1972. At the time, a few British poets were as open to Chinese 4-line ‘cut-shorts’ as they were to 4-line translations of haiku.
………… In the hills meeting no one,
………… Hearing only the echo of voices.
………… Sunlight flickers through a dense wood
………… And the green moss is lit once more.
…………………… (Wang Wei, C8th)
……….……………………………….. Evening is shining in the gardens,
…….………………………………….. the thrush has started again,
………………………………………… I have come to buy some books
……………….……………………….. at the top of the town.
.……………………..…………………………… (Martin Snellgrove, Feb. 72 in England)
…………………… A silver cloud bursts in the hills,
…………………… A rainbow flows in the valley;
…………………… The fish eagle wheels to greet me
…………………… On my return from the capital.
……………………………… (Tito, Sep. 72 in Nepal)
Two years later, I arrived in the land of Basho with a yew staff in my hand made by Martin. Into its knobbly top was carved the face of a man ‘neither young nor old, neither Western nor Oriental’.
