classes ::: Buddhism, Poetry, Zen, author,
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object:Matsuo Basho
subject class:Buddhism
subject class:Poetry
subject class:Zen
class:author

AllPoetry - 111

--- WIKI
Matsuo Bash ( ), born , then Matsuo Chemon Munefusa ( ), was the most famous poet of the Edo period in Japan. During his lifetime, Bash was recognized for his works in the collaborative haikai no renga form; today, after centuries of commentary, he is recognized as the greatest master of haiku (then called hokku). Matsuo Bash's poetry is internationally renowned; and, in Japan, many of his poems are reproduced on monuments and traditional sites. Although Bash is justifiably famous in the West for his hokku, he himself believed his best work lay in leading and participating in renku. He is quoted as saying, "Many of my followers can write hokku as well as I can. Where I show who I really am is in linking haikai verses." Bash was introduced to poetry at a young age, and after integrating himself into the intellectual scene of Edo (modern Tokyo) he quickly became well known throughout Japan. He made a living as a teacher; but then renounced the social, urban life of the literary circles and was inclined to wander throughout the country, heading west, east, and far into the northern wilderness to gain inspiration for his writing. His poems were influenced by his firsth and experience of the world around him, often encapsulating the feeling of a scene in a few simple elements.




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OBJECT INSTANCES [0] - TOPICS - AUTHORS - BOOKS - CHAPTERS - CLASSES - SEE ALSO - SIMILAR TITLES

TOPICS
SEE ALSO


AUTH

BOOKS
Infinite_Library

IN CHAPTERS TITLE

IN CHAPTERS CLASSNAME
1.mb_-_a_bee
1.mb_-_a_caterpillar
1.mb_-_a_cicada_shell
1.mb_-_a_cold_rain_starting
1.mb_-_a_field_of_cotton
1.mb_-_all_the_day_long
1.mb_-_a_monk_sips_morning_tea
1.mb_-_a_snowy_morning
1.mb_-_as_they_begin_to_rise_again
1.mb_-_a_strange_flower
1.mb_-_autumn_moonlight
1.mb_-_awake_at_night
1.mb_-_Bitter-tasting_ice_-
1.mb_-_blowing_stones
1.mb_-_by_the_old_temple
1.mb_-_cold_night_-_the_wild_duck
1.mb_-_Collection_of_Six_Haiku
1.mb_-_coolness_of_the_melons
1.mb_-_dont_imitate_me
1.mb_-_first_day_of_spring
1.mb_-_first_snow
1.mb_-_Fleas,_lice
1.mb_-_four_haiku
1.mb_-_from_time_to_time
1.mb_-_heat_waves_shimmering
1.mb_-_how_admirable
1.mb_-_how_wild_the_sea_is
1.mb_-_im_a_wanderer
1.mb_-_In_this_world_of_ours,
1.mb_-_it_is_with_awe
1.mb_-_long_conversations
1.mb_-_midfield
1.mb_-_moonlight_slanting
1.mb_-_morning_and_evening
1.mb_-_None_is_travelling
1.mb_-_now_the_swinging_bridge
1.mb_-_old_pond
1.mb_-_on_buddhas_deathbed
1.mb_-_on_the_white_poppy
1.mb_-_on_this_road
1.mb_-_passing_through_the_world
1.mb_-_souls_festival
1.mb_-_spring_rain
1.mb_-_staying_at_an_inn
1.mb_-_stillness
1.mb_-_taking_a_nap
1.mb_-_temple_bells_die_out
1.mb_-_the_butterfly
1.mb_-_the_clouds_come_and_go
1.mb_-_the_morning_glory_also
1.mb_-_The_Narrow_Road_to_the_Deep_North_-_Prologue
1.mb_-_the_oak_tree
1.mb_-_the_passing_spring
1.mb_-_the_petals_tremble
1.mb_-_the_squid_sellers_call
1.mb_-_the_winter_storm
1.mb_-_this_old_village
1.mb_-_under_my_tree-roof
1.mb_-_ungraciously
1.mb_-_what_fish_feel
1.mb_-_when_the_winter_chysanthemums_go
1.mb_-_winter_garden
1.mb_-_with_every_gust_of_wind
1.mb_-_wont_you_come_and_see
1.mb_-_wrapping_the_rice_cakes
1.mb_-_you_make_the_fire

