Every day is a journey, and the journey itself is home.
MATSUO BASHOEvery day is a journey, and the journey itself is home.
MATSUO BASHOWhen 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 BASHOWhy so scrawny, cat? Starving for fat fish or mice… Or backyard love?
MATSUO BASHOOld pond, frog jumps in – plop.
MATSUO BASHOThis autumn- why am I growing old? bird disappearing among clouds.
MATSUO BASHOYear’s end, all corners of this floating world, swept.
MATSUO BASHOEvery moment of life is the last, every poem is a death poem.
MATSUO BASHOWithout bitterest cold that penetrates to the very bone, how can plum blossoms send forth their fragrance all over the world?
MATSUO BASHOTraveler’s heart. Never settled long in one place. Like a portable fire.
MATSUO BASHOSadly, I part from you; Like a clam torn from its shell, I go, and autumn too.
MATSUO BASHOA thicket of summer grass / Is all that remains / Of the dreams of ancient warriors.
MATSUO BASHOCome out to view / the truth of flowers blooming / in poverty.
MATSUO BASHOClapping my hands with the echoes the summer moon begins to dawn.
MATSUO BASHOHow much I desire! Inside my little satchel, the moon, and flowers.
MATSUO BASHOSpring rain conveyed under the trees in drops.
MATSUO BASHOCalm and serene The sound of a cicada Penetrates the rock.
MATSUO BASHO