zen poetry + Basho haiku + The four seasons

Zvrhlík

By the fiftenth century, renga expiring of artifiviality, something more vital was found, the haikai renga, linked verses of

17 syllables. later came individual poems of 17 syllables, haiku, the earliest authentic examples by writers like Sogi

(1421-1502), Sokan (1458-1546) and Moritake (1472-1549).
Basho, thought by many Japanese to be their finest haiku writer and greatest poet, lived from 1644 to 1694. Like almost all

noted haiku writers he was a Zennist, practising disipline under the master Butcho, with whom, according to Dr. D. T. Suzuki,

he had the following exchange:

Butcho: How are you getting along these days?
Basho: Since the recent rain moss is greener than ever.
ButchO: What Buddhbism was there before the moss became green?

Resulting in enlightenment and the first of his best-known haiku:
Basho: Leap-splash - a frog.
Whether or not they undertook discipline, haiku writers thought themselves living in the spirit of Zen, their truest poems

expressing its ideals. To art lovers the appeal of haiku is not unlike that of a sumie (ink-wash) scroll by Sesshu, and many

haiku poets, like Buson, were also outstanding painters.
Zennists have always associated the teo arts: "When a feeling reaches its highest pitch," says Dr Suzuki, Zen´s  most

distinguished historian, "we reamin silent, even 17 syllables may be too many. japanese artists ... influenced by the way of

Zen tend to use the fewest words or strokes of brush to express their feelings. When they are too fully expressed no room for

suggestion is possible, and suggestibility is the secret of the japanese arts´. like a painting or rock gaeden, haiku is an

object of meditation, drawing back the the curtain on essential truth. It shares with other arts qualities belonging to the

Zen aestetic - simplicity, naturalness, directness, profundity - and each poem has its dominant mood: sabi (isolation), wabi

(poverty), aware (impermanence) or yugen (mystery).
If it is true that the art of poetry consists in saying important things with the fewest possible words, then haiku has a

just place in world literature. The limitation of syllables assures terseness and concision, and the range of association in

the finest examples is at times astonishing. It has the added advantage of being accessible: a seasonal reference, direct or

indirect, simplest words, chiefly names of things in dynamic relationships, familiar themes, make it understandable to most,

on one level at least. The haiku lives most fully in nature, of great meaning to a people who never feel it to be outside

themselves. man is fulfilled only when unseparated from his surroundings, however hostile they may appear:

To the willow-
all hatred, and desire
of your heart.

Basho

White lotus-
the monk
draws back hi blade.

Buson

Under cherry trees
there are
no strangers.

Issa

in the West, perhaps as a result of fascination with the haiku (its association with the development of modern poetry at one

extreme, its universal appeal in schools at the other), it arouses as much suspicion as admiration. It looks so easy,

something anyone can do. A most unfortunate view, for haiku is a quintessential form, much like the sonnet in Elizabethan

England, being precisely suited to (as it is the product of) Japanese sensibility, conditioned by Zen. For Basho, Buson,

Issa, haiku permitted the widest possible field of discovery and experimentation.
The Zen experience is centripetal, the artist´s contemplation of subject sometimes referred to as "mind-pointing". The

disciple in an early stage of discopline is asked to pint the mind at (meditate upon) an object, say a bowl of water. At

first he is quite naturally inclined to metaphorize, expand, rise imaginatively from water to lake, sea, clouds, rain.

Natural perhaps, but just the kind of "mentalization" Zen masters caution against. The disciple is instructed to continue

until it is possible to remain stricly with the object, penetrating more deeply, no longer looking at it but, as the Sixth

patriarch Hui-neng maintained essential, as it. Only then will he attain the stage of muga, so close an identification with

object that the unstable mentalizing self disappers. The profoundest haiku give a very strong sense of the process:

Dew of the bramble,
thorns
sharp white.

Buson

Arid fields,
the only life -
necks of cranes.

Shiko

To give an idea of the way haiku work, without making an odoious cultural comparison, here is Ezra Pound´s "In a Station of

The Metro", perhaps the most admired (and for good reason) haiku-like poem in English:

the apparition of these faces in the crowd(středník)
Petals on a wet, black bough.

A simile, the poem starles as haiku often do, but much of waht is said would, to a haiku poet, be implied. Incorporating the

title (haiku are never titled), he might make the poem read:

Faces in the metro -
petals
on a wet black bough.

If asked why, he might answer: the first few words, "The apparition of these", though sonorous enough, add nothing. Nor does

the reference to "crowd", metro "stations" usually being crowded - besides, the "petals" of the simile would make that clear.

His revision, he might claim, transforms the piece into an acceptable haiku, one rather like, perhaps less effective than,

Onitsura´s:

Autumn wind-
across the fields,
faces.

Without using simile, Onitsura stuns with an immediacy of vision - those faces whipped by a cold wind.
For centuries haiku has been extremely popular, and there are establishedschools with widely differing views. Typical is the

Tenro, truly traditional, working with the 5-7-5 syllabic pattern, clear seasonal reference, and possessing a creed -shasei,

on-the-spot composition with the subject "traced to its origin". There are around two thousand members all over Japan, and it

is usual for groups to meet at a designated spot, often a Zen temple, and write as many as one hundred haiku in a night,

perhaps only one of which, after months of selections and revision, will be adequate. It will then be sent to one of the

school´s masters and considered for the annual anthology, representing poems of some thirty members.
Untypical by compariosn is the Soun (free-verse) school, which feels no obligation to stick to the 17-syllable pattern. Short

and compact, however, its poem are written in the "spirit of Basho". Their creed is more general - Significance - and is very

close to Zen, many of the members involved in discipline. They follow an ancient dictum, Zenshi ichimi (Poetry and Zen are

one), and Kado, the way of Poetry. As rhey strive for the revelatory, fewer poems are written than in the Tenro. Both

schools, while opposed in principle, relate haiku to Zen, as do all other scholls. Yet very few contemporary haiku could have

pleased Basho, for however lofty the ideals they are generally derivative.
Kado, the Way of poetry to self-discovery, is similar in am to other do (ways) of Zen: Gado (painting), Shodo (calligraphy),

Jindo (philosophy), Judo (force). Haiku teachers and Zen masters expext no miracles of disciples, yet maintain that with

serious practice of an art, given aspirations, men perfect themselves: farmers, professorsmake their haiku, most egalitarian

of arts. To those who find art a mystery enganged in by the chosen, the sight of a haiku-chool group circling an autumn bush,

lined notebooks, pens in hand, can be sharply touching. Only a cynic would think otherwise.
The few of course achieve true distinction in the skill, and are known to all who care for poetry. Usually they echo early

masters, but some find that language cramping and consciously introduce the modern - factories, tractors, automobiles. They

will admit, without derogating, to taking little pleasure from old haiku. They are however generous reders of each other´s

work and that of certain contemporary poets. One in whom many are interested, despite his not being a writer of haiku, is

Shinkichi Takashi, regarded throughout Japan as the greatest living Zen poet.

A Note on The Translation
...
Our translation, I acknowledge, is often free, occasionally to such a degree that the reader, if he has a familiarity with

the original language, may judge a good number of the pieces to be adaptations rather than translations. This may especially

be felt with Takahashi. His original verse sometimes pithy(středník) at other times, lengthy and, one might almost say,

prosaic. In the former case our rendering is verbally faithful to the originals(středník) in the latter, some part is

omitted, with the result that a number of the originals are turned into compact vignettes. This is the outcome of our policy

on verse translation: translation is re-creation(středník) and it is realized through Lucien Stryk´s poetic intuition and

linguistic skill. Our co-transaltion, as will be evident to the discerning eye of Western readers of poetry. which leads me

to say a few words on one aspect of the translation of Japanese/Chinese Zen poetry.
At present there can be few, if any, Japanese or Westerns capable of carrying out single-handedly this particular literary

work. The requirements are clear: a would-be translator must posses rich practical experience of orthodox Zen, an ability to

write English poetry, and a thorough knowledge of Japanese/Chinese literature. to satisfy just one of these requirements will

demand many years, or indeed a lifetime, of training. that is why, as a second best, I have adopted the joint-translation

method and, most fortunately, I have found in Lucien Stryk an unsurpassable collaborator. In the United States he is often

described as a zen poet, which appellation he fully deserves. It is not that he has subjected himslef to regular discipline

(Zen-sitting, etc. ) in a Zen temple(středník) rather, just as D. T. Suzuki once declared his friend Kitaro Nishida, the

noted zen philosopher, had identified himself with Zen truth via sheer philosophicalspeculation, so stryk has gained a high

degree of zen-identification by means of his poetical experience. Thus my own principal contribution to this joint

translation is to supply Stryk with more or less literal translations and to examine his versions of the poems.     
I have already touched upon Stryk´s treatment of Takahashi´s work: the concise, pithy rendering, whether of short or long

pieces. His poetical genius is in its own way sufficiently flexible to adapt itself to any form of verse. Even so, he often

seems to be particularly drawn to the shorter pieces and it is therefore appropriate that he has recently come to to be

attracted by haiku, and proposed to me that we devote a section of this book to them. In my opinion haiku included here

eminently satisfy a vital criterion of all good translations - that they possess a vigorous life of their own. The reader may

find it interesting to compare the following versions, by nine different translators, of a haiku by Basho (N.B. numbers 3 and

6 are by Japanese translators(středník) Stryk´s is number 9):

1 Ta´en ill while journeying, I dreamt
  I wandered o´er withered moor.

2 At midway of my journey fallen ill,
     To-night I fare again,
  In dream, across a desert plain.

3 Lying ill on journey
  Ah, my dreams
  Run about the ruin of fields.

4 Nearing my journey´s end
  In dreams I trudge the wild waste moor,
  And seek a kindly friend.

5 On a journey ta´en ill -
  My dream a dried-up plain,
  Through which I wander.

6 Taken ill on my travels,
  My dreams roam over withered moors.

7 On a journey, ill -
     and my dreams, on withered fields
         are wandering still.

8 Ailing on my travels,
  Yet my dream wandering
  Over withered moors.

9 Sick on a journey -
  over parched fields
  dreams wander on. 


There are several ways of reading Zen verse(středník) for instance, the reader may approach it with satori as an object, or

for critical apprecitation, or simply for pleasure. In this rexpect, one probably should not be too rigorous(středník) zen

verse should be accessible to all sorts of readers. But it appears to me that the days may not be very distant when

english-speaking readers will find in Zen poetry a source of pure pleasure. I hope that this book will contribute to the

creation of suchan atmosphere.

 

...
The friendly cooperation of above Zennists has richly contributed towards securing for our book precision - not formal but

essential - and attractiveness, both of which, I hope, will be counted among its features.

Takashi Ikemoto

If you study japanese art, you see a man who is undoubtedly wise, philosophic and intelligent, who spends his time? In

studying the distance between the earrth and the moon? No. In studying the policy of bismarck, No. He studies a single blade

of grass. But this blade of grass leads him to draw very plant and then the seasons, the wide aspects of the countryside,

then animals, then the human figure. So he passes his life, and life is too short to do the whole.

Vincent Van Gogh to his brother Theo - Arles, 1888

The Penguin Book of Zen Poetry

Edited and translated
by Lucien Stryk and Takashi Ikemoto
with an
Introduction by Lucien Stryk 1987
Penguin Books
-------------------------------------------------------
http://www.gardendigest.com/zen/index.htm - zen poetry

http://www.geocities.com/Tokyo/Island/5022/index.html !!!!!§§ Introduction

http://www.poetry-chaikhana.com/B/BashoMatsuo/Templebell.htm

---------------------------------------------------
Taky Bašó, od stejných překladatelů, ale z jiné knihy

Come, let's go
snow-viewing
till we're buried.


----------------------------------------------------
Basho (1644-1694)

To the willow -
all hatred, and desire
of your heart.

Temple bell,
a cloud of cherry flowers -
Ueno? Asakusa?

Cormorant fishing:
how stirring,
how saddening.

Year´s end -
still in staw hat
and sandals.

Come, let´s go
snow-viewing
till we´re buried.

Come, see,
real flowers
of this painful world.

Smell of autumn -
heart longs
for the four-mat room.

Skylark
sings all day,
and day not long enough.

Melon
in morning dew -
mud-fresh.

June rain,
hollyhocks turning
where sun should be.

Dozing on horseback,
smoke from tea-fires
drifts to the moon.

Crow's
abandoned nest,
a plum tree.

Journey´s end -
still alive,
this autumn evening.

Wintry day,
on my horse
a frozen shadow.

Shrieking plovers,
calling darkness
around Hoshizaki Cape.

Withered grass,
under piling
heat waves.

Autumn moon,
tide foams
to the very gate.

