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Plunge Deep enough in order to see something that is hidden and glimmering.

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
Deep
Order
Enough
Something
Glimmering
Plunge
Hidden

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Seek on high bare trails Sky-reflecting violets... Mountain-top jewels
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Every moment of life is the last, every poem is a death poem.
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Collecting all The rains of May The swift Mogami River.
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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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From all these trees, in the salads, the soup, everywhere, cherry blossoms fall.
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The fact that Saigyo composed a poem that begins, I shall be unhappy without loneliness, shows that he made loneliness his master.
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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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On a bare branch a crow is perched - autumn evening
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When your consciousness has become ripe in true zazen-pure like clear water, like a serene mountain lake, not moved by any wind-then anything may serve as a medium for realization.
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Around existence twine, (Oh, bridge that hangs across the gorge!) ropes of twisted vine.
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Winter garden, the moon thinned to a thread, insects singing.
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Even in Kyoto/Hearing the cuckoo's cry/I long for Kyoto
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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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Orchidbreathing incense into butterfly's wings
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April's air stirs in Willow-leaves...a butterfly Floats and balances
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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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I felt quite at home, / As if it were mine sleeping lazily / In this house of fresh air.
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Poverty's child - he starts to grind the rice, and gazes at the moon.
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Fresh spring! / The world is only Nine days old - / These fields and mountains!
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