John’s friend Tim wrote a great post about one of his (and John’s) favorite poetry books, Mountain Home. Check out Tim’s blog, We Reckon, you will not be disappointed…
Category: Poetry (Page 10 of 11)
translated by John Stevens
“Who says my poems are poems?
my poems are not poems.
After you know my poems are not poems,
Then we can begin to discuss poetry!”
Ryokan has said.
Recently, being provoked by conversation with Yvonne, our childrens expert and a poetry fan, I decided to reread Ryokan.
Ryokan was born in Japan around 1758 and threw himself into the Katsura River committing suicide in 1795. This hermit monk was beloved for his poetry and his character. His poetry being deceptively simple celebrating nature and a natural life.
I love reading Ryokan’s poems. Emotion, solitude, raindrops, moonlight, blooming flowers, and children: Along with many other wonderful images to think about, are clearly expressed causing much inter-reflection for the reader.
If you think you are intimidated by reading poetry and don’t think its fun with an added value, try Ryokan. It’s true pleasure, then when you finish, pick up another favorite, Ikkyu, and continue the fun.
“It is not that I do not wish
to associate with men,
But living alone I have he better way.”
Ryokan — autograph lines on a self portrait sketch.
Translated and edited by Sam Hammill and J. P. Seaton
Shambala Library (2004)
This nice little book is an excellent introduction to the Zen poets. It
is divided into two parts:
1) Chinese poems
2) Japanese poems.
Both are well represented and give the reader an understanding of the two
cultures’ styles.
The representative poets are chosen well; the book includes poems by most
of the heavy hitters. Each poet is lightly represented with just a taste
of their work.
Reading The Poetry of Zen is a nice way to get a feel for a starting place
if you want to explore this art form.
Following the poems is a concise commentary about each poet. I enjoyed
reading the poem then flipping to the back and reading about the poet.
The Poetry of Zen is not only a good introduction, but also a nice little
impressive anthology to share with friends.
By Li Po (701-762)
Translated by David Hinton
New Directions (1996)
About 4 years ago, I read this collection and last month I decided to reread Li Po, one of my favorite Chinese poets.
Li Po was called the “Banished Immortal,” an exiled spirit moving through this world with an unearthly ease and freedom from attachment. He is free from the attachments to self, however he profoundly belongs to mother earth. Li Po’s life was full of travel, big time pleasure drinking and a disdain of décor and authority. His meditative poems reflect his unfolding of being, rooted in non-being stillness.
I find Li Po easy to read, and that his poems lean from reading to self-reflection. Contemplative, yet, fun, profound they exist, somehow, from within the writer so long ago to within the reader of the present. Timeless so to say.
In wanting to share a poem, I just opened to a turned down page, and this was the poem:
9/9, Out drinking on Dragon Mountain
I’m an exile among yellow blossoms smiling
Soon drunk, I watch my cap tumble in the wind,
Dance in love—A guest the moon invites.
Li Po, ended his life out drunk in a boat, fell into the river and drowned trying to embrace the moon.
On the Writers Almanac Garrison Keillor has, over the last few weeks, included two selections from The Truro Bear And Other Adventures in his daily newsletter and radio program. I have savored the selections—-ten new poems, thirty-five of Mary Oliver’s classic poems, and two essays all about mammals, insects, and reptiles. It is a virtual feast for the mind and spirit!
The Other Kingdoms
Consider the other kingdoms. The
trees, for example, with their mellow-sounding
titles: oak, aspen, willow.
Or the snow, for which the peoples of the north
have dozens of words to describe its
different arrivals. Or the creatures, with their
thick fur, their shy and wordless gaze. Their
infallible sense of what their lives
are meant to be. Thus the world
grows rich, grows wild, and you too,
grow rich, grow sweetly wild, as you too
were born to be.
-Yvonne
Ted Kooser
University of Nebraska Press: 2006
Last weekend, I flew to Boston to surprise my bookselling pal, Tim (an ex-Lemurian) for his 40th birthday. Tim founded Newtonville Books* and recently sold his fine bookstore to Mary. Mary is carrying on Tim’s tradition with a First Editions Club and weekly email newsletter (which is a great source for keeping up with New England bookselling.)
On my flight home Sunday, I read Kooser’s The Blizzard Voices, which was my Newtonville purchase. On January 2, 1888, the Great Plains were devastated by a life-changing blizzard for many. This special collection of poetic voices tied together blizzard poetic memories leaned into core narratives of concrete detail expressed through memory. These stark reminisces recorded in old age are lean and with sharp detail.
Tom Pohrt illustrates this beautiful little book of poems.