Cedar umbrella,
off to Mount Yoshino
for the cherry blossoms.

Autumn -
even the birds
and clouds look old.

Year's end,
all corners
of this floating world, swept.
srovnej s jiným jeho překladem

Buddha´s death-day -
old hands
clicking rosaries.

To the capital -
snow-clouds forming,
half the sky to go

Old pond,
leap-splash -
a frog.

Girl cat,
so thin
on barley and love.

Moor:
point my horse
where birds sing.

Fish shop -
how cold the lips
of the salted bream.

Autumn wind,
blasting the stones
of Mount Asama.

Sick on a journey -
over parched fields
dreams wander on.

Tomb, bend
to autumn wind -
my sobbing.

Summer grasses,
all that remains
of soldier´s dreams.
---------------------------------


----------------------------------
Kikaku (1661-1707)

Full autumn moon -
on the straw mat,
pine shadow.

Evening bridge,
a thousand hands
cool on the rail.

Sprinkle water wide -
for the sparrow,
the cicada.

Sacred night,
through masks
white breath of dancers.

Cicada chirp -
fan peddler
vaults a tree.

Above the boat,
bellies
of wild geese.

May he who brings
flowers tonight,
have moonlight.

Summer airing -
trying on a quilt,
strutting around.

Leaf
of the yam -
raindrop´s world.

Shrine gate
though morning mist -
a sound of waves.
-----------------------------
Buson (1715-83)

A sudden chill -
in our room my dead wife´s
comb, underfoot.
srovnej UM

Dew on the bramble,
thorns
sharp white.

Through snow,
lights of homes
that slammed their gates on me.

Ten holy nights -
even tea
chants Namu Amida Butsu.

My village -
dragonflies,
worn white walls.

In sudden flare
of the mosquito whick,
her flushed face.

Happy traveller:
mosquito wick,
moonlit grasses.

Wind in the west,
fallen leaves
gathering in the east.

On the iris,
kite´s
soft droppings.

Short nap -
waking,
spring was gone.

Miles of frost -
on the lake
the moon´s my own.

Over water,
sharp sickles
of reed gatherers.

Mountains of Yoshino -
shedding petals,
swallowing clouds.

Deer in rain -
three cries,
then heard no more.

Swallows,
in eaves of mansions,
of hovels.

Dewy morn -
these saucepans
are beautiful.

Plum-viewing:
in the gay quarter
sashes are chosen.

White lotus -
the monk
draws back his blade.
Srovnej UM

Plum scent
haloing
the moon.

Such a moon -
the thief
pauses to sing.

------------------------
Taigi (1709-72)

In the melon-patch
thief, fox
meet head-on.

Beyond serenity,
grey kites
in twilight.

Barley´s season -
dust mutes
the midday bell.

Temple in
deep winter grove,
a bonfire´s glow.

Zazen:
fat mosquitoes
everywhere.

In the boat,
crescent moon´s light
in my lap.

Fallen leaves -
raking,
yet not raking.

Thunder -
voices of drowned
in sunken ships.

Swellfish eaten,
he chants nembutsu
in his sleep.

-------------------------
Issa (1763-1827)


!!!!!!!!!!
Cherry blossoms?
In these parts
grass also blooms.

Over paddies
at its foot,
smoke of Mount Asama.

Changing clothes,
but not
the wanderer´s lice.

Owls are calling,
"Come, come,"
to the fireflies.

Tonight you too
are rushed,
autumn moon.

Just by being,
I´m here -
in snow-fall.

Autumn wind,
the beggar looks
me over, sizing up.

Lost in bamboo,
but when moon lights -
my house.

Buddha Law,
shining
in leaf dew.

A good world,
dew-drops fall
by ones, by twos.

Listen,
all creeping things -
the bell of transience.

Don´t weep, insects -
lovers, starsthemselves,
must part.

Cuckoo sings
to me, to the mountain,
in turn.

Flies swarming -
what do they want of
these wrinkled hands?

Where there are humans
you´ll find flies,
and Buddhas.

One bath
after another -
how stupid.

farmer,
pointing the way
with a radish.

Winter lull -
no talents,
thus no sins.

Short night -
scarlet flower
at vine´s tip.

Let´s take
the duckweed way
to clouds.

??!!!
Buddha´s Nirvana,
beyond flowers,
and money.

First cicada:
life is
cruel, cruel, cruel.

Autumn evening -
knees in arms,
like a saint.

At prayer,
bead-swinging
at mosquitoes.

When plum
blooms -
a freeze in hell.

Don´t fly off, nightingale -
though your song´s poor,
you´re mine.

Five yen each:
a cup of tea,
the nightingale.

What a world,
where lotus flowers
are ploughed into a field.

Fireflies
entering my house,
don´t despite it.

I´m leaving -
now you can make love,
my flies.

Nightingale´s song
this morning,
soaked with rain.

Kites shriek
together -
departure of the gods.

Children,
don´t harm the flea,
with children.

Borrowing my house
from insects.
I slept.

Clouds of mosquitoes -
it would be bare
without them.

About the field
crow moves
as if he´s tilling.

Autumn wind -
mountain´s shadow
wavers.

Watch it - you´ll bump
your heads
on that stone, fireflies.

My hut,
thatched
with morning glories.

Skylarks singing -
the farmer
makes a pillow of his hoe.

Never forget:
we walk on hell,
gazing at flowers.

Outliving
them all, all -
how cold.

In this world
even butterflies
must earn their keep.

As we grow old,
what triumph
burning mosquitoes.

Cuckoo´s crying -
nothing special to do,
nor has the burweed.

From the bough
floating down river,
insect song.

Closer, closer
to paradise -
how cold.

Worldly sky -
from now on
every year´s a bonus.

!!!!!!!!!
First firefly,
why turn away -
it´s Issa.

Under cherry trees
there are
no strangers.

Be respectful,
sparrows,
of our old bedding.

Dew spread,
the seeds of hell
are sown.

Mokuboji Temple -
fireflies come even
to the barking dog.

In my house
mice and fireflies
get along

Cries of wild geese,
rumors
spread about me.

Shush, cicada -
old Whiskers
is about.

Geese, fresh greens
wait for you
in that field.

Treated shabbily
by fleas, by flies,
day quits.

From burweed,
such a butterfly
was born?

When I go,
guard my tomb well,
grasshopper.

Reflected
in the dragonfly´s eye -
mountains.
Srovnej Líman

A poor quarter:
flies, fleas, mosquitoes
live forever.
-----------------------------
Joso (1662-1704)

No need to cling
to things -
floating frog.

About the grave
waves of springs mist -
I barely live.

These branches
were the first to bud -
falling blossoms.

Gruel heaped
in a perfect bowl -
sunlight of New Year´s Day.

How green -
flowering slopes
reflect each other.

-------------------------------
Hokushi (1665-1718)

Writing,
rubbing it out -
face of poppy.

My house gutted -
well, the cherry flowers
had fallen.

Sailboats in line,
island
lost in mist.

---------------------
Lady Sute-Jo
(1633-98)

Woman -
how hot the skin
she covers.

Are there
short-cuts in the sky,
summer moon?
---------------------
Kito (1740-89)

Contending -
temple bell,
winter wind.

Nightingale,
rarely seen,
came twice today.

Barley-reaping song,
smith´s hammer,
mingling.

Seaweed
between rocks -
forgotten tides.
---------------------------
Lady Sono-Jo (1649-1723)

How cool,
forehead touched
to green straw-mat.

Shameful
these clothes -
not one stich mine.
-----------------------
Shushiki (1669-1725)

After dream,
how real
the iris.

Frost of separation -
father, child
under one quilt.

--------------------
Kyorai (1651-1704)

Even in my town
now, I sleep
like a traveller.

Ater the green storm,
true colour
of the rice-paddy.

-----------------------
Ransetsu (1654-1707)

Melon -
how well
it keeps itself.

Each morn
from the straw raincoat
put out to dry - fireflies.

Travelling
old armour,
a glistening slug.

Five rice dumplings
in bamboo leaves -
no message, no name.

Fly, dare take
the rice grain
on my chin.
-----------------
Onitsura (1660-1738)

Autumn wind -
across the fields,
faces.

Plum blossoms -
one´s nose
one´s heart.

--------------------
Kyoroku (1655-1715)

Summer airing -
on one pole,
a shroud.

Even the dumplings
are smaller -
autumn wind
----------------
Shiko (1665-1731)

?????!!!!
Night snow,
neighbour´s cock
sounds miles away.

Arid fields,
the only life -
necks of cranes.

Small fish-boats,
after what
as snow covers my hat?
---------------------
Etsujin (1656-1739)

First snow -
head clear,
I wash my face.
-------------------
Boncho (?-1714)

Nightingale -
my clogs
stick in the mud.

Piled for burning,
brushwood
starts to bud.
------------------
Sodo (1641-1716)

Late spring:
paling rose,
bitter rhubarb.

Sudden shower,
cooling lava
of Mount Asama.
-----------------
Tantan (1674-1761)

Morning frost,
Mount Fuji
brushed lightly.

On the rock
waves can´t reach,
fresh snow.
--------------
Lady Kana-Jo (17th century)

Quivering together -
ears of barley,
butterfly.

-------------------
Yayu (1701-83)

One sneeze -
skylark´s
out of sight.

Transplanting rice,
he pisses
in a crony´s field.
----------------
Gyodai (1732-93)

Whales
bellowing dawn,
in icy waters.

Inching
from dark to dark -
seaslug.

Slowly
over cedars,
sunshine, showers.
-----------------
Shirao (1735-92)

Forty years -
how sharp
the insect´s cry.

Mountain mist -
torches dropped
as clouds redden.

Moonlit night -
by melon flowers,
fox sneezes.

----------------
Lady Chiyo-jo (1701-75)

Were it not for
cries in snow,
wuld the herons be?

In the well-bucket,
a morning glory -
I borrow water.

---------------
Ryota (1707-87)

Pure brush-clover -
basket of flowers,
basket of dew.

On rainy leaves
glow
of the village lights.

------------------------
Hakuin (1685-1768)

Tea-kettle,
hooked mid-air
towards heaven.
-----------------------
Sobaku (1728-92)

Cherry blossoms -
so many,
I´m bent over.
------------------
Saimaro (1656-1737)

Mirrored by stream,
swallow darts -
a fish.

---------------
Raizan (1654-1716)

Green, green, green -
herbs splash
the snow-field

--------------
Boryu (18th century)

Cloud above lotus -
it too
becomes a Buddha.
----------------
Sogi (1421-1502)

Night frost -
pulsing wings
of mndarin ducks.
----------------
Soin (1604-82)

Cherry blossoms
dizzying -
my painful neck

--------------------
Sokan (1458-1546)

Cold, yes,
but don´t test
the fire, snow Buddha.

-----------------
Chiun (15th century)

nameless,
weed quickening
by the stream.

-----------------
Hoitsu (1760-1828)

Buddha:
cherry flowers
in moonlight.

-------------------
Sampu (1647-1732)

Moving
deep into mist,
chrysanthemums.

---------------
Kakei (1648-1716)

Morning glory,
so pure
the dew´s unseen.

--------------
Lady Chigetsu (17th century)

Chirping -
grasshopper
in the scarecrow´s sleeve.

-----------------------
Yamei (18th century)

Spring plain,
gulped
by the pheasant´s throat.

-------------------
Mokusetsu (17th century)

Long summer rains -
barley´s tasteless
as the sky.

--------------------
Otsuyu (1674-1739)

Cry of the deer -
where at its depths
are abtlers?

-------------------
Sora (1649-1710)
Skylark
soaring -her young
will starve.

----------------
Lady Chine-Jo (17th century)

Wild geese -
fellow travellers,
all the way to Ise.

----------------
Bakusui (1720-83)

Returning
by an unused path -
violets.

------------------
Shiseki (1676-1759)

my old thighs -
how thin
by firelight.

----------------
Shoha (?-1771)

Shameful -
dead grass
in the insect´c cage.

-------------------
Shozan (1717-1800)

Guest gone,
I stroke the brazier,
talk to myself.

------------------
Masahide (1657-1753)

When bird passes on -
like moon,
a friend to water.

Barn´s burnt down -
now
I can see the moon.

----------------
Shiki (1867-1902)

Imagine -
the monk took off
before the moon shone.

Thing long forgotten -
pot where a flower blooms,
this spring day.

Storm -chestnuts
race along
the bamboo porch.

Dew, clinging
to potato field,
the Milky Way.

Stone
on summer plain -
world´s seat.

Autumn wind:
gods, Buddha -
lies, lies, lies.

Wicker chair
in pinetree´s shade,
forsaken.

