YANG CHU‘S POEMS #318
On an autumn red-spotted leaf autumn
In Mount Hakusan chilly forest far
Away from people I recited aloud
My poems about
About the transport of the transient,
How the concept of permanence is a lie.
I heard the bright green tip
Of new emanated pine needle applaud.
Felt the pine needle’s lips kiss my cheek,
Knew I had not written in vain.
YANG CHU’S POEMS #317
With two Zen monks,
Sat as still as stones,
With me by bamboo.
I, a Taoist, said, “Listen to the music
Of the bamboo.”
“That is Maya,” they said.
I said, “Is that so.”
I gazed at the wine
In the hand of a man
Who was surrounded
By friendly gibbons,
The two monks saw me
Gazing, said “Wine is Maya.”
I said, “Is that so.”
I started staring at a girl,
Long, black, glossy hair,
Slender in her tight green silk kimono.”
The two said,
“She is Maya.”
I said, “Is that so.”
Years later we met,
Both the monks
Were called “Masters” now.
They asked me what I had learned
From my meditations and study of the Sutras.
I replied, “Maya is maya.”
“Is that so,” they both
Replied in unison
On an autumn red-spotted leaf autumn
In Mount Hakusan chilly forest far
Away from people I recited aloud
My poems about
About the transport of the transient,
How the concept of permanence is a lie.
I heard the bright green tip
Of new emanated pine needle applaud.
Felt the pine needle’s lips kiss my cheek,
Knew I had not written in vain.
YANG CHU’S POEMS #317
With two Zen monks,
Sat as still as stones,
With me by bamboo.
I, a Taoist, said, “Listen to the music
Of the bamboo.”
“That is Maya,” they said.
I said, “Is that so.”
I gazed at the wine
In the hand of a man
Who was surrounded
By friendly gibbons,
The two monks saw me
Gazing, said “Wine is Maya.”
I said, “Is that so.”
I started staring at a girl,
Long, black, glossy hair,
Slender in her tight green silk kimono.”
The two said,
“She is Maya.”
I said, “Is that so.”
Years later we met,
Both the monks
Were called “Masters” now.
They asked me what I had learned
From my meditations and study of the Sutras.
I replied, “Maya is maya.”
“Is that so,” they both
Replied in unison
Duane Locke
Duane Locke lives in rural Lakeland, Florida, next to a sacred underground stream, thick-foliage
concealed. He has a PH. D in "Metaphysical Poetry." and as of May, 2008, has had 5,971 poems
published (none self-published or paid to be published)--- needs 29 to have 6,000 published. For a
list of his book publications, poetry, scholarly, and philosophical works, plus other information, see
the Google Search Engines. His E mail is duanelocke@gmail.com and he welcomes correspondence.
concealed. He has a PH. D in "Metaphysical Poetry." and as of May, 2008, has had 5,971 poems
published (none self-published or paid to be published)--- needs 29 to have 6,000 published. For a
list of his book publications, poetry, scholarly, and philosophical works, plus other information, see
the Google Search Engines. His E mail is duanelocke@gmail.com and he welcomes correspondence.
