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.