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BASHO POETRY - THE PLEASURE WE CAN ALL AFFORD

Updated on January 27, 2010

Real poetry is to lead a beautiful life...

:: MATSUO BASHO - LIVING POETRY


"Real poetry," said Basho, "is to lead a beautiful life... To live poetry
is better than to write it." And whenever he saw one of his young
students being rude, in a fit of anger, or otherwise acting unworthily,
he would gently lay his hand on the arm of the youth and say:

"But this is not poetry! This is not poetry."


HAIKU by MATSUO BASHO (1644 – November 28, 1694) - a gentle

poet who was a master of a style of poetry called "haiku"


:: The Narrow Road to Deep North


...With a bit of madness in me
Which is poetry
I plod along like Chikusai
Among the wails of the wind...

*
...In a way
It was fun
Not to see Mount Fuji
In foggy rain...

*
...I hope to have gathered
To repay your kindness
The willow leaves
Scattered in the garden...

*
...Together let us eat
Ears of wheat,
Sharing at night
A grass pillow...

*
...With your singing
Make me lonelier than ever,
You, solitary bird,
Cuckoo of the forest...

*
...A white narcissus
And a white paper screen
Illuminate each other
In the quiet room...

*

...Seized with impatience
Half way on the road,
Round, as yet round,
My dreams keep revolving...

*
...As firmly cemented clamshell's
Fall apart in autumn,
So I must take to the road again,
Farewell, my friends...

*
...A single leaf -
Just a single leaf has fallen,
And was swept away breathless
By a gust of wild wind...

*
...Under the bright moon
I walked round and round
The lake -
All night long...


§

? WHAT IS HAIKU ? YOU ASKED ?

http://raysweb.net/haiku/
Haiku Definition
Haiku by the Masters
The Haiku Poets Hut


§

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    • Artamia profile image
      Author

      Artamia 7 years ago from GTA, Canada

      Dear Mr. MFB III,

      I think Basho could affirm you: YOUR LIFE IS POETRY!

      Thank-You for your lovely comment in triple Haiku...

    • MFB III profile image

      MFB III 7 years ago from United States

      To live the words

      so prettily painted

      on tree pulp stained

      such a goal

      should never ever be fiction

      in a poet's life

      but rather a

      diary of joy shared

      amidst the masses in both

      flesh and ink

      dancing daily across

      the smiles of those who

      exist with less dreams.

      Lovely write.~~~MFB III