Another Poem - version 3

Another poem

Another wisp of smoke

A fragrant cloud

That wafts from

The bedroom window

Across the hedgerows below

Until with many millions

Of cilia I'm ready 

To believe

In the inherent

Beauty of utterance

All over again

How like a jumbling tower

Built from the most

Ordinary of expressions

It may reach extraordinary heights

Simply by following a natural order

As with birth and death

Both rhyming and

Sequenced

Another Poem - version 2

I wonder which is better, version 1 or version 2?

Another poem

Another wisp of smoke

A fragrant cloud

That wafts from

The bedroom window

Out across the hedgerows

With many millions

Of cilia I begin

To believe

In the inherent

Beauty of utterance

All over again

Like a jumbling tower

Built from the most

Ordinary of expressions

But following a natural order

As with birth and death

Both rhyming and

Sequenced

Another Poem

Another poem

Another wisp of smoke

A fragrant cloud

That wafts from

The bedroom window

Out across the hedgerows

With many millions

Of cilia I begin

Believing

In the inherent

Beauty of utterance

All over again

A Poem for Frank O'Hara

This is a poem I wrote after reading the Lunch Poems for the first time.


-->

Just the other day

Frank explained to me

All about the light

He’d seen that seemed

To be eternal

A light I might add

That I merely comprehend

As being external to me

And likewise he explained the joy  

He beheld as something inexorable

That strikes me

At least sometimes

As remotely accessible

Not so much foolishly

Found in the wind

As indulged in

Whenever I happen

To be so lucky

An Artist's Prayer

This is a short poem I wrote this morning that is extracted from a longer work-in-progress that is provisionally entitled  My Life.

As if there might ever
Be serenity in such Art
Daily I pray to
Whichever Gods
Or incarnate beings
Might grant me
The wisdom to
Discern the difference
Between lines still
Needing change and
Those approaching perfection
And in peace to abideth
The world's indifference
But nonetheless with courage
To continue giving voice to words
That may better serve as
Transom to my soul

A Poem for Roger Waters

I wrote this poem (or maybe better to call it a song) after reading the poem by Du Mu that was said to have inspired the Pink Floyd song Set the Controls for the Heart of the Sun.  Is it mere coincidence, I wonder, that today is Pearl Harbor Day? 

* * * * * *


-->

Little by little

The night fills with sounds

The waters run deep

In darkness purple

If not overly profound

Please don’t set the controls

Unless you’re sure where

You’re bound

But if you’re one of those

Still inclined to search

For meaning in the lyrics

Of a song on the B side

That was said to be inspired

By a 9^th century poem

Then please

Please don’t be

Surprised to

Discover that

It’s otherwise

Based on a simple

Misunderstanding

Because if pigs had wings

Then surely bacon wouldn’t

Be quite so tasty

And if novices had leaves

Then most likely they

Would never utter a sound

It’s high time

It’s high time you

Turned your back

On the west wind

My friend

Whatever else it is

Please realize

It’s time to turn

Yourself around

It's time

It's time

It's time to 

Turn yourself 

Around

Ode to the Seductive Mode of the Dimly Visible

Oh to the equally

Seductive mode

Of the dimly visible

How I writher and squirm

Trying to overcome

The barriers separating me

From your realm

In my half-assed way

Seeking passage

Through an inner doorway

Towards an ascending column

Of pulsing light

From Gaza to Hollywood

Sightless and prophetic

Though with bleeding gums

Slightly pathetic too

Poem First Enclosed in An Email Written to Ken

this poem is written in thanks to Ken for the incredible help he has provided to me and Michel


Just yesterday
When you showed
Us your work for
For the Wolfsonian
We realized how reality
Is organized much
Like Photoshop itself is 
Consisting of layers
That may be variously
Assembled or not
And often synchronized
Though sometimes not
Nor always unidirectional
As the objects float by
Either which way 

Spampoetry -- the Genre Evolves

-->

Earlier this year I started a series of poems called Spampoetry.  My work on this series has languished but meanwhile the genre seems to be flourishing.  Just the other day I got this email – a tasty little bit of marketing spam – that arrived in my in-box as a ready made poem.  Here's the email I received.