Aged nightingale -
how sweet
the cuckoo´s cry.

Summer sky
clear after rain -
ants on parade

Heath grass -
sandals
still fragrant.

Among Saga´s
tall weeds,
tombs of fair women.

Evening bell:
persimmons pelt
the temple garden.

Autumn come -
cicada husk,
crackling.

Indian summer:
dragonfly shadow seldom
brush the window.

Midnight sound -
leap up:
a fallen moonflower.

Sudden rain -
rows of horses,
twitching rumps.

White butterfly
darting among pinks -
whose spirit?

Such silence:
snow tracing wings
of mandarin ducks.

--------------------------------------------
In my new robe
this morning-
someone else.

Fields, mountains
of Hubaku, in
nine days-spring.

New Year-the Bashó-Tosei
hermitage
a-buzz with haiku.

Spring rain-
under trees
a crystal stream.

Now cat´s done
mewing, bedroom´s
touched by moonlight.

Do not forget the plum,
blooming
in the thicket.

Another haiku?
Yet more cherry blossoms-
not my face.

Pretending to drink
sake from my fan
sprinkled with cherry petals.

If I´d the knack
I´d sing like
cherry flakes falling.

Under the cherry-
blossom soup,
blossom salad.

Yellow rose petals
thunder-
a waterfall.

Drizzly June-
long hair, face
sickly white

Faceless-bones
scattered in the field,
wind cuts my flesh.

Winter downpour-
even the monkey
needs a raincoat.

First winter rain-
I plod on,
Traveller, my name.

Poet grieving over shivering
monkeys, what of this child
cast out in autumn wind?

Poor boy-leaves
moon-viewing
for rice grinding.

Wake, butterfly-
it´s late, we´ve miles
to go together.

Violets-
how precious on
a mountain path.

Early autumn-
rice filed, ocean,
one green.

Bright moon: I
stroll around the pond-
hey, dawn has come.

Clouds-
a chance to dodge
moon-viewing.

Moon-daubed bush-clover-
ssh, in the next room
snoring prostitutes.

Bird of time-
in Kyoto, pining
for Kyoto.

Spring-through
morning mist,
what mountain´s there?

Noon doze,
wall cool against
my feet.

"Now sarkness falls,"
quail chirps,
"what use hawk-eyes?"

Atop the mushroom-
who knows from where-
a leaf!

Cormorant fishing:
how stirring,
how saddening.

Snowy morning-
one crow
after another.

Come, see real
flowers
of this painful world.

Summer moon-
chapping hands,
I herald dawn.

rainy days-
silkworms droop
on mulberries.

Girl cat, so
thin on love
and barley.

Old pond,
leap-splash-
a frog.

Awaiting snow,
poets in their cups
see lightning flash.

Buddha´s death day-
old hands
chicking rosaries.

Year's end, all
corners of this
floating world, swept.
srovnej jinej Stryckův překlad

Autumn-even
birds and clouds
look old.

Loneliness-
caged cricket dangling
from the wall.

Insect song-over
winter´s garden
moon´s hair-thin.

Spider, are you
crying-or
the autumn wind?

Pommelling hail-
like the old oak,
I never change.

Mirroring each other:
white narcissi,
paper screen.

Such fragrance-
from where,
which tree?

How I long to see
among dawn flowers,
the face of God.

while moon sets
atop the trees,
leaves cling to rain.

Coldest days-
dried salmon,
gaunt pilgrim.

Samurai talk-
tang
of horse-radish.

You the butterfly-
I, Chuang Tzu´s
dreaming heart.

Friends part
forever-wild geese
lost in cloud.

How pleasant-
just once not to see
Fuji through mist.

Dying cricket-
how full of
life, his song.

What stroke of luck-
hawk spied above
Irago promontory.

South Valley-
wind brings
a scent of snow.

From the heart
of the sweet peony,
a drunken bee.

Dew-drops-
how better wash away
world´s dust?

Tomb, bend
to autumn wind-
my sobbing.

Summer grasses,
all that remains
of soldiers´dreams.

Sick on a journey-
over parched fields
dreams wander on.


Basho haiku
Lucien Stryk 1985
------------------------
------------------------
The four seasons
Japanese haiku written by Basho, Buson, Issa and many others
The Peter Pauper
Mount Vernon, New York

1958
-----
Spring

such a fine first dream...
but they laughed at me...they said
I had made it up

Takuchi
-------------------------
even my plain wife...
exquisite as visitors
on new year´s morning

Iso
-------------------------
new year gift-giving...
ah, baby at her bare breast
reaching tiny hands

Issa
-------------------------
first wind of the year...
the oil lamp in the washroom
shudders and is still

Oemaru
-------------------------
felicitations!
still...I guess this year too
will prove only so-so

Issa
-------------------------
year´s first cart-load...
cut-out paper flowers deck
the emaciated horse

Shiki
-------------------------
first dream of the year...
I kept it a dark secret...
smiling to myself

Sho-u
-------------------------
sun-melted snow...
with my stick I guide this great
dangerous river

Issa
-------------------------
from my tiny roof
smooth...soft...still-white snows
melts in melody

Issa
-------------------------
icicles and water
old differences dissolved...
drip down together

Teishitsu
-------------------------
old snow is melting...
now the huts unfreeting too
free all the children

Issa
-------------------------
a childless housewife...
how tenderly she touches
little dolls foe sale

Ransetsu
-------------------------
now wild geese return...
waht draws them crying crying
all the long dark night?

Roka
-------------------------
pouring floods of rain...
won´t Mount Fuji wash away
to a muddy lake?

Buson
-------------------------
clear-colored stones
are vibrating in the brook-bed...
or the water is

Soseki
-------------------------
in my new clothing
I feel so different I must
look like someone else

Basho
-------------------------
oh you bawdy breeze...
thatcher bending on the roof
i see your bottom!

Issa
------------------------
immobile Fuji...
alone ublanketed by
millions of new leaves

Buson
------------------------
spring morning marvel...
lovely nameless little hill
on a sea of mist

Basho
------------------------
passing the doll shop
I picked up the littlest one...
sudenly I smiled

Baishitsu
------------------------
there in water
color of the water moves...
translucent fishes

Raizan
------------------------
hazy ponded moon
and pale night sky are broken...
bungling black frog

Buson
------------------------
silver-soft riverside...
dim splash of far thrown net...
fishing for the moon?

Taigi
------------------------
paper-weights protect
gay picture-books in the shop...
inquisitive breeze

Kito
------------------------
ah-ah-ah-choo! that
spring catarrh!... now I´ve lost sight
of my first skylark

Yayu
------------------------
an april shower...
see that thirsty mouse lapping
river Sumida

Issa
------------------------
rainfall in april...
tears from our weeping willow...
petals from our plum

Shoha
------------------------
ah little warbler...
thanks-droppings on my porch
because I love you?

Basho
------------------------
under my tree-roof
slanting lines of april rain
separate to drops

Basho
------------------------
farmer, raise your head...
direct this stranger who will smile
and disappear

Buson
------------------------
good morning, sparrow...
writing on my clean veranda
with your dewy feet

Shiki
------------------------
beach fishermen go
bobbing out... beach poppies stay
bending with sea-breeze

Kyorai
------------------------
even the ocean
rising and falling all day...
sighing green like trees

Buson
------------------------
I could not see him
that fluttering fly-off bird...
but the plum-petals

Shiki
------------------------
gliding river boat...
rising skylarks... ripling sounds
to our right and left

Ranko
------------------------
bird-droppings pattern
the purples and the yelllows of
my iris petals

Buson
------------------------
shining on the sea...
dazzling sunlight shaking over
hills of cherry-bloom

Buson
------------------------
over the low hedge
honest plum distributes petals
half inside...half out

Chora
------------------------
riverbank plum-tree...
do your reflected blossoms
really flow away?

Buson
------------------------
blue evening sea...
from spring islands near and far
new lights are shining

Shiki
------------------------
the old messenger
proffering his plum-branch first...
only then the letter

Kikaku
------------------------
midnight full of stars...
dim cherry-petals floating on
rice-paddy waters

Buson
------------------------
over my shoulder...
my friends who followed me were lost
in clouds of blossom

Chora
------------------------
the seashore temple...
incoming rollers flow in time
to the holy flute

Buson
------------------------
low-tide morning...
the willow´s skirts are trailed
in stinking mud

Basho
------------------------
here comes Mr. horse...
quick, quick out of the roadway
happy sparrowlet

Issa
------------------------
moonlight stillness
lights the petals falling...falling...
on the silenced lute

Shiki
------------------------
green...green...green...
willow-leaf threads are sliding
river-running-water

Onitsura
------------------------
cherry-petal days...
birds with two legs glitter now
horses gleam with four

Onitsura
------------------------
heat-wawelets rising...
plum-petals drifting wavering
down on burning rocks

Shiki
------------------------
come now, play with me...
fatherless motherless dear
little sparrow-child

Issa
------------------------
no bold rain-cloud for
a hundred miles around...dares
brave the peonies

Buson
------------------------
in the clear fording
pale feet of the silent girl...
clouding M?/may waters

Buson
------------------------
opening thin arms...
a pink peony big as this!
said my bitty girl

Issa
------------------------
ultra-pink peony...
silver siamese soft cat...
gold-dust butterfly...

Buson
------------------------
energetic ant...
silhouetted on the still
snowflake-peony

Buson
------------------------
in the yard plum-trees
blossoms...in the brothel
girls are buying obis

Buson
------------------------
that white peony...
lower of the moon trembling
now at twilight

Gyodai
------------------------
facing the candle
the peony also burning...
motionless as death

Kyoroku
------------------------
the first firefly...
but he got away a I...
air in my fingers

Issa
------------------------
listen, all you fleas...
you can come on pilgrimage, o k...
but then, off you git!

Issa
------------------------
but if I held it...
could I touch the lightness of this
flutter-butterfly?

Buson
------------------------
hanging sadly down
amid the merry-makers...
green weeping willow

Roka Shonin
------------------------
out of my way please
and let me plant my bamboos...
old brother toad

Chora
------------------------
for that brief moment
when the firefly went out...o
the lonely darkness

Hokushi
------------------------
now this old poet
emerges from the purple depths
of the convolvulus

Chora
------------------------
pinions pulsating...
your mind traveling afar
butterfly dreamer?

Chiyo-ni
------------------------
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
moon-in-the-water...
broken-again.. broken-again...
stil a solid seal

Chosu
------------------------
now having taken
warmed water... the vase welcomes
my camellia

Onitsura
------------------------
fallen now to earth
after dancing journeyings...
kite that lost its soul

Kubonta
------------------------
keeping company
with us, pigeons and sparrows...
low-tide-lookers all

Issa
------------------------
what, traveling
in the rain?... but where can he
be wending snailward?

Issa
------------------------
Summmer

with my new clothing
alas...spring has been buried
in that wooden chest

Saikaku
------------------------
hands upon the ground
old aristocratic frog
recites his poem

Sokan
------------------------
as I picked it up
to cage it... the firefly
lit my finger-tips

Taigi
------------------------
fleeing the hunter
the firefly took cover...
the evening moon

Ryota
------------------------
softly folded fawn
shivers, shaking off the butterfly...
and sleeps again

Issa
------------------------
the heavy wagon
shook all the roadside... waking
a single butterfly

Shoha
------------------------
in the golden room
frightened quick calligraphy...
escaping swallow

Buson
------------------------
he wades the river
carrying the girl and see...
carrying the moon

Shiki
------------------------
for deliciousness
try fording this rivulet...
sandals in one hand

Buson
------------------------
elegant singer
would you further favor us
with a dance... o frog?

Issa
------------------------
before the sacred
mountain shrine of Kamiji...
my head bent itself

Issa
------------------------
rainy afternoon...
little daughter you will never
teach that cat to dance

Issa
------------------------
on the low-tide beach
everything we stoop to pick...
moves in our fingers

Chiyo-ni
------------------------
flower-petal fell...
then the rooster crowed, and see...
another petal

Baishitsu
------------------------
dark the well at dawn...
rising with the first bucket...
camellia-blossom

Kakei
------------------------
now take this flea:
he simply cannot jump...and
I love him for it

Issa
------------------------
the floating heron
pecks at it till it shatters...
full-moon-on-water

Zuiryu
------------------------
for a companion
on my walking trip... perhaps
a little butterfly

Shiki
------------------------
ah good buddhist frog...
rising to a clearer light
by non-attachment

Joso
------------------------
bats come out at dusk...
woman over the way...why
do you stare at me?

