There used to be this road
to get to grandma’s house.
It didn’t pass through woods
So there was small chance of getting lost.
And there were no wolves to trick us either.
It was just one road
Fort Weaver, I think it was called,
And it didn’t wind or curve
It just divided up the sugar caned flats
Like the cut of a cake knife.
Beyond, below the setting sun,
Dry coral and scrub brush
Folded up to the Waianae range.
It was hard staying up
All the way there,
Especially lying in the trunk
Of our red-stained station wagon Pinto
Baking like gingerbread.
Somewhere in the middle
I’d peek out the melting glass
And nine out of ten
I’d see the cube building
Signaling Barber’s Point.
Falling back
beside my snoring sister
I imagined the world was
In that box.
If I ever got a chance to go there
And stuck my hand in through its window
Giant fingers would reach from the east
And pluck me off the edge of the universe.
If I took a step through the door
I’d be halfway to the moon.
We’d always arrive late
For monthly otsutome
And grandpa and grandma
Would already be crowing their twenty one
Ashiki harai’s
Out of tune and out of rhythm
To the clapping furoshikis.
Dogs would probably join in
In any other neighborhood,
But out near Hau Bush
Only the roosters would lend a throat.
We’d creep in and kneel seiza
In some corner,
Sweat pinched and leaking behind our knees
And pretend to do the service sincerely.
At the ichiretsu sumashite part
My brother and I would part our hands
Extra wide
Like karate chops
And our sidelong eyes would laugh
Even if our mouths kept lip-synching.
After grandma’s sermon about
The proper positioning of men and women
it was lunch.
I barely touched the “old folk’s
Country style food”: gobo kimpira
And that stuff that looked like a slug
Tied with a rubber band.
I drank two or three cans of grape soda
Instead.
While the grown ups watched TV and talked
we’d sneak into the cramped potted yard
there were always cats to chase
(once my brother even caught one by the tail
and whirled it like a lillyhammer)
and there were black hens sneaking under
the fence to lay surprise eggs in the corner.
That was the grandma’s house I remember.
But everything changes, and nothing lasts forever.
Nowadays, golf courses and cookie cutter houses
and strip malls
sit where the sugar cane once held sway.
The wolf finally found Ewa, it seems
He ate grandma’s town and landscape
And dressed it in new clothes.
And all I can say is:
“What large developments you have!”
Well, I guess everyone needs a home.
Places to stay and sleep and dream
They need it more than
I need to remember.
And maybe in a Toyota Corolla,
Gridlocked in Ewa bound traffic,
buckled in a carseat,
a toddler between naps
gazes out the tinted windows,
Sees in all the neat new rows of houses
A toy universe that he can swat at and hold:
a background for all of his
beginnings.
Saturday, May 3, 2008
A Translation of Makahanyaharamita Shingyo (Great Wisdom Sutra)
“When Kannon practiced the discipline of enlightenment by relying on the deep wisdom, he saw clearly that the five aggregates are all empty, and he practiced the means by which one can be saved from all suffering.
“To my foremost disciples, I say that form and emptiness do not differ. Nor does emptiness differ from form. Form is another name for emptiness, and emptiness is another name for form. It is the same with the other four aggregates (reception, discrimination, volition, and consciousness).
“To my foremost disciples, I say that the accepted order of the world is but an empty appearance, and that there is neither birth nor death, neither filth nor purity. Nor is there either increase or decrease.
“Therefore, in the middle of emptiness, there are no four aggregates (reception, discrimination, volition, and consciousness). There are no six senses, there is neither form, sound, smell, taste, nor touch. There is neither consciousness nor unconsciousness. There is neither a root of ignorance and delusion, nor is there escape from the root of ignorance and delusion. Furthermore, there is neither old age and death, nor escape from old age and death.
“There is no means to attain enlightenment, nor is there wisdom, nor is there the obtaining of anything. By means of nonobtainment, one relies upon the bodhisattva’s great wisdom, and by relying upon this wisdom, one has no cares or worries. Because one has no cares or worries, one has nothing to fear. By removing oneself from faraway dreams and fantasies, one reaches Nirvana, which is always right where one is.
“Because the Absolute Buddha of the three worlds relied upon this great wisdom, he obtained enlightenment wihout greater. In order to make you aware of this great wisdom, I approve of this sutra of the great gods, this sutra of great brightness, this sutra without a greater, this sutra without compare, which is able to expel suffering, which is the truth without lie, and explain it to you.”
“To my foremost disciples, I say that form and emptiness do not differ. Nor does emptiness differ from form. Form is another name for emptiness, and emptiness is another name for form. It is the same with the other four aggregates (reception, discrimination, volition, and consciousness).
“To my foremost disciples, I say that the accepted order of the world is but an empty appearance, and that there is neither birth nor death, neither filth nor purity. Nor is there either increase or decrease.
“Therefore, in the middle of emptiness, there are no four aggregates (reception, discrimination, volition, and consciousness). There are no six senses, there is neither form, sound, smell, taste, nor touch. There is neither consciousness nor unconsciousness. There is neither a root of ignorance and delusion, nor is there escape from the root of ignorance and delusion. Furthermore, there is neither old age and death, nor escape from old age and death.
