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Before enlightenment, chopping wood and carrying water. After enlightenment, chopping wood and carrying water.
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
Chopping
Carrying
Wood
Enlightenment
Woods
Water
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Seek on high bare trails Sky-reflecting violets... Mountain-top jewels
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For this lovely bowl let us arrange these flowers since there is no rice.
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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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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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A weathered skeleton in windy fields of memory, piercing like a knife.
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From all these trees, in the salads, the soup, everywhere, cherry blossoms fall.
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Nothing in the cry of cicadas suggests they are about to die
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Do not seek to follow in the footsteps of the wise. Seek what they sought.
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Spring rain conveyed under the trees in drops.
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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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Every moment of life is the last, every poem is a death poem.
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Felling a tree and gazing at the cut end - tonight's moon
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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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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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April's air stirs in Willow-leaves...a butterfly Floats and balances
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Ballet in the air... Twin butterflies until, twice white They Meet, they mate
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All my friends / viewing the moon – / an ugly bunch.
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When I speak My lips feel cold - The autumn wind.
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Twilight whippoorwill... Whistle on, sweet deepener Of dark loneliness
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Fresh spring! / The world is only Nine days old - / These fields and mountains!
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