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摘要
摘要
A compendium of writing by the contemporary American poet, environmental activist, and Zen Buddhist. The poems represent all his stages from the Beat movement to recent achievements, including translations from Japanese and Chinese not published before. Among the prose selections are letters, travel journals, meditations on Buddhism, commentary on communal living, and notes from the lookout tower on Sourdough Mountain.
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《书目》(Booklist)书评
Introducing this generous selection of the most appealing of the Beat writers, Jim Dodge says he changed his college major from fisheries management to "interdisciplinary studies, incorporating biology, English, and journalism" after reading Snyder's "Hay for the Horses." That early poem, from Riprap (1959), is Snyder's "Stopping By Woods" or "Richard Cory" --the one of his poems that, once read, is never forgotten, perhaps because, like Frost's and Robinson's chestnuts, it makes a statement about life's meaning, albeit a much more sanguine one than the great New Englanders' poems make. It appears in Dodge's remarks and again among the other poems in the collection. May it change other lives, though if one is resistant to poetry, there is twice as much of Snyder's prose here, concerned with nature, environmental consciousness, mythology, and, underlying it all, Buddhism, of which Snyder has long been a major practical Western exponent. Snyder is a man who lives healthily in the world, and any of his work is likely to change lives. --Ray Olson
《图书馆杂志》(Library Journal )书评
Snyder, winner of the 1975 Pulitzer prize for poetry for Turtle Island, has gathered 46 years of writing into one massive volume, drawing on previously published as well as unpublished material. He includes poetry, essays, letters, journals from his travels, meditations, and notes that reflect the philosophical and cultural evolution of his thoughtsÄproducing a collection that entertains, educates, and provokes. Snyder shares his interest in Eastern literature and culture, his love for the environment, and his views on humanity and society. A chronology of Snyder's life is helpful in placing his cycle of literary events within the context of his life. This comprehensive body of work has captured his spirit and intent. Recommended for larger public and academic libraries.ÄCynde Bloom Lahey, New Canaan Lib., CT (c) Copyright 2010. Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.
摘录
摘录
Excerpt Prose Lookout's Journal A. Crater Mountain 22 June 52 Marblemount Ranger Station Skagit District, Mt. Baker National Forest Hitchhiked here, long valley of the Skagit. Old cars parked in the weeds, little houses in fields of bracken. A few cows, in stumpland. Ate at the "parkway café" real lemon in the pie "--why don't you get a jukebox in here" "--the man said we weren't important enough" * * * 28 June Blackie Burns: "28 years ago you could find a good place to fish. GREEDY & SELFISH NO RESPECT FOR THE LAND tin cans, beer bottles, dirty dishes a shit within a foot of the bed one sonuvabitch out of fifty fishguts in the creek the door left open for the bear. If you're takin forestry fellas keep away from the recreation side of it: first couple months you see the women you say `there's a cute little number' the next three months it's only another woman after that you see one coming out of the can & wonder if she's just shit on the floor ought to use pit toilets" * * * Granite creek Guard station 9 July the boulder in the creek never moves the water is always falling together! A ramshackle little cabin built by Frank Beebe the miner. Two days walk to here from roadhead. arts of the Japanese: moon-watching insect-hearing Reading the sutra of Hui Nêng. one does not need universities and libraries one need be alive to what is about saying "I don't care" * * * 11 July cut fresh rhubarb by the bank the creek is going down last night caught a trout today climbed to the summit of Crater Mountain and back high and barren: flowers I don't recognize ptarmigan and chicks, feigning the