comes
but does not sing
its enough;
I sweep up the fallen leaves
stretching out their branches
the winter trees
the frosty night
where am I going to sleep
using a stone for a pillow
I drift toward the clouds
flowing down the mountain steepness
the bright water
throwing myself
into the drenched mountains
no inn to spend the night
the moon leads the way
it may be sunset
but still there is no inn
shrikes sing
the dry parched stones
roll and roll
the days are short
evening comes quickly
my backpack is so heavy
birds in the rain
they have nothing to eat
soaking wet
I cant read the letters
on the signpost
sitting by myself
the mosquitoes
wont leave me alone
today, still alive
I stretch out my feet
some life remains
I scratch my body
the mountain stillness
makes the rain still
the sky at sunset
a cup of sake
would taste so good!
wearily I return to my hut
the moon fills the sky
that was my face
in the cold mirror
rocks and large cliffs
covered with crimson leaves
the long night
made longer
by a dog’s barking
asleep or awake
the night is long
the sound of the rapids
the beauty of the sunset
grieves not for old age
sitting alone
silently in the mosquito net
eating my rice
working
and working harder
still the pampas grass grows
more cutting
more digging
planting
if only one plows the fields
you’ll soon hear a song
settling down again
the distant mountains
covered with snow
so happy to be born
the baby opens
and closes his hands
passing over the mountains
again mountains, winter mountains
good news
bad news
spring snow falls
no road but this one
spring snow falls
beneath the river of heaven
the drunkard dances
all night
the deep cool moon
appears between the buildings
fallen leaves —
deep in the forest
I see Buddha
winter sky
distant dreams
shattered and flown away
returning to my hut
one man’s moon
along the straight road
my endless journey
the smell of sweat
hurrying along the road
I cant look back
in the stillness
after the storm —
flies
I open the window
full of spring
sunrise, sunset
nothing to eat
jumping
one
red frog
gradually I take on the vices
of my dead father
the mountain becomes dark
I listen to its voice
summer heat
soaks into
every living thing
sweat gathered up
in my navel
the nameless weed
blooms all at once —
purple
a dragonfly on the rock;
midday dreams
my new robe
full of sunlight and warmth
high noon — in the deep grass
the cry of a frog
being swallowed by a snake
picking the nameless flower
I offer it to Buddha
my mind is clear;
I pick the frost-covered daikon
I told a lie;
a lonely moon appears
they could feel my hand
the village flies escaped easily
scooping up the water
lifting it towards the moon
full of light
sunset full in my face
after borrowing money
I return in the river wind
the autumn sky
far away
I share your joy
fully rested
I open my eyes —
spring
glad to be alive
I scoop up the water
my hands so thin
even held together
I cant do anything;
my life of contradictions
blown by the wind
is there anything I lack
the leaves fall
breaking the dead branches
thinking of nothing
destitute - melting snow
drips slowly from the roof
rain falls silently
I scoop up the water
the green grass
I return barefoot
no place to hide from the blazing sun
the water flows by
the rain filled bucket
brimming with beautiful water
sweeping falling
sweeping falling
late autumn
the leaves fall
from now on
water will taste even better
from the shadow
of the rocks
water wells up
drunk, I slept
with the crickets
walking in the freezing wind
bitterly reproaching myself
walking on and on
among the endless
blooming higan flowers
thirsty for a drink of water
the sound of a waterfall
sometimes I stop begging
and gaze at the mountains
far, far away
a bird crosses over
the snow covered mountains
the distant snow covered mountains
completely cut off from the world of men
wet with evening dew
I slept
if I sell my rags
and buy some sake
will there still be loneliness
in the heat of the day
crying or laughing —
only one
only wishing to walk
I walk with my full sack —
the evening moon
using a stone for a pillow
truly sleeping: this beggar
all day I said nothing
unable to sleep
the moonlit night
without any destination
I walk between the tombstones
the deep clear blue water
shines brightly —
my sad shadow
from the mountains
white wildflowers
on the desk
in the space between the buildings
look at the mountains greenness!
cold
clouds
hurrying
the reflection on the water
it’s a traveller
the moon rises
I’m not waiting for anything
snow falls
on the snowfall
silently
truly a mountainous country
only mountains, more mountains
and the bright moon
returning home
in the deep stillness
the dust on the desk
thinking of nothing
I walk among
a forest of withered trees
the sound of the waves
now distant now close
how much of my life remains?
I purify myself
in the blue water
rushing over the rocks
the moonlight
pierces
my empty stomach
slapping at the flies
slapping at the mosquietoes
slapping at myself
even the sound of the raindrops
has grown older
the breeze from the mountains
in the wind bell
makes me want to live
slowly, slowly
falling into ruin
my final autumn
today again, soaking wet
I walk on an unknown road
my heart is weary —
the mountains, the sea
are too beautiful
the quietness of death:
a clear sky, leafless trees
when I die
weeds, falling rain

The Santoka versions by Scott Watson
Published in Japan by Bookgirl Press / 3-13-16 Tsurugaya-higashi Miyagino-ku, Sendai / 983-0826. Manufactured in Sendai, Japan by Sasaki Printing & Publishing Co., Ltd. / 8-45 Nishimachi Rokuchonome / Wakabayashi-ku, Sendai / 984-0011. ISBN: 4-915948-41-2 C0098. Cover and other illustrations by Ed Baker, Cover design by P.B RAPHICS. To order, contact Scott Watson at: swbot@ma.mni.ne.jp
2005, 42 pp., [104 haiku]

