OCTAVIO PAZ modern haiku 36.1

January 21, 2012 § 2 Comments

A DAY IN THE CITY OF LAKES

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The white palace

white on the black lake

lingam and yoni

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As the goddess does the god

night has encircled me

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The cool veranda

You are boundless, boundless

but surveyable

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The stars they’re inhuman

This hour though is ours

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Falling I rise

Burning I grow wet

Do you have only one body?

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Birds skimming the water

Dawn comes to my eyelids

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Filled with thoughts

immense as death itself

the marble looms over you

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Palaces run aground

their whiteness is adrift

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Women and children

roam through the street

fruit scattered about

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Flashy rags or lightening?

A procession on the plain

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Cold and jingling

on their wrists and ankles

bands of silver

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In a rented suit a guy

goes to his wedding

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Clean and draped to dry

among the stones clothes

you watch in silence

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On the island monkeys

with red asses are screaming

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Sun dim in the heat

Hanging from the wall

a wasp’s nest

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My face is also the sun

of blackened thoughts

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Flies and blood

fill the courtyard of Kali

A young goat flits about

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Eating from the same plate

gods and men and beasts

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Over the pale god

the black goddess

dances headless

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Heat and the hour splits open

These rotting mangoes

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Your face a lake

smooth, without thoughts

Out splashes a trout

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Afternoon’s gone

Lights kindle over the water

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A rippling in

the golden plain and a grotto

Your clothes nearby

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Over your body in the shade

I am like a lamp

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A scale made of

living bodies bound together

over the void

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The water sustains us

The sky overwhelms us

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I open my eyes

How many trees were born

just last night

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What I’ve seen and wanted to say

the white sun blots out

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El Dia en Udaipur translated by Chris Gordon

HIROAKI SATO ant ant ant ant ant four

November 9, 2011 § Leave a comment

Wartime

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February when people often die has come again

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Kubota Mantarô

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For my child leaving I pick moonlit eggplants and cook them

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Takeshita Shizunojo

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In the midst of layered spring haze a murderous intent

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Ugaki Matome

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The black cat too is painfully summer-thin in my house

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Mitsuhashi Takajo

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“Cease with destruction” “Cease with destruction” my heart freezes

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Kubota Mantarô

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In the pitch-dark room I remain leaning on a papered door

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Takeshita Shizunojo

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I fold only cranes with my child in the autumn shower

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Fubasami Fusae

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Under a two-day moon the Divine State has gotten small

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Watanabe Suiha

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All of them the writings my husband left in this seed bag

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Takeshita Shizunojo

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Survived: I sowed buckwheat and now it has flowered

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Hayashibara Raisei

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Hiroaki Sato, Translator

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TOMIZAWA KAKIO by HIROAKI SATO ant ant ant ant ant five

October 13, 2011 § Leave a comment

Scenery In Green Flames

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Cold thunder a single fish slaps heaven

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To cross the strait something vermillion stirs

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Soughing out of my lung a blue butterfly’s wings

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The day honey overflows in bee hives its heaviness

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The shadow merely the migrant birds above the salt lake

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The light turned off oh the heaviness of mercury

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When the snow falls the snow falls quietly nude

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The night the snow accumulates I become a deep-sea fish

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In the evening wind both horse and woman are in the wind

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Night the moon falls I live in the shadow of leaves

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Night the rain smolders I remain closed with petals

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Camellias fall oh this lukewarm midday fire

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Day of pollen the birds do not have breasts I see

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Chickens mate and the sun’s letting mud drip

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Swaying geese come scenery in green flames

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I turn into a snake a drop of water taking a walk

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A butterfly glistening glistening and I darken

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Away in the yellow wind they strip a house duck naked

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Right in the middle of autumn wind a blue shell hole

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Torn clouds here on earth are 15-centimeter howitzers

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Autumn deep clanking our canteens we eat

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Dead ahead clouds glittering forced to cross a river

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There getting wet rain-red is a hand grenade

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Night bandage smudges with blood geese fly honking

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The trench’s belly blood-red in undulating rains

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In the blue sky I hammer a nail that makes a piercing sound

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Deep in my ears I hide a single red machine gun

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Gluing themselves to my retina are mud and muck

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Deep in my chest a gray gun carriage overturns

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I close my eyes and in the void a black horse prances

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FUJIKI KIYOKO by HIROAKI SATO ant ant ant ant ant six

September 30, 2011 § 2 Comments

As If She Were Machinery

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In deep autumn I go on traveling unenlightened

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The scent of perfume so lively sudden loneliness

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The quiet sound of a falling mosquito resounds in my body

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Ears of wheat reveal the depth and shallows of the sea

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The day my black hair’s heavy and cold we part

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A spring evening I ride a car with an ordinary man

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Katydids my perspective gradually narrows

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A girl’s limbs are thin and wise air-conditioned

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Having got used to the depth of war I love a dog

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Summer deep I sleep the day with my own smell

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Fingerprints of desolation everywhere clouds white

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The trifoliate orange is sharp the lady’s elegant

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Oppressed by the sea in twilight I await a train

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Covered by the sounds of insects lies a brain

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Lonely spring a wife lives as if she were machinery

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The night I give up and sew the needle shines

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A white moon turns to gold above the young leaves

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Through my temples a locomotive dashes dark

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Here’s life the fruit juice amber transparent

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Early autumn’s good my veins transparent arteries pulse

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Rainy season desolate I find myself with peanut shells

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At a katydid I feel as if noon day were sinking

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With dusk slow to fall gruel’s cooking at my feet

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Knotweed growing thin falls into the typhoon zone

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A spring evening is wound down toward the apple skin

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Coming away from parting I drink hard cold water

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White noon no white letter comes knocking

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Only a horsefly’s voice annoying my ears I make unlined clothes

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Having lived single-mindedly I’ve lost my goal

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JORGE LUIS BORGES diecisiete haiku (1981)

March 4, 2011 § Leave a comment

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Afternoon. The mountain.

What they told me.

Already it’s gone.

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The broad evening.

Nothing more than

a vague fragrance.

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The dream that faded

just before dawn.

Was it real or not?

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The strings grow still.

Their sound gives way

To my thoughts.

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No comfort from

the almonds in the orchard.

They make me think of you.

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Dimmer, dimmer.

My books, pictures, even keys.

Just like my future.

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Since that one day

I’ve been unable to move

the pieces on the board.

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In the desert

dawn presents herself.

Someone will see it.

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The indolent sword

rings with its former battles.

My dream is otherwise.

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He’s passed on,

but his chin doesn’t realize.

Each hair still growing.

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My hand.

At times it brought about

Your horseman’s capture.

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Under the balcony

the mirror shows no more

than the moon.

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Under the moon

the shadow that reaches out

finds itself alone.

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A hint, this light

that extinguishes itself,

or a firefly?

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The new moon.

She as well sees

by some other light.

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Barely a trill.

The nightengale’s forgotten

how to console you.

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My old hand.

The traditional forms

bring it a forgetfulness.

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Translated by Chris Gordon

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