broken wing. Baxter: "Men are funny, once I loved a girl so bad it hurt, but I drove her away. She was throwing herself at me--and four months later she married another fellow." A doe in the trail, unafraid. A strange man walking south A boy from Marblemount with buckteeth, learning machine shop. * * * Crater Mountain Elevation: 8049 feet 23 July Really wretched weather for three days now--wind, hail, sleet, snow; the FM transmitter is broken / rather the receiver is / what can be done? Even here, cold foggy rocky place, there's life--4 ptarmigan by the A-frame, cony by the trail to the snowbank. hit my head on the lamp, the shutters fall, the radio quits, the kerosene stove won't stop, the wood stove won't start, my fingers are too numb to write. & this is mid-July. At least I have energy enough to read science-fiction. One has to go to bed fully clothed. * * * The stove burning wet wood--windows misted over giving the blank white light of shoji. Outside wind blows, no visibility. I'm filthy with no prospect of cleaning up. (Must learn yoga-system of Patanjali--) * * * Crater Shan 28 July Down for a new radio, to Ross Lake, and back up. Three days walking. Strange how unmoved this place leaves one; neither articulate nor worshipful; rather the pressing need to look within and adjust the mechanism of perception. A dead sharp-shinned hawk, blown by the wind against the lookout. Fierce compact little bird with a square head. --If one wished to write poetry of nature, where an audience? Must come from the very conflict of an attempt to articulate the vision poetry & nature in our time. (reject the human; but the tension of human events, brutal and tragic, against a nonhuman background? like Jeffers?) * * * Pair of eagles soaring over Devil's Creek canyon * * * 31 July This morning: floating face down in the water bucket a drowned mouse. "Were it not for Kuan Chung, we should be wearing our hair unbound and our clothes buttoning on the left side" A man should stir himself with poetry Stand firm in ritual Complete himself in music Lun Yü * * * Comparing the panoramic Lookout View photo dated 8 August 1935: with the present view. Same snowpatches; same shapes. Year after year; snow piling up and melting. "By God" quod he, "for pleynly, at a word Thy drasty ryming is not worth a tord." * * * Crater Shan 3 August How pleasant to squat in the sun Jockstrap & zoris form--leaving things out at the right spot ellipse, is emptiness these ice-scoured valleys swarming with plants "I am the Queen Bee! Follow Me!" * * * Or having a wife and baby, living close to the ocean, with skills for gathering food. QUEBEC DELTA 04 BLACK Higgins to Pugh (over) "the wind comes out of the east or northeast, the chimney smokes all over the room. the wind comes out of the west; the fire burns clean." Higgins L.O. reads the news: "flying saucer with a revolving black band drouth in the south. Are other worlds watching us?" The rock alive, not barren. flowers lichen pinus albicaulis chipmunks mice even grass. --first I turn on the radio --then make tea & eat breakfast --study Chinese until eleven --make lunch, go chop snow to melt for water, read Chaucer in the early afternoon. "Is this real Is this real This life I am living?" --Tlingit or Haida song * * * "Hidden Lake to Sourdough" --"This is Sourdough" --"Whatcha doing over there?" --"Readin some old magazines they had over here." * * * 6 August Clouds above and below, but I can see Kulshan, Mt. Terror, Shuksan; they blow over the ridge between here and Three-Fingered Jack, fill up the valleys. The Buckner Boston Peak ridge is clear. What happens all winter; the wind driving snow; clouds--wind, and mountains--repeating this is what always happens here, and the photograph of a young female torso hung in the lookout window, in the foreground. Natural against natural, beauty. two butterflies a chilly clump of mountain flowers. zazen non-life. An art: mountain-watching. leaning in the doorway whistling a chipmunk popped out listening * * * 9 August Sourdough: Jack, do you know if a fly is an electrical conductor? (over) Desolation: A fly? Are you still trying to