Bob Schwartz

Tag: poetry

An insurmountable difficulty is a sun

Une difficulté est une lumière. Une difficulté insurmontable est un soleil: ‘A difficulty is a light. An insurmountable difficulty is a sun.’
Paul Valéry

From the Introduction to The History of Philosophy by A.C. Grayling:


But the core of questions in epistemology, metaphysics, ethics, political philosophy, the ‘philosophy of’ pursuits, and the rest, remain; they are perennial and perennially urgent questions, because efforts to answer them are part of the great adventure of humanity’s effort to understand itself and its place in the universe. Some of those questions seem unanswerable – though to act on the thought that they are so is to give up far too soon. Moreover, as Paul Valéry said, Une difficulté est une lumière. Une difficulté insurmontable est un soleil: ‘A difficulty is a light. An insurmountable difficulty is a sun.’ Wonderful saying! for it teaches us that the effort to solve even the seemingly unsolvable teaches us an enormous amount – as the history of philosophy attests.


Richard Brautigan

Read this collection of three books by Richard Brautigan (Trout Fishing in America/The Pill Versus the Springhill Mine Disaster/In Watermelon Sugar). Published in 1967 and 1968, one is poetry, the other two are prose so lyrical that they might as well be.

The Poetry Foundation offers a lengthy summary of critical views about Brautigan, including:


Certainly Brautigan’s work, perhaps due in part to his association with West Coast youth movements, generated a multitude of critical comment. Robert Novak wrote in Dictionary of Literary Biography that “Brautigan is commonly seen as the bridge between the Beat Movement of the 1950s and the youth revolution of the 1960s.” A so-called guru of the sixties counterculture, Brautigan wrote of nature, life, and emotion; his unique imagination provided the unusual settings for his themes. Critics frequently compared his work to that of such writers as Thoreau, Hemingway, Barthelme, and Twain.


If you’re one who doesn’t need to hear what others think, just try these books. But you might want to know how the Brautigan story ends:


Brautigan’s critical and commercial success peaked with Trout Fishing in America and began to decline following the 1971 publication of The Abortion: An Historical Romance 1966. Brautigan’s close friend novelist Tom McGuane succinctly summarized the collapse of Brautigan’s career with the observation that “when the 1960’s ended, he was the baby thrown out with the bath water.” Brautigan continued writing throughout the 1970’s, producing such books as Sombrero Fallout and Dreaming of Babylon: A Private Eye Novel 1942, but friends of the author reported he had grown increasingly withdrawn and depressed over his fading career. He apparently committed suicide in September of 1984, but his body was not discovered until October 25th of that year.


There’s a kind of serious creative playfulness that is gravity and yet is anti-gravity. This is that.


The Galilee Hitch-Hiker
Part 1

Baudelaire was
driving a Model A
across Galilee.
He picked up a
hitch-hiker named
Jesus who had
been standing among
a school of fish,
feeding them
pieces of bread.
“Where are you
going?” asked
Jesus, getting
into the front
seat.
“Anywhere, anywhere
out of this world!”
shouted
Baudelaire.
“I’ll go with you
as far as
Golgotha,”
said Jesus.
“I have a
concession
at the carnival
there, and I
must not be
late.”

The American Hotel
Part 2

Baudelaire was sitting
in a doorway with a wino
on San Francisco’s skidrow.
The wino was a million
years old and could remember
dinosaurs.
Baudelaire and the wino
were drinking Petri Muscatel.
“One must always be drunk,”
said Baudelaire.
“I live in the American Hotel,”
said the wino. “And I can
remember dinosaurs.”
“Be you drunken ceaselessly,”
said Baudelaire.

1939
Part 3

Baudelaire used to come
to our house and watch
me grind coffee.
That was in 1939
and we lived in the slums
of Tacoma.
My mother would put
the coffee beans in the grinder.
I was a child
and would turn the handle,
pretending that it was
a hurdy-gurdy,
and Baudelaire would pretend
that he was a monkey,
hopping up and down
and holding out
a tin cup.

