I want at least once
Go to the market on holidays
Buy tobacco
Autumn has already arrived!
The wind whispered in my ear
Creeping up to my pillow.
I'll say the word
Lips freeze.
Autumn whirlwind!
It didn't rain in May
Probably never here...
This is how the temple shines!
One hundred times more noble
Who does not say at the flash of lightning:
"This is our life!"
All the worries, all the sadness
Of my troubled heart
Give it to the flexible willow.
What freshness blows
From this melon in drops of dew,
With sticky wet earth!
In the garden where the irises opened,
Chat with an old friend,
What a reward for a traveler!
Cold mountain spring.
I did not have time to scoop up a handful of water,
How the teeth are already broken
Here's a connoisseur's quirk!
On a flower without fragrance
The moth dropped.
Come on, friends!
Let's go wandering through the first snow,
Until we fall off our feet.
Evening bindweed
I'm captured... Still
I am in oblivion.
Frost hid him
The wind makes his bed...
Abandoned child.
There is such a moon in the sky
Like a tree cut down at the root:
White fresh cut.
The yellow leaf floats.
Which coast, cicada,
Do you suddenly wake up?
How the river overflowed!
The heron wanders on short legs
Knee-deep in water.
Like a banana moaning in the wind,
How drops fall into a tub,
I hear all night long. In a thatched hut
Willow leaned over and sleeps.
And it seems to me, a nightingale on a branch ...
This is her soul.
Top-top is my horse.
I see myself in the picture
In the expanse of summer meadows.
You will hear suddenly "shorch-shorch".
Anguish stirs in the soul ...
Bamboo on a frosty night.
Butterflies flying
Wakes up a quiet meadow
In the rays of the sun
How the autumn wind whistles!
Then only understand my poems,
When you spend the night in the field.
And I want to live in autumn
To this butterfly: drinks hastily
Dew from the chrysanthemum.
Flowers withered.
Seeds are falling, falling
Like tears...
gusty sheet
Hid in a bamboo grove
And gradually calmed down.
Take a close look!
Shepherd's purse flowers
You will see under the fence.
Oh, wake up, wake up!
Become my friend
Sleeping moth!
They fly to the ground
Going back to old roots...
Separation of flowers! In memory of a friend
Old pond.
The frog jumped into the water.
A surge in silence.
Autumn Moon Festival.
Around the pond and around again
All night long!
That's all I'm rich in!
Light as my life
Pumpkin gourd. Grain storage jug
First snow in the morning.
He barely covered
Narcissus leaves.
The water is so cold!
Seagull can't sleep
Ride on the wave.
The pitcher burst with a crash:
At night, the water in it froze.
I woke up suddenly.
Moon or morning snow...
Admiring the beautiful, I lived as I wanted.
This is how I end the year.
Clouds of cherry blossoms!
The ringing of the bells floated ... From Ueno
Or Asakusa?
In a flower cup
A bumblebee is napping. Don't touch him
Sparrow friend!
Stork nest in the wind.
And below it - beyond the storm -
Cherries are a calm color.
Long day to fly
Sings - and does not get drunk
Lark in spring.
Over the expanse of fields -
Nothing tied to the ground
The lark calls.
May rains pour down.
What's this? Has the rim burst on the barrel?
The sound of an obscure night ...
Pure spring!
Up ran down my leg
Little crab.
It's been a clear day.
But where do the drops come from?
A patch of clouds in the sky.
As if taken in hand
Lightning when in the dark
You lit a candle. In praise of the poet Rick
How fast the moon flies!
On fixed branches
Drops of rain hung.
important steps
Heron on fresh stubble.
Autumn in the village.
Dropped for a moment
Threshing rice peasant,
Looks at the moon.
In a glass of wine
Swallows, don't drop
Clay lump.
There used to be a castle here...
Let me be the first to tell about it
A spring flowing in an old well.
How thick the grass is in summer!
And only one-leaf
One single sheet.
Oh no ready
I can't find a comparison for you
Three day month!
hanging motionless
Dark cloud in the sky...
It can be seen that lightning is waiting.
Oh, how many of them are in the fields!
But everyone blooms in their own way -
This is the highest feat of a flower!
Wrapped his life
around the suspension bridge
This wild ivy.
Blanket for one.
And icy black
Winter night... Oh, sadness! Poet Rika mourns his wife
Spring is leaving.
The birds are crying. The eyes of fish
Full of tears.
The distant call of the cuckoo
Sounded right. After all, these days
The poets have moved.
A thin tongue of fire -
The oil in the lamp has frozen.
Wake up… What sadness! in a foreign land
West East -
Everywhere the same trouble
The wind is still cold. To a friend who went to the West
Even a white flower on the fence
Near the house where the mistress was gone,
Cold covered me. Orphaned friend
Broke off a branch
Wind running through the pines?
How cool is the splash of water!
Here in drunkenness
To fall asleep on these river stones,
Overgrown with cloves…
Get up off the ground again
Fading in the mist, chrysanthemums,
Crushed by heavy rain.
Pray for happy days!
On a winter plum tree
Be like your heart.
Visiting cherry blossoms
I've been no more, no less
Twenty happy days.
Under the shade of cherry blossoms
I'm like an old drama hero,
At night lay down to sleep.
Garden and mountain in the distance
Trembling, moving, entering
In a summer open house.
Driver! lead the horse
Over there, across the field!
There is a cuckoo singing.
May rains
The waterfall was buried
Filled with water.
summer herbs
Where the heroes have disappeared
Like a dream. On the old battlefield
Islands... Islands...
And crushed into hundreds of fragments
Summer day sea.
What a blessing!
Cool green rice field...
The murmur of water...
Silence around.
Penetrate into the heart of the rocks
Voices of cicadas.
Gate of the Tide.
Washes the heron up to the chest
Cool sea.
Drying small perches
On the branches of a willow... What a coolness!
Fishing huts on the shore.
Wooden pestle.
Was he ever a willow
Was it a camellia?
Celebration of the meeting of two stars.
Even the night before is so different
For a normal night! On the eve of Tashibam holiday
Raging sea space!
Far away, to the island of Sado,
The Milky Way creeps.
With me under the same roof
Two girls… Hagi branches in bloom
And a lonely month In hotel
What does ripe rice smell like?
I was walking through the field, and suddenly -
To the right is the Gulf of Ariso.
Tremble, oh hill!
Autumn wind in the field
My lonely moan. In front of the grave mound of the early deceased poet Isse
Red-red sun
In the desert distance ... But it freezes
Ruthless autumn wind.
Pines… Nice name!
Leaning towards the pines in the wind
Bushes and autumn grasses. A place called Sosenki
Musashi Plain around.
None will touch the cloud
Your travel hat.
Wet, walking in the rain
But this traveler is also worthy of a song,
Not only hagi in bloom.
O merciless rock!
Under this glorious helmet
Now the cricket is ringing.
Whiter than white rocks
On the slopes of the stone mountain
This autumn whirlwind!
Farewell verses
On the fan I wanted to write -
It broke in his hands. Breaking up with a friend
Where are you, moon, now?
Like a sunken bell
Hidden at the bottom of the sea. In Tsuruga Bay, where the bell once sank
Butterfly never
He won't be... Shaking in vain
Worm in the autumn wind.
A house in seclusion.
Moon... Chrysanthemums... In addition to them
A piece of a small field.
Cold rain without end.
This is how a chilled monkey looks,
As if asking for a straw cloak.
Winter night in the garden.
With a thin thread - and a month in the sky,
And cicadas barely audible ringing.
Nuns story
About the former service at the court ...
Deep snow all around. In a mountain village
Children, who is faster?
We'll catch up with the balls
Ice cereal. I play with children in the mountains
Tell me what for
Oh raven, to the bustling city
Are you flying from here?
How tender are the young leaves
Even here in the weeds
At the forgotten house.
Camellia petals...
Maybe the nightingale dropped
Flower hat?
Ivy leaves…
For some reason their smoky purple
He talks about the past.
Mossy gravestone.
Under it - is it real or in a dream? —
A voice whispers prayers.
Everything is spinning dragonfly ...
Can't get caught
For stalks of flexible grass.
Do not think with contempt:
"What small seeds!"
It's red pepper.
First left the grass...
Then the trees left ...
Lark flight.
The bell is silent in the distance,
But the scent of evening flowers
Its echo floats.
The cobwebs tremble a little.
Thin strands of saiko grass
They tremble in the twilight.
dropping petals,
Suddenly spilled a handful of water
Camellia flower.
The stream is slightly visible.
Float through the thicket of bamboo
Camellia petals.
May rain is endless.
Mallows are reaching somewhere
Looking for the path of the sun.
Weak orange flavor.
Where?.. When?.. In what fields, cuckoo,
Did I hear your flying cry?
Falling down with a leaf...
No, look! Halfway
The firefly fluttered.
And who could say
Why do they have such a short life!
The silent sound of cicadas.
Fisherman's hut.
Messed up in a pile of shrimp
Lone cricket.
White hair fell.
Under my headboard
The cricket does not stop.
Ill go down goose
On the field on a cold night.
Sleep lonely on the way.
Even a wild boar
Will swirl, take away with it
This winter whirlwind of the field!
It's the end of autumn
But believe in the future
Green tangerine.
Portable hearth.
So, the heart of wanderings, and for you
There is no rest anywhere. At the road hotel
The cold came along the way.
At the bird's scarecrow, or something,
In debt to ask for sleeves?
Seaweed stalks.
Sand creaked on the teeth ...
And I remembered that I was getting old.
