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April's air stirs in Willow-leaves...a butterfly Floats and balances

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
Balance
Balances
Stirs
Floats
April
Butterfly
Leaves
Air
Willow
Spring
Haiku

More quotes by Matsuo Basho

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the universe and its beings are a complementarity of empty infinity, intimate interrelationships, and total uniqueness of each and every being.
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Spring rain conveyed under the trees in drops.
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The oak tree: not interested in cherry blossoms.
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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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If I had the knack I'd sing like Cherry flakes falling
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On a bare branch a crow is perched - autumn evening
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The old pond, ah! A frog jumps in: The water's sound.
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Every day is a journey, and the journey itself is home.
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Winter garden, the moon thinned to a thread, insects singing.
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Orchidbreathing incense into butterfly's wings
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Before enlightenment, chopping wood and carrying water. After enlightenment, chopping wood and carrying water.
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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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The moon is brighter since the barn burned.
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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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When composing a verse let there not be a hair's breath separating your mind from what you write composition of a poem must be done in an instant, like a woodcutter felling a huge tree or a swordsman leaping at a dangerous enemy.
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What is important is to keep our mind high in the world of true understanding, and returning to the world of our daily experience to seek therein the truth of beauty. No matter what we may be doing at a given moment, we must not forget that is has a bearing upon our everlasting self which is poetry.
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Ballet in the air... Twin butterflies until, twice white They Meet, they mate
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Collecting all The rains of May The swift Mogami River.
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Clapping my hands with the echoes the summer moon begins to dawn.
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Farewell, my old fan. / Having scribbled on it, / What could I do but tear it / At the end of summer?
Matsuo Basho