 *  *  *  *  *

   

·                             Russ Qualidad  Yahoo Mail

To Me

Nov 6 at 1:06 PM

Your old dog has a leaky bladder.  Your spouse is overly fond of drink.  Your mother and father are both on dementia’s brink.

The roof of the old summer cottage is on the verge of collapsing.  Your supervisor at work scowls every time she passes.

Monthly bills and dental expenses, cups of coffee followed by packs of gum, it all adds up; the tens and twenties keep getting siphoned out of your wallet. Soon enough you’re reduced to counting the change in the bowl on the dresser.

Fortunately you can bridge all your cash needs and then some too, enabling you still to enjoy a few of life's little pleasures!

Look here to learn how to make smackers in plain abundance:

 kimmjobhomereports.com/breaking_news/

 *  *  *  *  *

Certainly something appears to be going right in my life.  I'm finally beginning to receive a much finer caliber of spam!

Discovered by Accident - by Du Mu

Here is a poem by the Tang poet Du Mu I stumbled upon this morning and decided to translate.  The poem has an interesting title -  偶题 - which literally could be translated as Accidental Topic.   But that doesn't seem quite right as the title for a poem as supple and profound as this is, as perhaps you'll agree once you read my translation.  Hard to believe this was written in the early 9th century.

The Way through

The human state of things

May be transmitted by verse

When we’re young

We tread light and easy

But that changes with

The coming years

Today finds us embarked

On a long ocean voyage

Raised on the waves

And buoyant with hope

Not yet arrived

At the Island of Peng Lai

Still short of those Immortal
Shores it seems

*  *  *  *  *

One explanatory note.  The reference in the last stanza to the Island of Peng Lai - this is a place where the Immortals resided located not so far off the coast of Mainland China.

Here's the text of the original:

  

道在人间或可传

小还轻变已多年

今来海上升高望

不到蓬莱不是仙

October Frost

A morning that

Passes for perfect

With the crispness in the air

The crabgrass wan and forlorn

With October's first frost

But a colorful swatch lies draped

Along the fringes of the lawn

Red maple and yellow ash

Even those JumpUps
Carmine pink and red
Still remain at the ready
For one more allegro leap
Dreaming of noonday's
Final blast of warmth 

I hope there’s an extra

Set of blueprints

For a day passing perfect
Just as today is

Somewhere safely
In storage

An Open Letter to Bill Gates On the Occasion of Downloading OpenOffice

Dear Bill --

For the majority of

My adult life writing

Legal briefs

Business plans

A novel and poems

Of assorted length

You've been my

Constant companion

As uber software vender

And grammatical scold

(in addition to other roles

you sometimes chose)

Long did I chaff under

The yoke of those lines

You insistently served up

Always spewing vermillion

If ever I ran even slightly afoul

Of some grammatical

Stricture you

And Mister Softie

Sought to uphold

When quite suddenly

Thanks to my laptop's

Untimely crashing

Yesterday I found myself

Bereft of further recourse

To the full function and use 

Of what I had previously

Deemed indispensable

But in such mishap

I found greater license

For reward as I'm now
Writing to inform you

Of my immediate withdrawal

From the ranks of the loyal hobbyists 

And assorted others who remain 

Licensees in good standing

Of your copyright
Protected work

As I have declined

To enroll as a member in

Your new software

Subscription scheme

(which by its evergreen 

terms seems more than
a tad overreaching)

Instead I've opted

To download a freeware

Program called

OpenOffice Pro

By which means

From this day forward

I am officially severing all

Legal connection between

You folks in Redmond

And the text of my poems

As henceforth my work

Will be exclusively based

On open source code

Very truly yours,

Joe Lamport

Another Poem by Du Mu

 

Here's my translation of another poem written by Du Mu in the mid 8th century.  This strikes me as incredibly contemporary in sentiment.

Parting from Minister Shen

What’s done is done

A ragged dream

What’s still to come

Is the road that winds

Into autumn

Old friends unseen

But remembered

Time brings us

To a sacred tower

Facing east

别沈处士

  

-->

旧事参差梦

新程逦迤秋

故人如见忆

时到寺东楼

A New Blank Document

A few thoughts about Enlightenment are coming into better focus for me this fall.  Maybe it’s not a mental state after all.  I mean maybe it really starts as a physical condition.  And that’s why so many religious disciplines cultivate a wide variety of physical regimens to help open the Path to novitiates and other seekers.