Manzai came late
To a mountain village.
The plums are already blooming.
Why all of a sudden such laziness?
I just got woken up today...
Noisy spring rain.
sad me
Drink more sadness
Cuckoos distant call!
I clapped my hands.
And where the echo sounded
The summer moon is blazing.
A friend sent me a gift
Risu, and I invited him
Visit the moon itself. On a full moon night
deep antiquity
A breeze ... Garden near the temple
Covered with dead leaves.
So easy-easy
Sailed - and in the cloud
The moon thought.
Quail scream.
It must be evening.
The eye of the hawk faded.
Together with the owner of the house
I listen silently to the evening bells.
Willow leaves are falling.
White fungus in the forest.
Some unfamiliar leaf
Sticking to his hat.
What sadness!
Suspended in a small cage
Captive cricket.
Night silence.
Just behind the picture on the wall
The cricket is ringing.
Glittering dewdrops.
But they have a taste of sadness,
Don't forget!
That's right, this cicada
Is it all out of foam? —
One shell remained.
Fallen leaves.
The whole world is one color.
Only the wind hums.
Rocks among cryptomeria!
How to sharpen their teeth
Winter cold wind!
Planted trees in the garden.
Quiet, quiet, to encourage them,
Whispering autumn rain.
So that a cold whirlwind
To drink the aroma, they opened again
Late autumn flowers.
Everything was covered in snow.
Lonely old woman
In the forest hut.
Ugly Raven -
And he's beautiful on the first snow
On a winter morning!
Like soot sweeps away
Cryptomerium tops treplet
A rising storm.
Fish and birds
I do not envy anymore ... I will forget
All the sorrows of the year Under the new year
Nightingales sing everywhere.
There - behind the bamboo grove,
Here - in front of the river willow.
From branch to branch
Quietly running drops ...
Spring rain.
Through the hedge
How many times have they fluttered
Butterfly wings!
Closed her mouth tightly
Sea shell.
Unbearable heat!
Only the breeze dies -
Willow branch to branch
The butterfly will flutter.
The winter hearth is getting along.
How old the familiar stove-maker has aged!
Whitened strands of hair.
Year after year, the same
Monkey amuses the crowd
In a monkey mask.
Didn't take my hands off
Like a spring breeze
Settled in a green sprout. planting rice
Rain follows rain
And the heart is no longer disturbed
Sprouts in the rice fields.
Stayed and left
Bright moon... Remained
Table with four corners. In memory of the poet Tojun
First fungus!
Still, autumn dews,
He didn't count you.
perched a boy
On the saddle, and the horse is waiting.
Collect radish.
The duck crouched down on the ground.
Covered with a dress of wings
Your bare feet...
Sweep the soot.
For myself this time
The carpenter gets along well. Before New Year
O spring rain!
Streams run from the roof
Along wasp nests.
Under an open umbrella
I make my way through the branches.
Willows in the first fluff.
From the sky of their peaks
Only river willows
Still pouring rain.
Hillock next to the road.
To replace the extinguished rainbow -
Azaleas in the sunset light.
Lightning at night in darkness.
Lakes expanse of water
Sparks flared up suddenly.
Waves run across the lake.
Some regret the heat
Sunset clouds.
The ground is slipping from under your feet.
I grab onto a light ear ...
The moment of parting has come. Saying goodbye to friends
My whole life is on the way!
Like I'm digging up a little field
I wander back and forth.
transparent waterfall...
Fell into the light
Pine needle.
Hanging in the sun
Cloud... Randomly on it -
Migratory birds.
Buckwheat did not ripen
But they treat the field in flowers
A guest in a mountain village.
End of autumn days.
Already raising his hands
Shell chestnut.
What do people eat there?
House stuck to the ground
Under the autumn willows.
The scent of chrysanthemums...
In the temples of ancient Nara
Dark buddha statues.
Autumn mist
Broke and drives away
Friends conversation.
Oh this long way!
The autumn dusk is falling,
And not a soul around.
Why am I so strong
Did you smell old age this fall?
Clouds and birds.
Late autumn.
I'm alone thinking
“How is my neighbor doing?”
On the way, I fell ill.
And everything is running, circling my dream
Through the scorched fields. death song
Haiku
Where are you, cuckoo?
Remember, the plums began to bloom,
Only spring has died
In a hut rebuilt after a fire
I hear the hailstones rattling.
I'm the only one who hasn't changed here
Like this old oak.
Willow bowed and sleeps,
And it seems to me, a nightingale on a branch -
This is her soul
Only the breeze dies -
Willow branch to branch
Butterfly flutters.
How enviable is their fate!
North of the busy world
Cherry blossoms in the mountains.
Are you also one of those
Who does not sleep is intoxicated with flowers,
About mice in the attic?
Rain in the mulberry grove rustles ...
On the ground barely moving
Sick silkworm.
Still on the edge of the skate
The sun is burning over the roof.
The evening is chilly.
Closed her mouth tightly
sea shell.
Unbearable heat!
Chrysanthemums in the fields
They already say forget it
Hot Carnation Days!
Fog and autumn rain.
But let Fuji be invisible.
How happy her heart is.
Over the expanse of fields -
Not tied to the ground
The lark calls.
In the meadows free
The lark is filled with song
No work or worries...
First winter rain.
Monkey - and she does not mind
put on a straw coat...
How heavy the first snow!
They sank and drooped sadly
Leaves of daffodils...
Even the gray crow
this morning to face -
oh, how you got better!
By the hearth
sings so selflessly
familiar cricket! ...
May rains
The waterfall was buried -
Filled with water.
From branch to branch
Quietly running drops ...
Spring rain.
How tender are the young leaves
Even here in the weeds
At the forgotten house.
Didn't take my hands off
Like a spring breeze
Settled in a green sprout.
May rain is endless.
Mallows are reaching somewhere
Looking for the path of the sun.
O spring rain!
Streams run from the roof
Along wasp nests.
Spring morning.
Over every nameless hill
Transparent haze.
Top-top is my horse.
I see myself in the picture -
In the expanse of summer meadows.
How thick the grass is in summer!
And only one-leaf
One single sheet.
Islands... Islands...
And crushed into hundreds of fragments
Summer day sea.
How the autumn wind whistles!
Then only understand my poems,
When you spend the night in the field.
Flowers withered.
Seeds are falling, falling
Like tears...
First snow in the morning.
He barely covered
Narcissus leaves.
Red-red sun
In the desert distance ... But it freezes
Ruthless autumn wind.
Whiter than white rocks
On the slopes of Stone Mountain
This autumn whirlwind!
Fallen leaves.
The whole world is one color.
Only the wind hums.
Even a wild boar
Will swirl, take away with it
This winter whirlwind of the field!
Rocks among cryptomeria!
How to sharpen their teeth
Winter cold wind!
Ugly raven -
And he's beautiful on the first snow
On a winter morning!
Winter day sun
My shadow is freezing
On the horse's back.
Clouds of cherry blossoms!
The ringing of the bells floated ... From Ueno
Or Asakusa?
Stork nest in the wind.
And under it - beyond the storm -
Cherries are a calm color.
Let's hit the road! I'll show you
How cherries bloom in distant Esino,
My old hat.
Cherries at the waterfall...
For those who love good wine,
I'll take down the branch as a gift.
What sadness!
Suspended in a small cage
Captive cricket.
White hair fell.
Under my headboard
The cricket does not stop.
Fisherman's hut.
Messed up in a pile of shrimp
Lone cricket.
Night silence.
Just behind the picture on the wall
The cricket is ringing.
There is such a moon in the sky
Like a tree cut down at the root:
White fresh cut.
So easy-easy
Came out - and in the cloud
The moon thought.
I walk around the pond
Autumn Moon Festival.
Around the pond and around again
All night long!
How fast the moon flies!
On fixed branches
Drops of rain fell..
Oh no ready
I can't find a comparison for you
Three day month!
Winter night in the garden.
With a thin thread - and a month in the sky,
And cicadas barely audible ringing.
Butterflies flying
Wakes up a quiet meadow
In the rays of the sun
It's been a clear day.
But where do the drops come from?
A patch of clouds in the sky.
Oh, how many of them are in the fields!
But everyone blooms in their own way -
This is the highest feat of a flower!
What a blessing!
Cool green rice field...
Water murmur...
A house in seclusion.
Moon ... Chrysanthemums ... In addition to them
A piece of a small field.
Nightingales sing everywhere.
There - behind the bamboo grove,
Here - in front of the river willow.
"First the monkey's bathrobe!" -
Asks the laundresses to roll
Chilled guide.
Evening bindweed
I'm captured... Still
I am in oblivion.
Father who lost his son
bowed his head,
As if the whole world is overturned, -
Bamboo under the snow
Leaving home
cloud ridge
Lying among friends...
said goodbye
Migratory geese forever.
"Autumn has already arrived!" -
The wind whispered in my ear
Creeping up to my bed.
It's time for the May rains.
As if the sea glows with lights -
Night watchmen lanterns
Frost hid him
The wind makes his bed...
Abandoned child.
The yellow leaf floats.
Which coast, cicada,
Do you suddenly wake up?
How the river overflowed!
The heron wanders on short legs,
Knee-deep in water.
Quiet moonlit night...
Heard in the depths of the chestnut tree
The nucleolus gnaws at the worm.
On a bare branch
Raven sits alone.
Autumn evening.
In the darkness of a moonless night
The fox crawls on the ground
Stealing towards the ripe melon.
teeming with sea grass
Transparent fry ... Catch -
Disappear without a trace
Harvest tea leaves in spring
All the leaves were plucked by pickers...