IN CHAPTERS TEXT
1.mb_-_a_bee
1.mb_-_a_caterpillar
1.mb_-_a_cicada_shell
1.mb_-_a_cold_rain_starting
1.mb_-_a_field_of_cotton
1.mb_-_all_the_day_long
1.mb_-_a_monk_sips_morning_tea
1.mb_-_a_snowy_morning
1.mb_-_as_they_begin_to_rise_again
1.mb_-_a_strange_flower
1.mb_-_autumn_moonlight
1.mb_-_awake_at_night
1.mb_-_Bitter-tasting_ice_-
1.mb_-_blowing_stones
1.mb_-_by_the_old_temple
1.mb_-_cold_night_-_the_wild_duck
1.mb_-_Collection_of_Six_Haiku
1.mb_-_coolness_of_the_melons
1.mb_-_dont_imitate_me
1.mb_-_first_day_of_spring
1.mb_-_first_snow
1.mb_-_Fleas,_lice
1.mb_-_four_haiku
1.mb_-_from_time_to_time
1.mb_-_heat_waves_shimmering
1.mb_-_how_admirable
1.mb_-_how_wild_the_sea_is
1.mb_-_im_a_wanderer
1.mb_-_In_this_world_of_ours,
1.mb_-_it_is_with_awe
1.mb_-_long_conversations
1.mb_-_midfield
1.mb_-_moonlight_slanting
1.mb_-_morning_and_evening
1.mb_-_None_is_travelling
1.mb_-_now_the_swinging_bridge
1.mb_-_old_pond
1.mb_-_on_buddhas_deathbed
1.mb_-_on_the_white_poppy
1.mb_-_on_this_road
1.mb_-_passing_through_the_world
1.mb_-_souls_festival
1.mb_-_spring_rain
1.mb_-_staying_at_an_inn
1.mb_-_stillness
1.mb_-_taking_a_nap
1.mb_-_temple_bells_die_out
1.mb_-_the_butterfly
1.mb_-_the_clouds_come_and_go
1.mb_-_the_morning_glory_also
1.mb_-_The_Narrow_Road_to_the_Deep_North_-_Prologue
1.mb_-_the_oak_tree
1.mb_-_the_passing_spring
1.mb_-_the_petals_tremble
1.mb_-_the_squid_sellers_call
1.mb_-_the_winter_storm
1.mb_-_this_old_village
1.mb_-_under_my_tree-roof
1.mb_-_ungraciously
1.mb_-_what_fish_feel
1.mb_-_when_the_winter_chysanthemums_go
1.mb_-_winter_garden
1.mb_-_with_every_gust_of_wind
1.mb_-_wont_you_come_and_see
1.mb_-_wrapping_the_rice_cakes
1.mb_-_you_make_the_fire

PRIMARY CLASS

author
SIMILAR TITLES
Matsuo Basho

DEFINITIONS



QUOTES [11 / 11 - 180 / 180]


KEYS (10k)

   11 Matsuo Basho

NEW FULL DB (2.4M)

  101 Matsuo Basho
   76 Matsuo Basho

1:A flute with no holes is not a flute. ~ Matsuo Basho,
2:Never forget the lonely taste of the white dew.
   ~ Matsuo Basho,
3:Year after year/On the monkey's face/A monkey's mask ~ Matsuo Basho,
4:How I long to see among dawn flowers, the face of God. ~ Matsuo Basho,
5:At the ancient pond the frog plunges into the sound of water ~ Matsuo Basho,
6:I'm a wanderer
so, let that be my name -
the first winter rain. ~ Matsuo Basho,
7:The temple bell stops but I still hear the sound coming out of the flowers.
   ~ Matsuo Basho,
8:Real poetry is to lead a beautiful life.
To live poetry is better than to write it. ~ Matsuo Basho,
9:None is travelling :::
None is travelling
Here along this way but I,
This autumn evening.

The first day of the year:
thoughts come - and there is loneliness;
the autumn dusk is here.

An old pond
A frog jumps in -
Splash!

Lightening -
Heron's cry
Stabs the darkness

Clouds come from time to time -
and bring to men a chance to rest
from looking at the moon.

In the cicada's cry
There's no sign that can foretell
How soon it must die.

Poverty's child -
he starts to grind the rice,
and gazes at the moon.

Won't you come and see
loneliness? Just one leaf
from the kiri tree.

Temple bells die out.
The fragrant blossoms remain.
A perfect evening! ~ Matsuo Basho,
10:Now a cuckoo's song
carries the haiku master
right out of this world ~ Matsuo Basho,
11:Come, see
real flowers
of this painful world ~ Matsuo Basho,

