For the Gift of Work
Why Log Truck Drivers Rise Earlier than Students of Zen
In the high seat, before-dawn dark,
Polished hubs gleam
And the shiny diesel stack
Warms and flutters
Up the Tyler Road grade
To the logging on Poorman creek.
Thirty miles of dust.
There is no other life.
Chris wrote,
That’s a beauty. I also like this one:
REMOVING THE PLATE OF THE PUMP ON THE HYDRAULIC SYSTEM OF THE BACKHOE [For Burt Hybart]
Through mud, fouled nuts, black grime
it opens, a gleam of spotless steel
machined-fit perfect
swirl of intake and output
relentless clarity
at the heart
of work.
–Gary Snyder [from "Nets"]
Link | November 21st, 2006 at 1:51 pm
Brad Hoge wrote,
The first poem seems to remind us that the Zen you find on the mountain top is the Zen you take with you. I also like the theme of finding Zen in one’s dedication to work.
The secondary motif of finding harmony from machines is an interesting one for poetry, especially for a mystic like Snyder. It reminds me of Robert Pinsky’s “Machines”:
Machines
Leather and brass, wood, forged or die-cut steel.
Silicon, gold elctrodes, chased gear, bronzed pawl.
Silver wing, Iron Horse. Its hum or wail
Or white noise whispering of modern soul
Poured by makers into the tiny grail
Of escapement at my wrist. Or a roaring bull,
And I astride it, or inside at the wheel:
The animate engine a golem angel flail
Thrashing the germ of spirit from its hull.
Or magnetic speakers, that ape the primate pull
To lip the air, voice matter — the tongue of will
Cleaving the material to its euphoric call.
I still prefer my Zen in nature, but I do appreciate the recognition of the value of finding Zen in modern tasks and proletarian efforts.
Link | November 29th, 2006 at 8:43 am