I am, you anxious one.
Don't you sense me, ready to break
into being at your touch?
My murmurings surround you like shadowy wings.
Can't you see me standing before you
cloaked in stillness?
Hasn't my longing ripened in you
from the beginning
as fruit ripens on a branch?
I am the dream you are dreaming.
When you want to awaken, I am that wanting:
I grow strong in the beauty you behold.
And with the silence of stars I enfold
your cities made by time.
-rilke, book of hours
a nice idea to figure out
a friendly attitude, somehow, somewhere
and the manners and the running energy
somewhere out on the coast
the shaded trees and the waves somewhere
down over on the Nye beach winds
the solid block of sculpted oak
chasing through every certain varnish
we though it was a friendly thing somehow
some nice idea put into words.
the guitars and sounds of the beanery seem to cohere, along with a double espresso and I feel as if the lights of the stars and the flowing rivers out there in green somewhere had an agent of consciousness somehow tied into all the changing lives and aspirations and difficulties that come and go between contributed food and bad coffee and the fleeing spectacles, and arrows trying to reach the other side, the pools hit by stones, the ripples flowing outwhere in some kind of perfected detail, and wondering why the people and the times reflect the unit of moss of the tree and the branch, coming up into each successive breath and each successive effort through all the continuations and stretching details. The beautiful sound of a song of a chord can reverberate through the wood out there, going through all the ideas and chaos that continually arises. The days are slowly getting more mild and the signs of spring are going to be coming out. The continual cyle of the seasons and the breezes going here and there, walking under trees showing the rippling effect from each detail.
I was getting kind of interested today in the book I am translating from Japanese, "Some Prefer Nettles", by Junichiro Tanizaki, because he was talking about the types of architecture in Japan. The stuff near Tokyo (in the 20's) was not as beautiful because the earthquakes kept destroying everything, and they had to use stronger materials. whereas the stuff near Kyoto was more beautiful and traditional. Of course 99 percent of all that stuff is gone now, but it is still true that Kyoto has more of the Old Japan feel to it than Tokyo.
Here's a fragment of a semi-true story that I wrote from years ago:
This new house was filled with stacks of all sorts of thing, and a man named "River John" appeared to live there. A small kitten played on a pile of intricately patterned clothes. It was dark. They were smoking weed, and the atmosphere seemed otherworldly and surreal.
Tracy appeared to want to take off. I let him drive. We drove in circles, it seemed, here and there, and it was cold out, and very late at night. We stopped somewhere, near a house where he knew people. He got out to see if they were up, came back, and we both got out and walked down a pathway, through a door, and into a trashed room with a torn up couch, the windows covered with plywood.
I think I was there the whole night, sitting on the couch, staring at the walls, watching people of mysterious origins and intentions come in and out, through the main room to the other rooms. I may have drifted off at some point. Her "sister", Lisa lived in the back room with her boyfriend. Lisa would come out occasionally and start yelling, sometimes at her dog. Sheila was doing laundry in the kitchen, and the machine was vibrating, or maybe it was the nervous look in her eyes that appeared to be a vibration.
a wave of wind
the grass outside
washing machine is humming
Sheila shoving clothes
into the washer
She can't think about anything else
dishes are piled on the counter
a pit bull exits
the rear room
somebody yells something
Another woman in the far room would come out at various point and appeared to be gripped by demons. She was contorting herself in some kind of dance, and I could have no clue for why this was possibly going on, or what could be wrong with her.
who is going there?
with springtime all adorning her?
with the leaves of downstream rivers
earrings and tassles in the hair
faded colors of greens and browns and stripes
details between the overenthusiastic vowels
something about the upright thought and stance
an uprightness have possible correspondence
a possible correspondence and a wonderful
demeanor, details, strivings, elements,
worryings between the changes of the seasons
through the paths out on the sound
There are good and upright things in life. To the good things correspond to the beautiful, and is morality and uprightness seen in outward demeanor? Maybe. Who the heck knows. Then again, there are those flashes of introspection, and they let me see into the elements of things, the deeper patterns, or maybe they make me go in a good and better informed direction, and that is all to the good.
The morns are meeker than they were --
The nuts are getting brown --
The berry's cheek is plumper --
The Rose is out of town.
But gradually things will climb back toward spring, in the long unexplained cycle of the seasons will continue, and people will follow their impressions and magic will come out of the woodwork.
Lean out of the window,
Goldenhair,
I heard you singing
A merry air.
