Aboard a Boat, Listening to Insects
As though delighting, as though grieving, each with its own song --
an idler, listening, finds his ears washed completely clean.
As the boat draws away from grassy banks, they grow more distant,
till the many varied voices become one single voice.
Ōkubo Shibutsu (1767-1837) (translated by Burton Watson), in Burton Watson, Kanshi: The Poetry of Ishikawa Jōzan and Other Edo-Period Poets (North Point Press 1990), page 92.
Anthony Eyton (b. 1923), "Oak Wood"
As I have noted here in the past, I am always pleased to see the ant hills appear in the seams of the sidewalks in late spring. Mere grains of sand, yes; but, still. I feel the same way when I hear the sound of grasshoppers off in the tall grass of a meadow on a sunny afternoon in early summer. Eternity resides in these renewals and recurrences.
Be the keeper of the graveyard
When I die.
Issa (1763-1828) (translated by R. H. Blyth), in R. H. Blyth, Haiku, Volume 4: Autumn-Winter (Hokuseido Press 1952), p. xxvi.
Michael Garton (1935-2004), "Woodland Clearing"