How do they know what's for the tea bushes
They are like the wind of autumn!
Old pond.
The frog jumped into the water.
A surge in silence.
Where does the cuckoo cry from?
Through thick bamboo
Lunar night oozes.
Oh dragonfly!
With what difficulty on a blade of grass
you settled down!
Cold at night
it will lend me rags,
scarecrow in the field.
I planted a banana
and now they have become disgusting to me
weed sprouts...
Clear moon.
By the pond all night long
wander, admiring...
The sun is setting.
And cobwebs too
Melt in the dusk...
The bell is silent in the distance,
But the scent of evening flowers
Its echo floats.
sad me
Drink more sadness
Cuckoos distant call!
visit me
In my loneliness!
The first leaf fell...
Breaking up with a friend
Farewell verses
I wanted to write on a fan -
It broke in his hand.
To the portrait of a friend
Turn to me!
I'm sad too
Deaf in autumn.
Soaring larks above
I sat down in the sky to rest
On the crest of the pass.
There is a special charm
In these, crumpled by the storm,
Broken chrysanthemums.
I'll say a word
Lips freeze.
Autumn whirlwind!
As soon as I got well,
Exhausted, until the night ...
And suddenly - wisteria flowers!
And I want to live in autumn
To this butterfly: drinks hastily
Dew from the chrysanthemum.
Leaving a hospitable home
From the heart of a peony
The bee crawls slowly...
Oh, with what reluctance!
Oh don't think you're one of those
Who left no trace in the world!
Memorial day...
In my cramped hut
Illuminated all four corners
Moon looking out the window.
All the worries, all the sadness
of your troubled heart
Give it to the flexible willow.
Saying goodbye to friends
The ground is slipping from under your feet.
I grab onto a light ear ...
The moment of parting has come.
In the garden of the late poet Sangin
How many memories
You awakened in my soul
O cherries of the old garden!
They flew around with a rustle
Mountain rose petals...
The distant sound of a waterfall.
Planted trees in the garden.
Quiet, quiet, to encourage them,
Whispering autumn rain.
Maybe my bones
The wind will whiten ... He is in the heart
I breathed cold.
I am walking along the mountain path.
Suddenly it became easy for me.
Violets in dense grass.
translator: V. Markova
Enlighten your spirit with sadness!
Sing a quiet song over a cup of stew
O you, "sorrowful of the moon"!
You will hear suddenly "shorch-shorch".
Sadness stirs in my heart...
Bamboo on a frosty night.
in a foreign land
A thin tongue of fire -
The oil in the lamp has frozen.
Wake up...
What sadness!
Orphaned friend
Even a white flower on the fence
Near the house where the mistress was gone,
Cold covered me.
Winter days alone
I'll lean back again
To the post in the middle of the hut.
Butterfly never
He won't... He's trembling in vain
Worm in the autumn wind.
In a mountain village
Nuns story
About the former service at the court ...
Deep snow all around.
The pitcher burst with a crash:
The water in it is frozen.
I woke up suddenly.
Pure spring!
Up ran down the leg
Little crab.
Come on, friends!
Let's go wandering through the first snow,
Until we fall off our feet.
Spend the night on a ship in Akashi Bay
Octopus in a trap.
He sees a dream - such a short one! -
Under the summer moon.
Wandering raven, look!
Where is your old nest?
Plum blossoms everywhere.
Moon or morning snow...
Admiring the beautiful, I lived as I wanted.
This is how I end the year.
Spring is leaving.
The birds are crying. The eyes of fish
Full of tears.
Camellia petals...
Maybe the nightingale dropped
Flower hat?
Why all of a sudden such laziness?
They just woke me up today...
Noisy spring rain.
In a thatched hut
Like a banana moaning in the wind,
How drops fall into a tub,
I hear all night long.
The distant call of the cuckoo
Sounded right. After all, these days
The poets have moved.
Driver! lead the horse
Over there, across the field!
There is a cuckoo singing.
Serenity!
Pierces the rocks to the depths of the soul
The voice of the cicada.
The cicada sings
That death is near
She doesn't know.
Summer rains.
Above the Hikari Shrine
Golden glow.
Flash of lightning.
The night was pierced by a peal
The cry of a night heron.
In autumn twilight
Leisure time stretches for a long time
Transient life.
Under the barn roof
Weak mosquito chant,
The autumn wind howls.
The sea foams
To the very island of Sado stretches
Milky Way.
onion stalks,
Caught in the first frost
They shine with purity.
What is stupider than darkness!
I wanted to catch a firefly -
and ran into a thorn.
Oh, wake up, wake up!
Become my friend
Sleeping moth!
Take a close look!
Shepherd's purse flowers
You will see under the blanket.
In memory of a friend
They fly to the ground
Going back to old roots...
Separation of flowers!
Grain storage jug
That's all I'm rich in!
Light as my life
Pumpkin gourd.
The water is so cold!
Seagull can't sleep
Ride on the wave.
In a flower cup
A bumblebee is napping. Don't touch him
Sparrow friend!
Long day all the way
Sings - and does not get drunk
Lark in spring.
important steps
Heron on fresh stubble.
Autumn in the village.
In a glass of wine
Swallows, don't drop
Clay lump.
There used to be a castle here...
Let me be the first to tell about it
A spring flowing in an old well.
Wrapped his life
around the suspension bridge
This wild ivy.
hanging motionless
The dark cloud is quite…
Apparently, lightning is waiting.
Poet Rika mourns his wife
Blanket for one.
And icy black
Winter night…
O sadness!
On the old battlefield
summer herbs
Where the heroes have disappeared
Like a dream.
Raging sea space!
Far away, to the island of Sado,
The Milky Way creeps.
Silence around.
Penetrates into the heart of the rocks
Light sound of cicadas.
Drying small perches
On the branches of a willow... What a coolness!
Fishing huts on the shore.
Wooden pestle.
Was he ever a plum?
Was it a camellia?
In hotel
Under the same roof with me
Two girls...
Hagi branches in bloom
And a lonely month
In front of the grave mound of the early deceased poet Issho
Tremble, oh hill!
Autumn wind in the field -
My lonely moan.
The area called "Pine"
"Pine" ... Nice name!
Leaning towards the pines in the wind
Bushes and autumn grasses.
Sanemori Helmet
Oh, merciless rock!
Under this glorious helmet
Now the cricket is ringing.
"Transparent Waterfall"...
Fell into the light
Pine needle.
In the village
Completely emaciated cat
One barley porridge eats ...
And also love!
The lark sings
With a ringing blow in the thicket
The pheasant echoes him.
They scare them, drive them from the fields!
Sparrows will fly up and hide
Under the protection of tea bushes.
Turn around!
After all, my dull autumn
comes to the end...
Don't imitate me too much!
Look, what's the use of such a resemblance?
Two halves of a melon. For students
I want at least once
Go to the market on holidays
Buy tobacco
"Autumn has already arrived!"
The wind whispered in my ear
Creeping up to my pillow.
One hundred times more noble
Who does not say at the flash of lightning:
"This is our life!"
All the worries, all the sadness
Of my troubled heart
Give it to the flexible willow.
What freshness blows
From this melon in drops of dew,
With sticky wet earth!
In the garden where the irises opened,
Chat with an old friend,
What a reward for a traveler!
Cold mountain spring.
I did not have time to scoop up a handful of water,
How the teeth are already broken
Here's a connoisseur's quirk!
On a flower without fragrance
The moth dropped.
Come on, friends!
Let's go wandering through the first snow,
Until we fall off our feet.
Evening bindweed
I'm captured... Still
I am in oblivion.
Frost hid him
The wind makes his bed...
Abandoned child.
There is such a moon in the sky
Like a tree cut down at the root:
White fresh cut.
The yellow leaf floats.
Which coast, cicada,
Do you suddenly wake up?
How the river overflowed!
The heron wanders on short legs
Knee-deep in water.
Like a banana moaning in the wind,
How drops fall into a tub,
I hear all night long. In a thatched hut
Willow leaned over and sleeps.
And it seems to me, a nightingale on a branch ...
This is her soul.
Top-top is my horse.
I see myself in the picture -
In the expanse of summer meadows.
You hear suddenly "shorch-shorch".
Sadness stirs in my heart...
Bamboo on a frosty night.
Butterflies flying
Wakes up a quiet meadow
In the rays of the sun
How the autumn wind whistles!
Then only understand my poems,
When you spend the night in the field.
And I want to live in autumn
To this butterfly: drinks hastily
Dew from the chrysanthemum.
Flowers withered.
Seeds are falling, falling
Like tears...
gusty sheet
Hid in a bamboo grove
And gradually calmed down.
Take a close look!
Shepherd's purse flowers
You will see under the fence.
Oh, wake up, wake up!
Become my friend
Sleeping moth!
They fly to the ground
Going back to old roots...
Separation of flowers! In memory of a friend
Old pond.
The frog jumped into the water.
A surge in silence.
Autumn Moon Festival.
Around the pond and around again
All night long!
That's all I'm rich in!
Light as my life
Pumpkin gourd. Grain storage jug
First snow in the morning.
He barely covered
Narcissus leaves.
The water is so cold!
Seagull can't sleep
Ride on the wave.
The pitcher burst with a crash:
At night, the water in it froze.
I woke up suddenly.
Moon or morning snow...
Admiring the beautiful, I lived as I wanted.
This is how I end the year.
Clouds of cherry blossoms!