The Flowerburgers
Part 4

Baudelaire opened
up a hamburger stand
in San Francisco,
but he put flowers
between the buns.
People would come in
and say, “Give me a
hamburger with plenty
of onions on it.”
Baudelaire would give
them a flowerburger
instead and the people
would say, “What kind
of a hamburger stand
is this?”

The Hour of Eternity
Part 5

“The Chinese
read the time
in the eyes
of cats,”
said Baudelaire
and went into
a jewelry store
on Market Street.
He came out
a few moments
later carrying
a twenty-one
jewel Siamese
cat that he
wore on the
end of a
golden chain.

Salvador Dali
Part 6

“Are you
or aren’t you
going to eat
your soup,
you bloody old
cloud merchant?”
Jeanne Duval
shouted,
hitting Baudelaire
on the back
as he sat
daydreaming
out the window.
Baudelaire was
startled.
Then he laughed
like hell,
waving his spoon
in the air
like a wand
changing the room
into a painting
by Salvador
Dali, changing
the room
into a painting
by Van Gogh.

A Baseball Game
Part 7

Baudelaire went
to a baseball game
and bought a hot dog
and lit up a pipe
of opium.
The New York Yankees
were playing
the Detroit Tigers.
In the fourth inning
an angel committed
suicide by jumping
off a low cloud.
The angel landed
on second base,
causing the
whole infield
to crack like
a huge mirror.
The game was
called on
account of
fear.

Richard Brautigan


The Buddha on Route 66

The Buddha on Route 66

The Buddha said to Todd and Buzz
The route is wide and useful
Now a bit neglected
All things die
Even highways
Lend me your Vette
Then walk down the road
To the Blue Swallow Motel
Sleep if you must
But be sure
To wake up


This year is the centennial of Route 66. Whether that is more or less significant than the 250th anniversary of the Declaration of Independence is something to consider. We can speculate about which of the freewheeling founders would have reveled in rolling across the continent they could only dream of in a vehicle they could only dream of.

Route 66 is a once great American highway passed over by the Interstates, but not surpassed. Some motels and other businesses catering to travelers are gone. The Blue Swallow Motel remains, and is not mere nostalgia. It is a place that allows the past to be present, not because the past is better but because it is different.

Todd and Buzz are also past, heroes of the 1960s TV show Route 66, in which they drove around the country in their Corvette, having dramatic American adventures.

The Buddha is the Buddha, never in Tucumcari, never drove a Corvette, though the route is the way.

© 2026 Bob Schwartz

A Palestinian legend for a Palestinian moment: Poet Mahmoud Darwish

We have on this earth what makes life worth living:
a tyrant’s fear of songs.
Mahmoud Darwish – On This Earth

Israeli minister confirms goal of large-scale expulsion of Palestinians from Gaza
Human rights groups and lawyers say ‘voluntary migration’ policy amounts to ethnic cleansing
The Guardian, May 29, 2026

The news this morning about “cleansing” Gaza brought me back to poet Mahmoud Darwish (1941-2008), featured here a year ago.

“Mahmoud Darwish is a literary rarity: at once critically acclaimed as one of the most important poets in the Arabic language, and beloved as the voice of his people. A legend in Palestine, his lyrics are sung by fieldworkers and schoolchildren.”

From the start of this Israeli war on Gaza and its people, I have focused not just on the depraved indifference to Palestinian lives but also on the cultural decimation. Not long ago Trump threatened to end a civilization in Iran. While he hasn’t followed through yet on the threat, Israel appears to have no such compunctions in Gaza.

Mahmoud Darwish is one of the Palestinian cultural treasures. Fortunately, he is out of reach of current events. Fortunately, his poems cannot be destroyed by the most deadly weapons.

Following is just one poem. Please consider Unfortunately, It Was Paradise: Selected Poems or any of his poems, some of which are online.

Please also consider the vital message that “a tyrant’s fear of songs” does make life worth living.


On This Earth
By Mahmoud Darwish
Translated by Munir Akash and Carolyn Forché

We have on this earth what makes life worth living: April’s hesitation, the aroma of bread
at dawn, a woman’s point of view about men, the works of Aeschylus, the beginning
of love, grass on a stone, mothers living on a flute’s sigh and the invaders’ fear of memories.

