Sunday, February 28, 2021
TEN OLD MONK POEMS (4)
THE OLD MONK
REBUKED THEM:
You make up words
as if you can
make up meaning.
~
I WOULDN'T
I wouldn't say these things
if I didn't have to,
the old monk said.
Help. Get me out.
~
DON'T ARGUE
Don't argue with it,
the old monk said,
if it won't argue back.
You'll just sound silly.
~
WHEN SHE TURNS
When she turns around
and makes that face,
the old monk says,
just do it.
~
SO YOU LIKE
So you like the
POUND POUND POUND
of the line?
You must play bass,
the old monk said.
~
THE OLD MONK / LOOKED
The old monk
looked at his hands
and saw his father.
He looked in the mirror
and saw him there too.
~
IS IT
Is it
the stars talking,
the old monk wondered,
or the cicadas.
Do we even
have cicadas?
~
THE OLD MONK SAID
This is always
the most peaceful
moment, now,
just before I go
to sleep, or die.
~
THE OLD MONK'S
FIRST NOVEL
There are more characters
than I have time
to introduce, he said.
So just imagine them.
~
THE TASTE
The taste of it,
the last of the old wine,
the old monk said.
There's always
next summer.
~
IN SOME LANGUAGE (13)
Saturday, February 27, 2021
WE NEED
SNOWY MORNING
Friday, February 26, 2021
NOT LIKE DAWN
Not like dawn
or dusk, the
suddenness
of it. All
the autumn
leaves falling
today, all
their blessings
lost. How to
tell you more
than that in
wind like this?
IN SOME LANGUAGE (12)
Thursday, February 25, 2021
THAT WHICH PASSES
That which passes
is lost until
the stars conspire
to end it. Then
everything
that was will be
in that moment,
compacted, and
darkness will know
how much is gone
and how little
is left to hope.
THE LIGHT
Wednesday, February 24, 2021
THE CHILL MEANS
The chill means
autumn, means
winter is
not far off,
means the world
is what it
is in this
moment, this
all we have.
IN SOME LANGUAGE (11)
Tuesday, February 23, 2021
THIS WALKING HEART-
This walking heart-
beat. Is it enough
to wait, patient,
while the world comes
to its senses? Is
it enough to hope?
LOVE
Love
in the moment of
falling from,
letting go,
is love, as when
the skin
does not know
what the skin
knows.
Monday, February 22, 2021
SHADED GREY
Shaded grey,
a dull sun
behind it.
Autumn leaves.
Whatever
stays now wants
to be here.
Even wind
in these trees,
loving them.
THE WITHINNESS
Sunday, February 21, 2021
TEN OLD MONK POEMS (3)
DON'T ASK YOURSELF
Don't ask yourself,
You might not like
what you answer,
the old monk says.
That's the whole plot
in a few simple words.
~
THE STARS ARE
The stars are shifting,
the old monk said.
The horses have run
away, yet the stars
don't worry. Every
moment is tomorrow.
~
WE HAVE SO MUCH
We have so much
infinity,
the old monk said.
It never ends.
~
IF YOU DON'T
If you don't do
what you always do,
the old monk said,
you may not do
what you need to.
~
I HAVE SAID
I have said so much,
the old monk said,
the silence is full.
~
WHEN I SEE
When I see the same thing
I say the same thing,
the old monk said,
when saying something new
wouldn't be fruitful.
~
THE MOON
The moon
opens the sky,
the old monk says.
The pines sing
an old song.
Listen:
the night says
How long,
how long?
~
LEARNING THIS
Learning this silence,
the old monk says,
prepares you for
the next one.
~
YOU CANNOT
You cannot
mean silence,
the old monk says,
when you keep
speaking in words.
~
WHEN YOU KNOW
When you know,
the old monk says,
you know
you can say
nothing.
You own
your silence.
The silence
owns you.
~
IN SOME LANGUAGE (10)
Saturday, February 20, 2021
BIRDS
The big birds
and small ones,
the weed birds
and beauties,
God's creatures
on the wing
to wherever
heaven is.
NOT YOUR BODY
Friday, February 19, 2021
ENOUGH
Enough, he says,
when wind fills his
breath, when the sky
roars, when the birds
stay low. Wisdom
is turning where
the road goes.
IN SOME LANGUAGE (9)
Thursday, February 18, 2021
HE WALKS
IT COMES
Wednesday, February 17, 2021
YES, LAUGH
Yes, laugh at him,
the old man who
loves the world
too much. Love
is a laughing
matter for him.
Listen: God is
laughing too.
IN SOME LANGUAGE (8)
Tuesday, February 16, 2021
AN IMAGE OF
the black hole
at the center
of the Milky Way --
I think
of us loving
into the night,
the darkness
not something
we have feared.
We empty
ourselves into it
again and again.
Loss fills us
for another
go at hope.
EVEN HERE
Monday, February 15, 2021
I AM SETTING
DAWN
Sunday, February 14, 2021
TEN OLD MONK POEMS (2)
NOTHING IS
Nothing is certain
the old monk says,
until you let go
of knowing.
~
ON THE MOUNTAIN
On the mountain,
when you call my name,
the old monk says,
only crows will answer.