*** NEWFULLDB 2.4M ***

1:Breaking the silence ~ Matsuo Basho
2:A weathered skeleton ~ Matsuo Basho
3:I hope to have gathered ~ Matsuo Basho
4:O cricket from your cherry cry ~ Matsuo Basho
5:The journey itself is my home. ~ Matsuo Basho
6:Old pond, frog jumps in - plop. ~ Matsuo Basho
7:Old pond, leap-splash - a frog. ~ Matsuo Basho
8:Seek not the paths of the ancients; ~ Matsuo Basho
9:A flute with no holes is not a flute. ~ Matsuo Basho
10:A flute with no holes is not a flute. ~ Matsuo Basho,
11:Learn the rules, and then forget them. ~ Matsuo Basho
12:Just washed, How chill The white leeks! ~ Matsuo Basho
13:Year's end still in straw hat and sandals ~ Matsuo Basho
14:The basis of art is change in the universe. ~ Matsuo Basho
15:The moon is brighter since the barn burned. ~ Matsuo Basho
16:Friends part foreverwild geese lost in cloud ~ Matsuo Basho
17:Orchidbreathing incense into butterfly's wings ~ Matsuo Basho
18:Spring rain conveyed under the trees in drops. ~ Matsuo Basho
19:First snow-falling-on the half-finished bridge. ~ Matsuo Basho
20:Come, see the true flowers of this pained world. ~ Matsuo Basho
21:When I speak My lips feel cold - The autumn wind. ~ Matsuo Basho
22:Never forget the lonely taste of the white dew.
   ~ Matsuo Basho,
23:Year by year, the monkey's mask reveals the monkey ~ Matsuo Basho
24:Learn how to listen as things speak for themselves. ~ Matsuo Basho
25:On a bare branch a crow is perched - autumn evening ~ Matsuo Basho
26:All my friends / viewing the moon – / an ugly bunch. ~ Matsuo Basho
27:The old pond, ah! A frog jumps in: The water's sound. ~ Matsuo Basho
28:Year after year/On the monkey's face/A monkey's mask ~ Matsuo Basho,
29:An autumn night - don’t think your life didn’t matter. ~ Matsuo Basho
30:Come, butterfly It's late- We've miles to go together. ~ Matsuo Basho
31:How I long to see among dawn flowers, the face of God. ~ Matsuo Basho
32:I am one who eats breakfast gazing at morning glories. ~ Matsuo Basho
33:If I had the knack I'd sing like Cherry flakes falling ~ Matsuo Basho
34:Collecting all The rains of May The swift Mogami River. ~ Matsuo Basho
35:Even in Kyoto/Hearing the cuckoo's cry/I long for Kyoto ~ Matsuo Basho
36:Every day is a journey, and the journey itself is home. ~ Matsuo Basho
37:How I long to see among dawn flowers, the face of God. ~ Matsuo Basho,
38:The sea darkens And a wild duck s call Is faintly white. ~ Matsuo Basho
39:Felling a tree and gazing at the cut end - tonight's moon ~ Matsuo Basho
40:Calm and serene The sound of a cicada Penetrates the rock. ~ Matsuo Basho
41:Don't imitate me / we are not two halves / of a muskmelon. ~ Matsuo Basho
42:At the ancient pond the frog plunges into the sound of water ~ Matsuo Basho
43:Nothing in the cry of cicadas suggests they are about to die ~ Matsuo Basho
44:At the ancient pond the frog plunges into the sound of water ~ Matsuo Basho,
45:Every moment of life is the last, every poem is a death poem. ~ Matsuo Basho
46:Harvest moon: around the pond I wander and the night is gone. ~ Matsuo Basho
47:Winter garden, the moon thinned to a thread, insects singing. ~ Matsuo Basho
48:Come out to view / the truth of flowers blooming / in poverty. ~ Matsuo Basho
49:Winter solitude- in a world of one colour the sound of the wind. ~ Matsuo Basho
50:Clapping my hands with the echoes the summer moon begins to dawn. ~ Matsuo Basho
51:How much I desire! Inside my little satchel, the moon, and flowers ~ Matsuo Basho
52:This autumn- why am I growing old? bird disappearing among clouds. ~ Matsuo Basho
53:Between our two lives there is also the life of the cherry blossom. ~ Matsuo Basho
54:Spring rain leaking through the roof dripping from the wasps' nest. ~ Matsuo Basho
55:April's air stirs in Willow-leaves...a butterfly Floats and balances ~ Matsuo Basho
56:Mountain-rose petals Falling, falling, falling now... Waterfall music ~ Matsuo Basho
57:Old dark sleepy pool... Quick unexpected frog Goes plop! Watersplash! ~ Matsuo Basho
58:Poverty's child - he starts to grind the rice, and gazes at the moon. ~ Matsuo Basho
59:Summer grasses — all that remains of great soldiers' imperial dreams. ~ Matsuo Basho
60:a bee staggers out
of the peony --
enough

~ Matsuo Basho, a bee

61:I'm a wanderer
so, let that be my name -
the first winter rain. ~ Matsuo Basho,
62:Seek on high bare trails Sky-reflecting violets... Mountain-top jewels ~ Matsuo Basho
63:Twilight whippoorwill... Whistle on, sweet deepener Of dark loneliness ~ Matsuo Basho
64:Why so scrawny, cat? Starving for fat fish or mice... Or backyard love? ~ Matsuo Basho
65:With every gust of wind, the butterfly changes its place on the willow. ~ Matsuo Basho
66:Awakened at midnight by the sound of the water jar cracking from the ice ~ Matsuo Basho
67:Traveler's heart. Never settled long in one place. Like a portable fire. ~ Matsuo Basho
68:For this lovely bowl let us arrange these flowers since there is no rice. ~ Matsuo Basho
69:Do not resemble me-Never be like a musk melon Cut in two identical halves. ~ Matsuo Basho
70:Do not seek to follow in the footsteps of the wise. Seek what they sought. ~ Matsuo Basho
71:midfield
attached to nothing
the skylark sings
~ Matsuo Basho, midfield

