yuko shimizu 

 

what you should know to be a poet

 
 

all you

can know about animals

as persons. the names of trees and flowers

and weeds. the names of stars and the movements

of planets and the moon. your own six senses,

with  a watchful elegant mind. at least

one kind of traditional magic:

divination, astrology, the

book of changes,

the tarot;

 

dreams.

the illusory demons

and the illusory shining gods.

kiss the ass of the devil and eat shit;

fuck his horny barbed cock, fuck

the hag, and all the celestial

angels and maidens

perfum’d and

golden– 

 

& then

love the human:

wives husbands and friends

children’s games, comic books, bubble-gum,

the weirdness of television and advertising.

work long, dry hours of dull work

swallowed and accepted and

lived with and finally

lovd. exhaustion, 

hunger,

rest.

 

the wild

freedom of the dance, extasy

silent solitary illumination, entasy

real danger. gambles and

the edge of

death.

 

Gary Snyder

 

Sawako Utsumi

 

Rock slab seat
legs folded sitting alone

Not loathing noise
not savoring silence

The carefree clouds concur

Jakushitsu

 

 

The Tao

gives rise to all forms,

yet it has no form of its own.

If you attempt to fix a picture of

it in your mind, you will lose

it. This is like pinning a

butterfly: the husk is

captured, but the

flying is

lost.

 

Why not be

content with simply

experiencing

it?

 

from Hua hu Ching, Chapter 6

 

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The

most important

question we must ask ourselves

is, “Are we being good

ancestors?”

 

Jonas Salk

 

 

Clouds

grow heavy; thunder goes.

Rain drives in from the east, its patter

falls on the sides of the houses. Rain can be destructive,

wiping out boundary marks. But the soil needs care — ecstatic love

has sprouts now, and renunciation. Let the rain feed both.

Only the farmer with intelligence actually brings

his harvest back to his farmyard. He will fill

the granary bins, and feed both the

wise men and the

saints.

 

Kabir