Tangled Hair/Summer to Autumn
Summer to Autumn
Like a holy Buddha
In a shrine of gold,
The morning sun rests in the depths
Of the field of rape-seed flowers.
At the time when the mists are heavy
And the cuckoo sings,
A wild columbine shivers
By the stone wall.
The early cherry bloom in my garden
Is like a maiden on a pilgrimage.
When the wind blows, she weeps.
The wind has risen,
And the white morning glories sway
Like the lips of an echo.
As I wait for my love
In the summer twilight,
A red crab crawls up
The gate of the lighthouse beside me.
Fishing lights in the offing,
Numberless,
Are like the blossoms of camellias
Drifting from the isle of Idzu.
In the spring rain
The young nightingales
Sing in the nest
Made of my fallen hair.
The wings of a moth beat
Upon the screens of my mountain retreat
As if the autumn wind already
Had begun to blow.
How odd
To stand on a hanging bridge
And watch the moon at night,
Like a fish riding
On the swell of the waves.
You have come at last,
And so I let go the dragon-flies
Which I have held captive
In my five fingers.
If a swarm of June-bugs
Could be herded together,
They would resemble
The ocean waves on a moonlight night.
Though the ocean roars
And the sons of men mourn,
The flowers of the bindweed in the sand
Do not even blink their eyes.
I hear the distant roar of thunder,
And under the green shade of the cypress tree
White lespedezas fall.
On this autumn evening,
O droll midget,
Come and dance
On the palm of my hand.
As the silver-leaf of a screen
Darkens with age,
So the autumn turns into winter.