Oh world, with what baseness and guilt thou art rife!

Thou nurtures, trainest, and illest the while.

He only whom Allah doth bless with his smile
Is train'd and is nurtured with riches and life.

Spinning like a ghost
on the bottom of a
top,
I'm haunted by all
the space that I
will live without
you.

Ære og Lov til dig, Satan, i det højeste
af Himlen, hvor du har hersket, og i det dybeste
Helvede, hvor nu, betvungen, du drømmer i Tavshed!
Du lade min Sjæl en Dag hvile med dig
under Kundskabens Træ, den Stund, da over din Pande
som et nyt Tempel dets Grene skal brede sig!

Bogen kom først, og jeg kom sidst,
Det for mig selv var det Bedste vist;
Skudsmaalet først, Personen siden!
Hold lidt venligt paa Begge i Tiden!

Bo-beh-o-bi, sang the lips,
Veh-eh-o-mi, sang the glances,
Pi-eh-eh-o, sang the brows,
Li-eh-eh-ey, sang the visage,
Gzi-gzi-gzeh-o, sang the chain.
Thus on a canvas of some correspondences
Beyond dimension lived the face.

The flame of my life burns low
Under the cluttered days,
Like a fire of leaves.
But always a little blue, sweet-smelling smoke
Goes up to God.

In your
Curled petals what ghosts
Of blue headlands and seas,
What perfumed immortal breath sighing
Of Greece.

Blown from the west,
fallen leaves gather
in the east.


Translated by Robert Hass

Blowing stones
along the road on Mount Asama,
the autumn wind.


Translated by Robert Hass

Blow of an ax,
pine scent,
the winter woods.


Translated by Robert Hass