Three Pines and a Buddha - Part 2
Buddha Shakyamuni and the Eighteen Arhats
Eastern Tibet, Kham region, 18th century - LACMA Collections
Authored by A. S. Kline © Copyright 1999 All Rights Reserved.
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76.
That noise
of the cuckoo -
something deep
in yourself is
answering back.
77.
What we have deciphered
after great pain
was there to be known
from the very beginning.
78.
Grateful -
if in this scattering of ash
there remains one grain of gold.
79.
Your tongue
is the pen
that writes
my spirit -
mouth of an angel.
80.
I know how your whole being
flushes into your throat
and shoulder-blades
become wings.
81.
Still the red bee
refuses to die
at the heart of the flower.
82.
The poem
does not describe
the form
which is not
the poem.
83.
I do not express
the poem
which is not
the pain in me.
84.
What is there
that a deep love
does not call in question
profoundly ?
85.
Mouth
against mouth
the touch
of the idea.
86.
One thread of vein
from heart
to heart
pulls tight.
87.
In the dark sheets
full of fragrance
the mind
trying to stave off
the dawn.
88.
A worship
given
without thought.
89.
Where all these words
come from
one old man is going.
90.
A glass
of water
douses
the flame
of pain.
91.
In one sigh
the white peony
disburdens itself
on the ground
the hand touches.
92.
There is a dark sweet pain
that comes from the heart
of the rose.
93.
Odour of pine
that clings
to the fingers.
94.
In the ancient courtyards
too many gods
and cherry-trees.
95.
The Buddha -
one grey stone
in a basket of rice.
96.
The magic alchemical alphabet
of sun and rain
in which all our foolishness
is written.
97.
The sound created
the idea of the frog.
The idea of the frog,
created the idea
of the sound.
98.
Are you the blind river-nymph
of midnight's bed -
the fragrance of wet flowers ?
99.
On top
of the mountain -
no more world.
100.
Mouths full of fragrance.
Plum-blossom mixed with perfume
night after night
our singing souls
crossing an azure sea.
101.
The heart
of the flower
which opened
is not in time.
10.
Sound of flags
and prayer-wheels
from the heap
of stones.
103.
With this breath
only love.
104.
Feel this Buddha's pain
cold bronze
under your hand.
105.
Touch once more
this body of love
that lifted you up
and now
cannot let you fall.
106.
Feeling the invisible Buddha
inside the visible core.
107.
Alone
the eye
watches
the moonlit wall.
108.
Now it is revealed
what hides
at the white chrysanthemum's heart.
109.
In the bed
plum-flowers
and the fragrance
of eternity.
110.
This colour
of the rose
that we can only see
with eyes closed.
111.
Beyond Earth
and looking back
the entwined butterflies.
112.
The poem
of the peony flower
has already
been written.
113.
Ink. Congealed breath
where an absent
mouth
shows itself.
114.
This arch of being
calls itself
the rose.
115.
In the casing
of hoar-frost
the closed bud
holds another
springtime world.
116.
Night and Day
remotely
touching.
117.
A column of pink light
this flute-playing girl
on a screen of silk.
118.
Flashing suddenly,
clearly, from the dark iris
the glance of gold.
119.
Water on grass on stone.
The bridge over the mountain stream
is a hundred threads of spray
on a wooden floor.
120.
Into your hand
one spoken word
surrounded by a mouth
of fingers
closes.
121.
Night -
the blind goddess
communing
with the inside of darkness.
122.
The water-drop
on the thorn
waits
and does not wait
to fall.
123.
The child's eyes
follow the words -
one mind.
124.
Shoulders of ivory
discrete form
which brings its own
purity.
125.
Under the stormcloud
the ancient pine-tree
is weary of all this turmoil.
126.
Thick-headed
that Buddha
of the incense sticks.
127.
Above a last patch
of daylight
an almost full moon
rises in the trees.
128.
Forgive
the silent worship
of this foolish man.
129.
When the breath
stops
will mind have stopped
yet ?
130.
Over the purple field
the shadow
of the storm
is passing.
131.
Over all the earth
one goddess of mercy
with a basket of fish.
132.
The sun and moon
are both
lovers of earth -
the blind adorers.
133.
Dragons and demons
of rain
dancing
in the cherry-trees.
134.
Over the pale sky
a sprinkling of silver dust
flecked with discreet gold.
135.
Suddenly
small children
with the heads
of rabbits
sit up
in the autumn grass.
136.
My boat is tied
to the curved bridge
in her garden
of red peonies.
137.
A panel
of gold foil
swaying
in the autumn wind.
138.
Pine and plum
stand up
to meet the moon.
139.
The deep radiance
always lingers
behind the skyline.
140.
These coarse pines
have skirts of mist
against the pale
wet mountain.
141.
Slight -
those imperfections
that increase the sense
of yearning.
142.
The real
never stops moving.
The unreal
never moves.
143.
The point
of pain
is where this poet
becomes a fulcrum.
144.
The irises
of Van Gogh
go to meet
the irises
of Korin.
145.
This indrawn
breath of gold
conspires to cover
with words
the silent paper.
146.
Amongst wild irises
the eight-fold bridge
crosses
the meandering stream.
147.
September -
ending with
a bird-filled mist.
148.
Savouring the moment
of the plum-flowers'
exquisite fall.
149.
Opening the six-fold sense,
all being
is in the one perception.
150.
The pine-tree points
the hour
of deep shadows
in the white sand.