Jami: oriental poet, poetry. Classical oriental poetry Oriental poets

It's not time to cry, it's time to say goodbye.
Say quietly, smiling: “Goodbye!”
No return, no former happiness
Don't promise me out of pity.
Will conscription speeches help?
if the soul does not answer the call?
Our farewell is safer than our meeting,
Our silence is truer than words.

Plaintive music, sad song
to see you off. Don't stand on the threshold.
Soon you will be happy again.
Is it worth crying when saying goodbye to me?

Kazi Nazrul Islam (Bang.) (1899-1976)
- Bengali poet, musician, philosopher.


The lover is blind. But passion is a visible trace
Leads him where sighted people cannot go.

We cannot find joy outside of passion,
There is only bile and the darkness of black troubles.

They don't go to love with a dirty floor.
Lovers have many signs.

Their path goes through madness.
And there is no place for imitators here.

After all, when you love and are loved,
You gain light from both worlds.

Quickly leave the prison of the word “I”,
You will say: “We,” and the dawn will bloom.

Wonderful rest on your way,
But you will also taste the bitter color of torment.

Be righteous if you can, Nizami.
For the heart a light is a light of righteousness.
Ganjavi. (1141–presumed 1204)
- Azerbaijani poet, thinker.

To see the link you need to log in or register

Beware of causing wounds
The soul that protects and loves you.
It hurts a lot more.
And, having forgiven everything, he will understand and will not judge.

Taking all the pain and bitterness from you,
Resignedly will remain in torment.
You will not hear insolence in words.
You will not see an evil tear sparkle.

Beware of causing wounds
To someone who does not respond with brute force.
And who cannot heal the scars.
Anyone who will humbly meet your blow.

Beware of cruel wounds yourself,
Which inflicts on your soul
The one you keep as a talisman,
But whoever carries you in his soul does not.

We are so cruel to those who are vulnerable.
Helpless for those we love.
We keep traces of countless wounds,
Which we will forgive... but we will not forget!!!
Omar Khayyam

Rudaki ran his hand along the strings,
He started singing about his dear friend.

The ruby ​​of wine is a molten ruby.
But a ruby ​​is also similar to lips.

They were given one fundamental principle:
One hardened, the other melted.

As soon as I touched it, my hand burned,
As soon as I took a sip, I lost peace.
Rudaki (around 860),
founder of Persian poetry
Translation by S. Lipkin

I came to the sage and asked him:
"What is love? He said "Nothing"
But, I know, many books have been written:
Some people write eternity, while others say it’s a moment...
Either it will scorch with fire, or it will melt like snow,
What is love? "It's all human!"
And then I looked him straight in the face,
How can I understand you? "Nothing or everything?"
He said smiling: “You yourself gave the answer!:
“Nothing or everything!” - there is no middle ground here!
Omar Khayyam

to see the link you need

When it comes to oriental poetry, the rubai of Omar Khayyam and the Japanese haiku always come to mind first. But the storehouse of oriental poetry is inexhaustible. In the East, the beauty of words has always been known and appreciated. “The eastern syllable was a model for me...” wrote A. S. Pushkin at one time. Like Alexander Sergeevich, Eastern poets wrote a lot and fruitfully about the beauty of women.

Indian, Persian, and Chinese poetry are beautiful and delightful, but the creative basis of the intricate script of Eastern poetry was the wise and multifaceted Japanese poetry. Over the course of 12 centuries, the two most famous genres of Japanese poetry were formed - the haiku tercet and the tanka quintet. In the tradition of Japanese lyric poetry, it is not customary to express feelings openly; they are conveyed through images of living nature. It is also not customary to admire the external beauty of a woman - here, too, images of a butterfly, flower, or precious stone are used.

Evening bindweed
I'm captured...Motionless
I stand in oblivion.

And I want to live in autumn
To this butterfly: drinks hastily
There is dew from the chrysanthemum.

Oh no, ready
I won't find any comparisons for you,
Three day month!

