dis cur sive

dis cur sive: adjective

2. proceeding by reasoning or argument rather than intuition.

Poetry and jokes have at least one thing in common: unlike narrative they're not discursive forms. You "get" them or you don't, and an explanation typically ruins their beauty.

Unlike my poetry group friends, I know only a little more than nothing about poetry. But the attitude I've come upon after reading some over the years is this:

1. poetry isn't "about" things ... it is the thing itself, in a sense. It's not discursive; it's not an explanation.
2. to enjoy it there's no objective sense in which one must "get" a poem: stop worrying about whether your interpretation is what was intended by the author. Does it speak to you? That's enough.
3. as with other forms of art, take what you want, draw it in, and don't worry about the rest, or what others think, or what you think you're "supposed" to get. It's a subjective experience: you're the only one who knows the right answer. You get to decide.

This brings to mind a quote by Bernard Phillips who is, I believe, a professor of religion:

Do not seek to find out "what to do." Every "what to do" is only an abstraction. You will never come to the truth of your own being by riding on the back of an abstraction. If you know "what to do," you can be sure it is the wrong thing.

Beautiful.

Well, despite this elaborate introduction I want to do "what shouldn't be done" and give some background on the woodpecker verse:

Spring comes
The woodpecker returns
Every year
Until now

I watched a redheaded woodpecker closely enough over a number of years to know about him and the mannerisms that distinguished him from other woodpeckers. He came in spring and left in fall.

His summer home was across the street from my house in a tall pine tree that had lost its top in an ice storm ... a gray post absent bark and branch. Every year he returned, patiently drilling out a new hole in that dead tree over the course of several days. Then he would find a mate, raise his offspring, and leave ... where to?

He liked a peanut feeder I created just for woodpeckers, who have very long and round tongues (did you know?) that can reach into tree cavities and find things to eat. In the first year, he figured out how to reach into the feeder and get peanuts, and then every year after that he taught his offspring how to do so.

He became sort of a buddy of mine. One time I watched him being pursued in flight by a hawk. It was the most amazing and (in a way, for me) horrifying thing I'd seen ... right above my house. But in this life-or-death moment, with the hawk right behind him, the woodpecker maneuvered so gracefully, as though with perfect calm, and I admired him so. After so many curves and turns and twists he finally escaped danger. It was beautiful.

So I watched him like this for probably four or five years. The year he didn't return, I somehow knew he wasn't coming back.

I still wonder about him from time to time.

What's next?

Having said most of what I wanted to say about traveling, I've wondered what to do with this space for blogging. I've debated whether or not to make the transition into comments about ordinary life but didn't want to start something I couldn't, or wouldn't, continue for a while. Maybe I'll give it a go and see what happens ...

A friend sent a little quip about my posting only Ryokan's poetry because she has seen some of my verse and has said before I should express myself in my own voice. Fair enough. I used the word "verse" here to refer to whatever it is I write because "poetry" sounds entirely too ... something. And then I was having a conversation with a colleague's spouse, who writes poetry, and she asked to read samples of mine.

Here's how I responded to her:

Sure, I can share a poem or two, but I can't resist giving some background.

Although I love language and writing, I paid little attention to poetry in school. I just didn't find anything in Western poetry that spoke to me.

That changed when I stumbled across the poetry of Ryokan, a Japanese poet, recluse, and Zen monk who wrote verse in both Chinese and Japanese. Here's a translation of one of my favorites of his, a haiku:

Left behind
By the thief --
The moon in my window

When I show or recite that to others, I usually get a blank stare. But it speaks to me.

From Ryokan I "found" Tang dynasty poets like Li Bai, Bai Ju Yi, Wang Wei, and (my favorite) Han Shan, a somewhat obscure early Tang poet. Here's a translation of one of his:

I think of all the places I've been,
Chasing from one famous spot to another.
Delighting in mountains, I scaled the mile-high peaks;
Loving the water, I sailed a thousand rivers.
I held farewell parties with my friends in Lute Valley.
Brought my zither and played on Parrot Shoals.
Who would guess I'd end up under a pine tree,
Clasping my knees in the whispering cold?

And here's one by Yang Wanli that I love:

Afraid that the autumn wind might be jealous of the peonies
I cut a branch and put it in a porcelain vase.
The heavy curtains are drawn, the doors are closed --
Why do the petals keep falling off?

My Chinese friends say that translations lose the true meaning. That may be so. But these poems still speak to me in a way that Western poetry does not.

So about 5 years ago, during a time of personal grief, it was in Chinese and Japanese poetry that I found some comfort. It was literally the only thing I could read. And since then I have read a great number of translations, and I have tried to learn a little Chinese with the help of friends and http://www.zhongwen.com (a great website).

Not long after that I started writing verse to capture and intensify little experiences that I wanted to "save." So my tiny verses are almost like a journal of little occurrences ... they're simple, direct, and without structure or ornamentation. Then some friends at a Buddhist temple I attend mentioned their poetry group and invited me and I've been meeting with them for a couple of years now. They're actually quite talented.