“There is no means to attain enlightenment, nor is there wisdom, nor is there the obtaining of anything. By means of nonobtainment, one relies upon the bodhisattva’s great wisdom, and by relying upon this wisdom, one has no cares or worries. Because one has no cares or worries, one has nothing to fear. By removing oneself from faraway dreams and fantasies, one reaches Nirvana, which is always right where one is.
“Because the Absolute Buddha of the three worlds relied upon this great wisdom, he obtained enlightenment wihout greater. In order to make you aware of this great wisdom, I approve of this sutra of the great gods, this sutra of great brightness, this sutra without a greater, this sutra without compare, which is able to expel suffering, which is the truth without lie, and explain it to you.”
reworked: erythro-sight
the pain(t) wants out:
wants eyes to stop from
drifting cross the traffic
there is something alive here
you'll run over it if
you'll run into it if
you'll see.
before the color freezes
as it in moments living crawls
across the surface of the moon
roving, courseless, coursing, slow
in too much air to breathe
in too much air to breathe
too much-
let it burn across your windshield
for but a moment, see only red
let the color give you pause
in your blind circulation
your endless exchange
of fresh for stale,
and stale for fresh:
there once was something alive here
it ran under you
it ran within you
you’ll see.
wants eyes to stop from
drifting cross the traffic
there is something alive here
you'll run over it if
you'll run into it if
you'll see.
before the color freezes
as it in moments living crawls
across the surface of the moon
roving, courseless, coursing, slow
in too much air to breathe
in too much air to breathe
too much-
let it burn across your windshield
for but a moment, see only red
let the color give you pause
in your blind circulation
your endless exchange
of fresh for stale,
and stale for fresh:
there once was something alive here
it ran under you
it ran within you
you’ll see.
The Paladin and the Ranger
Armor is just a couple of
Misspellings to amore.
And in the summer before the end
two friends tried
to journey beyond the rounded edge
of the world, and along the way
debate the significance
of this linguistic proximity:
One wondered
Whether it was nobler
To leap into impossible frays
Into the spear-fringed maw of doubt
And not feel a thing
And to hear in the ring
Of the clash of steely surfaces,
and in breath and thundered pulse,
how alive it felt to be in love’s approach
and resist its endless resistances.
The other thought it wiser
to slip in silent
in shadowed recesses melt
naked and feeling
awake and watching
each movement’s echoes and ripples
with nothing unrisked
nothing to betray
one’s position or intent:
Ah, how alive it was to be in love’s approach
when it’s stoney glance could instant kill.
But their common enemies withdrew
like clouds on the far side of high blue mountains
and left their swords and stratagems untested.
And the summer day,
like the endurance of their attentions
was short.
So, tired on the foothills
at the bounds of their experience
they etched the secret names
of each their mortal foes into the earth
daring them witness their glaring challenges,
before rain or time washed them away.
And then they went home to dream another day.
Misspellings to amore.
And in the summer before the end
two friends tried
to journey beyond the rounded edge
of the world, and along the way
debate the significance
of this linguistic proximity:
One wondered
Whether it was nobler
To leap into impossible frays
Into the spear-fringed maw of doubt
And not feel a thing
And to hear in the ring
Of the clash of steely surfaces,
and in breath and thundered pulse,
how alive it felt to be in love’s approach
and resist its endless resistances.
The other thought it wiser
to slip in silent
in shadowed recesses melt
naked and feeling
awake and watching
each movement’s echoes and ripples
with nothing unrisked
nothing to betray
one’s position or intent:
Ah, how alive it was to be in love’s approach
when it’s stoney glance could instant kill.
But their common enemies withdrew
like clouds on the far side of high blue mountains
and left their swords and stratagems untested.
And the summer day,
like the endurance of their attentions
was short.
So, tired on the foothills
at the bounds of their experience
they etched the secret names
of each their mortal foes into the earth
daring them witness their glaring challenges,
before rain or time washed them away.
And then they went home to dream another day.
Friday, May 2, 2008
survival
if the object of the game is merely to survive,
then you've got me beat.
there isn't a heartbeat here left to revive
it's just a lump of meat.
it's just a lump of meat.
...
yes, i am still alive. the four paper thing, that was somewhat of an exaggeration. they weren't four long papers, but just four short ones. two were on gifted and talented kids, the third was a reaction to an article on Response to Intervention and Positive Behavioral Support (two educational reform philosophies currently chic), and the last was just my philosophical statement regarding special education, particularly the new inclusion model.
i am now mostly over with the uh classes. i just have a few little ends to tie up. funny, but as i became aware of the end, i felt a strange nostalgia for it all (or maybe it was just the lack of sleep messing with my emotions). i mean, going to school, i'm all business, no real time for friendships or even interaction; and now, these people that i've seen only peripherally (because i'm so tunnel visioned) are going to be gone. i probably won't see any of them ever again. i guess you get used to the buzz of people, they become the landscape. and even if you don't particularly participate, that buzz kind of infects you, stains you...