The ringing of the bells floated ... From Ueno
Or Asakusa?
In a flower cup
A bumblebee is napping. Don't touch him
Sparrow friend!
Stork nest in the wind.
And under it - beyond the storm -
Cherries are a calm color.
Long day to fly
Sings - and does not get drunk
Lark in spring.
Over the expanse of fields -
Not tied to the ground
The lark calls.
May rains pour down.
What's this? Has the rim burst on the barrel?
The sound of an obscure night ...
Pure spring!
Up ran down my leg
Little crab.
It's been a clear day.
But where do the drops come from?
A patch of clouds in the sky.
As if taken in hand
Lightning when in the dark
You lit a candle. In praise of the poet Rick
How fast the moon flies!
On fixed branches
Drops of rain hung.
important steps
Heron on fresh stubble.
Autumn in the village.
Dropped for a moment
Threshing rice peasant,
Looks at the moon.
In a glass of wine
Swallows, don't drop
Clay lump.
There used to be a castle here...
Let me be the first to tell about it
A spring flowing in an old well.
How thick the grass is in summer!
And only one-leaf
One single sheet.
Oh no ready
I can't find a comparison for you
Three day month!
hanging motionless
Dark cloud in the sky...
It can be seen that lightning is waiting.
Oh, how many of them are in the fields!
But everyone blooms in their own way -
This is the highest feat of a flower!
Wrapped his life
around the suspension bridge
This wild ivy.
Blanket for one.
And icy black
Winter night... Oh, sadness! Poet Rika mourns his wife
Spring is leaving.
The birds are crying. The eyes of fish
Full of tears.
The distant call of the cuckoo
Sounded right. After all, these days
The poets have moved.
A thin tongue of fire, -
The oil in the lamp has frozen.
Wake up... What sadness! in a foreign land
West East -
Everywhere the same trouble
The wind is still cold. To a friend who went to the West
Even a white flower on the fence
Near the house where the mistress was gone,
Cold covered me. Orphaned friend
Broke off a branch
Wind running through the pines?
How cool is the splash of water!
Here in drunkenness
To fall asleep on these river stones,
Overgrown with cloves...
Get up off the ground again
Fading in the mist, chrysanthemums,
Crushed by heavy rain.
Pray for happy days!
On a winter plum tree
Be like your heart.
Visiting cherry blossoms
I have been neither more nor less -
Twenty happy days.
Under the shade of cherry blossoms
I'm like an old drama hero,
At night lay down to sleep.
Garden and mountain in the distance
Trembling, moving, entering
In a summer open house.
Driver! lead the horse
Over there, across the field!
There is a cuckoo singing.
May rains
The waterfall was buried -
Filled with water.
summer herbs
Where the heroes have disappeared
Like a dream. On the old battlefield
Islands... Islands...
And crushed into hundreds of fragments
Summer day sea.
What a blessing!
Cool green rice field...
The murmur of water...
Silence around.
Penetrate into the heart of the rocks
Voices of cicadas.
Gate of the Tide.
Washes the heron up to the chest
Cool sea.
Drying small perches
On the branches of a willow... What a coolness!
Fishing huts on the shore.
Wooden pestle.
Was he ever a willow
Was it a camellia?
Celebration of the meeting of two stars.
Even the night before is so different
For a normal night! On the eve of Tashibam holiday
Raging sea space!
Far away, to the island of Sado,
The Milky Way creeps.
With me under the same roof
Two girls... Hagi branches in bloom
And a lonely month In hotel
What does ripe rice smell like?
I was walking through the field, and suddenly -
To the right is the Gulf of Ariso.
Tremble, oh hill!
Autumn wind in the field -
My lonely moan. In front of the grave mound of the early deceased poet Isse
Red-red sun
In the desert distance ... But it freezes
Ruthless autumn wind.
Pines... Nice name!
Leaning towards the pines in the wind
Bushes and autumn grasses. A place called Sosenki
Musashi Plain around.
None will touch the cloud
Your travel hat.
Wet, walking in the rain
But this traveler is also worthy of a song,
Not only hagi in bloom.
O merciless rock!
Under this glorious helmet
Now the cricket is ringing.
Whiter than white rocks
On the slopes of the stone mountain
This autumn whirlwind!
Farewell verses
On the fan I wanted to write -
It broke in his hands. Breaking up with a friend
Where are you, moon, now?
Like a sunken bell
Hidden at the bottom of the sea. In Tsuruga Bay, where the bell once sank
Butterfly never
He won't be... Shaking in vain
Worm in the autumn wind.
A house in seclusion.
Moon ... Chrysanthemums ... In addition to them
A piece of a small field.
Cold rain without end.
This is how a chilled monkey looks,
As if asking for a straw cloak.
Winter night in the garden.
With a thin thread - and a month in the sky,
And cicadas barely audible ringing.
Nuns story
About the former service at the court ...
Deep snow all around. In a mountain village
Children, who is faster?
We'll catch up with the balls
Ice cereal. I play with children in the mountains
Tell me what for
Oh raven, to the bustling city
Are you flying from here?
How tender are the young leaves
Even here in the weeds
At the forgotten house.
Camellia petals...
Maybe the nightingale dropped
Flower hat?
Ivy leaves...
For some reason their smoky purple
He talks about the past.
Mossy gravestone.
Under it - is it in reality or in a dream? -
A voice whispers prayers.
Everything is spinning dragonfly ...
Can't get caught
For stalks of flexible grass.
Do not think with contempt:
"What small seeds!"
It's red pepper.
First left the grass...
Then he left the trees...
Lark flight.
The bell is silent in the distance,
But the scent of evening flowers
Its echo floats.
The cobwebs tremble a little.
Thin strands of saiko grass
They tremble in the twilight.
dropping petals,
Suddenly spilled a handful of water
Camellia flower.
The stream is slightly visible.
Float through the thicket of bamboo
Camellia petals.
May rain is endless.
Mallows are reaching somewhere
Looking for the path of the sun.
Weak orange flavor.
Where?.. When?.. In what fields, cuckoo,
Did I hear your flying cry?
Falling down with a leaf...
No, look! Halfway
The firefly fluttered.
And who could say
Why do they have such a short life!
The silent sound of cicadas.
Fisherman's hut.
Messed up in a pile of shrimp
Lone cricket.
White hair fell.
Under my headboard
The cricket does not stop.
Ill go down goose
On the field on a cold night.
Sleep lonely on the way.
Even a wild boar
Will swirl, take away with it
This winter whirlwind of the field!
It's the end of autumn
But believe in the future
Green tangerine.
Portable hearth.
So, the heart of wanderings, and for you
There is no rest anywhere. At the road hotel
The cold came along the way.
At the bird's scarecrow, or something,
In debt to ask for sleeves?
Seaweed stalks.
The sand creaked on my teeth...
And I remembered that I was getting old.
Manzai came late
To a mountain village.
The plums are already blooming.
Why all of a sudden such laziness?
They just woke me up today...
Noisy spring rain.
sad me
Drink more sadness
Cuckoos distant call!
I clapped my hands.
And where the echo sounded
The summer moon is blazing.
A friend sent me a gift
Risu, and I invited him
Visit the moon itself. On a full moon night
deep antiquity
A breeze ... Garden near the temple
Covered with dead leaves.
So easy-easy
Came out - and in the cloud
The moon thought.
Quail scream.
It must be evening.
The eye of the hawk faded.
Together with the owner of the house
I listen silently to the evening bells.
Willow leaves are falling.
White fungus in the forest.
Some unfamiliar leaf
Sticking to his hat.
What sadness!
Suspended in a small cage
Captive cricket.
Night silence.
Just behind the picture on the wall
The cricket is ringing.
Glittering dewdrops.
But they have a taste of sadness,
Don't forget!
That's right, this cicada
Is it all out of foam? -
One shell remained.
Fallen leaves.
The whole world is one color.
Only the wind hums.
Rocks among cryptomeria!
How to sharpen their teeth
Winter cold wind!
Planted trees in the garden.
Quiet, quiet, to encourage them,
Whispering autumn rain.
So that a cold whirlwind
To drink the aroma, they opened again
Late autumn flowers.
Everything was covered in snow.
Lonely old woman
In the forest hut.
Ugly raven -
And he's beautiful on the first snow
On a winter morning!
Like soot sweeps away
Cryptomerium tops treplet
A rising storm.
Fish and birds
I don't envy anymore... I'll forget
All the sorrows of the year Under the new year
Nightingales sing everywhere.
There - behind the bamboo grove,
Here - in front of the river willow.
From branch to branch
Quietly running drops ...
Spring rain.
Through the hedge
How many times have they fluttered
Butterfly wings!
Closed her mouth tightly
Sea shell.
Unbearable heat!
Only the breeze dies -
Willow branch to branch
The butterfly will flutter.
The winter hearth is getting along.
How old the familiar stove-maker has aged!
Whitened strands of hair.
Year after year, the same
Monkey amuses the crowd
In a monkey mask.
Didn't take my hands off
Like a spring breeze
Settled in a green sprout. planting rice
Rain follows rain
And the heart is no longer disturbed
Sprouts in the rice fields.
Stayed and left
Bright moon... Remained
Table with four corners. In memory of the poet Tojun
First fungus!
Still, autumn dews,
He didn't count you.
perched a boy
On the saddle, and the horse is waiting.
Collect radish.
The duck crouched down on the ground.
Covered with a dress of wings
Your bare feet...
Sweep the soot.
For myself this time
The carpenter gets along well. Before New Year
O spring rain!