72:Plunge Deep enough in order to see something that is hidden and glimmering. ~ Matsuo Basho
73:The temple bell stops but I still hear the sound coming out of the flowers. ~ Matsuo Basho
74:Along my journey / through this transitory world, / new year's housecleaning. ~ Matsuo Basho
75:Ballet in the air... Twin butterflies until, twice white They Meet, they mate ~ Matsuo Basho
76:Sitting quietly, doing nothing, Spring comes, and the grass grows, by itself. ~ Matsuo Basho
77:From the pine tree, learn of the pine tree; And from the bamboo, of the bamboo ~ Matsuo Basho
78:Now a cuckoo's song
carries the haiku master
right out of this world ~ Matsuo Basho,
79:Now the swinging bridge Is quieted with creepers ... Like our tendrilled life. ~ Matsuo Basho
80:Sadly, I part from you; Like a clam torn from its shell, I go, and autumn too. ~ Matsuo Basho
81:The temple bell stops but I still hear the sound coming out of the flowers.
   ~ Matsuo Basho,
82:Fresh spring! / The world is only Nine days old - / These fields and mountains! ~ Matsuo Basho
83:From all these trees, in the salads, the soup, everywhere, cherry blossoms fall. ~ Matsuo Basho
84:A cold rain starting
And no hat --
So?

~ Matsuo Basho, a cold rain starting

85:Not to think of yourself / as someone who did not count -- / Festival of the Souls. ~ Matsuo Basho
86:A thicket of summer grass / Is all that remains / Of the dreams of ancient warriors. ~ Matsuo Basho
87:Real poetry, is to lead a beautiful life. To live poetry is better than to write it. ~ Matsuo Basho
88:taking a nap --
feet planted
against a cool wall

~ Matsuo Basho, taking a nap

89:Fleas, lice,
a horse peeing
near my pillow.

~ Matsuo Basho, Fleas, lice

90:The oak tree:
not interested
in cherry blossoms.

~ Matsuo Basho, the oak tree

91:first snow
falling on

the half-finished bridge


~ Matsuo Basho, first snow

92:Learn about a pine tree from a pine tree, and about a bamboo plant from a bamboo plant. ~ Matsuo Basho
93:old pond.....
a frog leaps into
water's sound



~ Matsuo Basho, old pond

94:a cicada shell
it sang itself
  utterly away
  
~ Matsuo Basho, a cicada shell

95:Around existence twine, (Oh, bridge that hangs across the gorge!) ropes of twisted vine. ~ Matsuo Basho
96:I felt quite at home, / As if it were mine sleeping lazily / In this house of fresh air. ~ Matsuo Basho
97:Real poetry is to lead a beautiful life.
To live poetry is better than to write it. ~ Matsuo Basho,
98:On this road
where nobody else travels
autumn nightfall

~ Matsuo Basho, on this road

99:a field of cotton
as if the moon
  had flowered
  
~ Matsuo Basho, a field of cotton

100:stillness
the cicada's cry
drills into the rocks



~ Matsuo Basho, stillness

101:souls' festival
today also there is smoke
from the crematory
~ Matsuo Basho, souls festival

102:snowy morning
by myself,
  chewing on dried salmon.
  
~ Matsuo Basho, a snowy morning

103:By the old temple,
peach blossoms;
a man treading rice.

~ Matsuo Basho, by the old temple

104:spring rain
leaking through the roof
dripping from the wasps' nest
~ Matsuo Basho, spring rain

105:a strange flower
for birds and butterflies
the autumn sky

~ Matsuo Basho, a strange flower

106:I'm a wanderer
so let that be my name
the first winter rain

~ Matsuo Basho, im a wanderer

107:a caterpillar
this deep in fall
  still not a butterfly.
  
~ Matsuo Basho, a caterpillar

108:On the white poppy,
a butterflys torn wing
is a keepsake

~ Matsuo Basho, on the white poppy

109:The butterfly is perfuming
It's wings in the scent
Of the orchid.
~ Matsuo Basho, the butterfly

110:The winter storm
Hid in the bamboo grove
And quieted away.

~ Matsuo Basho, the winter storm

111:winter garden
the moon thinned to a thread,
insects singing.

~ Matsuo Basho, winter garden

112:Farewell, my old fan. / Having scribbled on it, / What could I do but tear it / At the end of summer? ~ Matsuo Basho
113:Don't imitate me;
it's as boring
as the two halves of a melon.

~ Matsuo Basho, dont imitate me

114:How wild the sea is,
and over Sado Island,
the River of Heaven
~ Matsuo Basho, how wild the sea is

115:Morning and evening
Someone waits at Matsushima!
One-sided love
~ Matsuo Basho, morning and evening

116:There is nothing you can see that is not a flower; there is nothing you can think that is not the moon. ~ Matsuo Basho
117:From time to time
The clouds give rest
To the moon beholders..