one of my biggest deficits (and there are many) is my failure to appreciate people socially. a failure to "relax," you might say. i always couch my interactions in a specific context: i'm talking to this person for this reason. my whole life, i've been pretty directionalized (??), vectored in this way...
friendly interaction is just something that occurs in the in-between times, and, quite frankly, when i am so exhausted that i just allow it to happen... it's funny. one of my most common "social" statements is simply an admission of how tired i am. it is me being (or trying to be) human. i don't tell jokes (not any good ones, anyway), i don't gossip, i don't tell people what i'm thinking, or feeling (unless directly asked, or if the context demands it). all i do is say, "i'm tired."
tired, as if that is the only state that allows me to relate.
so today my schedule is relatively light. and (of course) it seems like i've got some kind of cold. i took some avelox, hopefully it wipes it out straightaway. i would like to write today, perhaps in a coffee shop, during the empty times between treatments. but i notice the weeds are growing, and the house is a mess, and i should do some accountant bs. life is just cleaning up after one storm after another. pay attention to the broken window, and the door falls off its hinges. fix the door, and a pipe bursts. etcetera. keeps me busy, keeps me preoccupied, keeps me tired. aw, what a wonderful life!
willow is really progressing well with her reading. she is also doing okay with violin, although we need to work with her on her motivation (if you do something, try your best, or you might as well not do it at all- i wonder if this applies to grown ups, or if it's just more of the double-standard crap parents dish out). aiden is spirited and talks A LOT; he competes with willow to have something relevant and important to say. i have to work more with him on holding the pencil (he tries to hold it like a "bird's head", but there is still something uncomfortable-looking about it), and i have to work with him on drawing his letters. also tying his shoes. and associating letters with sounds. everyone says, "he's a boy, don't worry." but i want him to be able to express himself in writing and drawing as much as willow can. i don't want him to feel as though he will always be "second." i often worry that we paid so much attention to willow, and are now giving aiden short shrift.
well, i'd better stop lollygagging...
sleep is for the dead.
and living's for dreams.
then you've got me beat.
there isn't a heartbeat here left to revive
it's just a lump of meat.
it's just a lump of meat.
...
yes, i am still alive. the four paper thing, that was somewhat of an exaggeration. they weren't four long papers, but just four short ones. two were on gifted and talented kids, the third was a reaction to an article on Response to Intervention and Positive Behavioral Support (two educational reform philosophies currently chic), and the last was just my philosophical statement regarding special education, particularly the new inclusion model.
i am now mostly over with the uh classes. i just have a few little ends to tie up. funny, but as i became aware of the end, i felt a strange nostalgia for it all (or maybe it was just the lack of sleep messing with my emotions). i mean, going to school, i'm all business, no real time for friendships or even interaction; and now, these people that i've seen only peripherally (because i'm so tunnel visioned) are going to be gone. i probably won't see any of them ever again. i guess you get used to the buzz of people, they become the landscape. and even if you don't particularly participate, that buzz kind of infects you, stains you...
one of my biggest deficits (and there are many) is my failure to appreciate people socially. a failure to "relax," you might say. i always couch my interactions in a specific context: i'm talking to this person for this reason. my whole life, i've been pretty directionalized (??), vectored in this way...
friendly interaction is just something that occurs in the in-between times, and, quite frankly, when i am so exhausted that i just allow it to happen... it's funny. one of my most common "social" statements is simply an admission of how tired i am. it is me being (or trying to be) human. i don't tell jokes (not any good ones, anyway), i don't gossip, i don't tell people what i'm thinking, or feeling (unless directly asked, or if the context demands it). all i do is say, "i'm tired."
tired, as if that is the only state that allows me to relate.
so today my schedule is relatively light. and (of course) it seems like i've got some kind of cold. i took some avelox, hopefully it wipes it out straightaway. i would like to write today, perhaps in a coffee shop, during the empty times between treatments. but i notice the weeds are growing, and the house is a mess, and i should do some accountant bs. life is just cleaning up after one storm after another. pay attention to the broken window, and the door falls off its hinges. fix the door, and a pipe bursts. etcetera. keeps me busy, keeps me preoccupied, keeps me tired. aw, what a wonderful life!
willow is really progressing well with her reading. she is also doing okay with violin, although we need to work with her on her motivation (if you do something, try your best, or you might as well not do it at all- i wonder if this applies to grown ups, or if it's just more of the double-standard crap parents dish out). aiden is spirited and talks A LOT; he competes with willow to have something relevant and important to say. i have to work more with him on holding the pencil (he tries to hold it like a "bird's head", but there is still something uncomfortable-looking about it), and i have to work with him on drawing his letters. also tying his shoes. and associating letters with sounds. everyone says, "he's a boy, don't worry." but i want him to be able to express himself in writing and drawing as much as willow can. i don't want him to feel as though he will always be "second." i often worry that we paid so much attention to willow, and are now giving aiden short shrift.
well, i'd better stop lollygagging...
sleep is for the dead.
and living's for dreams.
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