Spring Essence
The Poetry of Ho Xuan Huong
(1175 – 1825)
Translated by John Balaban
Cooper Canyon Press: 2000
Ho (whose name means “Spring Essence”) was an 18th century Vietnamese concubine. Writing as a male, she followed this Confucian tradition. Many of her poems are double entendres: each has hidden within another poem, with sexual meaning revealing itself as a pun. No other poet dared this as sex, is a forbidden topic in this literary tradition. Her excellence as a poet allowed her to get away with irreverence. Her exquisite cleverness and skill in composing 2 poems at once, one hidden allowed her to capture audiences and survive.
A favorite:
“The Well Spring”
A narrow path descends through brush
To the bright water of your wondrous pool.
Under a footbridge’s pale twin planks
The pure spring shunts in shimmering rills.
Tufts of sedge surround its mouth.
A golden carp glides midstream.
Finding this well, so virginal and clear,
Who would put a catfish here?
This most enjoyable poem—absorbed slowly—yields pleasure-reaping moments and many smiles. Spring Essence concludes my simultaneous 3-female poet reading project.
How appropriate that on the first day of Poetry Month Red Bird, Mary Oliver’s twelfth book of poetry, arrived at Lemuria. For those of us who love her work, it is another gift from her to us—one she has been giving for over forty years.
There are sixty-one new poems in this collection, the most ever in a single volume of her work, and each one is a gem—a feast for the soul. She speaks, as always, of the natural world and her gratitude for its gifts, helping us to be more aware as we go about our days. She speaks also in poignant ways of those whom she has loved and who have loved her in return. Of course, let’s not forget her disobedient dog, Percy, about whom the following is written:
Percy and Books ( Eight)
Percy does not like it when I read a book.
He puts his face over the top of it and moans.
He rolls his eyes, sometimes he moans.
The sun is up, he says, and the wind is down.
The tide is out and the neighbor’s dogs are playing.
But Percy, I say. Ideas! The elegance of language!
The insights, the funniness, the beautiful stories
that rise and fall and turn into strength, or courage.Books? says Percy. I ate one once, and it was enough.
Let’s go.
Michael Ondaatje
McClelland Stewart (1998)
Previously I have read all of Ondaatje’s novels, in addition to his memoir. I enjoyed most of his work, especially Coming Through Slaughter, The English Patient, and Divisadero. So, when my girlfriend gave me this First Canadian Edition of Handwriting, I felt it was appropriate to dive into his poems.
For the most part, I found this collection difficult to read and understand. To fully appreciate this master craftsman’s poetry, my reading skills left something to be desired. However, with that said, I got into these poems, exploring certain thoughts that spoke to me somewhat beyond the words written on the page . I found a few jewels in particular.
From the 1st Poem:
“A libertine was one who made love before nightfall or without darkening the room.”
From “To Anuradhapura”:
“A dance of tall men
With the movement of prehistoric birds
In practice before they alight.”
From “Nine Sentiments”, the following two:
VIII. “Her fearless heart
Light as a barn owl
Against him all night”
X. “Love arrives and dies in all disguises”
As you can see, Handwriting touched me, but as an entire book of poems, my reading experience was incomplete. Perhaps in the future, if my skills as a reader of poetry improve, I will re-read these poems and achieve a fuller reading experience, not unlike the ones I have experienced through this talented writer’s novels.
Lotus Moon: The Poetry of Rengetsu
Translated by John Stevens
White Pine Press (2005)
Japanese poet, Rengetsu (1791-1875), was the illegitimate offspring of a high-ranking Samurai and a young geisha. In her youth she was visited by severe tragedy (deaths of two husbands and three infant children). She became a Buddhist nun taking the name Lotus Moon. Her world attempted to limit her on the basis of gender, however, she realized art was her path. As moving meditation she began making pottery. She learned martial arts, literature and calligraphy. Keeping few possessions she likened herself to a “drifting cloud.” Incredibly prolific, she has given us one of the most generous, sustained offerings of deep spiritual practice in Buddhist history. She left her fine poetry as a legacy.
Lotus Moon offered me many favorites. Here are three examples:
“Mountain Falling Flowers”
We accept the graceful falling
of mountain cherry blossoms,
But it is much harder for us
To fall away from our own
Attachment to the world.
“Summer Moon”
The cool shadows
of the bright moon
In an open field
makes you forget
all daytime worries.
(Perhaps my favorite)
“Evening Cool by the Sea”Cooling off in a boat
that sways as if drunk-
in the bay breeze
the moon on the waves
seems a bit tipsy too!
.
Reading Rengetsu for the first time was enjoyable, pleasant and reflective. However, I feel repeated reading in the future will broaden my perceived simplicity into something more complex. Lotus Moon is the second of my girl poet reading project.