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Poetry - post poems that move you

Re: Poetry - post poems that move you

Postby bokki on Sat Jun 03, 2017 7:28 pm

HOMAGE TO THE LAME WOLF
Vasko Popa

1. Return to your lair
Disgraced lame wolf

And sleep there
Until the barking turns to ice
And the curses rust and torches die
Of the all out hunt

And until everyone falls
Empty handed into himself
And bites his tongue of in despair

And mighty dog heads with a knife behind the ear
And hunters with their dick on their shoulder
And hunting wolf-eating dragons

On all four I crawl before you
And howl in your glory
As in those great
Green times of yours

And i pray to you my old lame God
Go back to your lair
Another log on the fire,
10,000 frogs singing in the rain
burst into flames

-Linda Anderson, aka LA
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Re: Poetry - post poems that move you

Postby partofit22 on Sat Jun 03, 2017 10:58 pm

The Breath Of Night

The moon rises. The red cubs rolling
In the ferns by the rotten oak
Stare over a marsh and a meadow
To the farm's white wisp of smoke.
A spark burns, high in heaven.
Deer thread the blossoming rows
Of the old orchard, rabbits
Hop by the well-curb. The cock crows
From the tree by the widow's walk;
Two stars in the trees to the west,
Are snared, and an owl's soft cry
Runs like a breath through the forest.
Here too, though death is hushed, though joy
Obscures, like night, their wars,
The beings of this world are swept
By the Strife that moves the stars.

-- Randall Jarrell
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Re: Poetry - post poems that move you

Postby Linda Anderson on Sun Jun 04, 2017 1:49 am

The Peace of Wild Things

When despair grows in me
and I wake in the night at the least sound
in fear of what my life and my children's lives may be,
I go and lie down where the wood drake
rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.
I come into the peace of wild things
who do not tax their lives with forethought
of grief. I come into the presence of still water.
And I feel above me the day-blind stars
waiting for their light. For a time
I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.

~ Wendell Berry
Not last night,
not this morning;
Melon flowers bloomed.
~ Bassho
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Re: Poetry - post poems that move you

Postby bokki on Sun Jun 04, 2017 12:00 pm

Great, beautiful! :)X
Do you maybe have any more as the above two?
Thank you partofit, Linda
Another log on the fire,
10,000 frogs singing in the rain
burst into flames

-Linda Anderson, aka LA
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Re: Poetry - post poems that move you

Postby desert_woodworker on Sun Jun 04, 2017 10:05 pm

David Wagoner is an American poet of Washington State (USA).

I first found his poem "Staying Alive" in 1978, in an anthology of American poets' poems. The poem was first published in the Dec. 4, 1965 issue of THE NEW YORKER magazine.

I recently obtained a book of Wagoner's collected and new poems, TRAVELING LIGHT (1999), signed by the author. It contains this poem, and while I was re-reading it, for the 100th time, over all these years, I thought I'd share it here.

I enjoy the simple-seeming narrative style; the numerous memorable lines; and, the allegory of the poem.

Wagoner's "Staying Alive" can be read here at the link provided, and I've also placed the text below:

http://www.ronnowpoetry.com/contents/wagoner/StayingAlive.html

--Joe
-----------------------------------------------------------

Staying Alive

    by: David Wagoner (1965)
Staying alive in the woods is a matter of calming down
At first and deciding whether to wait for rescue,
Trusting to others,
Or simply to start walking and walking in one direction
Till you come out–or something happens to stop you.
By far the safer choice
Is to settle down where you are, and try to make a living
Off the land, camping near water, away from shadows.
Eat no white berries;
Spit out all bitterness. Shooting at anything
Means hiking further and further every day
To hunt survivors;
It may be best to learn what you have to learn without a gun,
Not killing but watching birds and animals go
In and out of shelter
At will. Following their example, build for a whole season:
Facing across the wind in your lean-to,
You may feel wilder,
But nothing, not even you, will have to stay in hiding.
If you have no matches, a stick and a fire-bow
Will keep you warmer,
Or the crystal of your watch, filled with water, held up to the sun
Will do the same in time. In case of snow
Drifting toward winter,
Don't try to stay awake through the night, afraid of freezing–
The bottom of your mind knows all about zero;
It will turn you over
And shake you till you waken. If you have trouble sleeping
Even in the best of weather, jumping to follow
With eyes strained to their corners
The unidentifiable noises of the night and feeling
Bears and packs of wolves nuzzling your elbow,
Remember the trappers
Who treated them indifferently and were left alone.
If you hurt yourself, no one will comfort you
Or take your temperature,
So stumbling, wading, and climbing are as dangerous as flying.
But if you decide, at last, you must break through
In spite of all danger,
Think of yourself by time and not by distance, counting
Wherever you're going by how long it takes you;
No other measure
Will bring you safe to nightfall. Follow no streams: they run
Under the ground or all into wilder country.
Remember the stars
And moss when your mind runs into circles. If it should rain
Or the fog should roll the horizon in around you,
Hold still for hours
Or days if you must, or weeks, for seeing is believing
In the wilderness. And if you find a pathway,
Wheel-rut, or fence-wire,
Retrace it left or right: someone knew where he was going
Once upon a time, and you can follow
Hopefully, somewhere,
Just in case. There may even come, on some uncanny evening,
A time when you're warm and dry, well fed, not thirsty,
Uninjured, without fear,
When nothing, either good or bad, is happening.
This is called staying alive. It's temporary.
What occurs after
Is doubtful. You must always be ready for something to come bursting
Through the far edge of a clearing, running toward you,
Grinning from ear to ear
And hoarse with welcome. Or something crossing and hovering
Overhead, as light as air, like a break in the sky,
Wondering what you are.
Here you are face to face with the problem of recognition.
Having no time to make smoke, too much to say,
You should have a mirror
With a tiny hole in the back for better aiming, for reflecting
Whatever disaster you can think of, to show
The way you suffer.
These body signals have universal meaning: If you are lying
Flat on your back with arms outstretched behind you,
You say you require
Emergency treatment; if you are standing erect and holding
Arms horizontal, you mean you are not ready;
If you hold them over
Your head, you want to be picked up. Three of anything
Is a sign of distress. Afterward, if you see
No ropes, no ladders,
No maps or messages falling, no searchlights or trails blazing,
Then, chances are, you should be prepared to burrow
Deep for a deep winter.

    -David Wagoner, Collected Poems 1956-1976, Indiana University Press, 1966.
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Re: Poetry - post poems that move you

Postby partofit22 on Mon Jun 05, 2017 12:58 am

memoir of the present moment

it’s the middle of—the week? the street? the sentence,
please i need to borrow your basket because?
i’m looking for something. so ticklish with sound,
eerie with truth. like really good dance music.
like i’m in the middle of—a forest? a pancake? a pancake
burning in a forest while the forest remains calm?
perhaps i’m simply craving breakfast foods.
or what’s burning is me, the most oily of pronouns,
the life crisis that is not yet mid-, is always mid-,
is living. i’m the mid- of a foggy dialect,
garbled district. a primeval game
of telephone. i’m a muddle
trying to dial the cosmos. to sing out
another dizzying bit—of this.

Chen Chen
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Re: Poetry - post poems that move you

Postby bokki on Mon Jun 05, 2017 1:18 am

thank you joe, partofit..and since im in the middle of my natural/animals/zenish poem reading im in ill add this not pc piece by vasko popa too

From the Cycle "The Wolf-Bastard"

7.

