Farewell, my old fan. / Having scribbled on it, / What could I do but tear it / At the end of summer?
MATSUO BASHOFarewell, my old fan. / Having scribbled on it, / What could I do but tear it / At the end of summer?
MATSUO BASHOYear’s end, all corners of this floating world, swept.
MATSUO BASHOAn autumn night – don’t think your life didn’t matter.
MATSUO BASHOHow I long to see among dawn flowers, the face of God.
MATSUO BASHOFelling a tree and gazing at the cut end – tonight’s moon.
MATSUO BASHOMake 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.
MATSUO BASHOEvery day is a journey, and the journey itself is home.
MATSUO BASHOLearn how to listen as things speak for themselves.
MATSUO BASHOHarvest moon: around the pond I wander and the night is gone.
MATSUO BASHOClapping my hands with the echoes the summer moon begins to dawn.
MATSUO BASHOI hope to have gathered To repay your kindness The willow leaves Scattered in the garden.
MATSUO BASHOSummer grasses — all that remains of great soldiers’ imperial dreams.
MATSUO BASHOThe basis of art is change in the universe.
MATSUO BASHOAll my friends / viewing the moon – / an ugly bunch.
MATSUO BASHOI felt quite at home, / As if it were mine sleeping lazily / In this house of fresh air.
MATSUO BASHOBreaking the silence Of an ancient pond, A frog jumped into water – A deep resonance.
MATSUO BASHO