the spring bud…

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Spring
by Jim Harrison

Something new in the air today, perhaps the struggle of the bud
to become a leaf. Nearly two weeks late it invaded the air but
then what is two weeks to life herself? On a cool night there is
a break from the struggle of becoming. I suppose that’s why we
sleep. In a childhood story they spoke of the land of enchant-
ment. We crawl to it, we short-lived mammals, not realizing that
we are already there. To the gods the moon is the entire moon
but to us it changes second by second because we are always fish
in the belly of the whale of earth. We are encased and can’t stray
from the house of our bodies. I could say that we are released,
but I don’t know, in our private night when our souls explode
into a billion fragments then calmly regather in a black pool in
the forest, far from the cage of flesh, the unremitting “I.” This was
a dream and in dreams we are forever alone walking the ghost
road beyond our lives. Of late I see waking as another chance at
spring.

Jim Harrison, “Spring” from Songs of Unreason. Copyright © 2011 by Jim Harrison. Used by permission of The Permissions Company, LLC on behalf of Copper Canyon Press,

Easter Rabbit…

Easter Morning
by Jim Harrison

On Easter morning all over America
the peasants are frying potatoes in bacon grease.

We’re not supposed to have “peasants”
but there are tens of millions of them
frying potatoes on Easter morning,
cheap and delicious with catsup.

If Jesus were here this morning he might
be eating fried potatoes with my friend
who has a ’51 Dodge and a ’72 Pontiac.

When his kids ask why they don’t have
a new car he says, “these cars were new once
and now they are experienced.”

He can fix anything and when rich folks
call to get a toilet repaired he pauses
extra hours so that they can further
learn what we’re made of.

I told him that in Mexico the poor say
that when there’s lightning the rich
think that God is taking their picture.
He laughed.

Like peasants everywhere in the history
of the world ours can’t figure out why
they’re getting poorer. Their sons join
the army to get work being shot at.

Your ideals are invisible clouds
so try not to suffocate the poor,
the peasants, with your sympathies.

The powerful spiritual rays of the Sunday Sun give to man a vibratory impulse greater than on any other day of the week.

Jim Harrison, “Easter Morning” from Saving Daylight. Copyright © 2007 by Jim Harrison. Used by permission of The Permissions Company, LLC on behalf of Copper Canyon

Blue

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Blue Takes a Bow

 

Blue takes a bow in winter:

reflects the sky in snow below;

blue sings her frigid song

 

Jim Harrison said: “Life is sentimental. Why should I be cold and hard about it? That’s the main content. The biggest thing in people’s lives is their loves and dreams and visions, you know.”

romantic about death

byMau

illustrated by Mau

 

Death Again
by Jim Harrison

Let’s not get romantic or dismal about death.
Indeed it’s our most unique act along with birth.
We must think of it as cooking breakfast,
it’s that ordinary. Break two eggs into a bowl
or break a bowl into two eggs. Slip into a coffin
after the fluids have been drained, or better yet,
slide into the fire. Of course it’s a little hard
to accept your last kiss, your last drink,
your last meal about which the condemned
can be quite particular as if there could be
a cheeseburger sent by God. A few lovers
sweep by the inner eye, but it’s mostly a placid
lake at dawn, mist rising, a solitary loon
call, and staring into the still, opaque water.
We’ll know as children again all that we are
destined to know, that the water is cold
and deep, and the sun penetrates only so far.
 
Jim Harrison, “Death Again” from Jim Harrison: The Essential Poems. Copyright © 2011 by Jim Harrison. Used by permission of The Permissions Company LLC on behalf of Copper Canyon Press,

(today’s post is for Ginny)

Warblers

KaviProud

Even the little ones know how to read maps!

“Language is the only Homeland” Czeslaw Milosz

.

Warbler

by Jim Harrison

This year we have two gorgeous
yellow warblers nesting in the honeysuckle bush.
The other day I stuck my head in the bush.
The nestlings weigh one-twentieth of an ounce,
about the size of a honeybee. We stared at
each other, startled by our existence.
In a month or so, when they reach the size
of bumblebees they’ll fly to Costa Rica without a map.

“Warbler” by Jim Harrison from Dead Man’s Float. © Copper Canyon Press, 2016.

Eyes Fixed on Birds

cats and men have eyes for each other, birds and stars

cats and men have eyes for each other, birds and stars


“… both cat and man are bathed in pleasant insignificance, their eyes fixed on birds and stars.”
from Searchers by Jim Harrison in Saving Daylight

“I only have eyes for you”
unless a bird flies past
or star shoots by
or bunny hops near
or cat food can squeaks open…

bonus purrs available
for cuddles…

let’s snuggle.