You bark

That my mind has slid into my ass
And grown overnight
Into an ominous tail

You bark

That my thoughts have transmogrified
Into gray bristles
And pierced all pores of my skin

You bark and bark

That my words smell
Of human flesh burnt on a pyre
And of the white sperm of my causate god

You bark bark bark

That out from my throat comes
A well-known bloodthirsty howl
Which I call a song

Just you bark
Another log on the fire,
10,000 frogs singing in the rain
burst into flames

-Linda Anderson, aka LA
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Re: Poetry - post poems that move you

Postby bokki on Mon Jun 05, 2017 1:26 am

btw, joe
Staying Alive
by: David Wagoner

looks Soto trough and trough :tongueincheek:
i love it
Another log on the fire,
10,000 frogs singing in the rain
burst into flames

-Linda Anderson, aka LA
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Re: Poetry - post poems that move you

Postby partofit22 on Mon Jun 05, 2017 2:15 am

Theories Of Time And Space

You can get there from here, though
there's no going home.
Everywhere you go will be somewhere
you've never been. Try this:
head south on Mississippi 49, one-
by-one mile markers ticking off
another minute of your life. Follow this
to its natural conclusion - dead end
at the coast, the pier at Gulfport where
riggings of shrimp boats are loose stitches
in a sky threatening rain. Cross over
the man-made beach, 26 miles of sand
dumped on a mangrove swamp - buried
terrain of the past. Bring only
what you must carry - tome of memory
its random blank pages. On the dock
where you board the boat for Ship Island,
someone will take your picture:
the photograph - who you were -
will be waiting when you return

-- Natasha Trethewey
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Re: Poetry - post poems that move you

Postby Linda Anderson on Mon Jun 05, 2017 4:35 am

Song of the Grass Shack
by Shitou

Source: Mitchell, James. Soto Zen Ancestors in China: The Recorded Teachings of Shitou Xiqian, Yaoshan Weiyan And Yunyan Tansheng.

I've built a grass shack with nothing of value inside.
After a good meal, I like to take a nice nap.
The grass thatching still looks new;
When it wears out, I'll add fresh thatch to the roof.
The person inside the shack is always present,
But you won't find him inside or out.
He doesn't hang out with worldly people,
And he doesn't like the things they like.
This little shack contains the entire universe,
And my physical body is integrated with it.

Great Bodhisattvas don't doubt my ideas,
Although humans may think them strange.
If you say that my hut looks shabby, I'll answer
That the One Mind abides right where it is.
East or west, north or south,
A solid foundation is what counts.
With green pines hanging over the roof
And bright windows in the walls, not even
a royal palace can compare with my shack.
With a monk's robe over my shoulders
And a hood over my head, I've got no worries at all.

It's not that I praise myself for living here,
Like some merchant pushing his product.
It's just that when the twilight comes,
My mind is limitless from front to back.

When I met my teacher and heard his words,
I decided to build myself a hut and live in it.
Disregarding social constraints,
I'll do just as I please.

Still, whatever people will tell you,
My real goal is to wake folks up.
If you want to meet the "person" in the shack,
You've got to look after the physical side first.

>>>> another translation:

I've built a grass hut where there's nothing of value.
After eating, I relax and enjoy a nap.
When it was completed, fresh weeds appeared.
Now it's been lived in - covered by weeds.

The person in the hut lives here calmly,
Not stuck to inside, outside, or in between.
Places worldly people live, he doesn't live.
Realms worldly people love, he doesn't love.

Though the hut is small, it includes the entire world.
In ten square feet, an old man illumines forms and their nature.
A Great Vehicle bodhisattva trusts without doubt.
The middling or lowly can't help wondering;
Will this hut perish or not?

Perishable or not, the original master is present,
not dwelling south or north, east or west.
Firmly based on steadiness, it can't be surpassed.
A shining window below the green pines --
Jade palaces or vermilion towers can't compare with it.

Just sitting with head covered, all things are at rest.
Thus, this mountain monk doesn't understand at all.
Living here he no longer works to get free.
Who would proudly arrange seats, trying to entice guests?

Turn around the light to shine within, then just return.
The vast inconceivable source can't be faced or turned away from.
Meet the ancestral teachers, be familiar with their instruction,
Bind grasses to build a hut, and don't give up.