This was the first verse I wrote:

Spring comes
The woodpecker returns
Every year
Until now

Here are some others ...

Bluebird on a branch --
Unknown
My affection

Putting the blanket away --
Her faint scent
All that remains

My pinestraw
Is better than my neighbor's --
Two crows nest-building

Three hundred
miles away --
someone.

Well, not everyone "gets" them. :-)

Some Ryokan poems

Like the little stream
Making its way
Through the mossy crevices
I, too, quietly
Turn clear and transparent.

Early summer, floating down a clear running river in a wooden boat,
A lovely girl gently plays with a crimson lotus flower held in her white hands.
The day becomes more and more brilliant.
Young men play along the shore and a horse runs by the willows.
Watching quietly, speaking to no one,
The beautiful girl does not show that her heart is broken.

The ancient buddhas taught the Dharma
Not for its own sake but to assist us.
If we really knew ourselves
We would not have to rely on old teachers.
The wise go right to the core
And leap beyond appearances;
The foolish cleave to details
And get ensnared by words and letters.
Such people envy the accomplishments of others
And work feverishly to attain the same things.
Cling to truth and it becomes falsehood;
Understand falsehood and it becomes truth.
Truth and falsehood are two sides of a coin:
Neither accept nor reject either one.
Don't waste your precious time fruitlessly
Trying to gauge the depths of life's ups and downs.

Maples on this mountain
Will shine no more
For when you are gone
How can they?

"When, when?" I sighed.
The one I longed for
Has finally come;
With her now,
I have all that I need.

We meet only to part,
Coming and going like white clouds,
Leaving traces so faint
Hardly a soul notices.

Orchid

Deep in the valley, a beauty hides:
Serene, peerless, incomparably sweet.
In the still shade of the bamboo thicket
It seems to sigh softly for a lover.

In former days
I did just as my heart dictated me.
But now, heart,
Obey me and do what I say.

Wild peonies
Now at their peak
In glorious full bloom --
Too precious to pick
Too precious not to pick.

At my house
these hundred plants
I planted and raised --
only to give them up
to the will of the wind.

Even in the remotest corner
Flowers will bloom
If we attend them in earnest
Nothing at all though we are.

How heartless white snowflakes are
That they should be
Piling thick on the ground
On the very day when you are coming.

In the entire ten directions of the Buddha's universe
There is only one way.
When we see clearly, there is no difference in the teachings.
What is there to lose? What is there to gain?
If we gain something, it was there from the beginning.
If we lose anything, it is hidden nearby.

Who was it said, "Names are the guests of reality"?
These words have come down to us from ancient times
But even if people know that names aren't real
They don't see that reality itself has no root
Name, reality -- both are beside the point
Just naturally find joy in the ever-changing flow.

It is a pity,
gentleman in refined retirement
composing poetry:
He models his work
on the classic verse of China,
And his poems are elegant,
full of fine phrases.
But if you don't write of things
deep inside your own heart,
What's the use of churning out
so many words?

The flower invites the butterfly with no-mind;
The butterfly visits the flower with no-mind.
The flower opens, the butterfly comes;
The butterfly comes, the flower opens.
I don't know others,
Others don't know me.
By not-knowing we follow nature's course.

Once in a while
I just let time wear on
Leaning against a solitary pine
Standing speechless,
As does the whole universe!
Ah, who can share
This solitude with me?

Everything turns out false;
Everything turns out true
According to your way of thinking.
Falsehood does not exist outside truth
Nor truth lies outside falshood.
Fellow truth-seekers,
Why do you seek after truth only?
I'd rather ask you if your mind
To seek after truth is true or false.

My hermitage is home to a cat and a mouse;
Both are furry creatures.
The cat is fat and sleeps in broad daylight;
The mouse is thin and scampers about in the dark.
The cat is blessed with talent,
Able to deftly catch living things for its meals.
The mouse is cursed,
Limited to sneaking bits and pieces of food.
A mouse can damage containers, it is true,
But containers can be replaced,
Not so living things.
If you ask me which creature incurs more sin,
I'd say the cat!

