Early Winter Shi

Rainy dark night   but the rain almost done
listening to Beethoven   having arrived
again at the street that I've come to call home
still lingering a while with the radio   I've
along with the brood of companion dropsouls
fetched up once more on the penultimate night
of a year in a still-youthful century whose
real design if half-sensed remains hidden from sight

A Shi for Pragya in yonder New Jersey

The kind of friends I wanted in life were invariably found on social networks. I wasn't destined to have friends like Friends.

Pragya Mishra Thakur (in a Facebook status update)

My bosom chums are Facebook friends & tweeters
my cronies are all cyberspatial figments
how rarely are we "meet me on the street"ers
our friendship's toned with text plus pixel pigments

day after day we share our thoughts & notions
year after year we glimpse each others' lives
though parted by large lands & vasty oceans
we buzz one tone from far & distant hives
 

Comic Notions & Cosmic Ruminations after midnight: two verses

1.
I used to quaff sake in China
although it were known then as Joe
as parrot or mocking or minah
I mime the gestalt of the flow
at midnight Malkauns clears my head
I dawdle with cyberized chess
it's not been my fortune to wed
my wife-to-be lost my address!

2.
The sake is mild & organic
the YouTubed Gundechas intone
Machado of course was Hispanic
because God's obscure he's alone
when poets or painters depicted
the myriad conceits of creation
life liberated or conflicted
occasioned ennui or elation

"Fluttering" English Shi with borrowed 1st line

Spring involves a lot of fluttering
poetry bears a modicum of typos
where there's bread there'll oftentimes be buttering
half the time we're hypers   half we're hypos!
weal & woe   while tiresome   prove requisite
for long phases of the dream-drenched tale
if your soul articulates  the heck with it!
is that when they lift the mystic veil?


================================

poem's initial line borrowed from Rachel Dacus (via a Facebook status update)

Fu's Palace [English shi]

These days I pass Fu's Palace each morning   on my drive to work
Fu's Palace where my father would meet with his chorus   in years gone by
to drive through LA is to drive through the past   it's a kind of perk
but if past isn't past   is our calling it "past"   a kind of lie?
such thoughts engage this addled brain   on the drive today
if the meaning is seemingly locked away   who holds the key?
what if even the future is already past!   as some might say?
the past is past   & the present is past!   or soon will be


=====
Note:
Fu's Palace is the name of a Chinese restaurant located on Pico Boulevard in West Los Angeles.

 

Shih in Honor of My Art History Teacher [English Shi]

I read about James Cahill on my laptop
and recollect those bygone Berkeley days
where mind is purged of balderdash & claptrap
might truth emerge like hills behind a haze?
such hills beyond a river gleam forever!
yet parting at the shore proceeds apace
insouciant like Ni Zan in bright endeavor
who knew bland beauty doesn't lack for grace?

Hwy 5 heading south

Stopping for gas    while Richard Strauss is playing
three & a half hours yet    before LA
what is the music's    lyric flow displaying?
this is a thing our words    can barely say


(January 13, 5:09 pm)

A Winter Sojourn [English shi 詩]

Now back at home    after seven hundred miles
my weekend jaunt    up to Walnut Creek again
we live amid    a wintery dream of smiles
though spring is prone    to spring back into our ken
as fall is apt    to fall back into the plot
and summer's likewise    crouching amid the piles
of bricks that build    the fantasy game we've got 
when back at home    after seven hundred miles

"December rain" [shi]

December rain descends like olden days
soon orphaned in this world is every man
time passes dream-like in a clockwork haze
till altered proves the hue of every plan
what was our aim? is love within our span
or out of reach?  truth's veiled from our gaze
we but achieve what trivial thing we can
December rain descends like olden days

December rain in depth of night arrives
back in Los Angeles sits one lone chap
who fits the shoe?  who tinkers in our lives?
who manifests  like water from the tap?
within the heart remains enigma's gap!
what art without real striving ever thrives?
yet falling into mercy's ample lap
December rain in depth of night arrives