Oh, how many of them there are in the fields!
But everyone blooms in their own way -
This is the highest feat of a flower!
Basho

On the road where I'm going
On the slopes of the mountains,
The bamboo rustles quietly...
But separated from my dear wife
My heart is heavy...

The rustle of the jasper clothes died down,
Oh, what sadness I am filled with,
Without telling my beloved
What was left at home?
Kind words as I leave...
Kakinomo Hitomaro

Although this evening
I'm not expecting anyone to visit,
But my heart trembled,
When it fluttered in the wind
Bamboo curtain.
Ozawa Roan

Seen everything in the world
My eyes are back
To you, white chrysanthemums.
Issho

Jasmine stuck in my hair,
And the bliss of half-open lips,
And the body that is anointed
Sandalwood mixed with saffron
And the tender hop of her breast -
Here is paradise with its delights!
Everything else is so small...?

Why should we call our face the moon?
Or a pair of blue lotuses - eyes,
Or gold grains - particles,
What does living flesh consist of?
Only fools who despise the truth,
Believing the lying nonsense of poets,
They serve the bodies of the beautiful, consisting
Made of smooth skin, meat and bones.

Than a beauty's gaze, wound me better than a snake -
Agile, unsteady, in iridescent sparkling
Elastic curves, with glossy skin
Blue lotus colors. From a snake bite
A good healer will heal,
But herbs and mantras are powerless
Against the lightning of wondrous eyes!
Bhartrihari

You are tender, anicchama flower, I don’t argue, but a lot
More tenderly my favorite touchy-needy.

Sparkles like pearls, a desirable smile - and similar
With bamboo her golden skin.

The lilies are embarrassed, bowing before the desired one:
“Her eyes outshine us too.”

The beloved wears flowers with an uncut stem,
And we shake the frame of her flowery burden.

Unable to distinguish my desired one from the moon,
The stars look from above in confusion.
Thirukural

Is scarlet rosehip tender? You are more tender.
Is the Chinese idol curvy? You are more magnificent.
Is the chess king weak in front of the queen?
But I, fool, am weaker in front of you!

In the morning the faces of the tulips are covered with dew,
And violets, when wet, do not sparkle with beauty.
A rose that has not yet blossomed is after my heart,
She raised her hem slightly noticeably.

My idol, the potter sculpted you like this,
That before you the moon should be ashamed of the spell.
Let others decorate themselves for the holiday.
You have the gift of decorating a holiday.

To the radiance of the moon, beauty of the night,
I will add the warmth given by the candle,
The sparkle of sugar, the posture of a cypress tree,
The murmur of a stream... And your appearance will come out.

He dressed many women in brocade and pearls,
But I could not find an ideal among them.
I asked the sage: - What is perfection?
- The one next to you! - He told me.
Omar Khayyam

Abdurrahman Jami- a major Persian-Tajik poet of the classical period, after which the separate development of Persian and Tajik literature began.

