Sycamore Canyon in the Santa Catalina Mountains — Photo-Artistry by kenne
In a tangle of cliffs I chose a place —
Bird paths, but no trails for men.
What’s beyond the yard?
White clouds clinging to vague rocks.
Now I’ve lived here—how many years —
Again and again, spring and winter pass.
Go tell families with silverware and cars
“What the use of all the noise and money?”
— Gary Snyder
Two-Tailed Butterfly — Photo-Artistry by kenne
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— Gary Snyder
Hiking The Super Trail On Mt. Wrightson — This image by kenne is of Old Baldy from the Josephine Saddle.
— from the poem “A Stone Garden” by Gary Snyder
A Cool Summertime Choice When You Live In Tucson — Image by kenne
— from the poem “Piute Creek” by Gary Snyder
At the End of the Day — Image by kenne
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— Gary Snyder
Mixed Media Collage — Computer Art by kenne
Sabino Creek Near Hutch’s Pool — Panorama by kenne
“Mushroom Table” — Computer Art by kenne
On Top
All this new stuff goes on top
turn it over, turn it over
wait and water down
from the dark bottom
turn it inside out
let it spread through
Sift down even.
Watch it sprout.
A mind like compost.
— Gary Snyder
Autumn Scene on Mt. Lemmon — Image by kenne
December at Yase
You said, that October,
In the tall dry grass by the orchard
When you chose to be free,
“Again someday, maybe ten years.”
After college I saw you
One time. You were strange.
And I was obsessed with a plan.
Now ten years and more have
Gone by: I’ve always known
where you were—
I might have gone to you
Hoping to win your love back.
You still are single.
I didn’t.
I thought I must make it alone. I
Have done that.
Only in dream, like this dawn,
Does the grave, awed intensity
Of our young love
Return to my mind, to my flesh.
We had what the others
All crave and seek for;
We left it behind at nineteen.
I feel ancient, as though I had
Lived many lives.
And may never now know
If I am a fool
Or have done what my
karma demands.
-- from “Four Poems for Robin," The Back Country by Gary Snyder
Image by kenne
Water
Pressure of sun on the rockslide
whirled me in a dizzy hop-and-step descent,
Pool of pebbles buzzed in a Juniper shadow,
Tiny tongue of a this-year rattlesnake flicked,
I leaped, laughing for little boulder-color coil —
Pounded by heat raced down the slabs to the creek
Deep tumbling under arching walls and stuck
Whole head and shoulders in the water:
Stretched full on cobble—ears roaring
Eyes open aching from the cold and face a trout.
— Gary Snyder
“I am a poet who has preferred not to distinguish in poetry between nature and humanity.”
Desert Chicory on Mt. Lemmon — Image by kenne
One of my favorite books of poetry is Riprap and the Cold Mountain Poems, by Gary Snyder.
The book includes Snyder’s translations of Han-shan’s Cold Mountain Poems. Han-shan was both a man and a mountain, a mountain madman in an old line of ragged hermits. He lived at a place called Cold Mountain, a poor poet having a crazy character. He wrote poems that were rough and fresh, and when he wrote about Cold Mountain, he means himself, his home, his state of mind.
— kenne
Gary Snyder reading “I settled at Cold Mountain long ago . . .”
Bee On Desert Chicory Wildflower — Computer Art by kenne
“If public lands come under greater pressure to be opened for exploitation and use in the twenty-first century, it will be the local people, the watershed people, who will prove to be the last and possibly most effective line of defense.” — Gary Snyder
Bug Springs Trail Landscape — Black & White Image by kenne
Silent knowledge —
the spirit is enlightened of itself.
Contemplate the void:
this world exceeds stillness.
— from Riprap and Cold Mountain Poems, by Gary Snyder
Grasshopper (August 17, 2011) Image by kenne
— Gary Snyder
Painted Lady on Western Sneezeweed (Mt. Lemmon) — Image by kenne
— Gary Snyder