We have on this earth what makes life worth living: the final days of September, a woman
keeping her apricots ripe after forty, the hour of sunlight in prison, a cloud reflecting a swarm
of creatures, the peoples’ applause for those who face death with a smile,
a tyrant’s fear of songs.

We have on this earth what makes life worth living: on this earth, the Lady of Earth,
mother of all beginnings and ends. She was called Palestine. Her name later became
Palestine. My Lady, because you are my Lady, I deserve life.


Mystic Maps

Maps

Mystic Maps

Before the journey
The maps were few,
Colorful, promising.
Destination uncertain
Roads to travel
Randomly real.
More maps
Until there was no room
To hold them
No time
To study them.
The map makers,
Had they seen these roads
Visited these towns
Or are these conjectures
Visions, fantasies
Conjured up?
Map makers or magicians
Directions or tricks,
Now I see where they took me
Where I stop and sit.
Time and joy
For the maps
And the trip.

© 2016 Bob Schwartz

Garbage Disposal of the Mind

Garbage Disposal

Garbage Disposal of the Mind

Sinkhole for waste
From things
Expensive and cheap
Raw and cooked
No longer
Useful or needed.
Very noisy

 

 

National Poetry Month

April is National Poetry Month.

I found that I have published 66 posts about poetry or poets. I even declared 2023 the Year of Poetry.

There I quoted Wallace Stevens:


The poet’s role, in short, is to help people to live their lives.


If there was a National Food Month, what would we say, what would we do? We could talk about food, hear about food, make food, share food and, of course, eat food.

This month, read poetry, recite poetry, write poetry, share poetry. You have a lot of options.

The proper close for this post might be to include one of my favorite poems. That is too easy and too hard. Instead, follow up with one of your favorite poems. If you don’t have any, this month is a good time to explore and discover them. They are out there, waiting just for you.

© 2026 Bob Schwartz

Poems by Cold Mountain/Han Shan (c. 9th century CE)


Han Shan (寒山, meaning “Cold Mountain”) was a legendary Tang Dynasty Chinese poet who lived sometime between the 7th-9th centuries CE. He’s one of the most beloved figures in Chinese Buddhist literature.

His historical existence is debated. He may have been a recluse living on Cold Mountain (Hanyan) near Tiantai in Zhejiang province, or a literary persona created by one or more Chan (Zen) Buddhist poets.

About 300 poems survive, written in colloquial language rather than formal literary Chinese. They blend Chan Buddhism, Daoism, and nature imagery with humor, social criticism, and spiritual insight.

Themes include mountain solitude, the foolishness of worldly pursuits, enlightenment, and the beauty of simple living. His work often ridicules conventional society and religious formalism. He embodies the archetype of the wandering, enlightened madman.

He is traditionally paired with his sidekick Shide (拾得, “Foundling”), another hermit-poet. They are depicted as eccentric, laughing sages.

He remains hugely popular in East Asia. He was brought to Western audiences by Gary Snyder’s translations.


Please read some poems by Cold Mountain. Following are three translations, all worthy, with those of Red Pine (Bill Porter) especially recommended.

The Collected Songs of Cold Mountain by Red Pine

Cold Mountain Poems: Zen Poems of Han Shan, Shih Te, and Wang Fan-chih by J. P. Seaton

The Complete Cold Mountain: Poems of the Legendary Hermit Hanshan by Kazuaki Tanahashi and Peter Levitt


The new year ends a year of sorrow
spring finds everything fresh
mountain flowers laugh with green water
cliff trees dance with blue mist
bees and butterflies seem so happy
birds and fishes look lovelier still
the joy of companionship never ends
who can sleep past dawn

Cold Mountain (Hanshan), c. 9th century
Translated by Red Pine (Bill Porter)

Buddhist Anarchism

“No one today can afford to be innocent, or indulge himself in ignorance of the nature of contemporary governments, politics and social orders. The national polities of the modern world maintain their existence by deliberately fostered craving and fear: monstrous protection rackets.”

