Enso (Hakuin)

Turn over the road
and shove the wheel
beneath the void.
Make a deep breath.
Nothing and its time
can be destroyed.

Note: This poem, which came to me in a dream virtually complete, is not part of the ongoing, numbered sequence of "Brushstroke" poems. "Enso" is Japanese for "circle." A calligraphic enso is a symbol for enlightenment, strength, elegance, the universe, and the void.

Hotei Watching Mouse Sumo (Hakuin)

#104

Jolly Hotei knows nothing of sumo,
Nor of mice, but of sumo wrestling mice
There is nothing he does not understand.
He blew smoke rings once of Otufuko,
A prostitute whose skin was pale as rice.
Two words he's never said are: "I demand."
He pooh poohs the myth that he's flown, a kite,
When it was his grinning that took that flight.
He likes a game, but doesn't play them well.
Winning seems a tiny corner of hell.
He totes his world about in a bundle --
Gifts for the needy, his bedding and socks;
Or himself, tied in with a knot, trundles,
A circle rolling over pond and rocks.

Reptiles (Escher)

#103

"I do not sense that I have lived this life before."
"Don't you ever wonder if there's something more
Than crawling endlessly from book to cup to floor?"
"Our lives are an endless and parabolic bore."
"I'm happy to sacrifice to enlightenment,
Would our creator boast of being heaven lent."
"I'd know what it all means if I knew what I meant,
Allowing myself to vanish into parchment."
"I'm damn tired of looking at your tail, that I know,
And can't wait to reach the polyhedron to blow!"
"Yes, we all feel it's an extravagant show."
"I can't not climb the set square set there long ago."
"Speak for yourselves!" exclaims the reptile in the cup,
"I'll climb down now. I will never again climb up!"

Harvest in the Black Hills

#102

I've wondered how they kept the blades that sharp
For such cutting when they struggled with scythes.
Hay is tough, dullness only plucked it like a harp;
Why some men left the harvest to their wives.
Today, machines can cut and bale a field
Within hours, but can't increase the yield.
The flung bales crush the serried rows
Of severed stalks, but scattered straws
Defy the yield like impudent scofflaws,
Yet to be turned under by the plow.
We keep our distance, merciful and shy,
And dare not bend a stalk with shoe or eye.

In memory of Lucien Stryk, poet, teacher, and friend.

(Photo taken by the author.)

Light of the World (Peter Blume)

#101

The light of the world is an outside light?
A being of gadgets, cornices, plinths,
And networks of hidden, grinding parts.
What's visible is only black or white.
Its bulb lords it like a petulant prince,
Impatient with the diplomatic arts.
I have two moods, it says, I weep or laugh.
Or, in your language, I am on or off.
We yearn to praise, worry that if we pray,
We shall ignite it when we need it least.
The sunlight would dry up its meager spray.
The Light of the World turns NIGHT into DAY!
Secretly we fear and hate the beast.

Women Diving for Abalone, from "One Hundred Poems by One Hundred Poets" (Hokusai)

#100*

Tidal surges shorten the diving day.
Though strong and skillful swimmers, the women
Fight being thrown upon the coral reef.
Those taking a rest seem resigned to stay
Uninvolved until they resume swimming,
Brief oblivion their only relief.
An arm reaches up with its precious find
To men in a boat, not evil or kind,
Who, themselves not in any danger,
Think of that arm as one of a stranger's,
Or a breed of sea creature or goddess
Of good fortune and generosity,
Though she's merely a village wife half-dressed,
Bursting lungs from hungry necessity.

* For this, my 100th sonnet in 99 weeks, I chose this print by Hokusai, because it is No. 11 from his late series of 100 prints and drawings, published in 1830, called, variously, "One Hundred Poems by One Hundred Poets," and "The Hundred Poems Explained by the Nurse," (evidently meaning "by a nurse to children"). Each artwork illustrates a poem. The poem, by Sangi Takamura, which accompanied this stunning print, reads: "O'er the wide, wide sea,/Towards its many distant isles,/Rowing I set forth./This, to all the world proclaim,/O ye boats of fish-folk." Many of my sonnets have taken the artwork simply as a stepping off point. In this case, the sonnet is a verbal illustration of the print, which is a visual illustration of a poem. The symmetry of that seems appropriate for Sonnet #100.

The Astronomer (Vermeer)

#99

We know no more than he knew then.
We see farther and imagine numbers
Larger, but the same old infinities
Confront us, we still count to ten,
See through mirrors dying fire's penumbra,
Envision alien cities,
And watch for asteroids to come too near.
Like him, we are empty of fear,
Assume the universe is like a globe,
To be dissected and mapped, lobe by lobe.
He touches the heavens and says a prayer,
Not for insight, guidance, or grace
(Though he longs to pierce the layers
Of darkness), but to transcend space.