black
grey
blue
red
brown
white

Farewell, my old fan. / Having scribbled on it, / What could I do but tear it / At the end of summer?

Matsuo Basho

Nothing in the cry of cicadas suggests they are about to die.
MATSUO BASHO

Cry Death Flower
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.
MATSUO BASHO

Breathe Compose Dangerous Enemy Fall Hairs Mindset Tree Writing
Spring rain leaking through the roof dripping from the wasps’ nest.
MATSUO BASHO

Home Insect Rain Spring
Around existence twine, (Oh, bridge that hangs across the gorge!) ropes of twisted vine.
MATSUO BASHO

Existence Plant Rope Twisted
All my friends / viewing the moon – / an ugly bunch.
MATSUO BASHO

Friendship Moon Ugly View
The temple bell stops but I still hear the sound coming out of the flowers.
MATSUO BASHO

Flower Myself Sound Stop Temple
With every gust of wind, the butterfly changes its place on the willow.
MATSUO BASHO

Butterfly Change Mindset Place
How much I desire! Inside my little satchel, the moon, and flowers.
MATSUO BASHO

Desire Flower Moon Myself
Old pond, leap-splash – a frog.
MATSUO BASHO

Frog Old
Year’s end, all corners of this floating world, swept.
MATSUO BASHO

Age Float Time World
Felling a tree and gazing at the cut end – tonight’s moon.
MATSUO BASHO

Fall Moon Night Tree
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.
MATSUO BASHO

Knowledge Learning Leaving Nature Wisdom Yourself
How I long to see among dawn flowers, the face of God.
MATSUO BASHO

Face Flower God Myself See
Don’t imitate me / we are not two halves / of a muskmelon.
MATSUO BASHO

Fruit Imitation Myself
Winter garden, the moon thinned to a thread, insects singing.
MATSUO BASHO

Insect Old Pond Sing Winter
For this lovely bowl let us arrange these flowers since there is no rice.
MATSUO BASHO

Flower Food Love Poverty Togetherness

Farewell, my old fan. / Having scribbled on it, / What could I do but tear it / At the end of summer?

Related Topics

Popular Authors

Farewell, my old fan. / Having scribbled on it, / What could I do but tear it / At the end of summer?

Related Topics

Popular Authors

More Matsuo Basho Quotes