Poems by Jerry Bolick ...
More poems
by Jerry Bolick 
Mr.
Bolick is a lay speaker in temples in San Francisco and Marin County. In
his poems he relates his experience in modern life and Buddhism. We
greatly appreciate his creative work in response to Ryokan's poem. Jerry
can be contacted at: Jerry.Bolick@BankAmerica.com.
Comments are welcome.
#1.
I wrote the first poem after reading the following by Ryokan:
"Yes,
I'm truly a dunce
Living among trees and plants.
Please don't question me about illusion and enlightenment--
This old fellow just likes to smile to himself.
I wade across streams with bony legs,
And carry a bag about in fine spring weather.
That's my life,
And the world owes me nothing."
--
From "Two Poems for My Friend"
I've
trees and plants in abundance where I live.
Mountains in name only.
But I don't live among them,
nor do I wander through them
as the masters did through theirs.
I
tend more to move through a human wilderness;
more comfortable with curiosity than purpose,
I climb mountains of steep and slippery "relationships."
Passes
can be very high and howling winds carry unexpected names,
including the corporate; in this world
even the unenlightened freely admit to a fictitious nature.
But
here, too, there are silent, peaceful meadows,
blanketed with sheets of snow in winter
and spectacular flowers in spring,
those strange, delightful,
unpredictable flowers that sprout only from human seed.
And
wading across high mountain streams,
even here, one can pause
and drink deep of that shimmering gift.
Different
paths, same wilderness.
Different
wilderness, same path.
Either way, neither or both,
at this age fifty-five
I've finally uncovered my life:
to find and share the poems.
Reading
Ryokan is like receiving
an unexpected message from a
close friend and brother: it goes
straight to the heart.
With
palms together
Namuamidabutsu.
#2.
This is the kind of poem, one of this living and dying we do, that I hope
to find and to share.
In
memory of Kazume Nakagawa
(February
4, 1914 - January 30,1999)
Obachan
You
may not get this;
one of those times
you just had to be there,
just had to take part.
She
was small and bent over,
even in the wheelchair.
And I'm, well..., tall.
And
there was history and culture
and years
and the toll of years
between us.
So
we never had the time for that
small talk, the kind
used to "get to know,"
but which often enough
tends only to clarify the distance
between us.
No,
the distance was clear enough;
but there we were
eye to eye.
So
we just stepped across,
"cross-wise," you might say,
across all that stuff
and met right in the heart:
four hands touching,
forehead to forehead,
four lips uttering
Namuamidabutsu, Namuamidabutsu.
Electric.
Warm. Humbling.
I
can still remember
the rush of tears, still recall
the move of the dance,
the music of the living shared
between us.
It
was one of those times
you just had to be there,
just had to be a part.
#3.
Thoughts ...
The
joy of dharma fellowship:
the joy of living and of grieving
together, knowing
it will be alright.
Namuamidabutsu
April 1, 1999
The
morning light of spring
finds its way
through the window,
gently touching
the scroll
on the altar.
Even
through closed eyes
I can feel it,
illuminating
the shadows
inside.
It
all comes down to this:
Poems
appear
right at that point
in our living
and our dying
where the eternal
breaks in to time.
All
else,
no matter
how artful
or profound,
is stilted, contrived
and ultimately false. Watch. Listen.
What a joy this is!
Faceless,
as we are,
we leave no thing
behind, except
the false notion
that we do.
Our
living and dying
is as light
and free of tracks
as the birds' flight.
That
we are being lived,
that purpose and meaning
are thereby given,
does not relieve us
of the desire to live
purposefully, meaningfully.
More
so,
seeing it is a gift
reveals the joyful essence
of the effort.
On
Gratitude:
finger
held match
burst of flame
lit incense
curling smoke
calling aroma
answering nose
skin on skin
bones on wood
bending back
moving lips
sound silence
On
chanting Juseige...
A
rush of warmth
pours over the page
singing praises
of the Vow.
Thus
endowed
edges soften
frailties shine.