Streams run from the roof
Along wasp nests.
Under an open umbrella
I make my way through the branches.
Willows in the first fluff.
From the sky of their peaks
Only river willows
Still pouring rain.
Hillock next to the road.
To replace the extinguished rainbow -
Azaleas in the sunset light.
Lightning at night in darkness.
Lakes expanse of water
Sparks flared up suddenly.
Waves run across the lake.
Some regret the heat
Sunset clouds.
The ground is slipping from under your feet.
I grab onto a light ear ...
The moment of parting has come. Saying goodbye to friends
My whole life is on the way!
Like I'm digging up a little field
I wander back and forth.
transparent waterfall...
Fell into the light
Pine needle.
Hanging in the sun
Cloud ... Randomly on it -
Migratory birds.
Buckwheat did not ripen
But they treat the field in flowers
A guest in a mountain village.
End of autumn days.
Already raising his hands
Shell chestnut.
What do people eat there?
House stuck to the ground
Under the autumn willows.
Chrysanthemum scent...
In the temples of ancient Nara
Dark buddha statues.
Autumn mist
Broke and drives away
Friends conversation.
Oh this long way!
The autumn dusk is falling,
And not a soul around.
Why am I so strong
Did you smell old age this fall?
Clouds and birds.
Late autumn.
I'm alone thinking
"And how does my neighbor live?"
On the way, I fell ill.
And everything is running, circling my dream
Through the scorched fields. death song
* * *
Poems from travel diaries
Maybe my bones
The wind will whiten - It is in the heart
I breathed cold. Going on the road
You are sad, listening to the cry of the monkeys!
Do you know how a child cries
Abandoned in the autumn wind?
Moonless night. Darkness.
With millennial cryptomeria
Grabbed into an embrace whirlwind.
The ivy leaf is quivering.
In a small bamboo grove
The first storm rumbles.
You stand indestructible, pine tree!
And how many monks have lived here,
How many bindweeds have faded... In the garden of the old monastery
Drops dewdrops - current-current -
Source, as in previous years ...
Wash away the worldly dirt! The source sung by the Saigyo
Twilight over the sea.
Only the cries of wild ducks in the distance
Blurred white.
Spring morning.
Over every nameless hill
Transparent haze.
I am walking along the mountain path.
Suddenly it became easy for me.
Violets in dense grass.
From the heart of a peony
The bee crawls slowly...
Oh, with what reluctance! Leaving a hospitable home
young horse
Chewing merrily ears of corn.
Rest on the way.
To the capital - there, far away -
Only half of the sky remains...
Snow clouds. On the mountain pass
Winter day sun
My shadow is freezing
On the horse's back.
She is only nine days old.
But they know both fields and mountains:
Spring has come again.
Cobwebs in the sky.
I see the image of the Buddha again
At the foot of the empty. Where the statue of Buddha once stood
Let's hit the road! I'll show you
Like cherry blossoms in distant Yoshino,
My old hat.
As soon as I got well,
Exhausted, until the night ...
And suddenly - wisteria flowers!
Soaring larks above
I sat down in the sky to rest -
On the crest of the pass.
Cherries at the waterfall...
For those who love good wine,
I'll take down the branch as a gift. Waterfall "Dragon Gate"
Like spring rain
Runs under a canopy of branches...
The spring softly whispers. Stream near the hut where Saigyo lived
Gone spring
In the distant harbor of Waka
I finally caught up.
On Buddha's birthday
He was born into the world
Little deer.
I saw before
In the rays of dawn the face of a fisherman,
And then - a blooming poppy.
Where it flies
The cry of the dawn cuckoo,
What's there? - A remote island.
Foreword
At the end of the 17th century, a man of not the first youth and poor health wandered along the roads of Japan for many years, looking like a beggar. More than once, probably, the servants of some noble feudal lord drove him off the road, but not a single eminent prince of that time was awarded the posthumous glory that fell to this inconspicuous traveler, the great Japanese poet Basho.
Many artists lovingly painted the image of a wandering poet, and Basho himself knew how, like no one else, to look at himself with a sharp eye, from the side.
Here, leaning on a staff, he walks a mountain road in autumn bad weather. A shabby dressing gown made of thick, varnished paper, a cane cloak, straw sandals do not protect well from cold and rain. But the poet still finds the strength to smile:
The cold came along the way. At the bird's scarecrow, or something, In debt to ask for sleeves?
The most essential things are stored in a small travel bag: two or three favorite books of poetry, an ink pot, a flute. The head is covered by a hat, large as an umbrella, woven from cypress shavings. Like tendrils of ivy, the patterns of writing wind around its fields: travel notes, poems.
No road difficulties could stop Basho: he was shaking in the saddle in winter, when his very shadow "froze on the horse's back"; walked from steep to steep in the midst of the summer heat; he spent the night wherever he could - “on a pillow of grass”, in a mountain temple, in an unwelcome inn ... He happened to rest on the crest of a mountain pass, “beyond the far distance of the clouds”. The larks hovered under his feet, and there was still "half of the sky" to the end of the journey.
In his time, "aesthetic walks" in the bosom of nature were fashionable. But there is no way to compare them with Basho's wanderings. Road impressions served as building material for his creativity. He spared no effort - and even his very life - to get them. After each of his travels, a collection of poems appeared - a new milestone in the history of Japanese poetry. Basho's travel diaries in verse and prose are among the most remarkable monuments of Japanese literature.
In 1644, in the castle town of Ueno, Iga Province, the third child, a son, the future great poet Basho, was born to a poor samurai Matsuo Yozaemon.
When the boy grew up, he was given the name Munefusa instead of his previous childhood nicknames. Basho is a literary pseudonym, but he ousted all other names and nicknames of the poet from the memory of his descendants.
Iga Province was located in the very cradle of the old Japanese culture, in the center of the main island - Honshu. Many places in Basho's homeland are known for their beauty, and folk memory has preserved songs, legends and ancient customs there in abundance. The folk art of the province of Iga was also famous, where they knew how to make wonderful porcelain. The poet loved his homeland very much and often visited it in his declining years.
Wandering raven, look! Where is your old nest? Plum blossoms everywhere.
So he portrayed the feeling that a person experiences when he sees the house of his childhood after a long break. Everything that used to seem familiar is suddenly miraculously transformed, like an old tree in spring. The joy of recognition, the sudden comprehension of beauty, so familiar that you no longer notice it, is one of the most significant themes of Basho's poetry.
The poet's relatives were educated people, which presupposed, first of all, knowledge of the Chinese classics. Both father and elder brother supported themselves by teaching calligraphy. Such peaceful professions became the lot of many samurai at that time.
Medieval strife and civil strife, when a warrior could glorify himself with a feat of arms and win a high position with a sword, ended. The fields of great battles are overgrown with grass.
At the beginning of the 17th century, one of the feudal lords managed to take over the others and establish a strong central authority in the country. For two and a half centuries, his descendants - the princes of the Tokugawa clan - ruled Japan (1603-1867). The residence of the supreme ruler was the city of Edo (now Tokyo). However, the capital was still called the city of Kyoto, where the emperor deprived of all power lived. Ancient music sounded at his court, and verses of the classical form (tanka) were composed at poetry tournaments.
The "pacification of the country" contributed to the growth of cities, the development of trade, crafts and art. Subsistence farming was still at the heart of the officially adopted way of life in the country, but at the end of the 17th century, money gained more power. And this new force imperiously invaded human destinies.
Huge wealth was concentrated in the hands of money changers, wholesalers, usurers, winemakers, while indescribable poverty reigned in the narrow streets of the suburbs. But, despite the difficulties of urban life, despite the poverty and overcrowding, the attractive force of the city was still very great.
During the years of Genroku (1688–1703), urban culture flourished. Simple household items became wonderful works of art in the hands of craftsmen. Carved charms, netsuke, screens, fans, caskets, guards of swords, colored engravings and much more, created in that era, now serve as decorations for museums. Inexpensive books with excellent illustrations, printed by woodcuts from carved wooden boards, came out in large circulations for that time. Merchants, apprentices, shopkeepers fell in love with novels, fashionable poetry and the theater.
A constellation of bright talents appeared in Japanese literature: in addition to Basho, it included the novelist Ihara Saikaku (1642–1693) and the playwright Chikamatsu Monzaemon (1653–1724). All of them, so unlike each other - the deep and wise Basho, the ironic, earthly Saikaku and Chikamatsu Monzaemon, who reached a high intensity of passions in his plays - have something in common: they are related by the era. The townspeople loved life. From art, they demanded authenticity, accurate observations of life. Its very historical convention is increasingly permeated with realism.
Basho was twenty-eight years old when, in 1672, despite the persuasion and warnings of his relatives, he left the service in the house of a local feudal lord and, full of ambitious hopes, went to Edo with a volume of his poems.
By that time, Basho had already gained some fame as a poet. His poems were published in the capital's collections, he was invited to participate in poetry tournaments ...
Leaving his homeland, he attached to the gate of the house where his friend lived, a leaflet with verses:
cloud ridge I lay down between friends ... We said goodbye Migratory geese forever.
In the spring one wild goose flies to the north, where a new life awaits him; the other, saddened, remains in the old place. The poem breathes youthful romanticism, through the sadness of separation one feels the joy of flying into an unknown distance.
