Matsuo basho poems in english | matsuo basho poems

Matsuo Bashō’s poems are quiet, concentrated moments of awareness. As the master of haiku, he transformed simple images—frog jumps, autumn winds, lonely roads—into deep reflections on impermanence, travel, and inner stillness. Bashō believed poetry should grow from lived experience, not ornament, so his lines feel natural, almost effortless. Influenced by Zen Buddhism, his work invites readers to pause, observe, and feel the beauty of the fleeting present. Even in just seventeen syllables, Bashō captures a whole world—small, humble, and endlessly resonant.

Basho's Death Poem

sick on my journey
only my dreams wander     
these desolate moors

Collection of Six Haiku

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.

the squid seller's call

the squid seller's call
mingles with the voice
    a cuckoo

four haiku

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.

a bee

a bee staggers out
of the peony --
enough

old pond

old pond.....
a frog leaps into
water's sound

a monk sips morning tea

a monk quietly sips his morning tea
a flowering chrysanthemum

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!
 
A cool fall night

At a hermitage:
    A cool fall night;
getting dinner, we peeled
    eggplants, cucumbers.

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