Late on a spring night,
with the world covered in darkness
A gentle rain mingles with the snow
trickling through the bamboo in my garden
I try to assuage my loneliness
but nothing seems to help
In the gloom I fumble for the Eihei Record
And burning incense and lighting a candle
quietly begin to read
Each word, each phrase is a priceless gem
Years ago, at Entsuji in Tamashima
I recall how my late teacher instructed me
in the Eye of True Enlightenment
At that time, I already had
some experience of awakening
And therefore asked to read the Record
under my teacher's personal guidance
That was when I saw that till then
I'd just been wasting my time
Afterward, I left my teacher
setting off on pilgrimage
Ah, what mysterious affinity
joins me with the Eihei Record?
Why is it, wherever I turn, I meet
the Eye of True Enlightenment?
I've read it over and over
I don't know how many times
But in it there's scarcely a thing one could fault
Having studied under teachers of every school
In the end I came back to the Eihei Record
finding myself at one with its words
Alas, what can be done?
Everywhere today confusion reigns
People can't tell a rock from a jewel
For five hundred years, it's been gathering dust
Because no one has eyes to discern the truth
For whom was this monumental work proclaimed?
I'm consumed with longing for the past
racked with despair for the present age
All night I sit before my lamp
Crying and crying
till the Eihei Record of the ancient buddhas
ends up soaked completely through
Next day, the old man who's my neighbor comes to visit
"Why are these volumes all wet?" he asks
I try to tell him, but I can't, and it tears at my heart
It tears at my heart, but I just can't explain
For a while I bow my head in silence
searching for the right words
Finally I say:
"Last night the rain came in and soaked all my books"

How should we then live?

It is important to realize what a difference a people's world view makes in their strength as they are exposed to the pressure of life.

Francis Schaeffer
How should we then live? The rise and decline of western thought and culture

What have I been doing in the last week or so? Well, for one I've been re-reading the text above, which I first encountered in college, as well as an eclectic mix of other Western-oriented commentaries like McNeill's History of Western Civilization and various books on Western philosophy ... all with the aim of intensifying the differences in what I experienced in Asia.

But I'm not equipped with the tools of a sociologist, so I'm mostly going on very limited observation and a lot of intuition here about world views.

One subject that I have tried to write about more than once, but have failed at, is "superstition." McNeill writes of Buddhism in China becoming "heavily encrusted with magic and superstition." Wikipedia defines superstition as the irrational belief that future events are influenced by specific behaviors, without having a causal relationship. I don't mean to be pejorative and, in fact, on subsequent inspection it's not clear to me the differences between magic, superstition, and some religious attitudes.

This recalls a famous Zen story:

When Bankei was preaching at Ryumon temple, a Shinshu priest, who believed in salvation through the repetition of the name of the Buddha of Love, was jealous of his large audience and wanted to debate with him.

Bankei was in the midst of a talk when the priest appeared, but the fellow made such a disturbance that Bankei stopped his discourse and asked about the noise.

"The founder of our sect," boasted the priest, "had such miraculous powers that he held a brush in his hand on one bank of the river, his attendant held up a paper on the other bank, and the teacher wrote the holy name of Amida through the air. Can you do such a wonderful thing?"

Bankei replied lightly: "Perhaps your fox can perform that trick, but that is not the manner of Zen. My miracle is that when I feel hungry I eat, and when I feel thirsty I drink."

I'll finish this later ... I'm hungry.

Is it toothpaste?

Point of reference: as the photo of my backyard shows, I live in a neighborhood that's heavily wooded. And because it's adjacent to a 5500-acre state park I routinely have deer wandering through my yard, hawks and other raptors overhead, and cute little tree frogs in the summer. (As I'm writing this a couple of deer are bounding across my front yard.) Nights on my back deck are dark and quiet except for the flicker of fireflies and the songs of crickets.

Since returning several friends have commented in one way or another on my delight at what was mostly an urban experience in Asia, with all the hustle-bustle and the social interaction that entails.

That seems at odds perhaps with my daily lifestyle and my affection for Ryokan's poetry, and his living alone:

It's not that I do not wish
To associate with men,
But living alone I have the better Way.
A lonely four-mat hut
All day no-one in sight.

One of my friends called me shortly after I returned and made such an observation. My response? Hmm. Another, when I commented on missing the daily interaction with people on trains and in subways and the random unexpected conversations, responded with a portion of the Taoteching, an ancient Chinese text by Lao Tse:

When people see some things as beautiful,
other things become ugly
When people see some things as good,
other things become bad
Being and non-being create each other
Difficult and easy support each other
Long and short define each other
High and low depend on each other
Before and after follow each other

Hmm. Can't argue with that. Still another sent me a link to a Forbes.com list of the ten best US cities for singles:

http://realestate.msn.com/Rentals/Articleforbes.aspx?cp-documentid=694846&GT1...

Why sent? Raleigh-Durham is number six on the list, and if it's good for singles it must also be good for socializing and for meeting people in general. Hmm.

Others said I need a change and that China is the place. Or that Japan is the place. Or New York? Ugh.

A change may or may not be called for, but part of the pleasure of Asia was that it was an urban experience of a different sort. How so? While some things there were familiar (7-11 and Starbucks), it was a chance to experience an exotic culture and meet interesting people in a relatively risk-free manner.

And then there was the toothpaste, I hoped. By the time I got to Nagaoka, the last stop on my trip in Japan, I had run out. So I found a little grocery store and an aisle with what were obviously toothbrushes and then fat plastic tubes of what I assumed was toothpaste. The puzzle-like qualities of just "getting by" meant I wasn't on auto-pilot ... the risk of brushing my teeth with denture cream seemed well worth it.