December rain!  come pluck the harp & sing
or with the reed   chart Rumi's tale once more
the soul (Kabir said)   hurtling on its swing
describes an arc from birth to death   what shore
would smile beyond Samsara's inkly lore?
how might one rightly view the simplest thing?
let mercy flood the room    ceiling to floor!
December rain!  come pluck the harp & sing

"Ways & means" [shi]

When the sun hides over the hill   the palms loom dark
the radio shares   a modernist music strange
you sit again in your car   beside Sunset Park
considering all of the   ways & means of change

At least it's possible now   to again proceed
at length may the puzzle's pieces   fall into place?
am I not a man? if you prick me   don't I bleed?
will I never glimpse   the sight of your candid face?

“antiquity’s game” [shi]

Fresh seaweed salad   & organic green tea
        while sweet old rock’n’roll   is playing
plug in the laptop   & return to the glee
        of antiquity’s game   just saying
chess is a pastime   bringing comfort to me
        in nocturnal cool hours   the fraying
webs of ambition   having worn out   thus free
        is the movement of pawns   like praying?

signs & clues [boomerang poem]

I sit in my car after work   & text these lines
in summer in Beverly Hills   azure's profuse
the bevy of palm trees make   tropical signs
the swirls of cigar smoke limn   adumbral clues

my keypad's not likely to bring you   breaking news
my brain isn't prone to afford you   mystic wines
to file my report in the midst of   greens & blues
I sit in my car after work   & text these lines

Facebook Status Update [shi / rubai]

Dusk nigh I type a line or two   sitting in my car
yon sky as yet a whitish blue   puffing my cigar
at Sunset Park beside the road   silent palmtrees stand
thoughts dangle as the dark descends   friends remain afar

"on a bench" [shi]

I sit on a bench in Walnut Creek on Sunday
a tiny bee on a green leaf perches briefly
soon I join the stream of ambling souls who someday
will attain life's nectarean bliss serenely


[a mobile-phone composition]

"cellphone self-portrait" [quatrain]

Snap your cellphone self-portrait at 10:28 pm
after day in the city a'drumming up work on Drumm
& old Market Street (Sarbucks & agencies) wonder when
the itinerant lifestyle may simmer itself down some?

Questions of identity on Venice Boulevard

With Borges amid my Trader Joe's bag   I enter the local bank
"there's another David R. Israel" the teller tells the one called "I"
that I am myself instead of that guy   what being have I to thank?
who jots these thoughts on the 33 bus till Beethovan Street comes by?

shi: At the Wild Waves Guest House

1

At the Wild Waves Guest House
              there are thatch-and-bamboo huts
Jai Ram! says the man from Khazakstan
                          he pours hot adarak chai
with raaga Todi   greet the morning
                                lingering on the notes
to transport you to Matrimandir
                            fetch a bicycle nearby
walk on sands the sea has pulverized
              breath the sea-breeze sans a sigh
a sunlit crystal awaits your gaze
                    be done with whys-and-whats
perhaps it's time to start a new painting?
                                  take a week and try
at the Wild Waves Guest House
              there are thatch-and-bamboo huts

2

Beneath Matrimandir   water gently flows
one sits a silent hour   in the inner chamber

how rare is the mind that its own nature knows
evanescent thoughts arising   without number

taut muscles   with due training   become limber
hid heart   albeit benighted   stirs and glows

amid torrid day crows cawing   harsh and somber
beneath Matrimandir   water gently flows

3

The restless ocean churns   day after day
the intrigue continues on   without conclusion

has the universe   so many things to say?
every utterance   embodies sheer illusion

the gestalt of our existence   is confusion
as vast as the oceanic Bengal Bay

if profound or vapid   thoughts form in profusion
the restless ocean churns   day after day


poem 1: Thursday, June 4
poem 2: Friday, June 5
poem 3: Friday, June 12

This sequence of 3 poems is itself a third such sequence -- the first being At Shridhar Shrigudda, and the second being At Tiruvannamalai. These sequences (may be said to) narrate a journey south -- from Bangalore (Sridhar Srigudda) to Tiruvannamalai to Auroville (Wild Waves Guest House).