My book is closed,
I read no more,
Watching the fire dance
On the floor.
I have left my book:
I have left my room:
For I heard you singing
Through the gloom,
Singing and singing
A merry air.
Lean out of the window,
Goldenhair.
-from Chamber Music, James Joyce
I don't think books are ever going to go out of style. One of the main joys of poetry is to look through books that you own, and find the poems that you appreciate. Everything about the tangible part of poetry is important, including the condition of the book, the typeface, the design, and on and on. Poetry, writing, and any kind of deep thought and creation of new words requires access to the written word, and the format of the paper book is not something that can be replicated by one device. There's room in the world for both approaches, of course. I'm not an ebook hater. But people that think that soon all books will be going into the junk heap are not really thinking clearly. Either that or they never read books, which is a shame for them, for what they are missing.
I keep wishing I had a copy of James Joyce's "Chamber Music" and "Pomes Penyeach" for the spare format of those collections. I can read some of the poems online, but it is nothing compared to when I had the actual book to read. I think I got that one out of Doe Library at Berkeley. Something about the paper of certain poetry books focuses your mind on the seriousness of the approach of the author. I am thinking in particular of Robinson Jeffers' book "Roan Stallion, Tamar, and other poems", now out of print. It has an excellent typeface, and a little introduction by the author describing a walk through the woods and some impressions of the weather near Carmel. One line from one poem, I remember reading in a coffeehouse in Portland in 1995. "Great enough both accepts and subdues, the great frame takes all creatures." That line had a big effect for some reason. If I had read it on a Kindle I would have no book to associate those poems with.
The Kokinshu was earlier. Large increase in travel and travelling monks. Saigyo was important in this collection. Focus on the poet looking at nature...laments, seasonal,...Fujiwara Teika: the compiler. These poems are knows as Waka: Japanese poetry. Haiku came later.
some strange guy
typing punctuating the silences
severe silence and papers in the late night
some kind of loud darkness
suffused with energy
designed toward cross purposes
ticking through the artifice
watered down into the energies
Okay,
done with that.
Now, for those of you who didn't get the message, I'm teaching a one day a week karate class. Here's some paragraphs about that:
Traditional Shotokan Karate is Japanese martial art. It is a lifetime activity that improves all aspects of physical fitness and promotes cognitive ability and emotional stability. Karate improves self-image and self-control while teaching the values of discipline and personal defense strategies.
Unlike many martial arts, Karate's foundation is in self-defense, not dueling or military engagement. Through training, students become more in tune with or aware of their immediate surroundings. This awareness allows the student to assess and avoid dangerous situations before physical confrontation takes place. The successful Karate-Ka never has a fight.
The object of Karate is to improve the participant in both mind and body. The structure of the class promotes organized thinking patterns, critical evaluation, problem-solving and listening skills along with robust physical training.
Chris Farrell has done Shotokan Karate for 28 years and received his black belt in 1986. This class will focus on the forms, applications of the forms, and going through the basic exercises. Chris is associated with the International Traditional Karate Federation and the Amateur American Karate Federation. He follows the standards for Shotokan Karate allowed by those groups.
Wednesdays, 7:15 - 8:45 p.m.
Cost: $5 per class or $20 per month.
And the link to the Corvallis Dance Center:
Dance Center
The flowers I saw in the wildwood
Have since dropped their beautiful leaves
And the many dear friends of my childhood
Have slumbered many years in their graves
But the bloom of the flowers I remember
Though their smiles I may never more see
For the cold chilly winds of December
Stole my flowers' companions from me
It's no wonder that I'm broken hearted
And stricken with sorrow should be
For we have met we have loved we have parted
My flowers companions and me
How dark looks this world and how dreary
When we part from the ones that we love
There is rest for the faint and the weary
And friends to meet with loved ones above
For in heaven I can but remember
When from earth my soul shall be free
There no cold chilly winds of December
Shall steal my companions from me
-Carter Family, Faded Flowers
Love meet me in the green glen
Beside the tall Elm tree
Where the Sweet briar smells so sweet agen
There come wi me
Meet me at the sunset
Down in the green glen
Where we've often met
By hawthorn tree and foxes den
Meet me by the sheep pen
Where briers smell at een
Meet me i the green glen
Where white thorn shades are green
Meet me in the green glen
By sweet briar bushes there
Meet me by your own sen
Where the wild thyme blossoms fair
Meet me by the sweet briar
By the mole hill swelling there
When the west glows like a fire
-John Clare
this morning in the heat
around the cats and wood
i said i'll not be around long
i'll soon be going beneath the ground
cracks on a pavement gray
take tears of pain upon my bones
in all things in the wear
the oldness, sadness, and decay
an old man came up to me
his beard a white and shiny bright
he never said a word
and yet i hear his voice a-shake.