electrocute flies? (over) Sourdough: Yeah I can make em twitch a little. I got five number six batteries on it (over) Desolation: I don't know, Shubert, keep trying. Desolation clear. * * * 10 August First wrote a haiku and painted a haiga for it; then repaired the Om Mani Padme Hum prayer flag, then constructed a stone platform, then shaved down a shake and painted a zenga on it, then studied the lesson. a butterfly scared up from its flower caught by the wind and swept over the cliffs SCREE Vaux Swifts: in great numbers, flying before the storm, arcing so close that the sharp wing-whistle is heard. "The sravaka disciplined in Tao, enlightened, but on the wrong path." summer, on the west slopes creek beds are brushy north-faces of ridges, steep and covered late with snow slides and old burns on dry hills. (In San Francisco: I live on the Montgomery Street drainage--at the top of a long scree slope just below a cliff.) * * * sitting in the sun in the doorway picking my teeth with a broomstraw listening to the buzz of the flies. (Continues...) Poetry FROM Riprap Mid-August at Sourdough Mountain Lookout Down valley a smoke haze Three days heat, after five days rain Pitch glows on the fir-cones Across rocks and meadows Swarms of new flies. I cannot remember things I once read A few friends, but they are in cities. Drinking cold snow-water from a tin cup Looking down for miles Through high still air. Piute Creek One granite ridge A tree, would be enough Or even a rock, a small creek, A bark shred in a pool. Hill beyond hill, folded and twisted Tough trees crammed In thin stone fractures A huge moon on it all, is too much. The mind wanders. A million Summers, night air still and the rocks Warm. Sky over endless mountains. All the junk that goes with being human Drops away, hard rock wavers Even the heavy present seems to fail This bubble of a heart. Words and books Like a small creek off a high ledge Gone in the dry air. A clear, attentive mind Has no meaning but that Which sees is truly seen. No one loves rock, yet we are here. Night chills. A flick In the moonlight Slips into Juniper shadow: Back there unseen Cold proud eyes Of Cougar or Coyote Watch me rise and go. Milton by Firelight Piute Creek, August 1955 "O hell, what do mine eyes with grief behold?" Working with an old Singlejack miner, who can sense The vein and cleavage In the very guts of rock, can Blast granite, build Switchbacks that last for years Under the beat of snow, thaw, mule-hooves. What use, Milton, a silly story Of our lost general parents, eaters of fruit? The Indian, the chainsaw boy, And a string of six mules Came riding down to camp Hungry for tomatoes and green apples. Sleeping in saddle-blankets Under a bright night-sky Han River slantwise by morning. Jays squall Coffee boils In ten thousand years the Sierras Will be dry and dead, home of the scorpion. Ice-scratched slabs and bent trees. No paradise, no fall, Only the weathering land The wheeling sky, Man, with his Satan Scouring the chaos of the mind. Oh Hell! Fire down Too dark to read, miles from a road The bell-mare clangs in the meadow That packed dirt for a fill-in Scrambling through loose rocks On an old trail All of a summer's day Above Pate Valley We finished clearing the last Section of trail by noon, High on the ridge-side Two thousand feet above the creek Reached the pass, went on Beyond the white pine groves, Granite shoulders, to a small Green meadow watered by the snow, Edged with Aspen--sun Straight high and blazing But the air was cool. Ate a cold fried trout in the Trembling shadows. I spied A glitter, and found a flake Black volcanic glass--obsidian-- By a flower. Hands and knees Pushing the Bear grass, thousands Of arrowhead leavings over a Hundred yards. Not one good Head, just razor flakes On a hill snowed all but summer, A land of fat summer deer, They came to camp. On their Own trails. I followed my own Trail here. Picked up the cold-drill, Pick, singlejack, and sack Of dynamite. Ten thousand years. Hay for the Horses He had driven half the night From far down San Joaquin Through Mariposa, up the Dangerous mountain roads, And