Buson
------------------------
overhanging pine...
adding its mite of needles
to the waterfall

Basho
------------------------
squads of frogs jumped in
when they heard the plunk-plash
of a single frog

wakyu
------------------------
little silver fish
pointing upstream moving downstream
in clear quick water

Soseki
------------------------
look... the palace...
you can glimpse it through that hole
in the mosquito-fog

Issa
------------------------
congratulations
Issa!... you have survived to feed
this year´s mosquitoes

Issa
------------------------
in your summer-room...
garden and mountain going too
as we slowly walk

Basho
------------------------
just beyond the smokes
of our smudge this evening...
mosquito-music

Shirao
------------------------
do I hear voices
from far lands above clouds?
o... silly skylarks

Kyoroku
------------------------
shortest summer night...
in early morning lamps still
burning on the bay

Shiki
------------------------
moon-in-the-water
turned a white somersault... yes
and went floating off

Ryota
------------------------
even fly-swatting
by these border guards... o how
vicious and correct

Taigi
------------------------
quick-pattering rain...
chance and vanity dictate
gay impromptu hats

Otsuyu
------------------------
you hear that fat frog
in the seat of honor, singing
bass?...that´s the boss

Issa
------------------------
windy-web spider
what is your silent speaking...
your unsung song?

Basho
------------------------
and each morning
right above this little roof...
my private skylark

Joso
------------------------
don´t waste precious time
now, tagging along with me...
brother butterfly

Issa
------------------------
experimenting...
I hung the moon on various
branches of the pine

Hokushi
------------------------
swat softly softly
at the sick-room flies...beacause
I seek for sleep

Shiki
------------------------
the devoted clerk...
not to waste a jot of breeze
naps on a ledger pillow

Issa
------------------------
on his garden path
this sparrow pebbles...
man forgotten

Shoha
------------------------
river Mogami
winding from northern mountains
washes warm summer

Shiki
------------------------
summer-night insects
falling burnt and dead... upon
my poem´s paper

Shiki
------------------------
you are just too late
to help me with the lamp... my moth
light-extinguisher

Issa
------------------------
again coolness comes...
silver undersides of leaves
evening-breeze blown

Shiki
------------------------
after that illness
my long gazing at roses
wearied the eyelids

Shiki
------------------------
the night was hot...
stripped to the waist the snail
enjoyed the moonlight

Issa
------------------------
my summer illness...
but a last my life was spared
at the very bones

Shiki
------------------------
careful, champion flea
and look before you leap...
here´s river Sumida

Issa
------------------------
coming from the bath...
cool on her breasts the warm breeze
of the veranda

Shiki
------------------------
fui! a sour plum...
thin eyebrows pinched together
on the lovely face

Buson
------------------------
holy noon duet:
Basso-snoring priest... devout
contralto cuckoo

Shiki
------------------------
farther in the grove
the lantern walks... nearer nearer
sings the nightingale

Shiki
------------------------
with the new clothes
remember... the crow stayes black
and the heron white

Chora
------------------------
i scooped up the moon
in my water bucket... and
spilled it on the grass

Ryuho
------------------------
must you come to vex
my sick eyes that still can move...
bed-criss-crossing fly?

Shiki
------------------------
coolness on the bridge...
moon, you and I alone
unresigned to sleep

Kikusha-ni
------------------------
in the endless rain
is it turning sunward still...
trusting hollyhock?

Basho
------------------------
hot slow afternoon...
suddenly the hand has stopped...
slow-falling fan

Taigi
------------------------
in summer moonlight
they go visiting the graves...
savoring the cool

Issa
------------------------
in the morning breezes
climbing in a single line
go singing skylarks

Ryota
------------------------
a near nightingale...
but my head just coudn´t fit
through the lattices

Yaha
------------------------
a summer shower...
along all the street, servants
slapping shut shutters

Shiki
------------------------
rainfall and thunder
beating on boards and blossoms...
indiscriminate

Sampo
------------------------
rain-obliterated...
the river, some roofs,
a bridge without a shore

Basho
------------------------
AUTUMN

in lantern-light
my yellow chrysanthemums
lost all their color

Buson
------------------------
morning-misted street...
with white ink an artist brushes
a dream of people

Buson
------------------------
at Nara temple...
frsh-scented chrysanthemums
and ancient images

Basho
------------------------
an old tree was felled...
echoing, dark echoing
thunder in the hills

Meisetsu
------------------------
The great fire of kanda

heat-waves to heaven...
rising from the ruined hearts of
three thousand homes

Shiki
------------------------
chanting at the altar
of the inner sanctuary...
a cricket priest

Issa
------------------------
sad twilight cricket...
yes, I have wasted once again
those daylight hours

Rikei
------------------------
a sudden shower...
terrified, loud idiot ducks
high-tailing home

Kikaku
------------------------
my melons that you
stole last year... this year I place
upon your grave, my son

Oemaru
------------------------
on these rainy days
that old poet Ryokan
wallows in self-pity

Ryokan
------------------------
pitiful...fearful...
these poor scarecrows look like men
in autumn moonlight

Shiki
------------------------
we stand still to hear
tinkle of far temple bell...
willow-leaves falling

Basho
------------------------
the evening breezes...
water lapping lightly on
the heron´s leg-sticks

Buson
------------------------
the wet kingfisher
shakes his feathers in the late
reflected sunlight

Tori
------------------------
in unending rain
the house-pent boy is fretting
with his brand-new kite

Shoha
------------------------
the calling bell
travels the curling mist-ways...
autumn morning

Basho
------------------------
nightlong in the cold
that monkey sits conjecturing
how to catch the moon

Shiki
------------------------
dark unending night...
once, outside the paper screen,
a lantern passing

Shiki
------------------------
they have gone... but
they lit the garden lantern
of their little house

Shiki
------------------------
on one riverbank
sunbeams slanting down... but on
the other... raindrops

Buson
------------------------
supper in autumn...
flat light through an open door
from a setting sun

Chora
------------------------
september sunshine...
the hovering dragonfly´s
shimmering shadow

Karo
------------------------
do i dare grass...
hovering mid-air in vain
an autumn dragonfly

Basho
------------------------
now the old scarecrow
looks just like other people...
drenching autumn rain

Seibi
------------------------
here is the dark tree
denuded now of leafage...
but a million stars

Shiki
------------------------
up from my illness
I went to the chrysanthemums...
how cold they smelled!

Otsuji
------------------------
waking in the night
i added my autumn coughing
to insect voices

Joso
------------------------
jagged candle-flame...
the very shape of autumn sifts
through the shutters

Raizan
------------------------
urging on my horse
into mist-blanketed water...
river-gurgle sounds

Taigi
------------------------
white chrysanthemums
making all else about them
reflected riches

Chora
------------------------
peacefulness... today
fujiama stands above us
mist-invisible

Basho
------------------------
smack-ack... smack-ack...
men driving fish-net stakes
in white-fog morning

Buson
------------------------
white autumn moon...
black-branch shadow-patterns
printed on the mats

Kikaku
------------------------
exquisite the dewy
bramble... to every thorn
a single droplet

Buson
------------------------
from the temple steps
I lift to the autumn moon
my veritable face

Basho
------------------------
in this solid mist
what are those people shouting
between boat and hill?

Kito
------------------------
nights are getting cold...
not a single insect now
attacks the candle

Shiki
------------------------
his has blown off...
how pitiless the pelting
storm on the scarecrow

Hagi-jo
------------------------
in my own village
I think there are more scarecrows left
than other people

Chasei
------------------------
swallows flying south...
my house too of sticks and paper
only a stopping-place

Kyorai
------------------------
after moon-viewing
my companionable shadow
walked along with me

Sodo
------------------------
after the windstorm
foraging for firewood...
three fierce old women

Buson
------------------------
roadside barley-stalks
torn by our clutching fingers...
as we smiled farewell

Basho
------------------------
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

suddenly chill fall...
why should that ragged fortune-teller
look so surprised?

Buson
------------------------
all the world is cold...
my fishing-line is trembling
in the autumn wind

Buson
------------------------
autumn breeezes shake
the scarlet flowers my poor child
could not wait to pick

Issa
------------------------
seeking in my hut
for unlocked midnight trasures...
a cricket burglar

Issa
------------------------
WINTER

little orphan girl...
eating a lonely dinner
in winter twilight

Shokaku
------------------------
in the wintry moon
gales raging down the river
hone the rock-edges

Chora
------------------------
the new-laid garden...
rocks settling in harmony
in soft winter rain

Shado
------------------------
when I raised my head...
there was my rigid body
lying bitter cold

Seibi
------------------------
over wintry fields
bold sparrow companies fly
scarecrow to scarecrow

Sazanami
------------------------
bath-tub firewood...
thanks for this final service
faithful old scarecrow

Joso
------------------------
my very bone-ends
made contact with the icy quilts
of deep december

Buson
------------------------
poor thin crescent
shivering and twisted high...
in the bitter dark

Issa
------------------------
so lonely...lovely...
the exquisite pure-white fan
of the girl I lost

Buson
------------------------
in winter moonlight
a clear look at my old hut...
dilapidated

Issa
------------------------
black calligraphy
of geese... pale printed foothills...
for a seal, full moon

Buson
------------------------
in my dark winter
lying ill... at last i ask
how fares my neighbor?

Basho
------------------------
the old dog lies intent
listening... does he overhear
the burrowing moles?

Issa
------------------------
a thousand roof-tops
a thousand market-voices...
winter-morning mist

Buson
------------------------
first snow last night...
there across the morning bay
sudden mountain-white

Shiki
------------------------
when the waterpot
burst that silent night with cold...
my eyes split open

Basho
------------------------
winter having touched
these fields... the very tomtits
perch on the scarecrow

Kikaku
------------------------
cold winter rainfall...
mingling all their gleaming horns
oxen at the fence

Ranko
------------------------
see the red berries...
fallen like little footprints
on the garden snow

Shiki
------------------------
winter-evening snow...
the uncompleted bridge is all
an arch of whiteness

Basho
------------------------
moonlit snowfields...
here the bloodied samurai
cast their noble lives

Kikaku
------------------------
midnight wanderer
walking through the snowy street...
echoing dog-bark

Shiki
------------------------
as to icicles
I often wonder why they grow
some long...some short

Onitsura
------------------------
in winter moonlight
fish-net stakes cast their shifting
uneven shadows

Shirao
------------------------
colder far than snow...
winter moonlight echoing on
my whitened hair

Joso
------------------------
so close... so vast...
rattling winter hailstones on
my umbrella-hat

Basho
------------------------
long-walking lantern
disappeared into some house...
desolate white hills

Shiki
------------------------
solitary crow...
companioning my progress
over snowy fields

Senna
------------------------
staring delighted
even at walking horses
in new morning snow

Basho
------------------------
blinding wild snow
blows, whirls and drifts about me...
in this world alone

Chora
------------------------
winter moonlight casts
cold tree-sahdows long and still...
my warm one moving

Shiki
------------------------
in that cold darkness
my horse stumbled suddenly
just outside the house

Buson
------------------------
look at that stray cat
sleeping... snug under the eaves
in the whistling snow

Taigi
------------------------
in my new-year heart
I feel no fury... even at
these tramplers of snow

Yayu
------------------------
coffin and mourners
passed me walking down the street...
midnight at new year´s

Shiki
------------------------
to celebrate new year´s
we feat newly-opened eyes on
snowy Fujiama

Sokan
------------------------
Death-song:

poet nightingale...
will I hear your later verses
in the vale of death?

Anon.
------------------------
Death-song:

suddenly you light
and as suddenly go dark...
fellow-firefly

Chine-jo
------------------------
Death-song:

full-moon and flowers
solacing my forty-nine
foolish years of song

Issa
------------------------
Death-song:

if they ask for me
say: he had some business
in another world

Sokan
------------------------


narvah: Nestačila by Occamova břitva? Jak jednodušeji vysvětlit nárůst násilí u dětí a mladistvých než vlivem

nejrozšířenějšího a nejvlivnějšího masmédia, tj. televize? To, že to televizní lobby nepřipustí a nevezme na vědomí, je věc

jiná. To, že globální oteplování způsobuje člověk taky nevíme na 100%, přesto nám nic nebrání proti tomu aspoň něco dělat.

