by James Kirkup No incense burns, old poet, before your plain stone obelisk, and there are no country flowers in the bamboo jars.
A small green tree with dark pointed foliage and whose name I do not know leans it shadow over you.
On the other side, a bush with heart-shaped leaves now in July has one leaf stained with November red.
I plucked the leaf, because it may have been a sign from you. It was the only signal I could give— a passing greeting from one wanderer to another
Written at Bashō’s grave in the grounds of Gichuji Temple east of Kyoto. From A Certain State of Mind: An Anthology of Classic, Modern and Contemporary Japanese Haiku in Translation with Essays and Reviews. Salzburg, Austria: University of Salzburg, 1995, page 133.
the met have this ... they photographed it in detail but present it in seven section that can't be read coherently by western eyes ... here, at least, i give you those seven sections as if from-left-to-right