GAZELLES (genre of oriental poetry)
* * * My gaze, seeing the earthly world, is from you. The world blooms like a garden in spring - from you. May the crescent of the new moon not shine on me. My house is full of the bright moon - from you. So you throw a lasso that everyone would like To adopt the fatal throw - from you. Whoever sees you will not hide Neither a shield nor a fortress wall - from you. Rosa boasted: I, they say, are her clothes. But the amber spirit is different - from you. And your clothes must be torn, To fall, to be separated from you. You say: “What does Jami want from me?” I only want you - from you. * * * What did this sheikh, who took refuge in his home, see in the world? Renounced the needs of people, only needed by himself? He himself gnawed the living connection with the world, like an umbilical cord, And like a silkworm, he went into his cocoon - alien to everything. Why, alive among the living, does he run from human worries? Having gotten rid of everyone, where to go from yourself? In what darkness? He is mature, full of strength, but has not accomplished worthy deeds. You, as an infidel, do not trust him because... After all, he did not hear camel bells among the steppe sands. You, listening to his preaching, do not believe even one word. In love with false external splendor, he bought a pile of shells, Giving his priceless pearls for them to someone unknown. Jami, don't ask him about the cup of true love,— He didn’t even have the chance to take half a sip from that cup. * * * Madrasa has become alien to me, and I don’t need khanaka, From now on the maykhana became the abode of my prayers. The voices of the dervishes do not draw me into the swirl of dhikr, I hurry to the canopy, where the music sounds, where the drunken song is heard. Why are you asking me about the sheikhs and their affairs? There is a strong throat here, my friend, and a hundred tongue is needed. Where is the crook who destroys the vow and tramples the ban? We will sell piety for a bowl or two wines. Tell me about love! I've never heard better fairy tales Under the dome of a wonderland that is full of fairy tales from time immemorial! Burn your wings like a moth, fall at the feet of your candle, To ignite hearts, it was lit by the Almighty. But you, Jami, stay away from those who are carried away by external splendor! Not every shell, my friend, contains a pearl. * * * I'm drunk - I kiss the handle of the bowl or the base of the jug, Among drunkards - small and great - pouring libations in the morning, Instead of a rosary of a hundred grains, give me a candy - a snack for wine, And don’t drag me to fast from home, where the whole century is a party. Amazed by our love, today time has forgotten There are stories about a moth, a candle, a rose and a nightingale. Why should I renew my old acquaintance with you? For you I am devoid of merit, a stranger full of charm! The holy fool is teased by children, he scolds for their amusement, But the stones you throw at me will not merit my attention. That day when the maid combed your hair before the wedding, Brought unbearable torment for thousands of souls of lovers. Jami, only he is worthy of love who is courageous in heart, like a warrior. So be firm, ready to sacrifice your life without hesitation. * * * From your eyes two tears sparkled on the roses of your cheeks, It was as if splashes of rain had fallen on a tulip petal. If you shed a tear, what should I say about myself, If tears flow silently down my cheeks like a stream. You really have tears, and not just a reflection of mine, What in your eyes I once could see, as if in a mirror. Wherever your tear fell on the garden path, Either a living rose has opened, or a wet narcissus flower. Like rare pearls-tears for your ear pendants A jeweler-pupil was strung onto the curved eyelashes. Amazed by the rare pearl of the bright secret of your love, Jami strung a pearl necklace of words on a string of lines. * * * A madman, struck by love for you, lurks in any ruin. Before the bright candle of your face, the moon is like a night moth. All of Yakub’s small grief is equal to a particle of my sorrows, Yusuf's blooming beauty is nothing compared to your beauty. A living heart, a living soul are not given to us for ourselves. We spend everything that is given to us on the way to a distant meeting with you. Let me touch your black mole with a daring hand. It would be a sin to trample a poor ant under foot for a grain. And let our house collapse, thanks to the light of love, That we have an abode of torment on the deaf street of disasters. There is no way for those who have lost their hearts to your joyful city; We are given our share of dark separation and