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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
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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
Scribbled
Farewell
Tear
Summer
Tears
Fans
Ends
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Real poetry, is to lead a beautiful life. To live poetry is better than to write it.
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The basis of art is change in the universe.
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Mountain-rose petals Falling, falling, falling now... Waterfall music
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On a bare branch a crow is perched - autumn evening
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Plunge Deep enough in order to see something that is hidden and glimmering.
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Even in Kyoto/Hearing the cuckoo's cry/I long for Kyoto
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The temple bell stops but I still hear the sound coming out of the flowers.
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When I speak My lips feel cold - The autumn wind.
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Fresh spring! / The world is only Nine days old - / These fields and mountains!
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