~ Matsuo Basho, from time to time

118:the morning glory also
turns out
not to be my friend

~ Matsuo Basho, the morning glory also

119:this old village
not a single house
without persimmon tree

~ Matsuo Basho, this old village

120:Ungraciously, under
a great soldier's empty helmet,
a cricket sings

~ Matsuo Basho, ungraciously

121:autumn moonlight
a worm digs silently
  into the chestnut
  
~ Matsuo Basho, autumn moonlight

122:how admirable!
to see lightning and not think
life is fleeting

~ Matsuo Basho, how admirable

123:the squid seller's call
mingles with the voice
  a cuckoo
  
~ Matsuo Basho, the squid sellers call

124:a monk quietly sips his morning tea
a flowering chrysanthemum

~ Matsuo Basho, a monk sips morning tea

125:awake at night
the sound of a water jar
  cracking in the cold
  
~ Matsuo Basho, awake at night

126:blowing stones
along the road on Mount Asama,
the autumn wind.

~ Matsuo Basho, blowing stones

127:heat waves shimmering
one or two inches
above the dead grass

~ Matsuo Basho, heat waves shimmering

128:what fish feel,
birds feel, I don't know
the year ending



~ Matsuo Basho, what fish feel

129:The passing spring
Birds mourn,
Fishes weep
With tearful eyes.

~ Matsuo Basho, the passing spring

130:under my tree-roof
slanting lines of april rain
separate to drops

~ Matsuo Basho, under my tree-roof

131:All the day long-
yet not long enough for the skylark,
singing, singing.
~ Matsuo Basho, all the day long

132:The petals tremble
on the yellow mountain rose
roar of the rapids

~ Matsuo Basho, the petals tremble

133:Before enlightenment, chopping wood and carrying water. After enlightenment, chopping wood and carrying water. ~ Matsuo Basho
134:Long conversations
beside blooming irises
joys of life on the road

~ Matsuo Basho, long conversations

135:Coolness of the melons
flecked with mud
in the morning dew.

~ Matsuo Basho, coolness of the melons

136:The clouds come and go,
providing a rest for all
the moon viewers

~ Matsuo Basho, the clouds come and go

137:Won't you come and see
loneliness? Just one leaf
from the kiri tree.

~ Matsuo Basho, wont you come and see

138:Passing through the world
Indeed this is just
Sogi's rain shelter

~ Matsuo Basho, passing through the world

139:Temple bells die out.
The fragrant blossoms remain.
A perfect evening!

~ Matsuo Basho, temple bells die out

140:It is with awe
That I beheld
Fresh leaves, green leaves,
Bright in the sun.

~ Matsuo Basho, it is with awe

141:With every gust of wind,
the butterfly changes its place
on the willow.

~ Matsuo Basho, with every gust of wind

142:He who creates three to five haiku poems during a lifetime is a haiku poet. He who attains to completes ten is a master. ~ Matsuo Basho
143:moonlight slanting
through the bamboo grove;
a cuckoo crying





~ Matsuo Basho, moonlight slanting

144:On Buddha's deathday,
wrinkled tough old hands pray
the prayer beads' sound

~ Matsuo Basho, on buddhas deathbed

145:Now the swinging bridge
is quieted with creepers
like our tendrilled life

~ Matsuo Basho, now the swinging bridge

146:wrapping the rice cakes
with one hand
she fingers back her hair



~ Matsuo Basho, wrapping the rice cakes

147:No matter where your interest lies, you will not be able to accomplish anything unless you bring your deepest devotion to it. ~ Matsuo Basho
148:Without bitterest cold that penetrates to the very bone, how can plum blossoms send forth their fragrance all over the world? ~ Matsuo Basho
149:cold night: the wild duck,
sick, falls from the sky
and sleeps awhile.

~ Matsuo Basho, cold night - the wild duck

150:Staying at an inn
where prostitutes are also sleeping
  bush clover and the moon.
  
~ Matsuo Basho, staying at an inn

151:The fact that Saigyo composed a poem that begins, "I shall be unhappy without loneliness," shows that he made loneliness his master. ~ Matsuo Basho
152:The haiku that reveals seventy to eighty percent of its subject is good. Those that reveal fifty to sixty percent, we never tire of. ~ Matsuo Basho
153:first day of spring
I keep thinking about
the end of autumn
Translated by Robert Hass

~ Matsuo Basho, first day of spring

154:The desire to break the silence with constant human noise is, I believe, precisely an avoidance of the sacred terror of that divine encounter. ~ Matsuo Basho
155:the universe and its beings are a complementarity of empty infinity, intimate interrelationships, and total uniqueness of each and every being. ~ Matsuo Basho
156:There came a day when the clouds drifting along with the wind aroused a wanderlust in me, and I set off on a journey to roam along the seashores ~ Matsuo Basho
157:as they begin to rise again
Chrysanthemums faintly smell
after the flooding rain





~ Matsuo Basho, as they begin to rise again

158:when the winter chrysanthemums go,
there's nothing to write about
but radishes

Translated by Robert Hass

~ Matsuo Basho, when the winter chysanthemums go

159:Behind this door
Now buried in deep grass
A different generation will celebrate
The Festival of Dolls.