Jenomže šáhnout na násilí v televizi se jen tak nikdo nedováží, násilí přitahuje sledovanost, sledovanost přináší zisky (z

reklam) a zisky vliv. Tím pádem silná lobby (televize - jako poskytovatel reklamy) a výrobci (zadavatel reklamy) mají

eminetní zájem na tom, aby násilí v takovéto míře v televizi zůstalo. A který politik půjde proti poskytovatelům prostoru pro

ovlivňov)ání voličů (zpravodajství apod. v televizi) a proti dárcům sponzorských darů? (výrobci) Proto tolik mladejch

vrahů...     By the fiftenth century, renga expiring of artifiviality, something more vital was found, the haikai renga, linked verses of

17 syllables. later came individual poems of 17 syllables, haiku, the earliest authentic examples by writers like Sogi

(1421-1502), Sokan (1458-1546) and Moritake (1472-1549).
Basho, thought by many Japanese to be their finest haiku writer and greatest poet, lived from 1644 to 1694. Like almost all

noted haiku writers he was a Zennist, practising disipline under the master Butcho, with whom, according to Dr. D. T. Suzuki,

he had the following exchange:

Butcho: How are you getting along these days?
Basho: Since the recent rain moss is greener than ever.
ButchO: What Buddhbism was there before the moss became green?

Resulting in enlightenment and the first of his best-known haiku:
Basho: Leap-splash - a frog.
Whether or not they undertook discipline, haiku writers thought themselves living in the spirit of Zen, their truest poems

expressing its ideals. To art lovers the appeal of haiku is not unlike that of a sumie (ink-wash) scroll by Sesshu, and many

haiku poets, like Buson, were also outstanding painters.
Zennists have always associated the teo arts: "When a feeling reaches its highest pitch," says Dr Suzuki, Zen´s  most

distinguished historian, "we reamin silent, even 17 syllables may be too many. japanese artists ... influenced by the way of

Zen tend to use the fewest words or strokes of brush to express their feelings. When they are too fully expressed no room for

suggestion is possible, and suggestibility is the secret of the japanese arts´. like a painting or rock gaeden, haiku is an

object of meditation, drawing back the the curtain on essential truth. It shares with other arts qualities belonging to the

Zen aestetic - simplicity, naturalness, directness, profundity - and each poem has its dominant mood: sabi (isolation), wabi

(poverty), aware (impermanence) or yugen (mystery).
If it is true that the art of poetry consists in saying important things with the fewest possible words, then haiku has a

just place in world literature. The limitation of syllables assures terseness and concision, and the range of association in

the finest examples is at times astonishing. It has the added advantage of being accessible: a seasonal reference, direct or

indirect, simplest words, chiefly names of things in dynamic relationships, familiar themes, make it understandable to most,

on one level at least. The haiku lives most fully in nature, of great meaning to a people who never feel it to be outside

themselves. man is fulfilled only when unseparated from his surroundings, however hostile they may appear:

To the willow-
all hatred, and desire
of your heart.

Basho

White lotus-
the monk
draws back hi blade.

Buson

Under cherry trees
there are
no strangers.

Issa

in the West, perhaps as a result of fascination with the haiku (its association with the development of modern poetry at one

extreme, its universal appeal in schools at the other), it arouses as much suspicion as admiration. It looks so easy,

something anyone can do. A most unfortunate view, for haiku is a quintessential form, much like the sonnet in Elizabethan

England, being precisely suited to (as it is the product of) Japanese sensibility, conditioned by Zen. For Basho, Buson,

Issa, haiku permitted the widest possible field of discovery and experimentation.
The Zen experience is centripetal, the artist´s contemplation of subject sometimes referred to as "mind-pointing". The

disciple in an early stage of discopline is asked to pint the mind at (meditate upon) an object, say a bowl of water. At

first he is quite naturally inclined to metaphorize, expand, rise imaginatively from water to lake, sea, clouds, rain.

Natural perhaps, but just the kind of "mentalization" Zen masters caution against. The disciple is instructed to continue

until it is possible to remain stricly with the object, penetrating more deeply, no longer looking at it but, as the Sixth

patriarch Hui-neng maintained essential, as it. Only then will he attain the stage of muga, so close an identification with

object that the unstable mentalizing self disappers. The profoundest haiku give a very strong sense of the process:

Dew of the bramble,
thorns
sharp white.

Buson

Arid fields,
the only life -
necks of cranes.

Shiko

To give an idea of the way haiku work, without making an odoious cultural comparison, here is Ezra Pound´s "In a Station of

The Metro", perhaps the most admired (and for good reason) haiku-like poem in English:

the apparition of these faces in the crowd(středník)
Petals on a wet, black bough.

A simile, the poem starles as haiku often do, but much of waht is said would, to a haiku poet, be implied. Incorporating the

title (haiku are never titled), he might make the poem read:

Faces in the metro -
petals
on a wet black bough.

If asked why, he might answer: the first few words, "The apparition of these", though sonorous enough, add nothing. Nor does

the reference to "crowd", metro "stations" usually being crowded - besides, the "petals" of the simile would make that clear.

His revision, he might claim, transforms the piece into an acceptable haiku, one rather like, perhaps less effective than,

Onitsura´s:

Autumn wind-
across the fields,
faces.

Without using simile, Onitsura stuns with an immediacy of vision - those faces whipped by a cold wind.
For centuries haiku has been extremely popular, and there are establishedschools with widely differing views. Typical is the

Tenro, truly traditional, working with the 5-7-5 syllabic pattern, clear seasonal reference, and possessing a creed -shasei,

on-the-spot composition with the subject "traced to its origin". There are around two thousand members all over Japan, and it

is usual for groups to meet at a designated spot, often a Zen temple, and write as many as one hundred haiku in a night,

perhaps only one of which, after months of selections and revision, will be adequate. It will then be sent to one of the

school´s masters and considered for the annual anthology, representing poems of some thirty members.
Untypical by compariosn is the Soun (free-verse) school, which feels no obligation to stick to the 17-syllable pattern. Short

and compact, however, its poem are written in the "spirit of Basho". Their creed is more general - Significance - and is very

close to Zen, many of the members involved in discipline. They follow an ancient dictum, Zenshi ichimi (Poetry and Zen are

one), and Kado, the way of Poetry. As rhey strive for the revelatory, fewer poems are written than in the Tenro. Both

schools, while opposed in principle, relate haiku to Zen, as do all other scholls. Yet very few contemporary haiku could have

pleased Basho, for however lofty the ideals they are generally derivative.
Kado, the Way of poetry to self-discovery, is similar in am to other do (ways) of Zen: Gado (painting), Shodo (calligraphy),

Jindo (philosophy), Judo (force). Haiku teachers and Zen masters expext no miracles of disciples, yet maintain that with

serious practice of an art, given aspirations, men perfect themselves: farmers, professorsmake their haiku, most egalitarian

of arts. To those who find art a mystery enganged in by the chosen, the sight of a haiku-chool group circling an autumn bush,

lined notebooks, pens in hand, can be sharply touching. Only a cynic would think otherwise.
The few of course achieve true distinction in the skill, and are known to all who care for poetry. Usually they echo early

masters, but some find that language cramping and consciously introduce the modern - factories, tractors, automobiles. They

will admit, without derogating, to taking little pleasure from old haiku. They are however generous reders of each other´s

work and that of certain contemporary poets. One in whom many are interested, despite his not being a writer of haiku, is

Shinkichi Takashi, regarded throughout Japan as the greatest living Zen poet.

A Note on The Translation
...
Our translation, I acknowledge, is often free, occasionally to such a degree that the reader, if he has a familiarity with

the original language, may judge a good number of the pieces to be adaptations rather than translations. This may especially

be felt with Takahashi. His original verse sometimes pithy(středník) at other times, lengthy and, one might almost say,

prosaic. In the former case our rendering is verbally faithful to the originals(středník) in the latter, some part is

omitted, with the result that a number of the originals are turned into compact vignettes. This is the outcome of our policy

on verse translation: translation is re-creation(středník) and it is realized through Lucien Stryk´s poetic intuition and

linguistic skill. Our co-transaltion, as will be evident to the discerning eye of Western readers of poetry. which leads me

to say a few words on one aspect of the translation of Japanese/Chinese Zen poetry.
At present there can be few, if any, Japanese or Westerns capable of carrying out single-handedly this particular literary

work. The requirements are clear: a would-be translator must posses rich practical experience of orthodox Zen, an ability to

write English poetry, and a thorough knowledge of Japanese/Chinese literature. to satisfy just one of these requirements will

demand many years, or indeed a lifetime, of training. that is why, as a second best, I have adopted the joint-translation

method and, most fortunately, I have found in Lucien Stryk an unsurpassable collaborator. In the United States he is often

described as a zen poet, which appellation he fully deserves. It is not that he has subjected himslef to regular discipline

(Zen-sitting, etc. ) in a Zen temple(středník) rather, just as D. T. Suzuki once declared his friend Kitaro Nishida, the

noted zen philosopher, had identified himself with Zen truth via sheer philosophicalspeculation, so stryk has gained a high

degree of zen-identification by means of his poetical experience. Thus my own principal contribution to this joint

translation is to supply Stryk with more or less literal translations and to examine his versions of the poems.     
I have already touched upon Stryk´s treatment of Takahashi´s work: the concise, pithy rendering, whether of short or long

pieces. His poetical genius is in its own way sufficiently flexible to adapt itself to any form of verse. Even so, he often

seems to be particularly drawn to the shorter pieces and it is therefore appropriate that he has recently come to to be

attracted by haiku, and proposed to me that we devote a section of this book to them. In my opinion haiku included here

eminently satisfy a vital criterion of all good translations - that they possess a vigorous life of their own. The reader may

find it interesting to compare the following versions, by nine different translators, of a haiku by Basho (N.B. numbers 3 and

6 are by Japanese translators(středník) Stryk´s is number 9):

1 Ta´en ill while journeying, I dreamt
  I wandered o´er withered moor.

2 At midway of my journey fallen ill,
     To-night I fare again,
  In dream, across a desert plain.

3 Lying ill on journey
  Ah, my dreams
  Run about the ruin of fields.

4 Nearing my journey´s end
  In dreams I trudge the wild waste moor,
  And seek a kindly friend.

5 On a journey ta´en ill -
  My dream a dried-up plain,
  Through which I wander.

6 Taken ill on my travels,
  My dreams roam over withered moors.

7 On a journey, ill -
     and my dreams, on withered fields
         are wandering still.

8 Ailing on my travels,
  Yet my dream wandering
  Over withered moors.

9 Sick on a journey -
  over parched fields
  dreams wander on. 


There are several ways of reading Zen verse(středník) for instance, the reader may approach it with satori as an object, or

for critical apprecitation, or simply for pleasure. In this rexpect, one probably should not be too rigorous(středník) zen

verse should be accessible to all sorts of readers. But it appears to me that the days may not be very distant when

english-speaking readers will find in Zen poetry a source of pure pleasure. I hope that this book will contribute to the

creation of suchan atmosphere.

 

...
The friendly cooperation of above Zennists has richly contributed towards securing for our book precision - not formal but

essential - and attractiveness, both of which, I hope, will be counted among its features.

Takashi Ikemoto

If you study japanese art, you see a man who is undoubtedly wise, philosophic and intelligent, who spends his time? In

studying the distance between the earrth and the moon? No. In studying the policy of bismarck, No. He studies a single blade

of grass. But this blade of grass leads him to draw very plant and then the seasons, the wide aspects of the countryside,

then animals, then the human figure. So he passes his life, and life is too short to do the whole.

Vincent Van Gogh to his brother Theo - Arles, 1888

The Penguin Book of Zen Poetry

Edited and translated
by Lucien Stryk and Takashi Ikemoto
with an
Introduction by Lucien Stryk 1987
Penguin Books
-------------------------------------------------------
http://www.gardendigest.com/zen/index.htm - zen poetry

http://www.geocities.com/Tokyo/Island/5022/index.html !!!!!§§ Introduction

http://www.poetry-chaikhana.com/B/BashoMatsuo/Templebell.htm

---------------------------------------------------
Taky Bašó, od stejných překladatelů, ale z jiné knihy

Come, let's go
snow-viewing
till we're buried.


----------------------------------------------------
Basho (1644-1694)

To the willow -
all hatred, and desire
of your heart.

Temple bell,
a cloud of cherry flowers -
Ueno? Asakusa?

Cormorant fishing:
how stirring,
how saddening.

Year´s end -
still in staw hat
and sandals.

Come, let´s go
snow-viewing
till we´re buried.

Come, see,
real flowers
of this painful world.

Smell of autumn -
heart longs
for the four-mat room.

Skylark
sings all day,
and day not long enough.

Melon
in morning dew -
mud-fresh.

June rain,
hollyhocks turning
where sun should be.

Dozing on horseback,
smoke from tea-fires
drifts to the moon.

Crow's
abandoned nest,
a plum tree.

Journey´s end -
still alive,
this autumn evening.

Wintry day,
on my horse
a frozen shadow.

Shrieking plovers,
calling darkness
around Hoshizaki Cape.

Withered grass,
under piling
heat waves.

Autumn moon,
tide foams
to the very gate.

Cedar umbrella,
off to Mount Yoshino
for the cherry blossoms.

