down stream

snow-swallowed valley

only the

winding river . . .

black fluent brush-stroke

boncho

~

not very far from here

a stream

makes its way through

the woods

fed by the countless springs

that trickle

down the valley sides

its shallow body

flows over

water rounded pebbles

making a music

that can't be contained

in words.

the sound of the stream

is as gentle

as gentle can be.

each pebble

feeling the water

flowing over its polished body

rings a tiny water chime

and in the clear air

of a winter morning

mingling

with the water's stony chimes

it's the

slow gentled

music

of my heart

i hear.

wind fingers

silver-white fingers

of wind

stroke

entangled

bare

winter trees

cold caresses

the warmth

well-hidden

bitter winter wind --

blowing now

yet no leaves to drop

natsume sôseki

belonging

it's not so

very far

to my mother's

home

the journey allows

for a blurring of worlds

to a place

we know as

belonging

yes is a pleasant country

this morning’s listening comes courtesy of

swiss singer susanne abbuehl.

her disc, “compass” is breathtaking in its ability to take complex text

and place it in a very listenable and yet challenging musical frame.

the music is sparse and economical,

giving susanne’s voice the opportunity to slip in and around,

through and under the assemblage.

go here to see and hear a sample of susanne’s work.

listen here to a work written by ee cummings and sung by susanne:

not a breath

snow clouds in the sky

not a breath of wind moves

in the winter woods

through the trees

a doorway

blending with the air

i pass through

into a hushed

reverent

place

where treasures

in the form of

water, snow

and dried leaves

form the currency

of a world

caught

within this world

gently worn

near my mother's home

at the water's edge

ice and pebbles

dance

backwards and forwards

side-to-side

in the ebb and flow

of the waves

much like lovers

shaping

each others destiny

as much

as they are being shaped

shining wings

on my walk to school

a form in the snow.

i stop long enough

to catch my breath -

for it had escaped

without my knowing.

oh give me wings

for my back,

shining wings

which seek

only virtue

mariko kitakubo

the bridge

i was making my way through a valley

alongside a small stream

still running

in mid winter!

my heart leapt

when i saw this

i leaned against a tree

in wonder.

first snow

falling

on the half-finished bridge.

matsuo basho

entangled

mornings like this

i wake up

and

make my way

down the stairs.

sitting

still

i think -

so

here i am.

my coming, my going --

two simple happenings

that got entangled.

kozan ichikyo

the face of frost

in the chill

of a winter morning

even the rocks

bravely wear

the face

of the night's frost

~

deeper in the woods

under

a protective canopy

of snow-laden branches

the green fingers

of summer

still rest

on a boulder

ellen's question

ellen popped by here the other day and asked

"are you ever anything but serene?"

i thought about that.

about

me as a person.

about

the blog as an entity.

about

the connection between the two.

i know that there are vast areas of my life

that get little to no space here.

i work with really clever, cool, creative people every day.

i interact with over three hundred students

in some way shape or form.

i am blessed with the privilege

of teaching thirty of them.

i have three really lovely and amazing children.

one from my first marriage and two from my second.

i have a very small but deeply important to me family.

i have lovely and good friends.

i have dreams and wishes.

i have issues and challenges.

and of course,

i have thoughts and ideas

that go well beyond those expressed here

explicitly or inferentially.

i love a vast range

of art

and music

and writing

much of which

doesn't end up getting shared here.

i have tremendous sadnesses

and overwhelming joys.

i have inexplicable fears.

i achieve things that are difficult to explain.

i know things that i shouldn't

i don't know things that i should.

i am human,

and so i allow

the full range of states

that i am willing to take responsibility

for either creating

or welcoming

as a part of my experiencing.

i'm fortunate that

i have a refined internal dialogue

that allows me to manage

the trials

and tribulations

of those sometimes difficult states.

i've watched the blog

change shape as i have

gained confidence

in expressing an understanding

of what matters to me

first on the outside edges of my world

and then gradually

moving inwards.

so, that part of me that celebrates

the natural world

beauty

love

kindness

grace

peace

connection

joy

and

simplicity

is serene.

it finds its voice here.

in this place

that i've created and

that i especially like to visit.

i hope that that answers

your excellent question ellen!

with ribbons streaming

bright cap and streamers,

he sings in the hollow:

come follow, come follow,

all you that love.