~ Matsuo Basho, The Narrow Road to the Deep North - Prologue

160: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. ~ Matsuo Basho
161:Kori nigaku enso ga nodo o uruoseri
Bittertasting ice
Just enough to wet the throat
Of a sewer rat.
Translation by. Prof.Nobuyuki Yuasa

~ Matsuo Basho, Bitter-tasting ice -

162:Come inside of the heart's house. There is peace and solace there. ~ Jalaluddin RumiCome, let’s gosnow-viewingtill we’re buried.— Matsuo Bashophoto by Roger LeJeune Flickr #basho #matsuobasho #snowbuddha
163: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. ~ Matsuo Basho
164:The moon and sun are travelers through eternity. Even the years wander on. Whether drifting through life on a boat or climbing toward old age leading a horse, each day is a journey, and the journey itself is home. ~ Matsuo Basho
165:Go to the object. Leave your subjective preoccupation with yourself. Do not impose yourself on the object. Become one with the object. Plunge deep enough into the object to see something like a hidden glimmering there. ~ Matsuo Basho
166: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
167:Operating superficially, the mind is random in its activity and stale in its insights and images. However, with practice and experience the mind is freed from the skull, and the fresh and new can appear as though for the first time. It ~ Matsuo Basho
168:Sabi is the color of haikai. It is different from tranquility. For example, if an old man dresses up in armor and helmet and goes to the battlefield, or in colorful brocade kimono, attending (his lord) at a banquet, [sabi] is like this old figure. ~ Matsuo Basho
169: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
170:Yo no naka wa kutte hako ****e nete okite
Sate sono ato wa shinuru bakari zo
In this world of ours,
We eat only to cast out,
Sleep only to wake,
And what comes after all that
Is simply to die at last.
~ Matsuo Basho, In this world of ours,

171:What is important is to keep our mind high in the world of true understanding, and returning to the world of our daily experience to seek therein the truth of beauty. No matter what we may be doing at a given moment, we must not forget that is has a bearing upon our everlasting self which is poetry. ~ Matsuo Basho
172:My body, now close to fifty years of age, has become an old tree that bears bitter peaches, a snail which has lost its shell, a bagworm separated from its bag; it drifts with the winds and clouds that know no destination. Morning and night I have eaten traveler's fare, and have held out for alms a pilgrim's wallet. ~ Matsuo Basho
173:spring:
a hill without a name
veiled in morning mist

the beginning of autumn:
sea and emerald paddy
both the same green

the winds of autumn
blow: yet still green
the chestnut husks

a flash of lightning:
into the gloom
goes the heron's cry.



~ Matsuo Basho, four haiku

174:waking at night;
the lamp is low,
the oil freezing

it has rained enough
the stubble on the field
black

winter rain
falling on the cow-shed;
a cock crows.
the leeks
newly washed white-
how cold it is!

the sea darkens;
voices of wild ducks
are faintly white.
ill on a journey;
my dreams wander
over a withered moor.
~ Matsuo Basho, Collection of Six Haiku

175:you make the fire
and Ill show you something wonderful:
a big ball of snow!

My friend Sora had moved in nearby, and we visit each other anytime, night or day. While I am preparing a meal, he breaks up branches for the fire; when I boil tea, he breaks up ice for the water. He likes the solitary life and our friendship is as strong as iron. One night after a snowfall he came visiting:

~ Matsuo Basho, you make the fire

176:In this poor body, composed of one hundred bones and nine openings, is something called spirit, a flimsy curtain swept this way and that by the slightest breeze. It is spirit, such as it is, which led me to poetry, at first little more than a pastime, then the full business of my life. There have been times when my spirit, so dejected, almost gave up the quest, other times when it was proud, triumphant. So it has been from the very start, never finding peace with itself, always doubting the worth of what it makes. ~ Matsuo Basho
177:None is travelling
Here along this way but I,
This autumn evening.

The first day of the year:
thoughts come - and there is loneliness;
the autumn dusk is here.

An old pond
A frog jumps in -
Splash!

Lightening -
Heron's cry
Stabs the darkness

Clouds come from time to time -
and bring to men a chance to rest
from looking at the moon.

In the cicada's cry
There's no sign that can foretell
How soon it must die.

Poverty's child -
he starts to grind the rice,
and gazes at the moon.

Won't you come and see
loneliness? Just one leaf
from the kiri tree.

Temple bells die out.
The fragrant blossoms remain.
A perfect evening!

~ Matsuo Basho, None is travelling

178:None is travelling :::
None is travelling
Here along this way but I,
This autumn evening.

The first day of the year:
thoughts come - and there is loneliness;
the autumn dusk is here.

An old pond
A frog jumps in -
Splash!

Lightening -
Heron's cry
Stabs the darkness

Clouds come from time to time -
and bring to men a chance to rest
from looking at the moon.

In the cicada's cry
There's no sign that can foretell
How soon it must die.

Poverty's child -
he starts to grind the rice,
and gazes at the moon.