Reviewed by an'ya
http://www.geocities.com/ana_vazic/reviews14.htm
These translations were firstly published in The Tohoku Gakuin Review under the titles Weeds We'd Wed and A Life to Live: Santoka (in 2000 and 2004.) Because Santoka happens to be one of my personal favorites,) therefore having read translations of his work by other people, I can say that I find Scott Watson's approach altogether genuine genius. Albeit, his translations are so “real/blunt”—just like Santoka's haiku; nothing seems forced nor able to be put into a boring bottle here, starting right off with Ed Baker's distinctive artwork gracing the front cover (and throughout this publication) entitled The Santoka versions by Scott Watson.
Scott seems to me, to be a translator with great resolution insofar as it's obviously a result of his being a poet himself, plus his indepth and profound study of Santoka's subjects, the combination of which was bound to end in great insight; his slow but sure ascent toward translations assume a more definite shape the nearer we approach them. But let us examine more than just the translator himself, let us look at what his translations present to readers that perhaps others do not—for instance, the way that Santoka's unshakable willpower often times seeps through:
forsaken
still something
in these legs
it's
come
to these
tired legs
to stop this dragonsly
slipping and falling
mountain silence
getting just enough
to eat: rain
(*by begging that is)

Only a few select people are born with a silver spoon in their mouth so-to-speak, but anyone can strive to overcome trials by perseverance and consistent actions. Fending off every ill-fated moment life throws at them, guarding against all obstacles, Santoka, through his closeness with nature and via Watson's translating, makes this look easily doable:
no matter news is
good or bad—spring snow
taking it easy,
taking a piss-weeds
bud all over

no sake.
drink in the moon

certain days
stop begging to take in
the mountains

Moreover, as Scott himself says of an old Frank Zappa lyric “you gotta get into it before you get out of it; you gotta get out of it before you get into it.” I can tell you, not only does he apply this to his translations, but Scott commands readers to thoroughly get in and out of Santoka's haiku—his English versions rendered as if they themselves, were . . . Japanese.
rock
shadow
water
gushing
sure
as
I live
Milky Way middle night drunkard dancing
this
robe
this
worn
this
weedy
fruition
(*the robe meaning a monk's garment)
autumn-sitting in weeds
It's truly unbelieveable to what degree men who are gifted with a sense of humor, are living proof against the trapfalls of unfortunate destiny; translations that capture laughter as an undeniable argument against the ominous, and delightfully present things that may be off-color to some—well, let me just say that not many can resist this underlying influence, especially when presented within excellent translation:
peckers
and
pussies
a hot
bath
over-flowing
still alive a body for a body to scratch
naked
conversation
abounds
jazz noise won't
get you there
a sutra will
In closing, I would say that it's but by the potence of personal struggle and tenacity that the most witty and lasting popular repute is thereby formed. Experience and famous poets tell us, in order to be artistic (whether it be in the translations of someone's work or in the work itself,) that we must embrace a touch of madness in all that we do. If we don't possess such qualities, it would befit us to cultivate them like Scott/Santako, thinking incessantly of them and by studying the concepts which represent them. For that road on which one wanders may not always lead you where you wanted to go, but it's likely to take you to an even higher plateau. And per your walks, you will become an accomplished traveller, (like Santoka) which shall be due to the second-sight required to be able to attain life's most simple goals. The Santoka! (imho) a must-own, must-read.
straight ahead
out-reaching loneliness
road.
if we walk: the cuckoo.
if we hurry: the cuckoo.
walking:
buttercups
sitting:
buttercups
traveling
endlessly
clipping my nails
grilling a fish
even singeing a hand --
single life
a weed. a-
lone.
all right.
Santoka translations by Scott Watson

Santôka: A Translation with Photographic Images. Photographs by Hakudô Inoue; book and cover design by Kazuya Takaoka; English text by Emiko Miyashita and Paul Watsky. (Tokyo: Pie Books, 2007). 400 pages, [90 haiku]
http://www.modernhaiku.org/bookreviews/Santoka2007.html

Carlos Fleitas
Santoka o la intolerable compañía de la soledad
http://usuarios.netgate.com.uy/carlosfleitas/santoka.doc

Stanford M. Forrester
A bowl of rice: An Introduction to the Haiku of Taneda Santoka
http://www.poetrylives.com/SimplyHaiku/SHv3n3/features/stanford_forrester-santoka.html

Saiichi Maruya. Yokoshigure. Tokyo: Kodansha, 1975

Rain in the Wind: Four Stories. By Saiichi Maruya. Translated by Dennis Keene. Tokyo; New York: Kodansha International, 1990, 234 pp. (Japan's modern writers)
L'ombre des arbres: récits / Saiichi, Maruya; trad. du japonais par Aude Fieschi. - Arles: Éditions Philippe Picquier, 1993, 206 p.

Taneda Szantóka: Hóra hulló hó (Szabadhaikuk), Terebess Gábor fordításai
[200 haiku translated into Hungarian by Gabor Terebess]
http://www.terebess.hu/haiku/koltok/taneda.html

Hosai and Santoka
In: Windows. A selection of the free-form haiku of Ozaki Hosai. Translated with an introduction by Stephen Wolfe, February 11, 1977
http://elib.doshisha.ac.jp/cgi-bin/retrieve/sr_bookview.cgi/U_CHARSET.utf-8/BD00001544/Body/e01606.pdf

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