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Winter solitude- in a world of one colour the sound of the wind.
Matsuo Basho
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Matsuo Basho
Age: 50 †
Born: 1644
Born: January 1
Died: 1694
Died: November 28
Artist
Poet
Writer
Vaxjo
Matsuo Basho
Bashō
Bashô
Basho
Matsuo Bashou
Sound
World
Colour
Solitude
Winter
Wind
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The desire to break the silence with constant human noise is, I believe, precisely an avoidance of the sacred terror of that divine encounter.
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How I long to see among dawn flowers, the face of God.
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Collecting all The rains of May The swift Mogami River.
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I felt quite at home, / As if it were mine sleeping lazily / In this house of fresh air.
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Orchidbreathing incense into butterfly's wings
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Friends part foreverwild geese lost in cloud
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A weathered skeleton in windy fields of memory, piercing like a knife.
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Seek on high bare trails Sky-reflecting violets... Mountain-top jewels
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A flute with no holes is not a flute.
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Fresh spring! / The world is only Nine days old - / These fields and mountains!
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Plunge Deep enough in order to see something that is hidden and glimmering.
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Do not seek to follow in the footsteps of the wise. Seek what they sought.
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Around existence twine, (Oh, bridge that hangs across the gorge!) ropes of twisted vine.
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Spring rain conveyed under the trees in drops.
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An autumn night - don’t think your life didn’t matter.
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The old pond, ah! A frog jumps in: The water's sound.
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