the empty dust of ruins. Having taken a sip from the cup of melancholy, Jami lost consciousness; Woe betide if the captain brings him a full cup like that. * * * Now for the last time, burn my chest with an iron brand! Perhaps I’m burnt and I’ll drink this healing balm. And may the soul be cleansed forever from malice and enmity; Will I clear my ancient melancholy from my heart? Heed the prayer of love, come, sultana of beauty, And I will pour out my sorrow and my pain before you. And this heart is the door of the treasury, hundreds of arrows pierced it! The pearls on their stings are like tears, I melt from everyone. You take care of this heart as if it were your own treasury. The kings of their treasures must defend the door in battle. Like a bird caught in a net by the bait of small grains, My soul entered my flesh, seeing your birthmark. With the blood of your heart, O Jami, write a winged gazelle, So that your beloved will listen to you like a rose to a nightingale. * * * I say: “You are more likely to resurrect Christ through the lips of people.” Beauty says to me in response: “Stop! You are not worth my affection! I say to her: “Will the nightingale soul fly away from your snare?” He says: “Do you know my curls?.. Is there a stronger snare in the world?” I say: “I am a container of troubles. Like a pipe, I groan, mourning." He says: “Are you moaning or not, your groan does not reach your ears.” I say: “The rain of pain from the cloud of melancholy is unbearably lashing!” He says: “Well, what about the herbs?.. Look! It’s not poison—the coolness of the rains!” I say: “My heart is in blood. Heal! Shoot that target!” He says: “Don’t you dare even dream about such a balm, you fool!” I say: “If you don’t give me happiness, then at least leave sadness about you!” He says: “To tell the truth, you could have been more modest in your requests!” “You could trust your hidden treasure,” I say, “to a mahram!” “You are not a mahram, Jami,” he says, “go away quickly!” * * * A harsh fast is not suitable for heavenly beauty: Fasts for the moon and for the day are not prescribed. Peri, you are melting before our eyes, and with you are the hearts of lovers. Stop the crime, stop the border guard! You and I have become thin, like a new moon, I'm withered from separation, you're as thin as a knitting needle from your post. Because of thoughts about you, I make mistakes in prayers. Where is the giaur, where is the holy fast?! It won't fit in my head! Don't worry if you break your fast inadvertently. We fast for you, this sin will be forgiven you! Apart from thinking about you, the heart does not eat food. You won't find better ways to fast on earth! Don't expect sweet wines, Jami! Blood and tears are your drink. Let this bitter water end this difficult fast! * * * O poor wanderer in the City of Beauty! He will silently flow out with the blood of his heart. I am stricken with an illness, and the doctors This cruel disease cannot be healed. Lover is a wise book of love. A scribe always makes a mistake in love. You won’t find anyone like me in the sublunary world. No one will find someone like you! Let it make noise on your street An armed rabble of rivals,— Like a sweet-sounding nightingale, Jami He will sing your spring with dignity. * * * You branches of roses are incomparably more beautiful. Admire yourself, you are so perfect! What's the use of lying in the dust in front of you? Your gaze soars arrogantly above the earth. Am I hiding you from strangers?.. So what?.. Zenitsa eye, don’t I know the price? He is nearby, friend... In his ignorance In vain we wander through the universe. The Heavenly Lion, for me, is by no means a Dog, And for you I am just a despicable dog! Jami is your faithful slave. I'm not one of those Whose name is treachery and treason. * * * Who am I - forever lost peace, A humble wanderer on the path of the world? But every breath I take generates a flame And sleep flees me into the dull night. I cherish the seed of sadness in my heart, And I have no other concern. My love for you ruined my destiny. Oh, have pity on your ruined fate! Like your curls, my spirit is upset, In my soul all the feelings are discordant. So don't blame me for my actions! Look: I am so insignificant before you. My defense at trial will appear My eyes are in tears, my poor face is sick. Before you I am the dust of the road; really Can I disturb your peace with a speck of dust? Be patient, Jami, sigh under the winter cold And know: winter is fierce before spring. * * * Either you are in my heart, or in my sleepless eyes. That is why I shed my blood in tears. You sculpted your image in my soul And the idols of the past were reduced to dust. The world yearns for