Let go of hundreds of years and relax completely.
Open your hands and walk, innocent.
Thousands of words, myriad interpretations,
Are only to free you from obstructions.
If you want to know the undying person in the hut,
Don't separate from this skin bag here and now.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Mitchell, James, in the "Soto Zen Ancestors in China: The Recorded Teachings of Shitou Xiqian..." writes about the poem thusly:

"...Two longer poems attributed to Shitou present new perspectives to our understanding of his personality and career as a chan master.

In the Grass Shack Song we see him newly arrived on South Mountain, living in the meditation hut he built for himself on top of a large flat rock. The poem is actually a re-statement in Buddhist terms of a Taoist archetype, namely that of the hermit or "mountain sage" who has forsaken the conflicts and business of social existence to pursue a spiritual path. This is a common topos in Tang-period poetry, translated in this case to the realization of the universal Buddha-nature. The possibility of solitary meditation in a mountain wilderness seems to have largely disappeared with the gradual establishment of the chan monasteries and the increasing regimentation of monastic life, so we might think that the monks of the Sung period may have looked back nostalgically to a more individualistic era. In any event, the poem's obvious enthusiasm for a do-it-yourself Buddhist lifestyle is, with the exception of Han Shan's Cold Mountain poems, quite unique in Buddhist literature, and also confirms the Sixth Patriarch's position that the real teacher resides within the individual mind and not necessarily within the walls of a monastery.

Shitou's other great poem, The Agreement of Difference and Unity, presents the teaching of li and shi, principle and phenomena, which originated in its Buddhist form with the masters of the Huayan school..."
Not last night,
not this morning;
Melon flowers bloomed.
~ Bassho
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Re: Poetry - post poems that move you

Postby Linda Anderson on Mon Jun 05, 2017 4:44 am

Snowball

 I made myself a snowball
 As perfect as could be.
 I thought I'd keep it as a pet
 And let it sleep with me.
 I made it some pajamas
 And a pillow for its head.
 Then last night it ran away,
 But first it wet the bed.
http://www.panhala.net/Archive/Zen_for_ ... idays.html
Not last night,
not this morning;
Melon flowers bloomed.
~ Bassho
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Re: Poetry - post poems that move you

Postby bokki on Mon Jun 05, 2017 5:49 am

now, y would y would u partofit and linda make me cry so
ill remember and try to return with someones verse somehow
got to sleep now will join when i awake
Another log on the fire,
10,000 frogs singing in the rain
burst into flames

-Linda Anderson, aka LA
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Re: Poetry - post poems that move you

Postby Linda Anderson on Mon Jun 05, 2017 6:12 am

:daisy:
Not last night,
not this morning;
Melon flowers bloomed.
~ Bassho
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Re: Poetry - post poems that move you

Postby Linda Anderson on Mon Jun 05, 2017 6:27 am

You Never Know The World Aright

"You never know the world aright till the Sea floweth
in your Veins,
till you are Clothed with the Heavens, and Crowned
with the Stars;
And perceive yourself to be the Sole Heir of the Whole
World;
And more then so, because Men are in it who are every
one Sole Heirs, as well as you.
Till you are intimately Acquainted with that Shady
Nothing out of which this World was made;
Till your spirit filleth the whole World and the Stars
are your Jewels
Till you love Men so as to Desire their Happiness
with a thirst equal to the zeal of your own."

Thomas Traherne (1636-1674). Centuries
of Meditation
Not last night,
not this morning;
Melon flowers bloomed.
~ Bassho
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Re: Poetry - post poems that move you

Postby ed blanco on Tue Jun 06, 2017 8:11 pm

YES, I'M TRULY A DUNCE

Yes, I’m truly a dunce
Living among trees and plants.
Please don’t question me about illusion and enlightenment --
This old fellow just likes to smile to himself.
I wade across streams with bony legs,
And carry a bag about in fine spring weather.
That’s my life,
And the world owes me nothing.