By understanding Enlightenment as more of a physical than mental state I don’t intend to denigrate it.  Far from it.  Only to suggest that it may be easier to attain in literal fashion -- as a physical lightening of the load we carry through life.  You can simulate this feeling by first carrying around a 20 pound weight in your backpack and then suddenly you remove it and right away you feel a surge of energy throughout your entire body frame.  It's like a jolt of oxygen enriched air in every breath you take.  (Achieving this same sensation without the benefit of 20 pound weights or oxygen mask, that's the challenge we all face.)  This too entails mastering detachment of a certain sort, a loosening of the normal physical bounds.  

A Dream of Blue House Street

I'm trying to resume the more regular practice of translating Chinese poetry.  It's such a great way to start the day.  Clinical studies have proven that a stanza of lyrical truth provides more stimulation than a cup and a half of the strongest dark roast.

Today's translation is of a poem by the Tang poet Du Mu.

Dispatched from the Heart

Down and out

By rivers and lakes

A bottle of wine in hand

A slender girl

With a narrow waist

Light in the palm of my hand

Ten years is

A long time to nap

Even to dream of Yangzhou

Laying claim to a place

On Blue House street

Is only a meager reward

遣懷

落魄江湖載酒行

楚腰纖細掌中輕

 
十年一覺揚州夢

贏得青樓薄倖名

 

 

A FedEx Package from JPMorgan Chase

October 1st -- for immediate release.

 It was a long summer but today I feel as if fall has finally arrived.  And with it my mood has lifted too.  Melancholy took root in my soul in June and then spread out in crabgrass-like fashion, growing with abandon all summer long; but suddenly it seems to have been stopped dead in its tracks, withered overnight, and in strange counter-cyclical fashion, I find myself invigorated this morning, welcoming autumn with a strong sense of promise -- the prospect of a fresh start in my front and back yard after all.

I want to take the occasion to announce the launch of 1000 new ships.  I am re-engaging with the world effectively immediately.  Take particular note that this blog is being rechristened as part of the effort.  Henceforth this blog -- which up until now primarily served as a dumping ground for all the poems I otherwise didn't know what to do with -- is being reshaped as an online journal, my day book in fact, where you will continue having the chance to read my most personal thoughts, although now recast in prose form.  It's all still at no cost to you, I should add.

The fact of the matter is that I'm not writing so much poetry these days.  The depression pretty much killed that off, at least for now.  If there's ever a change in the status of poetry and my soul, I promise you'll be one of the very first to know.

* * * * *

Just as I was in the midst of writing this post, the door buzzer rang.   It was the FedEx delivery man summoning me downstairs for a package.  So mid-sentence I lost my train of thought and went downstairs where I found waiting for me an envelope from JP Morgan Chase.  Now usually, I'm thrilled to receive a package and am all in favor of tearing them open right away, eager for the thrill and excitement.  It could be a million dollar check, after all, albeit not very likely.

But today was different.  I was so engrossed in what I was thinking about, I hurried back upstairs, set the unopened envelope down beside my computer, and immediately resumed writing.  That's how important it was for me to get the Lampoetry blog relaunched.  If you're curious to find out what's in the envelope (as I am now, quite frankly) you'll just have to come back for more Lampoetry tomorrow.

  

 

Ode to Serendipity

-->

Oh to the

Serendipity

Of things

To the zippity-do-da

Of life itself

To the almost but

Not quite eternal flame

Of happenstance

It used to be

People would be killed

For donning purple robes

As Jean Louis had only

Just finished explaining
To me that morning
Over strong French Roast

And there I was

Standing online

At the Staples store

When this woman

Behind handed me the 

Purplemost pen

It seems we shared

An uncommon name

After a fashion

And quite miraculously

It enabled me to

To compose this poem

In haec verba

Not even yet

Outside the store

Ere these purplemost words

Were fully formed

Poem for A Desolate Angel

-->

This summer I read a lot of Jack Kerouac – first the Dharma Bums, then Desolation Angels, now I’m dipping into Visions of Cody.  It’s interesting to see how Kerouac’s writing developed over the course of more than a decade and how his spirit steadily deteriorated; in style he seemed ever more daring but in his heart he seemed ever more inclined to despair.  