In Edo, the poet joined the followers of the Danrin school. They took material for their work from the life of the townspeople and, expanding their poetic vocabulary, did not shy away from so-called prosaisms. This school was innovative for its time. Poems written in Dunrine's style sounded fresh and free, but most of the time they were just genre pictures. Feeling the ideological limitations and thematic narrowness of contemporary Japanese poetry, Basho turned to classical Chinese poetry of the 8th-12th centuries in the early 1980s. In it he found a broad concept of the universe and the place that a person occupies in it as a creator and thinker, a mature civil thought, a genuine power of feeling, an understanding of the high mission of the poet. Most of all, Basho loved the poems of the great Du Fu. We can talk about their direct influence on Basho's work.
He carefully studied both the philosophy of Chuang Tzu (369-290 BC), rich in poetic images, and the Buddhist philosophy of the Zen sect, whose ideas had a great influence on Japanese medieval art.
Basho's life in Edo was difficult. With the help of some well-wishers, he got a job in the civil service in the department of construction of waterways, but soon left this position. He became a teacher of poetry, but his young students were rich only in talent. Only one of them, Sampu, the son of a wealthy fishmonger, found a way to really help the poet: he persuaded his father to give Basho a small gatehouse near a small pond, which at one time served as a fish garden. Basho wrote about this: “For nine years I led a miserable life in the city and finally moved to the suburbs of Fukagawa. A man once said wisely: "The capital of Chang'an has been the center of fame and fortune since ancient times, but it is difficult for someone who has no money to live in it." I think so too, for I am a beggar.”
In poems written in the early 1980s, Basho liked to draw his wretched Banana Hut (Basho-an), so named because he planted banana palm saplings near it. He also depicted in detail the entire surrounding landscape: the swampy, reed-covered bank of the Sumida River, tea bushes, and a small dead pond. The hut stood on the outskirts of the city, in spring only the cries of frogs broke the silence. The poet adopted a new literary pseudonym "Living in the Banana Hut" and finally began to sign his poems simply Basho (Banana Tree).
Even water had to be bought in winter: “Water from a frozen jug is bitter,” he wrote. Basho acutely felt like an urban poor. But instead of hiding his poverty like others, he spoke of it with pride. Poverty became, as it were, a symbol of his spiritual independence.
Among the townspeople there was a strong spirit of acquisitiveness, petty-bourgeois hoarding, hoarding, but the merchants were not averse to providing patronage to those who knew how to amuse them. People of art very often were accustomed to money-bag merchants. There were such poets who composed hundreds and thousands of stanzas in one day and thereby created an easy glory for themselves. This was not the purpose of the poet Basho. He draws in his poems the ideal image of a free poet-philosopher, sensitive to beauty and indifferent to the blessings of life ... If the gourd, which served as a jug for rice grain in Basho's hut, is empty to the bottom, well, he will insert its flower into the neck!
But, indifferent to what others valued most, Basho treated his work with the greatest exactingness and care.
Basho's poems, despite the extreme laconism of their form, cannot in any way be regarded as fugitive impromptu. These are the fruits of not only inspiration, but also a lot of hard work. “The person who has created only three or five excellent poems in his whole life is a real poet,” Basho told one of his students. “The one who created ten is a wonderful master.”
Many poets, contemporaries of Basho, treated their work as a game. Basho's philosophical lyrics were a new phenomenon, unprecedented both in the seriousness of tone and in the depth of ideas. He had to create within traditional poetic forms (their inertia was very great), but he managed to breathe new life into these forms. In his era, he was valued as an unsurpassed master of "linked stanzas" ("renku") and three-line ("haiku"), but only the latter fully stood the test of time.
The form of a lyrical miniature demanded severe self-restraint from the poet, and at the same time, giving weight to each word, it allowed a lot to be said and even more to suggest to the reader, awakening his creative imagination. Japanese poetics took into account the counter work of the reader's thought. So the blow of the bow and the reciprocal trembling of the string together give rise to music.
Tanka is a very ancient form of Japanese poetry. Basho, who did not write tanka himself, was a great connoisseur of old anthologies. He especially loved the poet Saige, who lived as a hermit during the dark years of internecine wars in the 12th century. His poems are surprisingly simple and seem to come from the heart. Nature for Saige was the last refuge, where in a mountain hut he could mourn the death of friends and the misfortunes of the country. The tragic image of Saige all the time appears in Basho's poetry and, as it were, accompanies him in his wanderings, although the eras in which these poets lived and their social existence were very different.
Over time, the slipper began to be clearly divided into two stanzas. Sometimes they were composed by two different poets. It was a kind of poetic dialogue. It could be continued as long as you like, with any number of participants. This is how "linked stanzas" were born, a poetic form very popular in the Middle Ages.
In "linked stanzas" three-line and couplet alternated. By connecting them two by two, it was possible to get a complex stanza - five lines (tanka). There was no single plot in this long chain of poems. The ability to make an unexpected turn of the topic was appreciated; at the same time, each stanza echoed in the most complex way with its neighbors. So a stone taken out of a necklace is good on its own, but in combination with others it acquires a new, additional charm.
The first stanza was called haiku. Gradually, haiku became an independent poetic form, separating from the "linked stanzas", and gained immense popularity among the townspeople.
Basically, haiku is a lyrical poem about nature, in which the season is certainly indicated.
In Basho's poetry, the cycle of the seasons is a changeable, moving background, against which the complex spiritual life of a person and the inconstancy of human destiny are more clearly drawn.
An “ideal” landscape freed from everything rough - this is how the old classical poetry painted nature. In haiku, poetry regained its sight. A man in haiku is not static, he is given in motion: here a street peddler wanders through a snow whirlwind, but here a worker turns a grain mill. The gulf that already in the 10th century lay between literary poetry and folk song became less wide. A raven pecking a snail in a rice field with its nose - this image is found both in haiku and in a folk song. Many village literates, as Basho testifies, fell in love with haiku.
In 1680, Basho created the original version of the famous poem in the history of Japanese poetry:
On a bare branch Raven sits alone. Autumn evening.
The poet returned to work on this poem for several years until he created the final text. That alone speaks to how hard Basho worked on every word. He renounces here the trickery, the play with formal devices, so valued by many of his contemporary masters of poetry, who, precisely for this, have created fame for themselves. The long years of apprenticeship were over. Basho finally found his way in art.
The poem looks like a monochrome ink drawing. Nothing superfluous, everything is extremely simple. With the help of a few skillfully chosen details, a picture of late autumn is created. There is a lack of wind, nature seems to freeze in sad immobility. The poetic image, it would seem, is a little outlined, but it has a large capacity and, bewitching, leads away. It seems that you are looking into the waters of the river, the bottom of which is very deep. At the same time, it is extremely specific. The poet depicted a real landscape near his hut and through it - his state of mind. He does not speak of the loneliness of the raven, but of his own.
The reader's imagination is left with a lot of scope. Together with the poet, he can experience a feeling of sadness inspired by autumn nature, or share with him a longing born of deeply personal experiences. If he is familiar with the Chinese classics, he can recall Du Fu's "Autumn Songs" and appreciate the peculiar skill of the Japanese poet. A person versed in the ancient philosophy of China (the teachings of Lao-tzu and Chuang-tzu) could be imbued with a contemplative mood and feel himself co-inherent in the innermost secrets of nature. To see the great in the small is one of the main ideas of Basho's poetry.
Basho put the aesthetic principle of "sabi" into the basis of the poetics he created. This word does not lend itself to literal translation. Its original meaning is "sorrow of loneliness". "Sabi", as a specific concept of beauty, defined the entire style of Japanese art in the Middle Ages. Beauty, according to this principle, had to express a complex content in simple, strict forms conducive to contemplation. Calmness, dullness of colors, elegiac sadness, harmony achieved by meager means - such is the art of "sabi", calling for concentrated contemplation, for renunciation of everyday fuss.
"Sabi", as Basho widely interpreted it, absorbed the quintessence of classical Japanese aesthetics and philosophy and meant for him the same as "ideal love" for Dante and Petrarch! Communicating a sublime order to thoughts and feelings, "sabi" became a spring of poetry.
Poetics based on the principle of "sabi" found its fullest embodiment in five collections of poems created by Basho and his students in 1684-1691: "Winter Days", "Spring Days", "Dead Field", "Gourd" and Monkey's Straw Cloak (book one).
Despite its ideological depth, the “sabi” principle did not allow depicting the living beauty of the world in its entirety. Such a great artist as Basho must have inevitably felt this. The search for the hidden essence of each individual phenomenon became monotonously tedious. In addition, the philosophical lyrics of nature, according to the principle of "sabi", assigned a person only the role of a passive contemplator.
In the last years of his life, Basho proclaimed a new guiding principle of poetics - "karumi" (lightness). He told his students: "From now on, I strive for poems that are shallow, like the Sunagawa (Sandy River) River."
The words of the poet should not be taken too literally, rather they sound like a challenge to imitators who, blindly following ready-made models, began to compose verses in a multitude with a claim to thoughtfulness. Basho's later poems are by no means shallow, they are distinguished by high simplicity, because they speak of simple human affairs and feelings. Poems become light, transparent, fluid. They show subtle, kind humor, warm sympathy for people who has seen a lot, experienced a lot. The great humanist poet could not shut himself up in the conventional world of the sublime poetry of nature. Here is a picture from a peasant life:
perched a boy On the saddle, and the horse is waiting. Collect radish.
Here are the preparations for New Year's Eve:
Sweep the soot. For myself this time The carpenter gets along well.
In the subtext of these poems there is a sympathetic smile, and not a mockery, as happened with other poets. Basho does not allow himself any grotesque that distorts the image.
A monument to Basho's new style are two poetry collections: "A Bag of Coal" (1694) and "A Straw Monkey Cloak" (book two), published after Basho's death, in 1698.
