هايکو

blyth1.jpg

 

 A haiku is not a poem, it is not literature; it is a hand becoming,

a door half-opened, a mirror wiped clean.  It is a way of returning

to nature, to our moon nature, our cherry blossom nature, our

falling leaf nature, in short, to our Buddha nature.  It is a way in

which the cold winter rain, the swallows of evening, even the very

day in its hotness, and the length of the night, become truly

alive, share in our humanity, speak their own silent

and expressive language.

 

-  Haiku: Eastern Culture, 1949, Volume One, p. 243.
Translations and commentary by Reginald H. Blyth

 


/ 0 نظر / 34 بازدید