Won't you come and see
loneliness? Just one leaf
from the kiri tree.

Temple bells die out.
The fragrant blossoms remain.
A perfect evening! ~ Matsuo Basho,
179:AWARE
The great sigh of things. To be aware of aware (pronounced ah-WAH-ray) is to be able to name the previously ineffable sigh of impermanence, the whisper of life flitting by, of time itself, the realization of evanescence. Aware is the shortened version of the crucial Japanese phrase mono-no-aware, which suggested sensitivity or sadness during the Heian period, but with a hint of actually relishing the melancholy of it all. Originally, it was an interjection of surprise, as in the English “Oh!” The reference calls up bittersweet poetic feelings around sunset, long train journeys, looking out at the driving rain, birdsong, the falling of autumn leaves. A held-breath word, it points like a finger to the moon to suggest an unutterable moment, too deep for words to reach. If it can be captured at all, it is by haiku poetry, the brushstroke of calligraphy, the burbling water of the tea ceremony, the slow pull of the bow from the oe. The great 16th-century wandering poet Matsuo Basho caught the sense of aware in his haiku: “By the roadside grew / A rose of Sharon. / My horse / Has just eaten it.” A recent Western equivalent would be the soughing lyric of English poet Henry Shukman, who writes, “This is a day that decides by itself to be beautiful. ~ Phil Cousineau
180:financially and employed him as his unofficial secretary.
In March 768, he began his journey again and got as far as Hunan province,
where he died in Tanzhou (now Changsha) in November or December 770, in his
58th year. He was survived by his wife and two sons, who remained in the area
for some years at least. His last known descendant is a grandson who requested
a grave inscription for the poet from Yuan Zhen in 813.
Hung summarises his life by concluding that, "He appeared to be a filial son, an
affectionate father, a generous brother, a faithful husband, a loyal friend, a
dutiful official, and a patriotic subject."
Works
Criticism of ~ Du Fu



's works has focused on his strong sense of history, his moral
engagement, and his technical excellence.
History
Since the Song dynasty, critics have called ~ Du Fu



the "poet historian". The most
directly historical of his poems are those commenting on military tactics or the
successes and failures of the government, or the poems of advice which he wrote
to the emperor. Indirectly, he wrote about the effect of the times in which he
lived on himself, and on the ordinary people of China. As Watson notes, this is
information "of a kind seldom found in the officially compiled histories of the
era".
~ Du Fu



's political comments are based on emotion rather than calculation: his
prescriptions have been paraphrased as, "Let us all be less selfish, let us all do
what we are supposed to do". Since his views were impossible to disagree with,
his forcefully expressed truisms enabled his installation as the central figure of
Chinese poetic history.
Moral engagement
A second favourite epithet of Chinese critics is that of "poet sage" (?? shi shèng),
a counterpart to the philosophical sage, Confucius. One of the earliest surviving
works, The Song of the Wagons (from around 750), gives voice to the sufferings
of a conscript soldier in the imperial army, even before the beginning of the
rebellion; this poem brings out the tension between the need of acceptance and
fulfilment of one's duties, and a clear-sighted consciousness of the suffering
which this can involve. These themes are continuously articulated in the poems
on the lives of both soldiers and civilians which ~ Du Fu



produced throughout his
life.
Although ~ Du Fu



's frequent references to his own difficulties can give the
impression of an all-consuming solipsism, Hawkes argues that his "famous
compassion in fact includes himself, viewed quite objectively and almost as an
afterthought". He therefore "lends grandeur" to the wider picture by comparing it
to "his own slightly comical triviality".
~ Du Fu



's compassion, for himself and for others, was part of his general
broadening of the scope of poetry: he devoted many works to topics which had
previously been considered unsuitable for poetic treatment. Zhang Jie wrote that
for ~ Du Fu



, "everything in this world is poetry", and he wrote extensively on
subjects such as domestic life, calligraphy, paintings, animals, and other poems.
Technical excellence
~ Du Fu



's work is notable above all for its range. Chinese critics traditionally used
the term txt (jídàchéng- "complete symphony"), a reference to Mencius'
description of Confucius. Yuan Zhen was the first to note the breadth of ~ Du Fu



's
achievement, writing in 813 that his predecessor, "united in his work traits which
previous men had displayed only singly". He mastered all the forms of Chinese
poetry: Chou says that in every form he "either made outstanding advances or
contributed outstanding examples". Furthermore, his poems use a wide range of
registers, from the direct and colloquial to the allusive and self-consciously
literary. This variety is manifested even within individual works: Owen identifies
the, "rapid stylistic and thematic shifts" in poems which enable the poet to
represent different facets of a situation, while Chou uses the term "juxtaposition"
as the major analytical tool in her work. ~ Du Fu



is noted for having written more
on poetics and painting than any other writer of his time. He wrote eighteen
poems on painting alone, more than any other Tang poet. ~ Du Fu



