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Santoka Taneda


santoka



The path
straight ahead
solitude






Silently
I put on today's
straw sandals






Today again
soaken wet
walking on a strange path






Today
I pick buttercups
I eat buttercups






No inn for the night
the moon
shows the way






Spring
I walk holding my begging bowl
up to where?






Light-hearted
I taste
water






My meal
today
water






In the water
my reflection
as a pilgrim






In my begging bowl
the glaring whiteness
of rice






On my own
attacked
by mosquitos






I slap flies
I slap mosquitos
I slap myself






With a dragonfly
on my bamboo hat
walking






On my tired feet
a dragonfly
has settled






From now on
I won't wear any watch
evening rain




Autumn rain
mountains more mountains
mountains I don't know






Just like this it rains
I am soaken wet
I walk






Soaken wet
the milestone
showing the way






I've just been given
something to eat
falling rain






This body
that has survived
I am scratching it






Far faraway
birds fly over
snowy mountains






My skull freshly shaved
really reflects
the sunlight






Now that I don't meet
anyone
mountain butterflies






In the mountain all day long
these ants too
walk






Some days sometimes
I don't beg
and gaze at the mountains






Getting further
from these mountains
I'll never see again






Not one cloud
I take off
my bamboo hat






This cloud there
let the rain down
that soaked me






Far
from my home village
budding trees






Someone speaks with a voice
like my father's
sad while travelling






At last some mail
from now on
ripe persimmons will fall






Postman
He brings me my mail
eats a persimmon
and then leaves






Everything may be happy
or sad
grass grows






Falling leaves
they also fall
in my begging bowl






Under the quilt
I sleep
dreaming of my home village






Now that no one comes anymore
chillis
have gone red






Picking up a flower
I don't know
I offer it to Buddha






Up to
the rows of graves
the waves break






Today
I am still alive
I stretch my legs






In public baths
Naked
the discussion gets
heated






Something's missing
a tooth fell out
I hurl it into the night






At the foot of the mountain
in the sun's heat
in line five or six graves






Heavy rain
the postman
comes from so far






This
my face
in the cold mirror?





Making fun of me
my figure seen from behind
going away
in the autumn rain?










Translation: Gilles Fabre





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