I think something happened in the few months Jack spent on Desolation Peak. Or maybe it’s more a matter of something that didn’t happen.  He went in search of an epiphany and all he found was a trash heap.

So this is my poem for Jack, the Desolate Angel

 * * * * *

There comes a point
In Mind's development
When stoned or not
Becomes all but
Indistinguishable

It's a moment of both
Enlightenment
And grave peril

The stage has been set
Like hostages our
Fate hangs on the balance
Of a final act


To scale the heights
Of Five Phase Mountain
The question is
Can we ever be up
To such a task

A Few Things I Learned From Edna

To borrow a conceit

From the good lady

Edna St. Vincent Millay --

There are a few important skills

A poet must acquire before

He or she presumes to speak

On behalf of humanity 

East and West will likely 

Start to pinch at your heart
Unless you first learn how  

To pump with your ventricles extended

Wide open in anticipation
Of the oncoming beat
For as long as you can

And if your soul has

A propensity for flatness  

You must learn to navigate

Sightlessly just like a bat

Because the sky is probably

Going to end up caving in

On you sooner or later

Are You Social

Are you social

What’s your Klout Score

Do you host in the cloud

Do you disambiguate visitors

To your home page based on

Cookie or domain name

Do you tweet

Do you soar

More and more

These are the questions

That matter most

Whether you’re a corporate attorney

A con artist or a poet

It’s all the same

You must learn to reap

The harvest in these realms 

Of purely binary gold

5774 - A New Year's Resolution

It’s 4 pm Thursday

On the first afternoon

Of the Jewish New Year

5774 to be exact

And the resolution I wish to make

Is to connect myself

To the ding an sich

Or noumena or whatever

You wish to call it

In a more direct way

No matter what

Immanuel Kant has

To say about it

From here on out

For the rest of my days

Poem Written While on Hold

Please hold

For a supervisor

If someone in your

Household is living

On extended life support

Please let us know immediately

We’re here to help you

At your local utility

Our number one goal

Is to help you continue

Breathing notwithstanding

An extended service interruption

In your area

Please hold for the next

Available operator

Visit Power Your Way

Dot Com for more

Information

Or else stay tuned for

The relaxing music

We have keyed up

To play for you next

For Gus the One-Eyed Cat

-->

Gus a one-eyed cat

Climbs to the top

Of the garden fence

And perches there

As if on the lookout

Where like stout Cortez

Atop Darien’s peak

He surveys all he sees

With eagle eye

Although in Gus’ case

I imagine his glee must be

Even greater as

He’s quite literally limited

To monocular vision

Two of his eyes being

Devoted entirely to his interiority

It’s only with one of his three

That he’s able to savor

These more distant vistas

To the Moon From a Staunch Admirer

Here I stand
The moon's

Staunch admirer   

As a passing cloud 

Transmutes your glory

Only moments passed full

It seems as if there’s

Secret knowledge 

Passing between us

Or is it just a note of sadness

As we head into the last

Lap before autumn

You’re truly less orotund

But ever more diaphanous 

With a nimbus extravagantly

Proportioned on a misty night

Such as this

Suddenly the gravamen

Of the complaint

Is not quite as expected

A slice has gone missing

For all to plainly see

It’s a figure and ground thing

And where it's trending

Is the opposite of plenty

You might even say

And yet
There’s promise too

Of harvest moons to come 

Harvest approaching soon

As one howl begets another

It’s the nature

Of moon 

Overleaping the bounds

Of things merely sub-lunar

Dover Beach included

Transporting us onward

And upward

In affirmation

With the coyotes

Because the loss of faith

Is no big deal really

Compared to the gist

That persists down

Through the eons

From one follower to the next

Breath succeeded by caesura

Each of us howling

Our verses in turn

Poem written in midsummer in the late afternoon

-->

Among the many reasons

I’m glad Marissa secured

Her appointment

As gardener-in-chief

This year the primary one

Being that her highly developed

Organizational skills

Have proved decisive

In the abatement of chaos

Within the backyard forty

We’re in the midst

Of achieving great new things

Breaking various bad habits

Thinking about raised beds

And experiencing record growth

Under the new regime

Of both edible and