shi: At Tiruvannamalai

1

At Tiruvannamalai   each day's distinct
while what remains the same   remains the same

the ancient mountain seems   but freshly inked
the one who's scrawled it plays   a gracious game

the formless hides   in every form and name
causation's chain   if infinitely linked

pure destiny   ignites the mystic flame
at Tiruvannamalai   each day's distinct


2

All things the eye beholds   are a play of paint
so skillfully shines the art   they appear quite real

whatever seemingly is   peradventure ain't
the Self behind   these objects well conceal

you're royally hoodwinked! how does it make you feel?
the mural upon mind's wall   so vast and quaint

loses   with vairāgya   its dark appeal
all things the eye beholds   are a play of paint


3

O let me stay in the Ashram   some days longer
it takes time to grow tomatoes   or glimpse God

the force that's elsewhere dim   seems here a bit stronger
one even observes the universe   grow odd

in a way that's hard to pin down   I've not trod
around the mountain yet   while here I linger

my brooding mind   reveals itself as broad
O let me stay in the Ashram   some days longer



============



[Written at Sri Ramanashramam (Ramana Ashram), -- poem 1: May 25 (after a day distinguished by a first walk up and over the mountain, Arunachala); poems 2 & 3: May 27.]

Initially, I discovered this particular form (which I've dubbed the "boomerang poem") in Chinese poems of recent dynasties (I'm doubtful the form existed as early as the Tang; perhaps it appeared in the Ming -- but this is sketchy speculation, my scholarship being inadequate). Only a few such poems have seen translation, far as I'm aware (I believe I recall one or two in the anthology Sunflower Splendor). In any event, I've enjoyed playing with this variant of shi-in-English now and again.

note to poem 2:
vairāgya (Skt. [from vai meaning "to dry, be dried" + rāga meaning "color, passion, feeling, emotion, interest"]): dispassion / detachment / renunciation

notes to poem 3:
line 2: this line paraphrases (or anyway recalls) a passage from Francis Brabazon's Stay with God (1958), vide: it takes time . . . tomatoes

lines 5-6: circumambulating the mountain (giri pradakshina) -- some 14 kilometers -- is a principal practice for pilgrims to Arunachala.

Poem 3 could (hypothetically) have been presented as a literal (rather than merely literary-rhetorical) plea, though it wasn't so employed in the instance. But (on asking for some additional time) Ashram authorities did kindly grant me one day more.

At Sridhar Srigudda (English shi -- 3 poems)

1

At Sridhar Srigudda   the rain comes   once again
electricity dies away   while lightning flares

tomorrow's my birthday   listening to night's rain
moutainside serenity   dissolves time's cares

I'll be 53   my life's plan not yet plain
I await a Calcutta job   my love affairs

are merely notes now   Bhairavi's sweet pain
my olden sarangi again prepares


2

Again late rain   again the lights are gone
to inscribe a poem   I use a mobile phone

bright lightning flares   deep thunder rolls anon
from yon one hears   the dinner-bell's brass tone

without an umbrella   sambhar I'll forgo
intoning verses   in my room alone

alas   "only myself   I do not know"
tonight at least   night's lovely dark is known


3

The Mother whom they invoke   is deep and hidden
her universe   reveals itself in parts

time will draw a line   through every line I've written
though it shine a spell   for some few eyes and hearts

I've yet to compile   a book of Asia verses
inspiration flashes out   in fits and starts

on tomorrow's stage   what my mind here rehearses
there's another's tongue   that this perchance imparts


================================

Composed (in the instance, as SMS poems) May 19th [poem 1] and May 20th [poems 2 & 3]

Since some decades, I've periodically explored -- as here -- poems "in the Chinese manner" (flowing from my study of classical Chinese in the 1970s). The 8-line poem with 5 characters per line (mirrored by 5 stresses in these English lines) is the most basic and prevalent form of classical shi (often with the rhyme scheme seen in poem 1; the scheme used in poems 2 & 3 is my modification). [Note: in these particular poems, I've not followed some aspects of the form (especially concerning grammatical parallelism -- which in the most classical phase was pretty much requisite in the 2nd & 3rd couplets), though at times (in other poems in this form) I've delighted in exploring such.]