pulled in at eight a.m. With his big truckload of hay behind the barn. With winch and ropes and hooks We stacked the bales up clean To splintery redwood rafters High in the dark, flecks of alfalfa Whirling through shingle-cracks of light, Itch of haydust in the sweaty shirt and shoes. At lunchtime under Black oak Out in the hot corral, --The old mare nosing lunchpails, Grasshoppers crackling in the weeds-- "I'm sixty-eight" he said, "I first bucked hay when I was seventeen. I thought, that day I started, I sure would hate to do this all my life. And dammit, that's just what I've gone and done." Riprap Lay down these words Before your mind like rocks. placed solid, by hands In choice of place, set Before the body of the mind in space and time: Solidity of bark, leaf, or wall riprap of things: Cobble of milky way, straying planets, These poems, people, lost ponies with Dragging saddles and rocky sure-foot trails. The worlds like an endless four-dimensional Game of Go . ants and pebbles In the thin loam, each rock a word a creek-washed stone Granite: ingrained with torment of fire and weight Crystal and sediment linked hot all change, in thoughts, As well as things. Copyright (c) 1999 Gary Snyder. All rights reserved.目录
Foreword | p. xv |
Author's Note | p. xxi |
Prose | |
from Earth House Hold | |
Lookout's Journal | p. 5 |
Japan First Time Around | p. 24 |
Spring Sesshin at Shokoku-ji | p. 34 |
Buddhism and the Possibilities of a Planetary Culture | p. 41 |
Passage to More Than India | p. 44 |
Poetry and the Primitive | p. 52 |
Suwa-no-se Island and the Banyan Ashram | p. 62 |
from He Who Hunted Birds in His Father's Village | |
The Myth | p. 71 |
Function of the Myth | p. 75 |
from The Real Work | |
The East West Interview | p. 91 |
from Passage Through India | |
The Cambodge | p. 129 |
Pondicherry | p. 135 |
Khajuraho | p. 139 |
Dharamshala | p. 141 |
Dalai Lama | p. 144 |
Letters | |
to Philip Whalen (1954-1961) | p. 149 |
to Will Petersen (1957-1958) | p. 160 |
from The Practice of the Wild | |
The Etiquette of Freedom | p. 167 |
The Place, the Region, and the Commons | p. 183 |
Blue Mountains Constantly Walking | p. 200 |
Ancient Forests of the Far West | p. 214 |
Grace | p. 235 |
from A Place in Space | |
Smokey the Bear Sutra | p. 241 |
Four Changes, with a Postscript | p. 245 |
"Energy Is Eternal Delight" | p. 254 |
Unnatural Writing | p. 257 |
The Porous World | p. 263 |
Coming into the Watershed | p. 267 |
Kitkitdizze: A Node in the Net | p. 277 |
from The Great Clod Project | |
"Wild" in China | p. 287 |
Walls Within Walls | p. 296 |
The Brush | p. 313 |
The Paris Review Interview | p. 319 |
Selections from Journals | |
Japan, "Of All the Wild Sakura" | p. 341 |
Australia | p. 349 |
Ladakh | p. 353 |
Botswana and Zimbabwe | p. 360 |
Uncollected Essays | |
Walking the Great Ridge Omine on the Womb-Diamond Trail | p. 371 |
Walking Downtown Naha | p. 383 |
Is Nature Real? | p. 387 |
Entering the Fiftieth Millenium | p. 390 |
from Riprap | |
Mid-August at Sourdough Mountain Lookout | p. 399 |
Piure Creek | p. 400 |
Milton by Firelight | p. 401 |
Above Pate Valley | p. 402 |
Hay for the Horses | p. 403 |
Riprap | p. 404 |
from Myths and Texts | |
from "Logging" | |
"The Morning Star Is Not a Star" | p. 407 |
"But Ye Shall Destroy Their Altars" | p. 407 |
"Lodgepole Pine: The Wonderful Reproductive" | p. 408 |
"Each Dawn Is Clear" | p. 409 |
"The Groves Are Down" | p. 410 |
"Lodgepole" | p. 410 |
from "Hunting" | |
First Shaman Song | p. 411 |
This Poem Is for Bear | p. 412 |
This Poem Is for Deer | p. 413 |
"Sealion, Salmon, Offshore--" | p. 415 |
"Flung from Demonic Wombs" | p. 416 |
"How Rare to Be Born a Human Being!" | p. 416 |
from "Burning" | |
Maudgalyayana Saw Hell | p. 417 |
John Muir on Mt. Ritter | p. 418 |
Amitabha's Vow | p. 419 |
"Spikes of New Smell Driven up Nostrils" | p. 419 |
"Stone-flake and Salmon" | p. 421 |
"'Wash Me on Home, Mama'" | p. 422 |
from The Back Country | |
A Berry Feast | p. 425 |
The Spring | p. 429 |
A Walk | p. 430 |
Burning the Small Dead | p. 431 |
Foxtail Pine | p. 432 |
Oil | p. 433 |
After Work | p. 434 |
Four Poems for Robin | p. 435 |
