The upper reaches here
And the lower of the river.
The friend for the moon
— Bashō, Matsuo
(1644-1694)

A world of grief and pain
Flowers bloom;
even then …
— Kobayashi, Issa
(1762-1827)

Not knowing why
I cherish this world
where we come only to die
— Sōseki, Natsume
(1867-1916)

Drinking the morning green tea
The monk is calm
The flowers of chrysanthemum
— Bashō, Matsuo
(1644-1694)

Autumn night —
the sound of two white plates
touching
— Yoshino, Yoshiko
(1912-1986)

They spoke no word,
the host, the guest,
and the white chrysanthemum
— Ryota, Oshima
(1718 -1787)

Colour of the wind
Sparsely planted
Autumn garden
— Bashō, Matsuo
(1644-1694)

Leaving its nest,
the sparrow sinks a second,
Tten opens its wings.
— Wright, Richard
(1908-1960)

When I ate a Persimmon,
the bell rung.
The Horyuji temple
— Shiki, Masaoka
(1867-1902)

He says a word,
and I say a word — autumn
is deepening
— Takahama, Kyoshi
(1874-1959)

Chrysanthemums! True
yellow ones, white ones — but I want
a red one too!
— Shiki, Masaoka
(1867-1902)

Over the wintry
forest, winds howl in rage
with no leaves to blow
— Soseki, Natsume
(1867-1916)

Summer grasses:
all that remains
of warriors' dreams
— Bashō, Matsuo
(1644-1694)

I was silent all day
facing the sea.
The tide came up.
— Taneda, Santōka
(1882-1940)

This old village —
not a single house
without persimmon trees
— Bashō, Matsuo
(1644-1694)

Awaiting snow
Poets in their cups
See lightening flash
— Bashō, Matsuo
(1644-1694)

My soul is the wind
Dashing down fields of autumn:
O, too swift to sing
— Lewis Grandison,
Alexander
(1900-1945)

Color of the wind
sparsely planted
Autumn garden
— Bashō, Matsuo
(1644-1694)

Seek not to follow in
the footsteps of men of old
seek what they sought
— Bashō, Matsuo
(1644-1694)

Willow trees are bare
Dried the water, and the stones
lie scattered here and there
— Buson, Yosa
(1716-1784)

Over the wintry
forest, winds howl in rage
with no leaves to blow
— Soseki, Natsume
(1867-1916)

Deep autumn
I wonder about my neighbour
How does he live?
— Bashō, Matsuo
(1644-1694)

No one travels
along this way but I
This autumn evening
— Bashō, Matsuo
(1644-1694)

Being ill on the journey
my dreams run about
desolate fields
— Bashō, Matsuo
(1644-1694)

In memoriam

Muriel Williams