Why I Love Reading Poetry - The End
The end of our little wander through the three books that got me reading poetry for fun. This time we're in Japan and nature.
Still in Texas, my same friend (from Part 2) and I wandered over to a New Age-y shop to look over (smell over) some incense, which said friend said was the best incense that she ever had burned.
Upon entering the shop, I originally planned to entertain myself with astrology books, but I easily got distracted by a small vertical shelf of poetry. Already amazed that within a period of three weeks I had bought two poetry books, I scanned the shelf to see if "it" would somehow happen again.
"It" did. The Zen poetry of Ryokan (translated by John Stevens), One Robe, One Bowl, practically lept into my hands.
I'd read a Ryokan poem a few years back when I lived in Asia. I think it was in a book about Japanese culture as compared to Korean and Chinese cultures. I still remember the poem:
The thief left it behind-- the moon At the window.
It was because of this little haiku that I picked up Ryokan's book; I wanted to find it. Instead, I fell head first into his lovely poetry. Unlike Ryan and Neruda, Ryokan just describes the natural world as it is. His poetry is about a feeling--like the sun on your face, seeing rain on a window or hearing a sound in the dead of night. It makes you all shiver-y at the fulfilling beauty and empty loneliness of the world. Like with Ryan and Neruda, I continually found myself laughing, sighing and sharing bits with my Texas friend, who happily laughed and sighed with me, too.
Here are some of my favorite excerpts:
From "Poem of Early Fall"
My life may appear melancholy, But traveling through this world I have entrusted myself to Heaven. In my sack, three sho of rice; By the hearth, a bundle of firewood. If someone asks what is the mark of enlightenment or illusion, I cannot say--wealth and honor are nothing but dust, As the evening rain falls I sit in my hermitage And stretch out both feet in answer.
From "Dawn"
Staff in hand, I walk along the river bank toward the village. Snow lingers on the fence, but the east wind brings the first news of spring. The voice of an uguisu drifts from tree to tree; The grass has begun to show a touch of dark green. Unexpectedly, I meet an old friend. We converse together sitting on a hill overlooking the river valley. Later, at his cottage we open many books and drink tea. Tonight I am translating the evening scene into verse-- Plum blossoms and poetry, how wonderful together!
From "Keeping Out of the Rain"
Always, when I was a boy, I would play here and there. I used to put on my favorite vest And ride a chestnut horse with a white nose. Today I spent the morning in town And the evening drinking amid the peach blossoms by the river. Returning home, I have lost my way. Where am I? Laughing, I find myself next to the brothel.
I love how each line and every excerpt is like a picture among a string of pictures. (A montage? A mosaic? I don't know.) Maybe I find them beautiful because I've been to Japan and can conjure up all the wonderful nature before my eyes? Whatever the reason, I found such peace in that book and bookshop. And later that night, as I went to bed, I caught a glimpse of my Texas friend curled up by the lamp, reading the poems to herself.
This is the end of the why-I-read-poetry installments for now.
—Originally written by Sarah Dzida (October 2008)
Author’s Note: I originally wanted to re-share these scribbles because I started reading Ovid’s Metamorphoses! Here’s Part 1 and Part 2.