Decorative plants

So the summer passes

With periods of searing heat

Intermixed with short but

Intense bouts of anxiety

And self-doubt  

Hot as it was today

Even the grass heaves

A sigh of relief now

That it’s come around  
To the late afternoon
And the aperture of coolness

Dilates with evening's approach

A Postscript on the Reclining Buddha

Several readers took time to reply to my last post and explain that yes, reclining Buddhas are more frequently found in Southeast Asia.  Another correspondent (Jacques Huynen by name) also shared this further insight - specifically that the statue I encountered in the lobby depicts Buddha reclining at the moment of entering parinirvâna, lying on his right side, head supported by his right hand and one foot folded over the other.

I find this incredibly moving.  The sensuous and physical beauty that I found so compelling in this statue may simply be better understood as the beauty of death.  As the Buddha said to his followers in the moment of yielding -- Strive with diligence!

As a further addendum, here is the result of my striving this morning - this is the poem I translated by Han Shan, the poet of Cold Mountain.

-->

What is created 

By hand best displays

Through warp and weft

The magnificent grace

Of the human spirit

By birth we inherit

The body’s limits

By death we become

A nameless ghost

From ancient times

It’s been this way

No matter how

We may strive 

To the contrary

White clouds come

And fill the interior

Thus teaching us the song

Of Immortal longing

In Midtown, Still Awaiting Enlightenment

-->

Either Buddha has graced us with His presence in Midtown, or not.  I’m not sure which is the case though perhaps that’s not surprising.  After all, Buddhism has always traveled best by adapting to local conditions. It figures that here in North America, Buddhism would flourish as an offshoot of the Self-Help or Entertainment Industries, or else be propagated in a cloud of misunderstanding and confusion, as is typical of our public discourse, enough so that an encounter with Buddha might easily pass unnoticed or else be mistaken for something else.

In any case, the other day I was on my way to a meeting in a lawyer’s office at 666 Third Avenue – a grade A building one block north 42^nd Street –when immediately upon passing through the revolving doors I encountered this stone statue, a photograph of which appears below –

A beautiful recumbent body that had been hewn from volcanic rock.  It looked to be at complete peace – inner and outer.   And I thought to myself – “How remarkable is this? A sight seldom seen in Midtown on my way to a lawyer’s meeting no less.”

Next to the statue, there was a small sign proclaiming this was Buddha reclining.  And I said to myself – “No it’s not!  It’s not Buddha at all.  Much more likely this is a statue of Guan Yin!”  As truly, I had never seen Buddha depicted in this manner. In Chinese statuary it’s much more common to see Buddha portrayed sitting cross-legged or standing hands folded in prayer; or monumental, as at Bamiyan, or with hands perched atop a big fat belly laughing jovially as a pendant on a charm bracelet.  And even when Buddha is depicted reclining, never have I seen the figure stretched out this way, smiling and appearing so at ease, smiling in a way serene and almost seductive.

Whereas the statue in the lobby reminded me very much of Guan Yin as I’ve seen her depicted, including a statue that sits next to my desk, which was restored and repainted by my wife.  There’s a striking resemblance in the pose and demeanor, as well as in the half-formed bare breast, that’s more typical of statues I've seen of the Bodhisattva of Mercy.

I will readily concede that I am no expert in Buddhist statuary and it’s perfectly possible that the stone figure in the office building lobby was taken from Cambodia or Malaysia or a temple in some other Southeast Asian locale, where Buddha has adapted to more sub-tropical customs and climate.  But it's equally conceivable the person responsible for placing the stone statue on Third Avenue may be even less expert than I, perhaps misidentifying the statue on the grounds that all Buddhas and Bodhisattvas look alike anyway.

So as I said at the outset, perhaps the Buddha has graced us with His presence, or not, depending on one’s point of view.  And in any case, whether it’s Buddha or Guan Yin makes no difference in the beauty of the figure, nor does it diminish the significance of the presence of Buddha spirit right here in the center of Midtown.