Cold Night: The Wild Duck

Cold night: the wild duck,
sick, falls from the sky
and sleeps awhile.


Translated by Robert Hass

by Matsuo Basho

Comments (2)

It is beautiful but really sad... Love gained only to be lost in a never ending series of farewells.
It's odd. 'Ephemera' seems to describe my life at so many points in time. Everything eventually becomes a hobby in my life, whether that be good or bad. In place of relationships I think I keep a heart basket: a kind of vasiculum of feminine emotions gleaned from those who granted them to me. My heart will rarely stay with another for long, so I have no connection with the hearts in my basket other than that of owner to trinket. Now, lest you think me cruel, I must say that I am not aware of ever keeping whole hearts imprisoned. It seems that when my heart begins again to rise from its temporary resting place on a woman, her heart seems as well to become more her own. Lest, though, I be left utterly destitute, I wield the fine scalpel of time and chance which happeneth to them all and take a small piece of her heart to keep, as a page in a memorandum-book, as a reminder and a possession. Few women own such a scalpel, else would my heart be disseminated across continent and perhaps globe; and I would have little with which to purchase hearts for my own collection and much sorrow about which to write —(for everywhere a piece of your heart goes, there follows a portion of your soul, like an all-seeing eye) . http: //sehr-gut.blogspot.com/2004/11/heart-basket.html