dawn and coffee
A few trees on a slight rise in this flat valley. From here they look like oaks. Nothing else around. Perhaps the earth needed them to be right there.
-jobe
SNOW
Upon the hard crest of a snow-drift
We tread, and grown quiet, we walk
On towards my house, white, enchanted;
Our mood is too tender for talk.
-Anna Akhmatova 1889 - 1966 Ukraine & Russia
Amedeo Modigliani’s drawing of Anna Akhmatova, 1911
it can be dawn and coffee and the sounds
of the owl that lives in the tall pines
across the street
or it can be evening with the setting sun
in my eyes as I drive west
(why do I always seem to need to be west
of here at sundown?)
and it can be the steel of midnight
or the strength of noon
what difference does it make
to me, a poor man who writes poems
and sits in meditation every day
feeling my breath
feeling my breath
feeling my breath
go in and out
may you be safe
may you be well
may that old owl be be well, too
-jobe
What we call ‘I’ is just a swinging door which moves when we inhale and exhale.
— Shunryu Suzuki
The complexities of life are really pretty easy to understand; life opens up like a brand new box of your favorite cereal on a lovely morning when your favorite uncle dies. Or something.
-jobe
the Yuba River rushing past
it is in a great hurry
even at full-on noon the river
has no time to share my reflection
swift water on white rocks
cold
overhead a turkey vulture circles
slowly
watching
-jobe
Invitation, a poem by Aimee Nezhukumatathil
túmba la caña jibarito, a poem by Edwin Torres
RANDOM STUFF:
-I love Peter Pouncey’s novel, Rules For Old Men Waiting. It came out in 2006, but I don’t always read things when they’re new. In 2006 I was 50, and I’m actually pleased to read it at age 68, when I am an old man waiting. The book has 3 plots woven into one. The old man’s health is failing and he’s snowed in for the winter. He sets some rules for himself. His following of these rules are one storyline. He grieves for late wife and sorts through his memories, telling their story. That’s the second plot. And for the third plot he writes a compelling fictional story of soldiers in World War One. Completing the tale is one of his rules. The language is beautiful, and story moves forward at a nice pace.
-My hospital has screwed up scheduling my knee replacement surgery, what I like to call my knee-kabob. What was to happen in January is now going to be March. Every step I take hurts, as does sitting too long or standing too long. I have Kaiser Permanente coverage, and it’s a bit like going to the doctor in the army. They do good work, but first you have to deal with the bureaucracy.
-My favorite poet these days is Tarfia Faizullah. Born in Brooklyn and raised in Texas. Check out a poem HERE. I can relate to the Brooklyn/Texas angle. It was Baltimore/Texas for me, and I went back and forth. Culture shock over and over.
-Sports. I like football and basketball. I love baseball. Baseball is truly a game for poets. I am just about ready to start counting the days until opening day in March, I’m jonesing for it. On my smart TV there’s a channel that replays old games and I enjoy that, and the games can be pretty random, like a Dodgers-Phillies game in 2011. I don’t know who won, right? I’m a Northern Cal guy all the way, so it’s Giants, Warriors, 49ers for me. I live in a college town, so I’m for the UC Davis Aggies as well.
Ah Sun-flower!
Ah Sun-flower! weary of time,
Who countest the steps of the Sun:
Seeking after that sweet golden clime
Where the travellers journey is done.
Where the Youth pined away with desire,
And the pale Virgin shrouded in snow:
Arise from their graves and aspire,
Where my Sun-flower wishes to go.
William Blake
Thanks for your support!
jobe