Autumn -
even the birds
and clouds look old.

Year's end,
all corners
of this floating world, swept.
srovnej s jiným jeho překladem

Buddha´s death-day -
old hands
clicking rosaries.

To the capital -
snow-clouds forming,
half the sky to go

Old pond,
leap-splash -
a frog.

Girl cat,
so thin
on barley and love.

Moor:
point my horse
where birds sing.

Fish shop -
how cold the lips
of the salted bream.

Autumn wind,
blasting the stones
of Mount Asama.

Sick on a journey -
over parched fields
dreams wander on.

Tomb, bend
to autumn wind -
my sobbing.

Summer grasses,
all that remains
of soldier´s dreams.
---------------------------------


----------------------------------
Kikaku (1661-1707)

Full autumn moon -
on the straw mat,
pine shadow.

Evening bridge,
a thousand hands
cool on the rail.

Sprinkle water wide -
for the sparrow,
the cicada.

Sacred night,
through masks
white breath of dancers.

Cicada chirp -
fan peddler
vaults a tree.

Above the boat,
bellies
of wild geese.

May he who brings
flowers tonight,
have moonlight.

Summer airing -
trying on a quilt,
strutting around.

Leaf
of the yam -
raindrop´s world.

Shrine gate
though morning mist -
a sound of waves.
-----------------------------
Buson (1715-83)

A sudden chill -
in our room my dead wife´s
comb, underfoot.
srovnej UM

Dew on the bramble,
thorns
sharp white.

Through snow,
lights of homes
that slammed their gates on me.

Ten holy nights -
even tea
chants Namu Amida Butsu.

My village -
dragonflies,
worn white walls.

In sudden flare
of the mosquito whick,
her flushed face.

Happy traveller:
mosquito wick,
moonlit grasses.

Wind in the west,
fallen leaves
gathering in the east.

On the iris,
kite´s
soft droppings.

Short nap -
waking,
spring was gone.

Miles of frost -
on the lake
the moon´s my own.

Over water,
sharp sickles
of reed gatherers.

Mountains of Yoshino -
shedding petals,
swallowing clouds.

Deer in rain -
three cries,
then heard no more.

Swallows,
in eaves of mansions,
of hovels.

Dewy morn -
these saucepans
are beautiful.

Plum-viewing:
in the gay quarter
sashes are chosen.

White lotus -
the monk
draws back his blade.
Srovnej UM

Plum scent
haloing
the moon.

Such a moon -
the thief
pauses to sing.

------------------------
Taigi (1709-72)

In the melon-patch
thief, fox
meet head-on.

Beyond serenity,
grey kites
in twilight.

Barley´s season -
dust mutes
the midday bell.

Temple in
deep winter grove,
a bonfire´s glow.

Zazen:
fat mosquitoes
everywhere.

In the boat,
crescent moon´s light
in my lap.

Fallen leaves -
raking,
yet not raking.

Thunder -
voices of drowned
in sunken ships.

Swellfish eaten,
he chants nembutsu
in his sleep.

-------------------------
Issa (1763-1827)


!!!!!!!!!!
Cherry blossoms?
In these parts
grass also blooms.

Over paddies
at its foot,
smoke of Mount Asama.

Changing clothes,
but not
the wanderer´s lice.

Owls are calling,
"Come, come,"
to the fireflies.

Tonight you too
are rushed,
autumn moon.

Just by being,
I´m here -
in snow-fall.

Autumn wind,
the beggar looks
me over, sizing up.

Lost in bamboo,
but when moon lights -
my house.

Buddha Law,
shining
in leaf dew.

A good world,
dew-drops fall
by ones, by twos.

Listen,
all creeping things -
the bell of transience.

Don´t weep, insects -
lovers, starsthemselves,
must part.

Cuckoo sings
to me, to the mountain,
in turn.

Flies swarming -
what do they want of
these wrinkled hands?

Where there are humans
you´ll find flies,
and Buddhas.

One bath
after another -
how stupid.

farmer,
pointing the way
with a radish.

Winter lull -
no talents,
thus no sins.

Short night -
scarlet flower
at vine´s tip.

Let´s take
the duckweed way
to clouds.

??!!!
Buddha´s Nirvana,
beyond flowers,
and money.

First cicada:
life is
cruel, cruel, cruel.

Autumn evening -
knees in arms,
like a saint.

At prayer,
bead-swinging
at mosquitoes.

When plum
blooms -
a freeze in hell.

Don´t fly off, nightingale -
though your song´s poor,
you´re mine.

Five yen each:
a cup of tea,
the nightingale.

What a world,
where lotus flowers
are ploughed into a field.

Fireflies
entering my house,
don´t despite it.

I´m leaving -
now you can make love,
my flies.

Nightingale´s song
this morning,
soaked with rain.

Kites shriek
together -
departure of the gods.

Children,
don´t harm the flea,
with children.

Borrowing my house
from insects.
I slept.

Clouds of mosquitoes -
it would be bare
without them.

About the field
crow moves
as if he´s tilling.

Autumn wind -
mountain´s shadow
wavers.

Watch it - you´ll bump
your heads
on that stone, fireflies.

My hut,
thatched
with morning glories.

Skylarks singing -
the farmer
makes a pillow of his hoe.

Never forget:
we walk on hell,
gazing at flowers.

Outliving
them all, all -
how cold.

In this world
even butterflies
must earn their keep.

As we grow old,
what triumph
burning mosquitoes.

Cuckoo´s crying -
nothing special to do,
nor has the burweed.

From the bough
floating down river,
insect song.

Closer, closer
to paradise -
how cold.

Worldly sky -
from now on
every year´s a bonus.

!!!!!!!!!
First firefly,
why turn away -
it´s Issa.

Under cherry trees
there are
no strangers.

Be respectful,
sparrows,
of our old bedding.

Dew spread,
the seeds of hell
are sown.

Mokuboji Temple -
fireflies come even
to the barking dog.

In my house
mice and fireflies
get along

Cries of wild geese,
rumors
spread about me.

Shush, cicada -
old Whiskers
is about.

Geese, fresh greens
wait for you
in that field.

Treated shabbily
by fleas, by flies,
day quits.

From burweed,
such a butterfly
was born?

When I go,
guard my tomb well,
grasshopper.

Reflected
in the dragonfly´s eye -
mountains.
Srovnej Líman

A poor quarter:
flies, fleas, mosquitoes
live forever.
-----------------------------
Joso (1662-1704)

No need to cling
to things -
floating frog.

About the grave
waves of springs mist -
I barely live.

These branches
were the first to bud -
falling blossoms.

Gruel heaped
in a perfect bowl -
sunlight of New Year´s Day.

How green -
flowering slopes
reflect each other.

-------------------------------
Hokushi (1665-1718)

Writing,
rubbing it out -
face of poppy.

My house gutted -
well, the cherry flowers
had fallen.

Sailboats in line,
island
lost in mist.

---------------------
Lady Sute-Jo
(1633-98)

Woman -
how hot the skin
she covers.

Are there
short-cuts in the sky,
summer moon?
---------------------
Kito (1740-89)

Contending -
temple bell,
winter wind.

Nightingale,
rarely seen,
came twice today.

Barley-reaping song,
smith´s hammer,
mingling.

Seaweed
between rocks -
forgotten tides.
---------------------------
Lady Sono-Jo (1649-1723)

How cool,
forehead touched
to green straw-mat.

Shameful
these clothes -
not one stich mine.
-----------------------
Shushiki (1669-1725)

After dream,
how real
the iris.

Frost of separation -
father, child
under one quilt.

--------------------
Kyorai (1651-1704)

Even in my town
now, I sleep
like a traveller.

Ater the green storm,
true colour
of the rice-paddy.

-----------------------
Ransetsu (1654-1707)

Melon -
how well
it keeps itself.

Each morn
from the straw raincoat
put out to dry - fireflies.

Travelling
old armour,
a glistening slug.

Five rice dumplings
in bamboo leaves -
no message, no name.

Fly, dare take
the rice grain
on my chin.
-----------------
Onitsura (1660-1738)

Autumn wind -
across the fields,
faces.

Plum blossoms -
one´s nose
one´s heart.

--------------------
Kyoroku (1655-1715)

Summer airing -
on one pole,
a shroud.

Even the dumplings
are smaller -
autumn wind
----------------
Shiko (1665-1731)

?????!!!!
Night snow,
neighbour´s cock
sounds miles away.

Arid fields,
the only life -
necks of cranes.

Small fish-boats,
after what
as snow covers my hat?
---------------------
Etsujin (1656-1739)

First snow -
head clear,
I wash my face.
-------------------
Boncho (?-1714)

Nightingale -
my clogs
stick in the mud.

Piled for burning,
brushwood
starts to bud.
------------------
Sodo (1641-1716)

Late spring:
paling rose,
bitter rhubarb.

Sudden shower,
cooling lava
of Mount Asama.
-----------------
Tantan (1674-1761)

Morning frost,
Mount Fuji
brushed lightly.

On the rock
waves can´t reach,
fresh snow.
--------------
Lady Kana-Jo (17th century)

Quivering together -
ears of barley,
butterfly.

-------------------
Yayu (1701-83)

One sneeze -
skylark´s
out of sight.

Transplanting rice,
he pisses
in a crony´s field.
----------------
Gyodai (1732-93)

Whales
bellowing dawn,
in icy waters.

Inching
from dark to dark -
seaslug.

Slowly
over cedars,
sunshine, showers.
-----------------
Shirao (1735-92)

Forty years -
how sharp
the insect´s cry.

Mountain mist -
torches dropped
as clouds redden.

Moonlit night -
by melon flowers,
fox sneezes.

----------------
Lady Chiyo-jo (1701-75)

Were it not for
cries in snow,
wuld the herons be?

In the well-bucket,
a morning glory -
I borrow water.

---------------
Ryota (1707-87)

Pure brush-clover -
basket of flowers,
basket of dew.

On rainy leaves
glow
of the village lights.

------------------------
Hakuin (1685-1768)

Tea-kettle,
hooked mid-air
towards heaven.
-----------------------
Sobaku (1728-92)

Cherry blossoms -
so many,
I´m bent over.
------------------
Saimaro (1656-1737)

Mirrored by stream,
swallow darts -
a fish.

---------------
Raizan (1654-1716)

Green, green, green -
herbs splash
the snow-field

--------------
Boryu (18th century)

Cloud above lotus -
it too
becomes a Buddha.
----------------
Sogi (1421-1502)

Night frost -
pulsing wings
of mndarin ducks.
----------------
Soin (1604-82)

Cherry blossoms
dizzying -
my painful neck

--------------------
Sokan (1458-1546)

Cold, yes,
but don´t test
the fire, snow Buddha.

-----------------
Chiun (15th century)

nameless,
weed quickening
by the stream.

-----------------
Hoitsu (1760-1828)

Buddha:
cherry flowers
in moonlight.

-------------------
Sampu (1647-1732)

Moving
deep into mist,
chrysanthemums.

---------------
Kakei (1648-1716)

Morning glory,
so pure
the dew´s unseen.

--------------
Lady Chigetsu (17th century)

Chirping -
grasshopper
in the scarecrow´s sleeve.

-----------------------
Yamei (18th century)

Spring plain,
gulped
by the pheasant´s throat.

-------------------
Mokusetsu (17th century)

Long summer rains -
barley´s tasteless
as the sky.

--------------------
Otsuyu (1674-1739)

Cry of the deer -
where at its depths
are abtlers?

-------------------
Sora (1649-1710)
Skylark
soaring -her young
will starve.

----------------
Lady Chine-Jo (17th century)

Wild geese -
fellow travellers,
all the way to Ise.

----------------
Bakusui (1720-83)

Returning
by an unused path -
violets.

------------------
Shiseki (1676-1759)

my old thighs -
how thin
by firelight.

----------------
Shoha (?-1771)

Shameful -
dead grass
in the insect´c cage.

-------------------
Shozan (1717-1800)

Guest gone,
I stroke the brazier,
talk to myself.

------------------
Masahide (1657-1753)

When bird passes on -
like moon,
a friend to water.

Barn´s burnt down -
now
I can see the moon.

----------------
Shiki (1867-1902)

Imagine -
the monk took off
before the moon shone.

Thing long forgotten -
pot where a flower blooms,
this spring day.

Storm -chestnuts
race along
the bamboo porch.

Dew, clinging
to potato field,
the Milky Way.

Stone
on summer plain -
world´s seat.

Autumn wind:
gods, Buddha -
lies, lies, lies.

Wicker chair
in pinetree´s shade,
forsaken.

Aged nightingale -
how sweet
the cuckoo´s cry.

