BASHO, Matsuo


Taking a nap,

feet planted

against a cool wall.

Awake at night--

the sound of the water jar

cracking in the cold.

Stillness--

the cicada's cry

drills into the rocks.
…..
The dragonfly

can't quite land

on that blade of grass.
…..
Wrapping the rice cakes,

with one hand

she fingers back her hair.
…..
What fish feel,

birds feel, I don't know--

the year ending.

…..
This old village--

not a single house

without persimmon trees.
…..
The oak tree:

not interested

in cherry blossoms.
…..
Spring rain

leaking through the roof

dripping from the wasps' nest.

…..
Scent of chrysanthemums .

And in Nara

All the ancient Buddhas.
…..
In Kyoto,

hearing the cuckoo,

I long for Kyoto.

…..
Wake, butterfly—

it's late, we've miles

to go together.
…..
Bush-clover flowers —

they sway but do not drop

their beads of dew
…..
On a bare branch

a crow settled down –

autumn evening.
…..
The quietness:

A chestnut leaf

Sinks through the clear water.
…..
First winter rain--

even the monkey

seems to want a raincoat.
…..
Autumn moonlight--

a worm digs silently

into the chestnut.
…..
The sea darkens;

voices of wild ducks

are faintly white.
…..
Waking at night;

the lamp is low,

the oil freezing

…..
Winter rain

falling on the cow-shed;

a cock crows.
…..
Il on a journey;

my dreams wander

over a withered moor.

…..
On a withered branch

A crow is perched

An autumn evening
…..
Winter solitude-

in a world of one colour

the sound of the wind.

….
This autumn-

why am I growing old?

bird disappearing among clouds.

…..
Sitting quietly,

doing nothing,

Spring comes,

and the grass grows,

by itself.

…..
The moon and sun are travellers 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.

…..
How I long to see

among dawn flowers,

the face of God.

…..
Sadly, I part from you;

Like a clam torn from its shell,

I go, and autumn too.

…..
Ballet in the air...

Twin butterflies

until, twice white

they meet, they mate

…..
Harvest moon:

around the pond I wander

and the night is gone.

…..
Old dark sleepy pool...

Quick unexpected frog

Goes plop! Watersplash!”

…..
“Why so scrawny, cat?

Starving for fat fish or mice...

Or backyard love?”

…..
Nothing in the cry

of cicadas suggests they

are about to die

…..
Don't imitate me;

it's as boring

as the two halves of a melon

…..