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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
Collecting
River
Rivers
Rain
Water
May
Rains
Swift

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Every moment of life is the last, every poem is a death poem.
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The old pond, ah! A frog jumps in: The water's sound.
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Poverty's child - he starts to grind the rice, and gazes at the moon.
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The temple bell stops but I still hear the sound coming out of the flowers.
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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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Around existence twine, (Oh, bridge that hangs across the gorge!) ropes of twisted vine.
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On a bare branch a crow is perched - autumn evening
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Orchidbreathing incense into butterfly's wings
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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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Nothing in the cry of cicadas suggests they are about to die
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Make the universe your companion, always bearing in mind the true nature of things-mountains and rivers, trees and grasses, and humanity-and enjoy the falling blossoms and the scattering leaves.
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Come, butterfly It's late- We've miles to go together.
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Friends part foreverwild geese lost in cloud
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The basis of art is change in the universe.
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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 oak tree: not interested in cherry blossoms.
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Ballet in the air... Twin butterflies until, twice white They Meet, they mate
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Fresh spring! / The world is only Nine days old - / These fields and mountains!
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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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