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All my friends / viewing the moon – / an ugly bunch.

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
Friends
Viewing
Bunch
Ugly
Moon

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Fresh spring! / The world is only Nine days old - / These fields and mountains!
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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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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 basis of art is change in the universe.
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Nothing in the cry of cicadas suggests they are about to die
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Plunge Deep enough in order to see something that is hidden and glimmering.
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I am one who eats breakfast gazing at morning glories.
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The moon is brighter since the barn burned.
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A thicket of summer grass / Is all that remains / Of the dreams of ancient warriors.
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Come, butterfly It's late- We've miles to go together.
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Ballet in the air... Twin butterflies until, twice white They Meet, they mate
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Twilight whippoorwill... Whistle on, sweet deepener Of dark loneliness
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Felling a tree and gazing at the cut end - tonight's moon
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Clapping my hands with the echoes the summer moon begins to dawn.
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From all these trees, in the salads, the soup, everywhere, cherry blossoms fall.
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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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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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Collecting all The rains of May The swift Mogami River.
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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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