you passionately! Like Yusuf, You are famous for your beauty in both worlds. You touch deep strings of the soul, I cry like Chang in your tender arms. “Hey Jami! — you asked, “who did you fall in love with?” You know everything yourself, without needing words. * * * On the street of wine merchants, a certain quibble praised That exalted man who locked himself up in the maykhana, Who renounced forty years of fasting and vigils And for forty days he did not leave his shelter near the wine barrel. Jam had a magic ring, and, gifted with the power of the ring, He ruled over both mortals and the kingdom of the genies. Come, pour some wine, O Kravchiy, so that with a magic ring Jama We were gifted with drops of moisture that sparkled like lal. When you grab the hem of what you have been striving for all your life, Wave your arms like dervishes, spinning around until you fall. A soul free from malice is capable of yearning for its beloved, The flower of sublime sadness did not grow in every soil. Don’t call us, O venerable sheikh, from now on to your conversations. We now have a different faith, and the meaning has become different from now on. If only these eyebrows were the mihrab of worship for the faithful,— The whole city would fall to its knees and foreheads would fall to the floor. Jami is now exalted above the noble and common people, He shone so brightly with his virtues in the rays of his beloved. * * * I hope sometimes your eyes will turn Those who were forever taken captive by you until death. The radiance of your face made me forget, That the world was once famous for the radiance of the sun and moon. What is the slender cypress in the garden before the article of your camp? Will the reeds be equal to the slender heavenly tuba? If I see anything in the world besides your face,— There will be no more painful sin and no more unforgivable guilt. But if you really agree to accept my intercessors These tears, like messengers, are now directed towards you. How sad my every breath is, the dawn itself testifies But his evidence is both incorruptible and true. What kind of fire is in Jami’s chest, what is he sighing about again? And sheds inconsolable tears amid the midnight silence? * * * The army of idols is countless, my idol is one, There are a lot of stars, but the month, revealed through the ether, is alone. How many horsemen are glorified in the armies of the earth,— Mine - in its unimaginable beauty - is one for the whole world! Why bow to royal crowns? - One hundred such crowns - The dust of the road is at your door... And outside the door is a feast. There you rest in a drunken sleep, wine on your lips, Two rubies are kissed by me, in my heart there is one world... The power of love will not tolerate reason, taking the kingdom of the heart! There is no need for a second padishah; there is only one emir. The killing of the most innocent victims is your eternal law. Well, kill it! I am the most helpless of all, naked and sir, alone. Don't trade the pub for a gathering of dervishes, Jami! — In the mahalla, love does not differ, as if there were only one clergy! * * * There is no one slimmer than you, as you know. Oh, we are insignificant, loving, as you know! Rose! If you step on the beam, it will move, He will float, ashamed of himself, as you know... Breast whiter than silver - hidden in silver Hearts are hard granite, as you know. The chamois, the snare of love, pulled back - And he will preserve freedom, as you know! Long braids down to the toes - a memory of snares, A rose is the shadow of your favorite cheeks, as you know... The shine of the brow is my clear day, the curls are night and rest, Black musk is just a hint, as you know!.. Together flesh and spirit are your guest, your Jami is with you, Without you, he is a handful of dust, as you know! * * * ...You drink rose-colored wine with the late rabble! Why are you breaking our glass vessel with a stone? We are peaceful and so humble! Why are you knocking? A stone of wrath at the door of strife? - You hit and break! With an upper sponge shaded with musky fluff, The arrogance of those beauties is empty, you shoot down all their lies! Having conquered the army of blacks with the army of Rum, eat,— You make the choir of singers tremble and beat them! Passion will bristle my heart, turning it into a comb,— You comb your curls, comb them, fluff them... An early breeze ripped open the jasmine’s collar... O Mutrib! Why are you delaying your time for chang? Where you, Jami, huddle, there is a vast expanse of holiness,— Once again the hut is in a bottleneck, so why are you breaking it up? ................................................................
Copyright: poems by oriental poets

