Blackberries

 We were just friends when

 you tripped on the blackberry vine.

 I got to my knees beside you and

Helped pick out the thorns,

Putting your fingers in my mouth to

Bite them out with my teeth.

Then to make you laugh I fed you

Sun-warmed blackberries

Lying there in the grass, and

Then I kissed you,tasting the

Blackberry juice on your

Lips and tongue.         

       I just recently got back from my annual trip to Texas to visit my folks.  My father got an apartment this past year so that he could be closer to my mother.  This way he could visit her daily and not have to make the long commute back and forth to his house.  I stayed with him at the apartment for a while, visiting my mother daily, before going with him on a road trip to the panhandle of Florida.  We did this last year and enjoyed the trip very much.  It was the same this year.  I think the best part was the driving together, seeing new things and just spending time together.  I can’t begin to express how satisfying this was to me.

               We came back to the lake houses and worked  hard for a week, mowing, cutting downed trees, clearing fallen branches, etc.  It was hot…107 one time with every day over 100.  I sweated…oh man, how I sweated.  I also got bites.  I’m not sure from what all.  I know there were ants and mosquitoes…but how to explain the rows of small bumps making elongated welts that have popped up in such unexpected places?  I thought I knew most of the biting critters…chiggers, ticks, spiders, etc.  But none of them produce the bumps that I got…and still have (scratching this inch long welt on my forefinger)!  This could be the result of handling poison ivy I suppose…but what about these (scratching furiously)?

I thought that I might put some of my poems in some of my posts.  This is one:

Reflection

When you ponder the

Calendar of your days,

Do you recall the times

Of strife, of betrayal,

Of heartbreak?

Or…do you recall the

Quiet calm times filled

With beauty and tranquility?

Basho (Matsuo Kinsaku–ca. 1644-1694) was one of the most influential of the Japanese poets, famous for his hakai and clear haiku poems.  I first encountered him while reading some of his accounts of his wanderings across Japan in which he combined his description of the journey with his poetry (The Narrow Road to the Deep North). Check the links for more on the life of this wonderful man.  I will be adding some of my favorites of his poems in the days to come…

This first fallen snow
is barely enough to bend
the jonquil leaves

Into the ancient pond
A frog jumps
Water’s sound!

(see here for 30 translations of this poem, probably the most famous in Japan)

Breaking the silence
Of an ancient pond,
A frog jumped into water —
A deep resonance.

On a withered branch
a crow is perched:
an autumn evening.

Wikipedia article

A very readable account of his life…part of this wonderful site

One of my most beloved poets is Ryokan, born in 1757 in Echigo, Japan.  He became a Zen monk and led a life Christ-like in its gentleness and concern for humanity.  This man fills my heart, he is a marvel…I include only a few of his poems here.

“When the moon shines

Clean and clear

Let me enjoy a plum-branch

In the evening so quiet.”

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“I know

The world is not

How it appears to be;

And yet how evanescent things are!”

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“Don’t you see

Things will change for good?

Both flowers early and late

Will vanish away sooner or later.”

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“Listening to the silent sound

Of the moss-covered stream

I feel myself grow as calm and transparent

As the soundless sound of the covered current!”

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Another version:

“Like the little stream

Making its way

Through the mossy crevices

I,too, quietly

Turn clear and transparent.”

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“Though travels

take me to

 a different stopping place each night

the dream I dream is always

the same one of home.”

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“Those days–I wonder,

did I dream them

or were they real?

In the night I listen

to the autumn rain.”

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“Blending with the wind,

Snow falls;

Blending with the snow,

The wind blows.

By the hearth

I stretch out my legs,

Idling my time away

Confined in this hut.

Counting the days,

I find that February, too,

Has come and gone

Like a dream.”

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“Stretched out,

Tipsy,

Under the vast sky:

Splendid dreams

Beneath the cherry blossoms.”

====

“Wild roses,

Plucked from fields

Full of croaking frogs:

Float them in your wine

And enjoy every minute!”

====

“The thief

Left it behind–

The moon at the window.”

====

I, me, you again after more than twenty years

On a rickety bridge beneath the hazy moon,

In the spring wind.

===

“At dusk

Come to my hut-

The crickets will

Serenade you, and I will

Introduce you to the moonlit woods.”

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Your finger points to the moon,
but the finger is blind until the moon appears.
What connection has  moon and finger?
Are they separate objects or bound?
This is a question for beginners
wrapped in seas of ignorance.
Yet one who looks beyond metaphor
knows there is no finger; there is no moon.

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This is one my favorites written at the end of his life to a young woman that he loved and with whom he exchanged poems:

“My legacy–

What will it be?

Flowers in spring.

The cuckoo in summer,

And the crimson maples

Of autumn…”

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And on his deathbed he wrote:

showing their backs

then their fronts

the autumn leaves scatter in the wind

Many of these poems of Ryokans were taken from  Dewdrops on a Lotus Leaf

Translated by John Stevens.

Wikipedia article

Another nice link