The creative manner of the poet was not constant; it changed several times in accordance with his spiritual growth. Basho's poetry is a chronicle of his life. An attentive reader, rereading Basho's poems, each time discovers something new for himself.
This is one of the remarkable properties of truly great poetry.
A significant part of Basho's poems are the fruits of his travel thoughts. Many poems, full of piercing power, are dedicated to dead friends. There are poems for the occasion (and some of them are excellent): in praise of the hospitable host, as a token of gratitude for the gift sent, invitations to friends, captions for paintings. Little madrigals, tiny elegies, but how much they say! How one can hear in them a thirst for human participation, a request not to forget, not to hurt with offensive indifference! More than once the poet abandoned his too forgetful friends, locked the door of the hut in order to quickly open it again.
“Hokku cannot be made up of different pieces, as you did,” Basho told his student. “It must be forged like gold.” Each poem by Basho is a harmonious whole, all elements of which are subordinated to a single task: to express the poetic thought most fully.
Basho created five travel diaries written in lyrical prose interspersed with poetry: "Bones Whitening in the Field", "Journey to Kashima", "Letters of a Wandering Poet", "Sarashin's Journey Diary" and the most famous - "On the Paths of the North" Lyric prose his is marked by features of the same style as haiku: it combines elegance with "prosaism" and even the vulgarity of many expressions, is extremely laconic and rich in hidden emotional overtones. And in it, too, as in poetry, Basho combined fidelity to ancient traditions with the ability to see life in a new way.
In the winter of 1682, a fire destroyed much of Edo, and Basho's Banana Hut burned down. This, as he himself says, gave the final impetus to the decision that had long matured in him to go wandering. In the autumn of 1684, he left Edo, accompanied by one of his students. Ten years with few breaks. Basho traveled around Japan. Sometimes he returned to Edo, where his friends built his Banana Hut. But soon he was again, "like an obedient cloud", carried away by the wind of wanderings. He died in the city of Osaka, surrounded by his disciples.
Basho walked along the roads of Japan as an ambassador of poetry itself, kindling love for it in people and introducing them to genuine art. He knew how to find and awaken a creative gift even in a professional beggar. Basho sometimes penetrated into the very depths of the mountains, where “no one will pick up the fallen wild chestnut fruit from the ground,” but, appreciating solitude, he was never a hermit. In his wanderings, he did not run away from people, but approached them. Peasants doing field work, horse drivers, fishermen, tea leaf pickers pass in a long line in his poems.
Basho captured their keen love for beauty. The peasant straightens his back for a moment to admire the full moon or listen to the cry of the cuckoo so beloved in Japan. Sometimes Basho depicts nature in the perception of a peasant, as if identifying himself with him. He rejoices in the thick ears in the field or worries that the early rains will spoil the straw. Deep participation in people, a subtle understanding of their spiritual world is one of the best qualities of Basho as a humanist poet. That is why in different parts of the country, as a holiday, they were waiting for his arrival.
With amazing fortitude, Basho strove for the big goal he had set for himself. Poetry was in decline in his time, and he felt called to raise it to the level of high art. The wandering road became Basho's creative workshop. New poetry could not be created, locked in four walls.
"The great teacher from the South Mountain" once commanded: "Do not follow in the footsteps of the ancients, but look for what they were looking for." This is also true for poetry,” Basho expressed such an idea in his parting words to one of his students. In other words, in order to become like the poets of antiquity, it was necessary not only to imitate them, but to go through their path anew, to see what they saw, to be infected by their creative excitement, but to write in their own way.
The lyric poetry of Japan has traditionally sung about nature, such as the beauty of the hagi bush. In autumn, its thin flexible branches are covered with white and pink flowers. Admiring the hagi flowers - this was the subject of the poem in the old days. But listen to what Basho says about the lone traveler in the field:
Wet, walking in the rain... But this traveler is also worthy of a song, Not only hagi in bloom.
The images of nature in Basho's poetry very often have a secondary plan, speaking allegorically about a person and his life. Scarlet pepper, green chestnut shell in autumn, plum tree in winter are symbols of the invincibility of the human spirit. An octopus in a trap, a sleeping cicada on a leaf, carried away by a stream of water - in these images the poet expressed his sense of the fragility of being, his reflections on the tragedy of human fate.
Many of Basho's poems are inspired by traditions, legends and fairy tales. His understanding of beauty had deep folk roots.
Basho was characterized by a feeling of the indissoluble unity of nature and man, and behind the shoulders of the people of his time, he always felt the breath of a huge history going back centuries. In it he found solid ground for art.
In the era of Basho, life was very difficult for ordinary people both in the city and in the countryside. The poet has witnessed many disasters. He saw children abandoned to certain death by impoverished parents. At the very beginning of the diary "Bones Whitening in the Field" there is this entry:
“Near the Fuji River, I heard an abandoned child crying plaintively, about three years old. He was carried away by a swift current, and he did not have the strength to endure the onslaught of the waves of our mournful world. Abandoned, he grieves for his loved ones, while life still glimmers in him, flying like a dewdrop. O little bush of haga, will you fly over tonight or will you wither tomorrow? As I passed, I tossed some food from my sleeve to the child.
You are sad, listening to the cry of the monkeys, Do you know how a child cries Abandoned in the autumn wind?
The son of his time, Basho, however, goes on to say that no one is to blame for the death of the child, as the decree of heaven predetermined. "Man is in the grip of a formidable fate" - such a concept of human life inevitably gave rise to a feeling of insecurity, loneliness, and sadness. Contemporary progressive writer and literary critic Takakura Teru notes:
“In my opinion, the new literature of Japan begins with Basho. It was he who most sharply, with the greatest pain, expressed the suffering of the Japanese people, which fell to his lot in the era of transition from the Middle Ages to the new time.
The sadness resounding in many of Basho's poems had not only philosophical and religious roots, and was not only an echo of his personal fate. Basho's poetry expressed the tragedy of the transitional era, one of the most significant in the history of Japan, and therefore was close and understandable to his contemporaries.
Basho's work is so multifaceted that it is difficult to reduce it to one denominator. He himself called himself a "sad man", but he was also a great lover of life. The joy of a sudden meeting with the beautiful, cheerful games with children, vivid sketches of everyday life and customs - with what spiritual generosity the poet squanders more and more colors to depict the world! At the end of his life, Basho came to that wise and enlightened beauty, which is available only to a great master.
The poetic legacy left by Matsuo Basho includes haiku and "linked stanzas". Among his prose writings are diaries, prefaces to books and individual poems, and letters. They contain many of Basho's thoughts on art. In addition, the students recorded his conversations with them. In these conversations, Basho appears as a peculiar and deep thinker.
He founded a school that revolutionized Japanese poetry. Among his students were such highly gifted poets as Kikaku, Ransetsu, Joso, Kyosai, Sampu, Shiko.
There is no Japanese who does not know by heart at least a few of Basho's poems. There are new editions of his poems, new books about his work. The great poet over the years does not leave his descendants, but approaches them.
The lyric poetry of haiku (or haiku) is still loved, popular and continues to develop, the actual creator of which was Basho.
When reading Basho's poems, one thing should be remembered: they are all short, but in each of them the poet was looking for a way from heart to heart.
Curriculum vitae
Matsuo Basho is a recognized Master of Japanese poetry. Hokku Basho are truly masterpieces among the haiku of other Japanese poets. Basho is the pseudonym of the great poet. At birth, Basho was named Kinzaku, upon reaching adulthood, Munefusa; Another name for Basho is Jinshichiro. Matsuo Basho is a great Japanese poet and verse theorist. Basho was born in 1644 in the small castle town of Ueno, Iga Province (Honshu Island).
It is believed that Basho was a slender man of small stature, with thin graceful features, thick eyebrows and a protruding nose. As is customary among Buddhists, he shaved his head. His health was poor, he suffered from indigestion all his life. According to the poet's letters, it can be assumed that he was a calm, moderate, unusually caring, generous and faithful person in relation to relatives and friends. Despite the fact that he suffered from poverty all his life, Basho, as a true Buddhist philosopher, paid almost no attention to this circumstance.
In Edo, Basho lived in a simple hut given to him by one of his students. Near the house, he planted a banana tree with his own hands. It is believed that it was it that gave the pseudonym to the poet (Basho, ;; translates as "banana, banana tree"). The banana palm is mentioned repeatedly in Basho's poems:
I planted a banana
And now they have become disgusting to me
Weed sprouts…
Like a banana moaning in the wind,
How drops fall into a tub,
I hear all night long.
(Translated by Vera Markova)
And here is what he writes to his imitators:
Don't imitate me too much!
Look, what's the use of such a resemblance?
Two halves of a melon.
("Disciples")
***
And here is his haiku!
I want at least once
Go to the market on holidays
Buy tobacco
* * *
"Autumn has already arrived!"
The wind whispered in my ear
Creeping up to my pillow.
* * *
One hundred times more noble
Who does not say at the flash of lightning:
"This is our life!"
* * *
All the worries, all the sadness
Of my troubled heart
Give it to the flexible willow.
* * *
What freshness blows
From this melon in drops of dew,
With sticky wet earth!
* * *
In the garden where the irises opened,
Chat with an old friend,
What a reward for a traveler!
* * *
Cold mountain spring.
I did not have time to scoop up a handful of water,
How the teeth are already broken
* * *
Here's a connoisseur's quirk!
On a flower without fragrance
The moth dropped.
* * *
Come on, friends!