Summer sky
clear after rain -
ants on parade

Heath grass -
sandals
still fragrant.

Among Saga´s
tall weeds,
tombs of fair women.

Evening bell:
persimmons pelt
the temple garden.

Autumn come -
cicada husk,
crackling.

Indian summer:
dragonfly shadow seldom
brush the window.

Midnight sound -
leap up:
a fallen moonflower.

Sudden rain -
rows of horses,
twitching rumps.

White butterfly
darting among pinks -
whose spirit?

Such silence:
snow tracing wings
of mandarin ducks.

--------------------------------------------
In my new robe
this morning-
someone else.

Fields, mountains
of Hubaku, in
nine days-spring.

New Year-the Bashó-Tosei
hermitage
a-buzz with haiku.

Spring rain-
under trees
a crystal stream.

Now cat´s done
mewing, bedroom´s
touched by moonlight.

Do not forget the plum,
blooming
in the thicket.

Another haiku?
Yet more cherry blossoms-
not my face.

Pretending to drink
sake from my fan
sprinkled with cherry petals.

If I´d the knack
I´d sing like
cherry flakes falling.

Under the cherry-
blossom soup,
blossom salad.

Yellow rose petals
thunder-
a waterfall.

Drizzly June-
long hair, face
sickly white

Faceless-bones
scattered in the field,
wind cuts my flesh.

Winter downpour-
even the monkey
needs a raincoat.

First winter rain-
I plod on,
Traveller, my name.

Poet grieving over shivering
monkeys, what of this child
cast out in autumn wind?

Poor boy-leaves
moon-viewing
for rice grinding.

Wake, butterfly-
it´s late, we´ve miles
to go together.

Violets-
how precious on
a mountain path.

Early autumn-
rice filed, ocean,
one green.

Bright moon: I
stroll around the pond-
hey, dawn has come.

Clouds-
a chance to dodge
moon-viewing.

Moon-daubed bush-clover-
ssh, in the next room
snoring prostitutes.

Bird of time-
in Kyoto, pining
for Kyoto.

Spring-through
morning mist,
what mountain´s there?

Noon doze,
wall cool against
my feet.

"Now sarkness falls,"
quail chirps,
"what use hawk-eyes?"

Atop the mushroom-
who knows from where-
a leaf!

Cormorant fishing:
how stirring,
how saddening.

Snowy morning-
one crow
after another.

Come, see real
flowers
of this painful world.

Summer moon-
chapping hands,
I herald dawn.

rainy days-
silkworms droop
on mulberries.

Girl cat, so
thin on love
and barley.

Old pond,
leap-splash-
a frog.

Awaiting snow,
poets in their cups
see lightning flash.

Buddha´s death day-
old hands
chicking rosaries.

Year's end, all
corners of this
floating world, swept.
srovnej jinej Stryckův překlad

Autumn-even
birds and clouds
look old.

Loneliness-
caged cricket dangling
from the wall.

Insect song-over
winter´s garden
moon´s hair-thin.

Spider, are you
crying-or
the autumn wind?

Pommelling hail-
like the old oak,
I never change.

Mirroring each other:
white narcissi,
paper screen.

Such fragrance-
from where,
which tree?

How I long to see
among dawn flowers,
the face of God.

while moon sets
atop the trees,
leaves cling to rain.

Coldest days-
dried salmon,
gaunt pilgrim.

Samurai talk-
tang
of horse-radish.

You the butterfly-
I, Chuang Tzu´s
dreaming heart.

Friends part
forever-wild geese
lost in cloud.

How pleasant-
just once not to see
Fuji through mist.

Dying cricket-
how full of
life, his song.

What stroke of luck-
hawk spied above
Irago promontory.

South Valley-
wind brings
a scent of snow.

From the heart
of the sweet peony,
a drunken bee.

Dew-drops-
how better wash away
world´s dust?

Tomb, bend
to autumn wind-
my sobbing.

Summer grasses,
all that remains
of soldiers´dreams.

Sick on a journey-
over parched fields
dreams wander on.


Basho haiku
Lucien Stryk 1985
------------------------
------------------------
The four seasons
Japanese haiku written by Basho, Buson, Issa and many others
The Peter Pauper
Mount Vernon, New York

1958
-----
Spring

such a fine first dream...
but they laughed at me...they said
I had made it up

Takuchi
-------------------------
even my plain wife...
exquisite as visitors
on new year´s morning

Iso
-------------------------
new year gift-giving...
ah, baby at her bare breast
reaching tiny hands

Issa
-------------------------
first wind of the year...
the oil lamp in the washroom
shudders and is still

Oemaru
-------------------------
felicitations!
still...I guess this year too
will prove only so-so

Issa
-------------------------
year´s first cart-load...
cut-out paper flowers deck
the emaciated horse

Shiki
-------------------------
first dream of the year...
I kept it a dark secret...
smiling to myself

Sho-u
-------------------------
sun-melted snow...
with my stick I guide this great
dangerous river

Issa
-------------------------
from my tiny roof
smooth...soft...still-white snows
melts in melody

Issa
-------------------------
icicles and water
old differences dissolved...
drip down together

Teishitsu
-------------------------
old snow is melting...
now the huts unfreeting too
free all the children

Issa
-------------------------
a childless housewife...
how tenderly she touches
little dolls foe sale

Ransetsu
-------------------------
now wild geese return...
waht draws them crying crying
all the long dark night?

Roka
-------------------------
pouring floods of rain...
won´t Mount Fuji wash away
to a muddy lake?

Buson
-------------------------
clear-colored stones
are vibrating in the brook-bed...
or the water is

Soseki
-------------------------
in my new clothing
I feel so different I must
look like someone else

Basho
-------------------------
oh you bawdy breeze...
thatcher bending on the roof
i see your bottom!

Issa
------------------------
immobile Fuji...
alone ublanketed by
millions of new leaves

Buson
------------------------
spring morning marvel...
lovely nameless little hill
on a sea of mist

Basho
------------------------
passing the doll shop
I picked up the littlest one...
sudenly I smiled

Baishitsu
------------------------
there in water
color of the water moves...
translucent fishes

Raizan
------------------------
hazy ponded moon
and pale night sky are broken...
bungling black frog

Buson
------------------------
silver-soft riverside...
dim splash of far thrown net...
fishing for the moon?

Taigi
------------------------
paper-weights protect
gay picture-books in the shop...
inquisitive breeze

Kito
------------------------
ah-ah-ah-choo! that
spring catarrh!... now I´ve lost sight
of my first skylark

Yayu
------------------------
an april shower...
see that thirsty mouse lapping
river Sumida

Issa
------------------------
rainfall in april...
tears from our weeping willow...
petals from our plum

Shoha
------------------------
ah little warbler...
thanks-droppings on my porch
because I love you?

Basho
------------------------
under my tree-roof
slanting lines of april rain
separate to drops

Basho
------------------------
farmer, raise your head...
direct this stranger who will smile
and disappear

Buson
------------------------
good morning, sparrow...
writing on my clean veranda
with your dewy feet

Shiki
------------------------
beach fishermen go
bobbing out... beach poppies stay
bending with sea-breeze

Kyorai
------------------------
even the ocean
rising and falling all day...
sighing green like trees

Buson
------------------------
I could not see him
that fluttering fly-off bird...
but the plum-petals

Shiki
------------------------
gliding river boat...
rising skylarks... ripling sounds
to our right and left

Ranko
------------------------
bird-droppings pattern
the purples and the yelllows of
my iris petals

Buson
------------------------
shining on the sea...
dazzling sunlight shaking over
hills of cherry-bloom

Buson
------------------------
over the low hedge
honest plum distributes petals
half inside...half out

Chora
------------------------
riverbank plum-tree...
do your reflected blossoms
really flow away?

Buson
------------------------
blue evening sea...
from spring islands near and far
new lights are shining

Shiki
------------------------
the old messenger
proffering his plum-branch first...
only then the letter

Kikaku
------------------------
midnight full of stars...
dim cherry-petals floating on
rice-paddy waters

Buson
------------------------
over my shoulder...
my friends who followed me were lost
in clouds of blossom

Chora
------------------------
the seashore temple...
incoming rollers flow in time
to the holy flute

Buson
------------------------
low-tide morning...
the willow´s skirts are trailed
in stinking mud

Basho
------------------------
here comes Mr. horse...
quick, quick out of the roadway
happy sparrowlet

Issa
------------------------
moonlight stillness
lights the petals falling...falling...
on the silenced lute

Shiki
------------------------
green...green...green...
willow-leaf threads are sliding
river-running-water

Onitsura
------------------------
cherry-petal days...
birds with two legs glitter now
horses gleam with four

Onitsura
------------------------
heat-wawelets rising...
plum-petals drifting wavering
down on burning rocks

Shiki
------------------------
come now, play with me...
fatherless motherless dear
little sparrow-child

Issa
------------------------
no bold rain-cloud for
a hundred miles around...dares
brave the peonies

Buson
------------------------
in the clear fording
pale feet of the silent girl...
clouding M?/may waters

Buson
------------------------
opening thin arms...
a pink peony big as this!
said my bitty girl

Issa
------------------------
ultra-pink peony...
silver siamese soft cat...
gold-dust butterfly...

Buson
------------------------
energetic ant...
silhouetted on the still
snowflake-peony

Buson
------------------------
in the yard plum-trees
blossoms...in the brothel
girls are buying obis

Buson
------------------------
that white peony...
lower of the moon trembling
now at twilight

Gyodai
------------------------
facing the candle
the peony also burning...
motionless as death

Kyoroku
------------------------
the first firefly...
but he got away a I...
air in my fingers

Issa
------------------------
listen, all you fleas...
you can come on pilgrimage, o k...
but then, off you git!

Issa
------------------------
but if I held it...
could I touch the lightness of this
flutter-butterfly?

Buson
------------------------
hanging sadly down
amid the merry-makers...
green weeping willow

Roka Shonin
------------------------
out of my way please
and let me plant my bamboos...
old brother toad

Chora
------------------------
for that brief moment
when the firefly went out...o
the lonely darkness

Hokushi
------------------------
now this old poet
emerges from the purple depths
of the convolvulus

Chora
------------------------
pinions pulsating...
your mind traveling afar
butterfly dreamer?

Chiyo-ni
------------------------
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
moon-in-the-water...
broken-again.. broken-again...
stil a solid seal

Chosu
------------------------
now having taken
warmed water... the vase welcomes
my camellia

Onitsura
------------------------
fallen now to earth
after dancing journeyings...
kite that lost its soul

Kubonta
------------------------
keeping company
with us, pigeons and sparrows...
low-tide-lookers all

Issa
------------------------
what, traveling
in the rain?... but where can he
be wending snailward?

Issa
------------------------
Summmer

with my new clothing
alas...spring has been buried
in that wooden chest

Saikaku
------------------------
hands upon the ground
old aristocratic frog
recites his poem

Sokan
------------------------
as I picked it up
to cage it... the firefly
lit my finger-tips

Taigi
------------------------
fleeing the hunter
the firefly took cover...
the evening moon

Ryota
------------------------
softly folded fawn
shivers, shaking off the butterfly...
and sleeps again

Issa
------------------------
the heavy wagon
shook all the roadside... waking
a single butterfly

Shoha
------------------------
in the golden room
frightened quick calligraphy...
escaping swallow

Buson
------------------------
he wades the river
carrying the girl and see...
carrying the moon

Shiki
------------------------
for deliciousness
try fording this rivulet...
sandals in one hand

Buson
------------------------
elegant singer
would you further favor us
with a dance... o frog?

Issa
------------------------
before the sacred
mountain shrine of Kamiji...
my head bent itself

Issa
------------------------
rainy afternoon...
little daughter you will never
teach that cat to dance

Issa
------------------------
on the low-tide beach
everything we stoop to pick...
moves in our fingers

Chiyo-ni
------------------------
flower-petal fell...
then the rooster crowed, and see...
another petal

Baishitsu
------------------------
dark the well at dawn...
rising with the first bucket...
camellia-blossom

Kakei
------------------------
now take this flea:
he simply cannot jump...and
I love him for it

Issa
------------------------
the floating heron
pecks at it till it shatters...
full-moon-on-water

Zuiryu
------------------------
for a companion
on my walking trip... perhaps
a little butterfly

Shiki
------------------------
ah good buddhist frog...
rising to a clearer light
by non-attachment

Joso
------------------------
bats come out at dusk...
woman over the way...why
do you stare at me?