Ryokan

...and this, also Ryokan: ON READING EIHEI KOROKU

On a somber spring evening around midnight, rain mixed with snow sprinkled on the bamboos in the garden. I wanted to ease my loneliness but it was quite impossible. My hand reached behind me for the Record of Eihei Dogen. Beneath the open window at my desk, I offered incense, lit a lamp, and quietly read. Body and mind dropping away is simply the upright truth. In one thousand postures, ten thousand appearances, a dragon toys with the jewel His understanding beyond conditioned patterns cleans up the current corruptions; the ancient great master's style reflects the image of India.

I remember the old days when I lived at Entsu Monastery and my late teacher lectured on the True Dharma eye. At t hat time there was an occasion to turn myself around, so I requested permission to read it, and studied it intimately. I keenly felt that until then I had depended merely on my own ability. After that I left my teacher and wandered all over. Between Dogen and myself what relationship is there? Everywhere I went I devotedly practiced the true dharma eye. Arriving at the depths and arriving at the vehicle - how many times? Inside this teaching, there's never any shortcoming. Thus I thoroughly studied the master of all things

Now when I take the Record of Eihei Dogen and examine it, the tone does not harmonize well with usual beliefs. Nobody has asked whether it is a jewel or a pebble. For five hundred years it's been covered with dust just because no one has had an eye for recognizing dharma. For whom was all his eloquence expounded? Longing for ancient times and grieving for the present, my heart is exhausted

One evening sitting by the lamp my tears wouldn't stop, and soaked into the records of the ancient buddha Eihei. In the morning the old man next door came to my thatched hut. He asked me why the book was damp. I wanted to speak but didn't as I was deeply embarrassed; my mind deeply distressed, it was impossible to give an explanation. I dropped my head for a while, then found some words. "Last night's rain leaked in and drenched my bookcase."

:O:
IT SPEAKS IN SILENCE
IN SPEECH YOU HEAR ITS SILENCE

Yongjia Xuanjue
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Re: Poetry - post poems that move you

Postby bokki on Wed Jun 07, 2017 12:01 am

:daisy:

:)
Another log on the fire,
10,000 frogs singing in the rain
burst into flames

-Linda Anderson, aka LA
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Re: Poetry - post poems that move you

Postby bokki on Wed Jun 07, 2017 12:05 am

The Pool
BY H. D.

Are you alive?
I touch you.
You quiver like a sea-fish.
I cover you with my net.
What are you—banded one?

Asking the Way
by KO UN

You fools who ask what god is
should ask what life is instead.
Find a port where lemon trees bloom.
Ask about places to drink in the port.
Ask about the drinkers.
Ask about the lemon trees.
Ask and ask until nothing’s left to ask.

Ear
BY KO UN

Someone’s coming
from the other world.

Hiss of night rain.

Someone’s going there now.
The two are sure to meet.
Another log on the fire,
10,000 frogs singing in the rain
burst into flames

-Linda Anderson, aka LA
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Re: Poetry - post poems that move you

Postby bokki on Wed Jun 07, 2017 12:19 am

"Last night's rain leaked in and drenched my bookcase."

that was nice,the whole post
Another log on the fire,
10,000 frogs singing in the rain
burst into flames

-Linda Anderson, aka LA
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Re: Poetry - post poems that move you

Postby ed blanco on Wed Jun 07, 2017 6:57 pm

...that always gets me too bokki.
..Ryokan never seems to forget the humanity of it all.

:O:
IT SPEAKS IN SILENCE
IN SPEECH YOU HEAR ITS SILENCE

Yongjia Xuanjue
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Re: Poetry - post poems that move you

Postby bokki on Sun Jun 11, 2017 5:48 am

iv been reading this again
what a collection
go on go on and post again
Another log on the fire,
10,000 frogs singing in the rain
burst into flames

-Linda Anderson, aka LA
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