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Collecting all The rains of May The swift Mogami River.

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
Rain
Water
May
Rains
Swift
Collecting
River
Rivers

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I am one who eats breakfast gazing at morning glories.
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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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Winter garden, the moon thinned to a thread, insects singing.
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Felling a tree and gazing at the cut end - tonight's moon
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Every day is a journey, and the journey itself is home.
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For this lovely bowl let us arrange these flowers since there is no rice.
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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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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 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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From all these trees, in the salads, the soup, everywhere, cherry blossoms fall.
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Plunge Deep enough in order to see something that is hidden and glimmering.
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A weathered skeleton in windy fields of memory, piercing like a knife.
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