Basho

Basho’s best - some of the best Haikus from the Master . Hope you enjoy reading them as much as I do ! Take these in one by one - it’s like tasting fine wine…

                                           How very noble! 
                                          One who finds no satori 
                                         in the lightning-flash

                                        Breakfast enjoyed 
                                        in the fine company of 
                                        morning glories 

                                        Traveling this high 
                                        mountain trail, delighted 
                                        by violets 

                                        A solitary 
                                        crow on a bare branch- 
                                        autumn evening 

                                        This first fallen snow 
                                        is barely enough to bend 
                                        the jonquil leaves 

                                        Whore and monk, we sleep 
                                        under one roof together, 
                                        moon in a field of clover 

                                        At the ancient pond 
                                        a frog plunges into 
                                        the sound of water 

                                        Now I see her face, 
                                        the old woman, abandoned, 
                                        the moon her only companion 

                                        Nothing in the cry 
                                        of cicadas suggests they 
                                        are about to die 

                                        How reluctantly 
                                        the bee emerges from the deep 
                                        within the peony 

                                        The farmer’s roadside 
                                        hedge provided lunch for 
                                        my tired horse 

                                        How wild the sea is, 
                                        and over Sado Island, 
                                        the River of Heaven 

                                        Seen in plain daylight 
                                        the firefly’s nothing but 
                                        an insect 

                                        Delight, then sorrow, 
                                        aboard the cormorant 
                                        fishing boat 

                                        Exhausted, I sought 
                                        a country inn, but found 
                                        wisteria in bloom 

                                        Among moon gazers 
                                        at the ancient temple grounds 
                                        not one beautiful face 

                                        A cuckoo cries, 
                                        and through a thicket of bamboo 
                                        the late moon shines 

                                        This hot day swept away 
                                        into the sea by the 
                                        Mogami River 

                                        All along this road 
                                        not a single soul ' only 
                                        autumn evening comes 

                                        Heard, not seen, 
                                        the camellia poured rainwater 
                                        when it leaned 

                                        The banana tree 
                                        blown by winds pours raindrops 
                                        into the bucket 

                                        With plum blossom scent, 
                                        this sudden sun emerges 
                                        along a mountain trail 

                                        Lead my pony 
                                        across this wide moor to where 
                                        the cuckoo sings 

                                        Wrapping dumplings in 
                                        bamboo leaves, with one finger 
                                        she tidies her hair 

                                        With a warbler for 
                                        a soul, it sleeps peacefully, 
                                        this mountain willow 

                                        This dark autumn 
                                        old age settles down on me 
                                        like heavy clouds or birds 

                                        The morning glories 
                                        bloom, securing the gate 
                                        in the old fence 

                                        From every direction 
                                        cherry blossom petals blow 
                                        into Lake Biwa 

                                        Long conversations 
                                        beside blooming irises ' 
                                        joys of life on the road 

                                        On Buddha’s birthday 
                                        a spotted fawn is born ' 
                                        just like that 

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

                                        Behind Ise Shrine, 
                                        unseen, hidden by the fence, 
                                        Buddha enters nirvana 

                                        This ruined temple 
                                        should have its sad tale told only 
                                        by a clam digger 

                                        Autumn full moon, 
                                        the tides slosh and foam 
                                        coming in 

                                        Crossing half the sky, 
                                        on my way to the capital, 
                                        big clouds promise snow 

                                        Gray hairs being plucked, 
                                        and from below my pillow 
                                        a cricket singing 

                                        Searching storehouse eaves, 
                                        rapt in plum blossom smells, 
                                        the mosquito hums 

                                        Polished and polished
                                        clean, in the holy mirror 
                                        snow flowers bloom 

                                        Along my journey 
                                        through this transitory world, 
                                        new year’s housecleaning 

                                        Through frozen rice fields, 
                                        moving slowly on horseback, 
                                        my shadow creeps by 

                                        The warbler sings 
                                        among new shoots of bamboo 
                                        of coming old age 

                                        A lovely spring night 
                                        suddenly vanished while we 
                                        viewed cherry blossoms 

                                        Come out to view 
                                        the truth of flowers blooming 
                                        in poverty 

                                        Autumn approaches 
                                        and the heart begins to dream 
                                        of four-tatami rooms 

                                        Winter showers, 
                                        even the monkey searches 
                                        for a raincoat 

                                       A weathered skeleton 
                                        in windy fields of memory, 
                                        piercing like a knife 

                                        Chilling autumn rains 
                                        curtain Mount Fuji, then make it 
                                        more beautiful to see 

                                        With dewdrops dripping, 
                                        I wish somehow I could wash 
                                        this perishing world 

                                        Seas slowly darken 
                                        and the wild duck’s plaintive cry 
                                        grows faintly white 

                                        Water-drawing rites, 
                                        icy sound of monks’ getas 
                                        echo long and cold 

                                        That great blue oak 
                                        indifferent to all blossoms 
                                        appears more noble 

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

                                        Kannon’s* tiled temple 
                                        roof floats far away in clouds 
                                        of cherry blossoms 

                                        *Bodhisattva of Compassion 
 

                                        This bright harvest moon 
                                        keeps me walking all night long 
                                        around the little pond 

                                        Awakened at midnight 
                                        by the sound of the water jar 
                                        cracking from the ice