Let's go wandering through the first snow,
Until we fall off our feet.
* * *
Evening bindweed
I'm captured... Still
I am in oblivion.
* * *
Frost hid him
The wind makes his bed...
Abandoned child.
* * *
There is such a moon in the sky
Like a tree cut down at the root:
White fresh cut.
* * *
The yellow leaf floats.
Which coast, cicada,
Do you suddenly wake up?
* * *
How the river overflowed!
The heron wanders on short legs
Knee-deep in water.
* * *
Like a banana moaning in the wind,
How drops fall into a tub,
I hear all night long. In a thatched hut
* * *
Willow leaned over and sleeps.
And it seems to me, a nightingale on a branch ...
This is her soul.
* * *
Top-top is my horse.
I see myself in the picture -
In the expanse of summer meadows.
* * *
You hear suddenly "shorch-shorch".
Sadness stirs in my heart...
Bamboo on a frosty night.
* * *
Butterflies flying
Wakes up a quiet meadow
In the rays of the sun
* * *
How the autumn wind whistles!
Then only understand my poems,
When you spend the night in the field.
* * *
And I want to live in autumn
To this butterfly: drinks hastily
Dew from the chrysanthemum.
* * *
Flowers withered.
Seeds are falling, falling
Like tears...
* * *
gusty sheet
Hid in a bamboo grove
And gradually calmed down.
* * *
Take a close look!
Shepherd's purse flowers
You will see under the fence.
* * *
Oh, wake up, wake up!
Become my friend
Sleeping moth!
* * *
They fly to the ground
Going back to old roots...
Separation of flowers! In memory of a friend
* * *
Old pond.
The frog jumped into the water.
A surge in silence.
* * *
Autumn Moon Festival.
Around the pond and around again
All night long!
* * *
That's all I'm rich in!
Light as my life
Pumpkin gourd. Grain storage jug
* * *
First snow in the morning.
He barely covered
Narcissus leaves.
* * *
The water is so cold!
Seagull can't sleep
Ride on the wave.
* * *
The pitcher burst with a crash:
At night, the water in it froze.
I woke up suddenly.
* * *
Moon or morning snow...
Admiring the beautiful, I lived as I wanted.
This is how I end the year.
* * *
Clouds of cherry blossoms!
The ringing of the bells floated ... From Ueno
Or Asakusa?
* * *
In a flower cup
A bumblebee is napping. Don't touch him
Sparrow friend!
* * *
Stork nest in the wind.
And under it - beyond the storm -
Cherries are a calm color.
* * *
Long day to fly
Sings - and does not get drunk
Lark in spring.
* * *
Over the expanse of fields -
Not tied to the ground
The lark calls.
* * *
May rains pour down.
What's this? Has the rim burst on the barrel?
The sound of an obscure night ...
* * *
Pure spring!
Up ran down my leg
Little crab.
* * *
It's been a clear day.
But where do the drops come from?
A patch of clouds in the sky.
* * *
As if taken in hand
Lightning when in the dark
You lit a candle. In praise of the poet Rick
* * *
How fast the moon flies!
On fixed branches
Drops of rain hung.
* * *
important steps
Heron on fresh stubble.
Autumn in the village.
* * *
Dropped for a moment
Threshing rice peasant,
Looks at the moon.
* * *
In a glass of wine
Swallows, don't drop
Clay lump.
* * *
There used to be a castle here...
Let me be the first to tell about it
A spring flowing in an old well.
* * *
How thick the grass is in summer!
And only one-leaf
One single sheet.
* * *
Oh no ready
I can't find a comparison for you
Three day month!
* * *
hanging motionless
Dark cloud in the sky...
It can be seen that lightning is waiting.
* * *
Oh, how many of them are in the fields!
But everyone blooms in their own way -
This is the highest feat of a flower!
* * *
Wrapped his life
around the suspension bridge
This wild ivy.
* * *
Blanket for one.
And icy black
Winter night... Oh, sadness! Poet Rika mourns his wife
* * *
Spring is leaving.
The birds are crying. The eyes of fish
Full of tears.
* * *
The distant call of the cuckoo
Sounded right. After all, these days
The poets have moved.
* * *
A thin tongue of fire, -
The oil in the lamp has frozen.
Wake up... What sadness! in a foreign land
* * *
West East -
Everywhere the same trouble
The wind is still cold. To a friend who went to the West
* * *
Even a white flower on the fence
Near the house where the mistress was gone,
Cold covered me. Orphaned friend
* * *
Broke off a branch
Wind running through the pines?
How cool is the splash of water!
* * *
Here in drunkenness
To fall asleep on these river stones,
Overgrown with cloves...
* * *
Get up off the ground again
Fading in the mist, chrysanthemums,
Crushed by heavy rain.
* * *
Pray for happy days!
On a winter plum tree
Be like your heart.
* * *
Visiting cherry blossoms
I have been neither more nor less -
Twenty happy days.
* * *
Under the shade of cherry blossoms
I'm like an old drama hero,
At night lay down to sleep.
* * *
Garden and mountain in the distance
Trembling, moving, entering
In a summer open house.
* * *
Driver! lead the horse
Over there, across the field!
There is a cuckoo singing.
* * *
May rains
The waterfall was buried -
Filled with water.
* * *
summer herbs
Where the heroes have disappeared
Like a dream. On the old battlefield
* * *
Islands... Islands...
And crushed into hundreds of fragments
Summer day sea.
* * *
What a blessing!
Cool green rice field...
The murmur of water...
* * *
Silence around.
Penetrate into the heart of the rocks
Voices of cicadas.
* * *
Gate of the Tide.
Washes the heron up to the chest
Cool sea.
* * *
Drying small perches
On the branches of a willow... What a coolness!
Fishing huts on the shore.
* * *
Wooden pestle.
Was he ever a willow
Was it a camellia?
* * *
Celebration of the meeting of two stars.
Even the night before is so different
For a normal night! On the eve of Tashibam holiday
* * *
Raging sea space!
Far away, to the island of Sado,
The Milky Way creeps.
* * *
With me under the same roof
Two girls... Hagi branches in bloom
And a lonely month In hotel
* * *
What does ripe rice smell like?
I was walking through the field, and suddenly -
To the right is the Gulf of Ariso.
* * *
Tremble, oh hill!
Autumn wind in the field -
My lonely moan. In front of the grave mound of the early deceased poet Isse
* * *
Red-red sun
In the desert distance ... But it freezes
Ruthless autumn wind.
* * *
Pines... Nice name!
Leaning towards the pines in the wind
Bushes and autumn grasses. A place called Sosenki
* * *
Musashi Plain around.
None will touch the cloud
Your travel hat.
* * *
Wet, walking in the rain
But this traveler is also worthy of a song,
Not only hagi in bloom.
* * *
O merciless rock!
Under this glorious helmet
Now the cricket is ringing.
* * *
Whiter than white rocks
On the slopes of the stone mountain
This autumn whirlwind!
* * *
Farewell verses
On the fan I wanted to write -
It broke in his hands. Breaking up with a friend
* * *
Where are you, moon, now?
Like a sunken bell
Hidden at the bottom of the sea. In Tsuruga Bay, where the bell once sank
* * *
Butterfly never
He won't be... Shaking in vain
Worm in the autumn wind.
* * *
A house in seclusion.
Moon ... Chrysanthemums ... In addition to them
A piece of a small field.
* * *
Cold rain without end.
This is how a chilled monkey looks,
As if asking for a straw cloak.
* * *
Winter night in the garden.
With a thin thread - and a month in the sky,
And cicadas barely audible ringing.
* * *
Nuns story
About the former service at the court ...
Deep snow all around. In a mountain village
* * *
Children, who is faster?
We'll catch up with the balls
Ice cereal. I play with children in the mountains
* * *
Tell me what for
Oh raven, to the bustling city
Are you flying from here?
* * *
How tender are the young leaves
Even here in the weeds
At the forgotten house.
* * *
Camellia petals...
Maybe the nightingale dropped
Flower hat?
* * *
Ivy leaves...
For some reason their smoky purple
He talks about the past.
* * *
Mossy gravestone.
Under it - is it in reality or in a dream? -
A voice whispers prayers.
* * *
Everything is spinning dragonfly ...
Can't get caught
For stalks of flexible grass.
* * *
Do not think with contempt:
"What small seeds!"
It's red pepper.
* * *
First left the grass...
Then he left the trees...
Lark flight.
* * *
The bell is silent in the distance,
But the scent of evening flowers
Its echo floats.
* * *
The cobwebs tremble a little.
Thin strands of saiko grass
They tremble in the twilight.
* * *
dropping petals,
Suddenly spilled a handful of water
Camellia flower.
* * *
The stream is slightly visible.
Float through the thicket of bamboo
Camellia petals.
* * *
May rain is endless.
Mallows are reaching somewhere
Looking for the path of the sun.
* * *
Weak orange flavor.
Where?.. When?.. In what fields, cuckoo,
Did I hear your flying cry?
* * *
Falling down with a leaf...
No, look! Halfway
The firefly fluttered.
* * *
And who could say
Why do they have such a short life!
The silent sound of cicadas.
* * *
Fisherman's hut.
Messed up in a pile of shrimp
Lone cricket.
* * *
White hair fell.
Under my headboard
The cricket does not stop.
* * *
Ill go down goose
On the field on a cold night.
Sleep lonely on the way.
* * *
Even a wild boar
Will swirl, take away with it
This winter whirlwind of the field!
* * *
It's the end of autumn
But believe in the future
Green tangerine.
