A Tanka Prose for Matsuo Basho
I carry the dead weight
of cliched poetry
on the road
to the Interior
cherry blossoms drifting
Like the shadow in the morning, the workshop lecturer's comment lingers in my mind, 'There are two kinds of traveler-poets: those who look at the map and those who look in the mirror. The first are embarking on their journey, and the latter are returning home.'
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem