Unseasoned

First published in Noon #20, November 2021, pages 70–72. Originally written (or deconstructed) in January of 2016. A note dated 17 November 2015 in one of my notebooks first proposed this idea as a book idea, but a sequence seems to be enough. For those who might be puzzled by these poems, I’ve simply “unseasoned” each translation. Does that help?

(with apologies to Robert Hass)

Bashō

A morning—

by myself,

chewing on dried salmon.

Taking a nap,

feet planted

against a wall.

First

falling

on the half-finished bridge.

Buson

The end of

the poet is brooding

about editors.

The

it fell into the darkness

of the old well.

A tethered horse,

in both stirrups.

Issa

The man pulling

pointed my way

with a

Full

my ramshackle hut

is what it is.

Here,

I’m here—

the falling.

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