Nach ciúin atá an tigh.
Tá séimhe anseo sa tigh.
Scread chráite ón stoirm shneachta amuigh ansin,
agus na madraí cuachta suas, soc faoin eireaball.
Tá mo bhuachaillínse ina chodladh,
ina luí ar a dhroim, a bhéal ar leathadh, ag análú.
Nach cruinn atá a bhoilgín -
cá hionadh má tá mo ghruanna tais le deora áthais!
sabishii zo nawatobi no chi o utsu oto wa
nach uaigneach!
fuaim rópa scipeála
nuair a bhuaileann an talamh
Etsuko Ohishi
adayoeru tebukuro no aru unga kana
lámhainn ar snámh
san uisce . . .
an chanáil
Sujū Takano (1893-1976)
fuyu no hama ho o tome kazou nami no kazu
trá sa gheimhreadh
stopaimse
chun tonnta a chomhaireamh
Bōkōshi Ogawa
hotto ii mirin o katte fuyuyasumi
cheannaíos saké
níos costasaí ná mar is gnách
saoire gheimhridh
Maiko Goto
kareha no tame kotori no tame ni ishi no isu
do dhuilleoga feoite
d'éiníní
cathaoir chloch
Sanki Saito (1900 -1962)
shiranu ma ni fuyu no kingyo to narinikeri
n'fheadar conas a tharla sé
iompaímse
i m'iasc órga geimhridh
Noriyo Endo
kaze no ko no katae ni neko mo nemuri keri
slaghdán ar an leanbh -
in aice leis
cat ina chodladh chomh maith
Katsura Kishida
gekkō o matsuge ni keito andeiru
solas na gealaí
ar a cuid fabhraí
is í ag cniotáil
Atsuko Sakanishi
shōō no medeshi kogai ya hama no aki
na mionsliogáin
a thaitin go mór le Bashō –
trá san fhómhar
Fukin Endo
tabitatan ironaki kaze no kuru hō e
imeoidh mé
sa treo as a dtagann
an ghaoth gan dath
Takehiko Tanioka
furusato no hatarakimono no kakashitachi
mo bhaile dúchais
na fir bhréige
ag obair go dian
Koh Yaguchi
meigetsu ya hanarebanare ni fune to kai
gealach lán−
scartha óna chéile
bád agus maidí rámha
Gogyo Akatsuka
matsu wakete kitaru hikari wa aki no umi
solas ag teacht
trí ghéaga giúise
muir san fhómhar
Atsuko Sakanishi
kaminari kuru to tokage no nodo furueori
toirneach
scornach na laghairte
ar crith
Yukiko Kai
atsuki hi o oeru ni yūkaze to bahha
clabhsúr ar lá brothallach
leoithne an tráthnóna
agus Bach
Kyoko Uchimura
setsumei no tsukanu sabishisa higasa sasu
uaigneas
nach féidir a mhíniú
osclaím scáth gréine
Yukiko Endo
mizuumi ni akari sabishiki hanabi kana
soilse uaigneacha
na dtinte ealaíne
ar an loch . . .
Yoko Yamamoto
hiki wa hiki hito wa hito kou yo narikeri
buaf ag tnúth le buaf
duine ag tnúth le duine
is oíche mar sin í
Minoru Ozawa
bara no sono hikikaesaneba deguchi nashi
gairdín rósanna
ní féidir dul amach as
gan casadh timpeall
Kiyoko Tsuda (1920-2015)
shirasagi no mirumiru kage o hanarekeri
corr réisc bhán
nach gasta mar a éalaíonn
óna scáil
Keishu Ogawa
 | |
| Walt Whitman le Thomas Wilmer Dewing | |
I wander about a good deal,
sometimes at night under the moon.
Tonight took a long look at the President's house.
The white portico —
the palace-like, tall, round columns,
spotless as snow
— the walls also —
the tender and soft moonlight,
flooding the pale marble,
and making peculiar faint languishing shades,
not shadows —
everywhere a soft transparent hazy,
thin, blue moon-lace, hanging in the air —
the brilliant and extra-plentiful clusters of gas,
on and around the facade, columns, portico,
— everything so white, so marbly pure
and dazzling, yet soft
— the White House of future poems,
and of dreams and dramas,
there in the soft and copious moon —
the gorgeous front,
in the trees, under the lustrous flooding moon,
full of reality, full of Illusion —
the forms of the trees, leafless, silent,
in trunk and myriad angles of branches,
under the stars and sky —
the White House of the land,
and of beauty and night —
sentries at the gates, and by the portico,
silent, pacing there in blue overcoats —
stopping you not at all,
out eyeing you with sharp eyes,
whichever way you move.