Sridhar Srigudda is an unusual temple complex and spiritual school located by a small hill near Kengeri (southeast of Bangalore City), off the Mysore Road. I've enjoyed living here (as a guest) all week, happy to say. Worship practiced (by the resident guru, Gurumatha Amma, and her students) includes the Tantrik Shaktism tradition known as Sri Vidya -- a tradition remarkably expounded and illuminated by Ammaji's ever-flowing discourses (which are oftentimes perhaps 20% in English, the balance in Kannada). One feels one has dropped into a gone world or century (in some respects), though spiritual principles underlying the ornate language and symbolism seem by no means antiquated.
In all, I've found this a fascinating follow-up to my couple-day stay at a Tibetan / Mahayana Buddhist monastery (Kopan Monastery) in hills near Kathmandu, a few weeks ago.

notes on poem 1:
line 2: "electricity dies away" . . . perhaps for some readers not resident in India, it might not immediately occor as obvious that when it starts raining, electricity (in one's abode) is apt to die out (one then resorts to candles). The (concurrent) lightning was of course literal; but coincidentally, recent recitations (heard from the Lalitha Sahasranama) had included names that note lightning as a special form of the Goddess.
line 7: Bhairavi -- an early-morning (or, in practice, oftentimes late night) raaga having four flat notes. This raaga is heard in many bhajans (devotional songs). In Hindustani concerts, it is fairly customary to conclude the program with a rendition of this raaga -- hence its strong familiarity. Bhairavi is one form of Devi (the Goddess), counterpart to the terrible-glorious form / aspect / phase of the life of Siva called Bhairava.
line 8: sarangi -- a bowed string instrument of Hindustani music.

notes on poem 2:
line 5: sambhar [Mid-20th century, via Tamil from Sanskrit sambhāra "collection"] -- a delicious soup made from lentils and vegetables, found ubiquitously in South India (and a staple at the temple kitchen)
line 7: "only myself   I do not know" -- this line forms the refrain in a ballade by François Villon.

note on poem 3:
line 1: "The Mother whom they invoke" -- in the tradition here noted, Devi (the universal Mother) is, as Lalitha Tripurasundari, understood to include comprehensively (in her triune nature) all aspects of Maha-Kali [consort of Siva], Maha-Lakshmi [consort of Vishnu], and Maha-Saraswati [consort of Brahma]. (In a different context and style, this idea has likewise been expounded by Sri Aurobindo -- albeit he looks at the Shiva-consort aspect under two rubrics [Maheshwari and Mahakali], bringing the number of fundamental facets of the Mother to 4 rather than 3.)

A locus classicus, Shankaracharya's Sanskrit poem Tripura Sundari Ashtakam (in 100 verses), has been rendered by Gurumatha Amma as a poem in the Kannada language; -- and the verses (along with their associated 100 yantras) are inscribed in polished granite at one garden shrine at Srigudda, aface a murti [statue] of Tripura Sundari. This new version of Shankara's ancient mystic poem was recently lent musical interpretation in a recording session (supervised by Ammaji) of my dhrupad music-gurus, the Gundecha Brothers. In connection with this recording project, Ammaji (with a group of her students) came and resided for several days at our gurukul [music school] Dhrupad Sansthan, some few months ago. At that time, she invited the music students to view Sridhar Srigudda in Bangalore as an extension of our Bhopal gurukul (hence my visit).

Initially I'd given the 3 poems individual titles --
  1   ("mountainside serenity")
  2   ("night's lovely dark")
  3   ("through every line")
But as a linked sequence, such prolixity of titling seems excessive.

"In quiet quarters" (poem)

Back beside Rock Creek Park   in quiet quarters
studying Gandhi's book   to pass the hours
six wweks or so   to dwell in pinetree shadows
pondering life's design   restoring my powers
sitar & surbahar   then we'll take to China?
paintings & films   anon in Delhi & Bengal?
unsure what route to follow   come mañana
beyond the hill-of-50-years   still single