~
I HAVE WRITTEN
I have written
all these lines
these many years,
the old monk said,
to find the one
I'm looking for.
~
IF I WERE
If I were as wise
as you think I am,
the old monk said,
I would already
be a star fixed
high in the sky.
~
WITHOUT LOVE
Without love, yes,
the old monk says,
life goes on. But not
without music.
~
ZEN IS
Zen is
in the things
of this world,
the old monk says,
and beyond them.
It is both
and neither.
~
SO MANY MEN
So many men,
the old monk says,
are busy in
the business
of this world
when what they
should do is
loaf like God.
~
TO BE THIS
To be this,
whatever
this is, and
fully this,
the old monk
says, is
the emptiness
you seek.
There is your
entrance.
~
YOU KEEP FILLING
You keep filling
the emptiness,
the old monk says,
when emptiness is
where joy lives.
~
I WOULD NOT
I would not
keep preaching,
the old monk says,
but you still don't
understand
the stillness.
~
IN SOME LANGUAGE (7)
Saturday, February 13, 2021
I WANT AT LAST TO BE HONORED
I want at last to be honored,
not for me, but for the work
I've done, for the moments I have
recorded, for the light I have
praised, the trees I have sung of,
the birds, oh, yes, the birds. That these
least small things shall not be lost,
I want at last to be honored.
HOLD ME
Friday, February 12, 2021
AUTUMN COMES
Autumn comes
like the sky of birds
heading south.
The long wings
of sandhill cranes
leave brief shadow.
The turn towards
winter marks
a line you cross,
or don't. Go
ahead, say it:
life goes on.
BIRD
Thursday, February 11, 2021
LA PETITE MOMENT
Already
something is
come and you
cannot hold
the blue white
silver sear
electric
surge of its
mercury
tingling
again and
oh again.
And we
collapse
as if God
has touched us
where we live.
IN SOME LANGUAGE (6)
Wednesday, February 10, 2021
BLESSED BY BIRDS
Blessed by birds
and morning,
by the light,
the retreat of
night. The world
is lovely
once again,
the day bright
and forgiving.
We walk out
into the
uselessness
of beauty,
yes, yes, oh,
yes, and beauty
will have its
way with us.
THE MOUNTAIN LOCUST
The mountain locust
stands in place of
the father who died.
The wind moves its
branches, which
moves my heart.
Tuesday, February 09, 2021
HOG MANURE
LIKE STARS
Monday, February 08, 2021
HE WAS A MAN
He was a man
who didn't need to
talk about it.
It was enough
to bend and grunt and
shove and get it
done. Another
morning would be one
more go at chores,
another day
in the fields, cattle
to be fed, hogs,
chickens. No one
said, Do this. Do that:
he just did it.
Yes, God might say,
Let there be light, but
my father would
be the one to
flip the switch, doing
what was needed.
THUNDER
Sunday, February 07, 2021
TEN OLD MONK POEMS (1)
I OFFER
I offer
a plum blossom,
you want wisdom,
the old monk says.
I offer
wisdom, you don't
know what you want.
~
THE BODY IS
The body is
its own joy,
the old monk says.
Enjoy it.
~
SWEEP YOUR ROOMS
Sweep your rooms
as you must,
the old monk says.
You know they hold
your soul hostage
even as
the moon brightens
the evening silence.
~
CONTRADICTION
Contradiction
is the best teacher,
the old monk says.
That is why
I teach it.
~
NOTHING IN
Nothing in
the sound of wind
is the wind,
the old monk says.
~
AH, MOONLIGHT
Ah, moonlight
on the snow,
the old monk says.
An emptiness.
Someone waits
to give us
the poem.
~
WHEN YOU TRANSLATE
When you translate,
the old monk says,
do not translate
the words: translate
the revelation.
~
THE SCHOLARS WILL SAY
The scholars will say
what scholars say,
the old monk says.
I say, mostly
I don't care.
~
DETACHMENT IS NOT
Detachment is not
something the body does,
the old monk says.
It belongs to the hope
you have in your heart.
~
WHOEVER SPEAKS
Whoever speaks
in my poems,
the old monk says,
is not me, now,
in this moment.
How could it be?
~
SNOW SO
Saturday, February 06, 2021
LANDSCAPE IN WINTER
THE SOUND
Friday, February 05, 2021
ONLY SO FAR
Only so far, then
the wind turns
cold and turns me
back. Letting go
is a morning chore
I don't do well,
despite the practice.
NAKED
Thursday, February 04, 2021
ALL MORNING
All morning,
wind against
the house. Winter
birds hidden
in their bushes.
The grey fields,
the grey sky.
Grey sorrow.
Hawk in his
tree, speaking
to death, death
speaking back.
TREES, LEAVES,
Wednesday, February 03, 2021
THE SHADOWS
The shadows
at the end
to whom my
father talked,
in the chair,
the corner
by the door.
Those shadows,
the kindness
of death.
BIRD. TREE.
Tuesday, February 02, 2021
JUST AN EVENING
Just an evening
in April and a car
passes, same car
as always. The village
stutters when it
comes to change.
Always the same
is what we want,
same car, same wind
in the trees, same
darkness and sorrow.
WINTER STORM
Monday, February 01, 2021
LONE GOOSE
BIRDS IN THE SKY