Work to Do Toward Town | p. 437 |
The Manichaens | p. 438 |
Artemis | p. 439 |
Mother of the Buddhas | p. 440 |
Nature Green Shit | p. 441 |
Twelve Hours Out of New York | p. 442 |
Hop, Skip, and Jump | p. 443 |
Through the Smoke Hole | p. 444 |
Nanao Knows | p. 446 |
from Regarding Wave | |
Wave | p. 449 |
In the House of the Rising Sun | p. 450 |
Song of the Taste | p. 451 |
Kyoto Born in Spring Song | p. 452 |
Everybody Lying on Their Stomachs, Head Toward the Candle, Reading, Sleeping, Drawing | p. 453 |
Shark Meat | p. 454 |
The Bed in the Sky | p. 455 |
Regarding Wave | p. 456 |
Revolution in the Revolution in the Revolution | p. 457 |
Sours of the Hills | p. 458 |
To Fire | p. 459 |
Love | p. 460 |
Meeting the Mountains | p. 461 |
Long Hair | p. 462 |
from Turtle Island | |
Without | p. 465 |
I Went Into the Maverick Bar | p. 466 |
No Matter, Never Mind | p. 467 |
The Bath | p. 468 |
Control Burn | p. 471 |
Prayer for the Great Family | p. 472 |
Source | p. 473 |
For Nothing | p. 474 |
The Egg | p. 475 |
Pine Tree Tops | p. 476 |
By Frazier Creek Falls | p. 477 |
Mother Earth: Her Whales | p. 478 |
Why Log Truck Drivers Rise Earlier Than Students of Zen | p. 480 |
"One Should Not Talk to a Skilled Hunter About What Is Forbidden by the Buddha" | p. 481 |
Magpie's Song | p. 482 |
O Waters | p. 483 |
For the Children | p. 484 |
As for Poets | p. 485 |
from Axe Handles | |
Axe Handles | p. 489 |
River in the Valley | p. 490 |
Changing Diapers | p. 491 |
Walking Through Myoshin-ji | p. 492 |
Working on the '58 Willys Pickup | p. 493 |
For/From Lew | p. 494 |
Getting in the Wood | p. 495 |
True Night | p. 496 |
24:IV:40075, 3:30PM | p. 498 |
Dillingham, Alaska, the Willow Tree Bar | p. 499 |
Breasts | p. 500 |
Old Woman Nature | p. 501 |
The Canyon Wren | p. 502 |
For All | p. 504 |
from Left Out in the Rain | |
Poem Left in Sourdough Mountain Lookout | p. 507 |
Seeing the Ox | p. 507 |
Longitude 170 West, Latitude 35 North | p. 508 |
For Example | p. 509 |
English Lessons at the Boiler Company | p. 510 |
Farewell to Burning Island | p. 510 |
No Shoes No Shirt No Service | p. 511 |
Poetry Is the Eagle of Experience | p. 512 |
Calcium | p. 512 |
At White River Roadhouse | p. 513 |
The Persimmons | p. 514 |
For Berkeley | p. 516 |
"There are those who love to get dirty" | p. 516 |
Sestina of the End of the Kalpa | p. 517 |
How Zen Masters Are Like Mature Herring | p. 518 |
from Cold Mountain Poems [Translations] | |
"The Path to Han-shan's Place Is Laughable" | p. 524 |
"In a Tangle of Cliffs I Chose a Place--" | p. 524 |
"Men Ask the Way to Cold Mountain" | p. 524 |
"I Settled at Cold Mountain Long Ago" | p. 524 |
"I Have Lived at Cold Mountain" | p. 524 |
"In My First Thirty Years of Life" | p. 525 |
"There's a Naked Bug at Cold Mountain" | p. 525 |
"Cold Mountain Is a House" | p. 525 |
"Some Critic Tried to Put Me Down--" | p. 526 |
"When Men See Han-shan" | p. 526 |
from Miyazawa Kenji [Translations] | |
Spring and the Ashura | p. 530 |
Floating World Picture: Spring in the Kitagami Mountains | p. 532 |
Cloud Semaphore | p. 533 |
The Politicians | p. 534 |
Thief | p. 534 |
Sixteen T'ang Poems [Translations] | p. 535 |
Long Bitter Song [Translations] | p. 545 |
from No Nature | |
How Poetry Comes to Me | p. 557 |
On Climbing the Sierra Matterhorn Again After Thirty-one Years | p. 557 |
The Sweat | p. 558 |
Building | p. 560 |
Off the Trail | p. 562 |
Word Basket Woman | p. 563 |
Right in the Trail | p. 565 |
For Lew Welch in a Snowfall | p. 567 |
Ripples on the Surface | p. 568 |
from Mountains and Rivers Without End | |
Bubbs Creek Haircut | p. 571 |
The Blue Sky | p. 576 |
The Flowing | p. 580 |
Arctic Midnight Twilight | p. 584 |
Walking the New York Bedrock | p. 587 |
New Moon Tongue | p. 591 |
Macaques in the Sky | p. 592 |
Raven's Beak River at the End | p. 593 |
Cross Legg'd | p. 595 |
We Wash Our Bowls in This Water | p. 596 |
Earth Verse | p. 598 |
Finding the Space in the Heart | p. 599 |
New Poems | |
Icy Mountains Constantly Walking | p. 605 |
Summer of Ninety-Seven | p. 606 |
"This present moment" | p. 608 |
Chronology | p. 611 |
Index | p. 615 |