A good karate class can completely obliterate any pointless line of reasoning you may have been going down, and reorient you toward a completely pointless and yet perfectly coherent and inwardly unambiguous system.
This World is not Conclusion
Vocabulary from the last story I was trying to read, "Eagle and Sky" by Ibuse Masuji.
峠 とうげ peak
尾根 おね mountain ridge
鷲 わし eagle
栂 つが hemlock
猛ぎん もう bird of prey
獲物 えもの game
うっとり entranced
恍惚 こうこつ ecstasy
撮影 さつえい photographing
崖 がけ cliff
吠える ほ bark
膳 ぜん small table
邸 やしき mansion
譲る ゆず turn over, assion
長兄 ちょうけい eldest brother
勝手 かって one's own way
遣る瀬無い やるせない cheerless
塀 へい wall
容貌 ようぼう looks
車掌 しゃしょう conductor
猛禽 もうきん bird of prey
後援 こうえん support, backing
Is there a sign over every bookstore that I am not seeing that says "Cell phone talking area"? Where do people get the idea that it is okay to go into a bookstore and chatter away on their cell phones? I know it is cold outside or noisy or whatever, but that doesn't mean we want your inconsiderate self in here where we are actually trying to read and look at books, not listen to how your colonoscopy went or which movie you need from the video store. Go back outside and freeze, or just hang up the phone.
These guys are finally starting to play as well as the quality of their instruments. I remember them playing a completely pathetic version of "Southern Man", but practice seems to be getting them into a kind of cool rocking zone.
John Cheever is an amazing writer. Check his stuff out. I was surfing through all the back issues of the New Yorker that are available to subscribers yesterday, because they were nice enough to provide links to all of the stories that J.D. Salinger published over the years. It was interesting to read through them in their original typeface, with the original advertisements, everything exactly as it was in the original magazine when it came out. I realized that Cheever was also probably in there somewhere, so I did a search and read one of his stories. He has a distinct and gripping style, but not overstated or even loud in any way.
"the band was not so much playing music as murdering the silence with a vulgar, ferocious energy." LOL. -from Victory, by Joseph Conrad.
There is a set way to do every kata. Of course there can be variations, but the kata has to work with the application that you have in mind. At the same time, there are certain principles that remain more or less the same. For example, the tension, inside and outside, in the stances works the same way in every case. There is a certain coordination that will allow maximum speed through stepping techniques, coordinated with their upper body movements. If one always strives to move in that way, then in a real world fighting situation, things may not be so perfect, but your technique will be stronger and faster and will have less extraneous and unnecessary motion than it would otherwise. Shotokan karate as taught by Nishiyama was optimized for speed and for maximum impact for each technique, combined with the greatest possible stability. It is an amazing system and a genuinely new invention in the way the body can coordinate through technique.
life is a jaded path and a soporific meandering....
Here's a bizarre fragment of a story. Completely fictional.
I walked up over the tracks and came to the railroad crossing sign. It looked and felt satanic in the predawn cold, and I felt an evil sort of energy. Down the street, past some trailer parks of the wrecked variety, and the "King Kone", weird-ass fast food shack, I came upon an old and twisted white church. A cat was sitting in front of it, as if waiting for me. I stopped, and then passed by. The street felt more and more threatening, and a strange looking fat guy came out of a wrecked trailer. There was evil looking detritus strewn out all over the front of that trailer. He said "I can't see who it is!", maybe at me, or maybe at someone else. Trucks were rushing by, all the same make and model all in perfect condition, all zooming their engines. I started thinking I was going being watched, but there was a girl my age looking at me. We talked, and she gave me a brownie and some chocolate milk, and blew her whistle at the trucks, called them weak, and said she was just waiting to go to church with her aunt. She said we are all sons and daughters of hippies, and she was getting nervous. I was too. There was a white truck just down the way, revving its engine. I thought I was trapped at that point by some demonic force that was completely foreign to me. We sat down next to a building, and a long-haired type guy came by on a strange long bicycle that looked as if it was custom made and then covered in dirt and grime. He sat down. He said he was going to get propane.
long beard waving in the wind
strange long and silent bicycle
down the dark streets
going across town
looking for some propane.
