Matsuo Bashō, born Matsuo Kinsaku, then Matsuo Chūemon Munefusa
Bashō, born Matsuo Kinsaku, then Matsuo Chūemon Munefusa
Japanese Haiku Poet, Zen Monk
Refinement's origin: the remote north country's rice-planting song.
The sea darkens; the voices of the wild ducks are faintly white.
Come, see the true flowers of this pained world.
If I had the knack I'd sing like cherry flakes falling.
Sabi is the color of the poem. It does not necessarily refer to the poem that describes a lonely scene. If a man goes to war wearing stout armor or to a party dressed up in gay clothes, and if this man happens to be an old man, there is something lonely about him. Sabi is something like that.
The universe and its beings are a complementarity of empty infinity, intimate interrelationships, and total uniqueness of each and every being.
Cooling, so cooling, with a wall against my feet, midday sleep?behold.
Ill on a journey; my dreams wander over a withered moor.
Sadly, I part from you; like a clam torn from its shell, I go, and autumn too.
This autumn- why am I growing old? Bird disappearing among clouds.
Coolness of the melons flecked with mud in the morning dew.
It has rained enough to turn the stubble on the field black.
Seek not to follow in the footsteps of men of old; seek what they sought.
Travelling, sick my dreams roam on a withered moor.
Crossing long fields, frozen in its saddle, my shadow creeps by.
It rains during the morning. No visitors today. I feel lonely and amuse myself by writing at random. These are the words: Who mourns makes grief his master. Who drinks makes pleasure his master.
Seek on high bare trails sky-reflecting violets... Mountain-top jewels.
Wake butterfly ? It?s late, we?ve miles to go together.
Don't imitate me; it's as boring as the two halves of a melon.
Just washed, How chill the white leeks!
Sick on a journey ? over parched fields dreams wander on.
Waking in the night; the lamp is low, the oil freezing.
Eaten alive by lice and fleas -- now the horse beside my pillow pees.