Celebrated poet Gary Snyder has been a master swimmer in the cultural and spiritual currents of our times. His biography from the Poetry Foundation notes:


Gary Snyder began his career in the 1950s as a noted member of the “Beat Generation,” though he has since explored a wide range of social and spiritual matters in both poetry and prose. Snyder’s work blends physical reality and precise observations of nature with inner insight received primarily through the practice of Zen Buddhism. While Snyder has gained attention as a spokesman for the preservation of the natural world and its earth-conscious cultures, he is not simply a “back-to-nature” poet with a facile message….

Snyder’s emphasis on metaphysics and his celebration of the natural order remove his work from the general tenor of Beat writing—and in fact Snyder is also identified as a poet of the San Francisco Renaissance along with Jack Spicer, Robert Duncan and Robin Blaser. Snyder has looked to the Orient and to the beliefs of American Indians for positive responses to the world, and he has tempered his studies with stints of hard physical labor as a logger and trail builder. Altieri believed that Snyder’s “articulation of a possible religious faith” independent of Western culture has greatly enhanced his popularity. In his study of the poet, Bob Steuding described how Snyder’s accessible style, drawn from the examples of Japanese haiku and Chinese verse, “has created a new kind of poetry that is direct, concrete, non-Romantic, and ecological. . . . Snyder’s work will be remembered in its own right as the example of a new direction taken in American literature.” Nation contributor Richard Tillinghast wrote: “In Snyder the stuff of the world ‘content’—has always shone with a wonderful sense of earthiness and health. He has always had things to tell us, experiences to relate, a set of values to expound. . . . He has influenced a generation.”


In 1961, Snyder published an essay entitled Buddhist Anarchism. Anarchism is a slippery term, though a call to turn things upside down, or an observation of our heading there, probably qualifies. The Buddhist part is definite here. Yes, it is radical, and pragmatic history may seem to demonstrate that the vision is idealistic, impractical and impossible. Even quaint in the face of the 21st century real world and real life. But without the idealistic, impractical and impossible, where is the fun and the future?


BUDDHIST ANARCHISM

Buddhism holds that the universe and all creatures in it are intrinsically in a state of complete wisdom, love and compassion; acting in natural response and mutual interdependence. The personal realization of this from-the-beginning state cannot be had for and by one-“self” — because it is not fully realized unless one has given the self up; and away.

In the Buddhist view, that which obstructs the effortless manifestation of this is Ignorance, which projects into fear and needless craving. Historically, Buddhist philosophers have failed to analyze out the degree to which ignorance and suffering are caused or encouraged by social factors, considering fear-and-desire to be given facts of the human condition. Consequently the major concern of Buddhist philosophy is epistemology and “psychology” with no attention paid to historical or sociological problems. Although Mahayana Buddhism has a grand vision of universal salvation, the actual achievement of Buddhism has been the development of practical systems of meditation toward the end of liberating a few dedicated individuals from psychological hangups and cultural conditionings. Institutional Buddhism has been conspicuously ready to accept or ignore the inequalities and tyrannies of whatever political system it found itself under. This can be death to Buddhism, because it is death to any meaningful function of compassion. Wisdom without compassion feels no pain.

No one today can afford to be innocent, or indulge himself in ignorance of the nature of contemporary governments, politics and social orders. The national polities of the modern world maintain their existence by deliberately fostered craving and fear: monstrous protection rackets. The “free world” has become economically dependent on a fantastic system of stimulation of greed which cannot be fulfilled, sexual desire which cannot be satiated and hatred which has no outlet except against oneself, the persons one is supposed to love, or the revolutionary aspirations of pitiful, poverty-stricken marginal societies like Cuba or Vietnam. The conditions of the Cold War have turned all modern societies — Communist included — into vicious distorters of man’s true potential. They create populations of “preta” — hungry ghosts, with giant appetites and throats no bigger than needles. The soil, the forests and all animal life are being consumed by these cancerous collectivities; the air and water of the planet is being fouled by them.

There is nothing in human nature or the requirements of human social organization which intrinsically requires that a culture be contradictory, repressive and productive of violent and frustrated personalities. Recent findings in anthropology and psychology make this more and more evident. One can prove it for himself by taking a good look at his own nature through meditation. Once a person has this much faith and insight, he must be led to a deep concern with the need for radical social change through a variety of hopefully non-violent means.