's seemingly
negative commentary on the prized horse paintings of Han Gan ignited a
controversy that has persisted to the present day.
The tenor of his work changed as he developed his style and adapted to his
surroundings ("chameleon-like" according to Watson): his earliest works are in a
relatively derivative, courtly style, but he came into his own in the years of the
rebellion. Owen comments on the "grim simplicity" of the Qinzhou poems, which
mirrors the desert landscape; the works from his Chengdu period are "light, often
finely observed"; while the poems from the late Kuizhou period have a "density
and power of vision".
Influence
According to the Encyclopædia Britannica, ~ Du Fu



's writings are considered by
many literary critics to be among the greatest of all time, and it states "his
dense, compressed language makes use of all the connotative overtones of a
phrase and of all the intonational potentials of the individual word, qualities that
no translation can ever reveal."
In his lifetime and immediately following his death, ~ Du Fu



was not greatly
appreciated. In part this can be attributed to his stylistic and formal innovations,
some of which are still "considered extremely daring and bizarre by Chinese
critics." There are few contemporary references to him—only eleven poems from
six writers—and these describe him in terms of affection, but not as a paragon of
poetic or moral ideals. ~ Du Fu



is also poorly represented in contemporary
anthologies of poetry.
However, as Hung notes, he "is the only Chinese poet whose influence grew with
time", and his works began to increase in popularity in the ninth century. Early
positive comments came from Bai Juyi, who praised the moral sentiments of
some of ~ Du Fu



's works (although he found these in only a small fraction of the
poems), and from Han Yu, who wrote a piece defending ~ Du Fu



and Li Bai on
aesthetic grounds from attacks made against them. Both these writers showed
the influence of ~ Du Fu



in their own poetic work. By the beginning of the 10th
century, Wei Zhuang constructed the first replica of his thatched cottage in
Sichuan.
It was in the 11th century, during the Northern Song era that ~ Du Fu



's reputation
reached its peak. In this period a comprehensive re-evaluation of earlier poets
took place, in which Wang Wei, Li Bai and ~ Du Fu



came to be regarded as
representing respectively the Buddhist, Daoist and Confucian strands of Chinese
culture. At the same time, the development of Neo-Confucianism ensured that
~ Du Fu



, as its poetic exemplar, occupied the paramount position. Su Shi famously
expressed this reasoning when he wrote that ~ Du Fu



was "preeminent...
because... through all his vicissitudes, he never for the space of a meal forgot his
sovereign". His influence was helped by his ability to reconcile apparent
opposites: political conservatives were attracted by his loyalty to the established
order, while political radicals embraced his concern for the poor. Literary
conservatives could look to his technical mastery, while literary radicals were
inspired by his innovations. Since the establishment of the People's Republic of
China, ~ Du Fu



's loyalty to the state and concern for the poor have been
interpreted as embryonic nationalism and socialism, and he has been praised for
his use of simple, "people's language".
~ Du Fu



's popularity grew to such an extent that it is as hard to measure his
influence as that of Shakespeare in England: it was hard for any Chinese poet not
to be influenced by him. While there was never another ~ Du Fu



, individual poets
followed in the traditions of specific aspects of his work: Bai Juyi's concern for the
poor, Lu You's patriotism, and Mei Yaochen's reflections on the quotidian are a
few examples. More broadly, ~ Du Fu



's work in transforming the lushi from mere
word play into "a vehicle for serious poetic utterance" set the stage for every
subsequent writer in the genre.
~ Du Fu



has also been influential beyond China, although in common with the other
High Tang poets, his reception into the Japanese literary culture was relatively
late. It was not until the 17th century that he was accorded the same level of
fame in Japan as in China, but he then had a profound influence on poets such as
Matsuo Basho. In the 20th century, he was the favourite poet of Kenneth
Rexroth, who has described him as "the greatest non-epic, non-dramatic poet
who has survived in any language", and commented that, "he has made me a
better man, as a moral agent and as a perceiving organism".
A Homeless Man's Departure
After the Rebellion of 755, all was silent wasteland,
gardens and cottages turned to grass and thorns.
My village had over a hundred households,
but the chaotic world scattered them east and west.
No information about the survivors;
the dead are dust and mud.
I, a humble soldier, was defeated in battle.
I ran back home to look for old roads
and walked a long time through the empty lanes.
The sun was thin, the air tragic and dismal.
I met only foxes and raccoons,
their hair on end as they snarled in rage.
Who remains in my neighborhood?
One or two old widows.
A returning bird loves its old branches,
how could I give up this poor nest?
In spring I carry my hoe all alone,
yet still water the land at sunset.
The county governor's clerk heard I'd returned
and summoned me to practice the war-drum.
This military service won't take me from my state.
I look around and have no one to worry about.
It's just me alone and the journey is short,
but I will end up lost if I travel too far.
Since my village has been washed away,
near or far makes no difference.
I will forever feel pain for my long-sick mother.
I abandoned her in this valley five years ago.
She gave birth to me, yet I could not help her.
We cry sour sobs till our lives end.
In my life I have no family to say farewell to,
so how can I be called a human being?
~ Du Fu

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