Omar Khayyam

Where are these wisest people of our land now?
They did not find the secret thread at the heart of the creation.
How they talked a lot about the essence of God, -
They shook their beards all their lives - and left without a trace.

The chosen one, by whom the path of knowledge began,
Who jumps in the sky on Burak of thought,
He bowed his head, having realized his essence,
Like the sky - and cries in confusion.

All those who are old and those who are young who live today,
One by one they will be led into the darkness.
Life is not given forever. How they left before us,
We'll leave; and after us they will come and go.

Even the brightest minds in the world
They could not disperse the surrounding darkness.
They told us several bedtime stories
And the wise ones went to sleep, just like us.

In a moment, a moment - and life flashes by...
Let this moment sparkle with fun!
Beware, for life is the essence of creation,
As you pass it, so it will pass.

Vidyapati

While I'm standing in front of you
you swear that it was given to you by fate,
and I’m leaving - you won’t even look after me...
I mistook your false shine for light.

But the scales have fallen from my eyes,
and now your soul is visible to me.

I see: there is not a penny of truth in it.
Your love is words, and your vows are lies.

Oh, how you laugh at me evilly,
when you insist that you are faithful to me alone!

Enough! Arrows are piercing my chest,
carrying both honey and poison.

Classical oriental poetry

He is the husband of another beauty,
and you are the wife of another,
And I am two banks, like a bridge,
ready to connect.
I did my best
so that the meeting takes place,
Now, oh my lotus, fate
left to trust.

Preparing for a secret meeting with him,
decorate yourself diligently
And remember: hesitation, fear
we are inevitably destroyed.

Go with hope, because you
I handed over the right key, -
There is no one who wouldn't want
yourself well-being!

At the hour of the first merging, the first caresses
God Kamadeva is hungry and greedy, -
Be restrained - don’t crush in a hurry
the sweetest of the wonderful grapes.
Don’t be greedy, having taken possession of the bashful one,
subdue your tormenting flame, -
The worthy one would rather die of hunger,
than will eat with both hands.

O Krishna! You are certainly very wise
and should know no worse than others,
How afraid the young elephant is
smell the mahout's rod for the first time.

She decided to meet you
only after long requests and admonitions,
So try to please my dear -
You will immediately become closer and more desirable to her.

Do not force love persistently,
Only rude ignoramuses do this,
She is gentle, do not hurt her soul,
in a fit of passion, do not tear your clothes.

Enjoy with her only until then,
while your onslaught endures favorably,
But step back, you'll barely notice
that he looks dissatisfied, tired.

And don’t hastily grab your hands,
seeing that she was ready to leave, -
So the demon Rahu, vomiting out the moon,
she doesn't immediately swallow it again.

He is an incomparable lover, you too are full of fire,
Let the jasmine of love bloom more magnificently every day.
Traders in the city gathered at the marketplace of love,
Set a higher price for them - and don't sell them short.

Krishna Himself is your buyer, and the deal is not bad,
Don’t call him ignorant, mistaking him for a shepherd.

You will be at a loss, don’t be angry: he is more glorious than the glorious ones,
He has sixteen thousand wives among the shepherdesses.

And don’t be embarrassed that he is hundreds of times taller than you:
The god of love will spread out the bed and make you equal.

First decorate your hair
and put a sign on your forehead,
And then line your eyes -
add liveliness to them.
Come to him, right to his toes
wrapped in cloth
And so that he thirsts more,
stand a little further away.

First, my soul, be ashamed -
just look sideways
And flashes of sly eyes
Awaken the flame in him.

Cover half your chest
so that part is visible,
Make sure your body is tighter
the clothes fit tight.

Frown, but then for a moment
and show joy,
Be restrained so that again and again
he was waiting for your love.

What other good advice?
do you need?..
May the God of love himself continue to be
your mentor!

Abu Abdullo Rudaki

Yes, that’s right: our world is not fair to the sage.
Don’t expect good things from the world, but be hardworking.
Take and give, then he is happy
Who took and gave, accumulating wealth.

My desired flower, thin-walled idol,
Oh, where is your long-awaited drunken drink?
It smells cool. make me happy
The intoxicating joy of an unspeakable winter.

Things without knowing the true price,
Are you really created by God for war?
Listen, owner of a short life,
Do you really need battles?

I gave my heart cheaply for the right to look at her.
The kiss was not expensive either: I handed my life to the merchant.
However, if my swindler is destined to become a huckster,
Then a clever trader will immediately take away my life for a kiss!

The beauty of resinous, curly curls
Crimson roses make it seem more tender.
Each bundle contains a thousand hearts,
In every curl there are a thousand sorrows.

Classic Japanese poetry

Songs of Yamato! You grow from one seed - the heart, and grow into myriads of petals of speech - into myriads of words.

People who live in this world are entangled in a dense thicket of worldly affairs; and everything that lies in their hearts - they express all this in connection with what they hear and what they see.