Buson
------------------------
overhanging pine...
adding its mite of needles
to the waterfall

Basho
------------------------
squads of frogs jumped in
when they heard the plunk-plash
of a single frog

wakyu
------------------------
little silver fish
pointing upstream moving downstream
in clear quick water

Soseki
------------------------
look... the palace...
you can glimpse it through that hole
in the mosquito-fog

Issa
------------------------
congratulations
Issa!... you have survived to feed
this year´s mosquitoes

Issa
------------------------
in your summer-room...
garden and mountain going too
as we slowly walk

Basho
------------------------
just beyond the smokes
of our smudge this evening...
mosquito-music

Shirao
------------------------
do I hear voices
from far lands above clouds?
o... silly skylarks

Kyoroku
------------------------
shortest summer night...
in early morning lamps still
burning on the bay

Shiki
------------------------
moon-in-the-water
turned a white somersault... yes
and went floating off

Ryota
------------------------
even fly-swatting
by these border guards... o how
vicious and correct

Taigi
------------------------
quick-pattering rain...
chance and vanity dictate
gay impromptu hats

Otsuyu
------------------------
you hear that fat frog
in the seat of honor, singing
bass?...that´s the boss

Issa
------------------------
windy-web spider
what is your silent speaking...
your unsung song?

Basho
------------------------
and each morning
right above this little roof...
my private skylark

Joso
------------------------
don´t waste precious time
now, tagging along with me...
brother butterfly

Issa
------------------------
experimenting...
I hung the moon on various
branches of the pine

Hokushi
------------------------
swat softly softly
at the sick-room flies...beacause
I seek for sleep

Shiki
------------------------
the devoted clerk...
not to waste a jot of breeze
naps on a ledger pillow

Issa
------------------------
on his garden path
this sparrow pebbles...
man forgotten

Shoha
------------------------
river Mogami
winding from northern mountains
washes warm summer

Shiki
------------------------
summer-night insects
falling burnt and dead... upon
my poem´s paper

Shiki
------------------------
you are just too late
to help me with the lamp... my moth
light-extinguisher

Issa
------------------------
again coolness comes...
silver undersides of leaves
evening-breeze blown

Shiki
------------------------
after that illness
my long gazing at roses
wearied the eyelids

Shiki
------------------------
the night was hot...
stripped to the waist the snail
enjoyed the moonlight

Issa
------------------------
my summer illness...
but a last my life was spared
at the very bones

Shiki
------------------------
careful, champion flea
and look before you leap...
here´s river Sumida

Issa
------------------------
coming from the bath...
cool on her breasts the warm breeze
of the veranda

Shiki
------------------------
fui! a sour plum...
thin eyebrows pinched together
on the lovely face

Buson
------------------------
holy noon duet:
Basso-snoring priest... devout
contralto cuckoo

Shiki
------------------------
farther in the grove
the lantern walks... nearer nearer
sings the nightingale

Shiki
------------------------
with the new clothes
remember... the crow stayes black
and the heron white

Chora
------------------------
i scooped up the moon
in my water bucket... and
spilled it on the grass

Ryuho
------------------------
must you come to vex
my sick eyes that still can move...
bed-criss-crossing fly?

Shiki
------------------------
coolness on the bridge...
moon, you and I alone
unresigned to sleep

Kikusha-ni
------------------------
in the endless rain
is it turning sunward still...
trusting hollyhock?

Basho
------------------------
hot slow afternoon...
suddenly the hand has stopped...
slow-falling fan

Taigi
------------------------
in summer moonlight
they go visiting the graves...
savoring the cool

Issa
------------------------
in the morning breezes
climbing in a single line
go singing skylarks

Ryota
------------------------
a near nightingale...
but my head just coudn´t fit
through the lattices

Yaha
------------------------
a summer shower...
along all the street, servants
slapping shut shutters

Shiki
------------------------
rainfall and thunder
beating on boards and blossoms...
indiscriminate

Sampo
------------------------
rain-obliterated...
the river, some roofs,
a bridge without a shore

Basho
------------------------
AUTUMN

in lantern-light
my yellow chrysanthemums
lost all their color

Buson
------------------------
morning-misted street...
with white ink an artist brushes
a dream of people

Buson
------------------------
at Nara temple...
frsh-scented chrysanthemums
and ancient images

Basho
------------------------
an old tree was felled...
echoing, dark echoing
thunder in the hills

Meisetsu
------------------------
The great fire of kanda

heat-waves to heaven...
rising from the ruined hearts of
three thousand homes

Shiki
------------------------
chanting at the altar
of the inner sanctuary...
a cricket priest

Issa
------------------------
sad twilight cricket...
yes, I have wasted once again
those daylight hours

Rikei
------------------------
a sudden shower...
terrified, loud idiot ducks
high-tailing home

Kikaku
------------------------
my melons that you
stole last year... this year I place
upon your grave, my son

Oemaru
------------------------
on these rainy days
that old poet Ryokan
wallows in self-pity

Ryokan
------------------------
pitiful...fearful...
these poor scarecrows look like men
in autumn moonlight

Shiki
------------------------
we stand still to hear
tinkle of far temple bell...
willow-leaves falling

Basho
------------------------
the evening breezes...
water lapping lightly on
the heron´s leg-sticks

Buson
------------------------
the wet kingfisher
shakes his feathers in the late
reflected sunlight

Tori
------------------------
in unending rain
the house-pent boy is fretting
with his brand-new kite

Shoha
------------------------
the calling bell
travels the curling mist-ways...
autumn morning

Basho
------------------------
nightlong in the cold
that monkey sits conjecturing
how to catch the moon

Shiki
------------------------
dark unending night...
once, outside the paper screen,
a lantern passing

Shiki
------------------------
they have gone... but
they lit the garden lantern
of their little house

Shiki
------------------------
on one riverbank
sunbeams slanting down... but on
the other... raindrops

Buson
------------------------
supper in autumn...
flat light through an open door
from a setting sun

Chora
------------------------
september sunshine...
the hovering dragonfly´s
shimmering shadow

Karo
------------------------
do i dare grass...
hovering mid-air in vain
an autumn dragonfly

Basho
------------------------
now the old scarecrow
looks just like other people...
drenching autumn rain

Seibi
------------------------
here is the dark tree
denuded now of leafage...
but a million stars

Shiki
------------------------
up from my illness
I went to the chrysanthemums...
how cold they smelled!

Otsuji
------------------------
waking in the night
i added my autumn coughing
to insect voices

Joso
------------------------
jagged candle-flame...
the very shape of autumn sifts
through the shutters

Raizan
------------------------
urging on my horse
into mist-blanketed water...
river-gurgle sounds

Taigi
------------------------
white chrysanthemums
making all else about them
reflected riches

Chora
------------------------
peacefulness... today
fujiama stands above us
mist-invisible

Basho
------------------------
smack-ack... smack-ack...
men driving fish-net stakes
in white-fog morning

Buson
------------------------
white autumn moon...
black-branch shadow-patterns
printed on the mats

Kikaku
------------------------
exquisite the dewy
bramble... to every thorn
a single droplet

Buson
------------------------
from the temple steps
I lift to the autumn moon
my veritable face

Basho
------------------------
in this solid mist
what are those people shouting
between boat and hill?

Kito
------------------------
nights are getting cold...
not a single insect now
attacks the candle

Shiki
------------------------
his has blown off...
how pitiless the pelting
storm on the scarecrow

Hagi-jo
------------------------
in my own village
I think there are more scarecrows left
than other people

Chasei
------------------------
swallows flying south...
my house too of sticks and paper
only a stopping-place

Kyorai
------------------------
after moon-viewing
my companionable shadow
walked along with me

Sodo
------------------------
after the windstorm
foraging for firewood...
three fierce old women

Buson
------------------------
roadside barley-stalks
torn by our clutching fingers...
as we smiled farewell

Basho
------------------------
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

suddenly chill fall...
why should that ragged fortune-teller
look so surprised?

Buson
------------------------
all the world is cold...
my fishing-line is trembling
in the autumn wind

Buson
------------------------
autumn breeezes shake
the scarlet flowers my poor child
could not wait to pick

Issa
------------------------
seeking in my hut
for unlocked midnight trasures...
a cricket burglar

Issa
------------------------
WINTER

little orphan girl...
eating a lonely dinner
in winter twilight

Shokaku
------------------------
in the wintry moon
gales raging down the river
hone the rock-edges

Chora
------------------------
the new-laid garden...
rocks settling in harmony
in soft winter rain

Shado
------------------------
when I raised my head...
there was my rigid body
lying bitter cold

Seibi
------------------------
over wintry fields
bold sparrow companies fly
scarecrow to scarecrow

Sazanami
------------------------
bath-tub firewood...
thanks for this final service
faithful old scarecrow

Joso
------------------------
my very bone-ends
made contact with the icy quilts
of deep december

Buson
------------------------
poor thin crescent
shivering and twisted high...
in the bitter dark

Issa
------------------------
so lonely...lovely...
the exquisite pure-white fan
of the girl I lost

Buson
------------------------
in winter moonlight
a clear look at my old hut...
dilapidated

Issa
------------------------
black calligraphy
of geese... pale printed foothills...
for a seal, full moon

Buson
------------------------
in my dark winter
lying ill... at last i ask
how fares my neighbor?

Basho
------------------------
the old dog lies intent
listening... does he overhear
the burrowing moles?

Issa
------------------------
a thousand roof-tops
a thousand market-voices...
winter-morning mist

Buson
------------------------
first snow last night...
there across the morning bay
sudden mountain-white

Shiki
------------------------
when the waterpot
burst that silent night with cold...
my eyes split open

Basho
------------------------
winter having touched
these fields... the very tomtits
perch on the scarecrow

Kikaku
------------------------
cold winter rainfall...
mingling all their gleaming horns
oxen at the fence

Ranko
------------------------
see the red berries...
fallen like little footprints
on the garden snow

Shiki
------------------------
winter-evening snow...
the uncompleted bridge is all
an arch of whiteness

Basho
------------------------
moonlit snowfields...
here the bloodied samurai
cast their noble lives

Kikaku
------------------------
midnight wanderer
walking through the snowy street...
echoing dog-bark

Shiki
------------------------
as to icicles
I often wonder why they grow
some long...some short

Onitsura
------------------------
in winter moonlight
fish-net stakes cast their shifting
uneven shadows

Shirao
------------------------
colder far than snow...
winter moonlight echoing on
my whitened hair

Joso
------------------------
so close... so vast...
rattling winter hailstones on
my umbrella-hat

Basho
------------------------
long-walking lantern
disappeared into some house...
desolate white hills

Shiki
------------------------
solitary crow...
companioning my progress
over snowy fields

Senna
------------------------
staring delighted
even at walking horses
in new morning snow

Basho
------------------------
blinding wild snow
blows, whirls and drifts about me...
in this world alone

Chora
------------------------
winter moonlight casts
cold tree-sahdows long and still...
my warm one moving

Shiki
------------------------
in that cold darkness
my horse stumbled suddenly
just outside the house

Buson
------------------------
look at that stray cat
sleeping... snug under the eaves
in the whistling snow

Taigi
------------------------
in my new-year heart
I feel no fury... even at
these tramplers of snow

Yayu
------------------------
coffin and mourners
passed me walking down the street...
midnight at new year´s

Shiki
------------------------
to celebrate new year´s
we feat newly-opened eyes on
snowy Fujiama

Sokan
------------------------
Death-song:

poet nightingale...
will I hear your later verses
in the vale of death?

Anon.
------------------------
Death-song:

suddenly you light
and as suddenly go dark...
fellow-firefly

Chine-jo
------------------------
Death-song:

full-moon and flowers
solacing my forty-nine
foolish years of song

Issa
------------------------
Death-song:

if they ask for me
say: he had some business
in another world

Sokan
------------------------


narvah: Nestačila by Occamova břitva? Jak jednodušeji vysvětlit nárůst násilí u dětí a mladistvých než vlivem

nejrozšířenějšího a nejvlivnějšího masmédia, tj. televize? To, že to televizní lobby nepřipustí a nevezme na vědomí, je věc

jiná. To, že globální oteplování způsobuje člověk taky nevíme na 100%, přesto nám nic nebrání proti tomu aspoň něco dělat.

Jenomže šáhnout na násilí v televizi se jen tak nikdo nedováží, násilí přitahuje sledovanost, sledovanost přináší zisky (z

reklam) a zisky vliv. Tím pádem silná lobby (televize - jako poskytovatel reklamy) a výrobci (zadavatel reklamy) mají

eminetní zájem na tom, aby násilí v takovéto míře v televizi zůstalo. A který politik půjde proti poskytovatelům prostoru pro

ovlivňov)ání voličů (zpravodajství apod. v televizi) a proti dárcům sponzorských darů? (výrobci) Proto tolik mladejch

vrahů...    


Toto dílo bylo publikováno na literárním servru WWW.PISMAK.CZ.