leave dreams to the dreamers

that will not after,

that song and laughter

do nothing move.

with ribbons streaming

he sings the bolder;

in troop at his shoulder

the wild bees hum.

and the time of dreaming

dreams is over -- -

as lover to lover,

sweetheart, i come.

james joyce from "chamber music".

in the half-light of a winter morning,

light and shadow coexist side-by-side.

inside and out.

undulating across snowy hummocks,

thin threads of sunlight rise and settle.

the shadow loves the light.

because

without the light's knifes-edge glare,

the shadow

is merely darkness

~

"light loves shadow.

because without shadow's soft depth

light

is merely blinding glare."

dan gurney

some trees

in the still of winter,

trees stand tall and silent.

you can sense the life in them

but it's contained and carefully protected.

nurtured

like a small fire.

they stand still,

scratched against the thin blue winter sky

that fills with cloud,

empties

and fills again.

weak branches break off.

ice coats every twig.

frost cracks the trunk.

and still they stand.

still.

some trees

these are amazing: each

joining a neighbor, as though speech

were a still performance.

arranging by chance

to meet as far this morning

from the world as agreeing

with it, you and i

are suddenly what the trees try

to tell us we are:

that their merely being there

means something; that soon

we may touch, love, explain.

and glad not to have invented

such comeliness, we are surrounded:

a silence already filled with noises,

a canvas on which emerges

a chorus of smiles, a winter morning.

placed in a puzzling light, and moving,

our days put on such reticence

these accents seem their own defense.

john ashbery

the snow man

for many people,

winter is a difficult time.

cold, dark, without cheer.

i understand that.

so i have found a way,

a means by which i can live

with those very real features

of what - for canadians in the eastern woodlands -

constitutes as much as one third (or more)

of the calendar year.

you see,

for me

the arrival of snow brings with it

the rekindling of memories

of winters long past.

the softening of the landscape

softens the eyes and the heart.

wallace stevens wrote about the experiencing of winter

as a means for understanding

the apparent emptiness

of a winter landscape.

it gifts us with a rich metaphor

for "the nothing that is".

the snow man

one must have a mind of winter

to regard the frost and the boughs

of the pine-trees crusted with snow;

and have been cold a long time

to behold the junipers shagged with ice,

the spruces rough in the distant glitter

of the january sun; and not to think

of any misery in the sound of the wind,

in the sound of a few leaves,

which is the sound of the land

full of the same wind

that is blowing in the same bare place

for the listener, who listens in the snow,

and, nothing himself, beholds

nothing that is not there and the nothing that is.

wallace stevens

pull back the curtains

pulling back the curtains

on a day . . .

icy fish swim by in a sea blue sky.

strange alien forms stick their tongues out . . .

and otherworldly sailboats drift by

hello world!

i like for you to be still

i read this as a love poem.

not a love poem

that a person might share with someone else.

a poem that you might choose to share

with the allness of everything.

i like for you to be still

it is as though you are absent

and you hear me from far away

and my voice does not touch you

it seems as though your eyes had flown away

and it seems that a kiss had sealed your mouth

as all things are filled with my soul

you emerge from the things

filled with my soul

you are like my soul

a butterfly of dream

and you are like the word: melancholy

i like for you to be still

and you seem far away

it sounds as though you are lamenting

a butterfly cooing like a dove

and you hear me from far away

and my voice does not reach you

let me come to be still in your silence

and let me talk to you with your silence

that is bright as a lamp

simple, as a ring

you are like the night

with its stillness and constellations

your silence is that of a star

as remote and candid

i like for you to be still

it is as though you are absent

distant and full of sorrow

so you would've died

one word then, one smile is enough

and i'm happy;

happy that it's not true

pablo neruda

the mirror of moments

like little windows

on a dreamworld.

a silent wind

frozen in the haze

of a winter pool

the slender wealth of winter

in the slender

wealth of winter

there are small riches

waiting to be discovered.

~

i like to read

a similar

acknowledgement
in my interpretation of
liu zongyuan's poem

river snow

a thousand hills, but no birds in flight,
ten thousand paths, with no person's tracks.
a lonely boat, a straw-hatted old man,
fishing alone in the cold river snow.

new year's day

two

very different trees.

two

very different perspectives.

on new year's day

i long to meet my parents

as they were before my birth.

soseki natsume