Without any effort she moves heaven and earth; captivates even gods and demons invisible to our eyes; refines the union of men and women; softens the heart of stern warriors... Such is the song.

Ki no Tsurayuki
From the preface to the collection "Kokinshu"

Basho

Where are you, cuckoo?
Remember, the plum trees began to bloom,
Only spring has breathed.

In a hut rebuilt after a fire

I listen to the hailstones knocking.
I'm the only one who hasn't changed here,
Like this old oak tree.
translator: V. Markova

Willow is bent over and sleeping,
And it seems to me that there is a nightingale on a branch -
This is her soul
translator: V. Markova

As soon as the breeze blows -
From branch to branch of willow
The butterfly will flutter.
translator: V. Markova

How enviable is their fate!
North of the busy world
Cherry blossoms bloomed in the mountains.
translator: V. Markova

Are you also one of those
Whoever does not sleep is intoxicated by flowers,
About mice in the attic?

The rain in the mulberry grove is noisy...
On the ground he barely moves
Sick silkworm.

Still on the cutting edge
The sun is burning out above the roof.
The evening chill blows.

She closed her mouth tightly
sea ​​shell
Unbearable heat!
translator: V. Markova

Chrysanthemums in the fields
They already say: forget it
Hot days of carnations!

Masaoka Shiki. Haiku

Masaoka Shiki (Shiki), 1867-1902

It was Shiki who introduced the term “haiku,” thereby “officially” separating the art of single tercets from the art of rengi (the latter was no longer as popular as in Basho’s time). In haiku poetry, Shiki founded a new school (it is believed that he simply revived this genre, which had also begun to decline). Shiki proclaimed the principle of “objectivity” as fundamental: images for haiku should be taken from real life experience, and not from one’s own imagination; the figure of the observer-poet himself, his judgments, personally invented epithets - all this, if possible, was now removed from the frame. It was Shiki who glorified Buson as a poet, contrasting the “more objective” Buson the artist with the “subjective” Basho the monk. Shiki suffered from illnesses almost all his life, and for the last seven years he was confined to
bed. He died quite early, at the age of 35 (from tuberculosis), but he left behind a new school of haiku and a new school of tanka, which in general is not so little...

Killed a spider
And it became so lonely
In the cold of the night

Mountain village -
From under the snowdrifts comes
The sound of water

Mountains in spring
They look from one another
From all sides

Pears in bloom...
And from home after the battle
Only ruins

Iris flower
Almost wilted -
Spring twilight

Summer on the river -
There's a bridge nearby, but my horse
Wading

Peeling a pear -
Drops of sweet juice
Crawling along the blade of a knife

You're staying,
I'm leaving - two different
Autumn for us

Kobayashi Issa. Haiku

Kobayashi Issa, 1762-1826.

Issa, unlike Basho and Buson, came from a poor peasant family. He also traveled a lot, but in his life there was more suffering and struggle than contemplation. Life with a stepmother as a child, poverty, the death of two wives and several children - all this
greatly affected his poetry. Issa has many poems about the smallest and most insignificant creatures - flies, snails, lice. However, in his poems about these “lesser brothers” there is not just pathetic pity, but sympathy and inspiration, turning into a call to protest against life’s hardships and despair.

The snow has melted -
And the whole village is full around
Noisy kids.

Oh, don't trample the grass!
There were fireflies shining
Yesterday at night sometimes.

The moon has come out
And the smallest bush
Invited to the celebration.

Oh, with such longing
The bird looks out of the cage
Let the moth fly!

Our life is a dewdrop.
Let just a drop of dew
Our life - and yet...

Quietly crawl,
Snail, along the slope of Fuji
Up to the very heights!

Buddha on high!
A swallow flew out
From his nostril.

Oh, don't hit the fly!
Her hands are shaking...
Her legs are shaking...

Oh, how ashamed I am
Listen while lying in the shade
Song of planting rice!

Keywords of this page: , .