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Real poetry, is to lead a beautiful life. To live poetry is better than to write it.

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
Beautiful
Better
Live
Real
Writing
Life
Lead
Poetry
Write

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Plunge Deep enough in order to see something that is hidden and glimmering.
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My body, now close to fifty years of age, has become an old tree that bears bitter peaches, a snail which has lost its shell, a bagworm separated from its bag it drifts with the winds and clouds that know no destination. Morning and night I have eaten traveler's fare, and have held out for alms a pilgrim's wallet.
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He who creates three to five haiku poems during a lifetime is a haiku poet. He who attains to completes ten is a master.
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An autumn night - don’t think your life didn’t matter.
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Go to the pine if you want to learn about the pine, or to the bamboo if you want to learn about the bamboo. And in doing so, you must leave your subjective preoccupation with yourself. Otherwise you impose yourself on the object and you do not learn.
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A weathered skeleton in windy fields of memory, piercing like a knife.
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The moon is brighter since the barn burned.
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Without bitterest cold that penetrates to the very bone, how can plum blossoms send forth their fragrance all over the world?
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Why so scrawny, cat? Starving for fat fish or mice... Or backyard love?
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Felling a tree and gazing at the cut end - tonight's moon
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Farewell, my old fan. / Having scribbled on it, / What could I do but tear it / At the end of summer?
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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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Come, butterfly It's late- We've miles to go together.
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