The joyous and voluntary poverty of Buddhism becomes a positive force. The traditional harmlessness and refusal to take life in any form has nation-shaking implications. The practice of meditation, for which one needs only “the ground beneath one’s feet,” wipes out mountains of junk being pumped into the mind by the mass media and supermarket universities. The belief in a serene and generous fulfillment of natural loving desires destroys ideologies which blind, maim and repress — and points the way to a kind of community which would amaze “moralists” and transform armies of men who are fighters because they cannot be lovers.

Avatamsaka (Kegon) Buddhist philosophy sees the world as a vast interrelated network in which all objects and creatures are necessary and illuminated. From one standpoint, governments, wars, or all that we consider “evil” are uncompromisingly contained in this totalistic realm. The hawk, the swoop and the hare are one. From the “human” standpoint we cannot live in those terms unless all beings see with the same enlightened eye. The Bodhisattva lives by the sufferer’s standard, and he must be effective in aiding those who suffer.

The mercy of the West has been social revolution; the mercy of the East has been individual insight into the basic self/void. We need both. They are both contained in the traditional three aspects of the Dharma path: wisdom (prajna), meditation (dhyana), and morality (sila). Wisdom is intuitive knowledge of the mind of love and clarity that lies beneath one’s ego-driven anxieties and aggressions. Meditation is going into the mind to see this for yourself — over and over again, until it becomes the mind you live in. Morality is bringing it back out in the way you live, through personal example and responsible action, ultimately toward the true community (sangha) of “all beings.”

This last aspect means, for me, supporting any cultural and economic revolution that moves clearly toward a free, international, classless world. It means using such means as civil disobedience, outspoken criticism, protest, pacifism, voluntary poverty and even gentle violence if it comes to a matter of restraining some impetuous redneck. It means affirming the widest possible spectrum of non-harmful individual behavior — defending the right of individuals to smoke hemp, eat peyote, be polygynous, polyandrous or homosexual. Worlds of behavior and custom long banned by the Judaeo-Capitalist-Christian-Marxist West. It means respecting intelligence and learning, but not as greed or means to personal power. Working on one’s own responsibility, but willing to work with a group. “Forming the new society within the shell of the old” — the IWW slogan of fifty years ago.

The traditional cultures are in any case doomed, and rather than cling to their good aspects hopelessly it should be remembered that whatever is or ever was in any other culture can be reconstructed from the unconscious, through meditation. In fact, it is my own view that the coming revolution will close the circle and link us in many ways with the most creative aspects of our archaic past. If we are lucky we may eventually arrive at a totally integrated world culture with matrilineal descent, free-form marriage, natural-credit communist economy, less industry, far less population and lots more national parks.

GARY SNYDER
1961


Veterans Day: Of Peaceful Intent

Veterans of the Battle of Gettysburg, Union and Confederate, meet in 1913 on the 50th anniversary of the battle.

Today, November 11, is Veterans Day in America. It honors all military veterans, living and dead, who have served in the Armed Forces.

It is also a reminder of peace. It originated as Armistice Day, marking the end of World War I on November 11, 1918.


Of Peaceful Intent
For the Fallen
By Marc A. Crowley

I was in the Navy in 1968-69,
and the only action I saw was
the war games we played in the Pacific
somewhere between San Diego and Hawaii.
But I have walked many battlefields—
like Yorktown, for example,
Gettysburg, Little Big Horn,
and Mountain Meadows.
They are broad fields of memories,
often with their own cemeteries
of countless headstones for the known
and the unknown.

When in those places,
I have to stop walking,
stop talking,
close my eyes,
and stand in silence.

The blood and clamor,
the wild screams of mangled bodies,
the masses of armies running headlong into
each other’s blast of cannon and gunfire,
and the treachery and murder of men,
women, and children at Mountain Meadows.
All anyone wished for was to survive
and go home.

Terror still inhabits the landscapes,
protected by nature’s eternal allies.
And in the quest for redemption,
nowhere in the world is untouched.
The fallen are not to be forgotten.

When the smoke and dust settle
and the roar in my ears quiets,
I open my eyes and everything
remains serene and sanctified.

With quiet steps of gratitude,
I walk with peaceful intent.

© 2025 Marc A. Crowley