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Cagamucho On Poetry

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Roshi Cagamucho was rough on poets. He

thought poets were a complicated, effeminate

bunch, and very poor material from which to carve

an enlightened monk.

 

Seasoned monks advised the novices, " If you're

a poet don't show it, or you'll be put in charge of

the honey buckets until the day you leave. "

 

I disregarded that advice due to my addiction to

Haiku, waka , renga, and even haiga. I wrote

poems at every opportunity. And, of course, tried

to push my poems on the monks. They were

terrified that Cagamucho would catch them

reading my poetry. At first they declined politely,

but I was relentless in forcing my poems on

them. The ignorant lot didn't realize how

spiritual my poetry was. I had no doubt it

would speed up their progress. So It was for

their own good that I accosted them in the

aisles, or placed poems under their pillows, or

crumpled them into little balls, and dropped

them in their rice bowls. Finally, in desperation,

several monks went to the head monk.

 

Next day, the head monk marched me to the

temple hall, were I found the roshi dressed in

full regalia, and looking as aloof, cold, and

imposing as a mountain peak.

 

I have invited you for some tea, come up and

sit with me.

 

After I sat, I noticed my feet felt like ice, but

the palm of my hands were sweating.

 

Show me one of those poems you have been

serving with the rice.

 

I don't have any with me, but I could recite one.

 

Oh, you commit them to memory? Your mind

must be very cluttered .

 

Well, I just remember the best ones.

 

I don't remember any of mine, he said.

 

I'll be honored if you show me some.

 

I don't write them down, I forget them

as soon as they come up.

 

That's terrible, sir, you must write them for

the good of others.

 

I can't, my poetry has no words.

 

No words? That's impossible!

 

Oh, it's possible. How many words do

your poems have?

 

I'm not sure, eight, maybe ten on average.

 

Too many! Write poems with only one word.

That'll be a nice start for now.

 

That's is impossible. A poem needs beauty,

meaning, sensation, emotion, one word can't

convey that.

 

Butterflies, he said.

 

Pardon me! What about them?

 

Butterflies have beauty, meaning, they can

convey sensations and emotions. So, just

write, Butterflies.

 

No sir, a single word can not be a poem.

 

How many words are needed then, would

red butterflies do?

 

No!

 

Red butterflies gone, then?

 

No.

 

Red butterflies gone,

Night?

 

No. That won't do either.

 

Red butterflies gone,

Night falls?

 

Yes, maybe.

 

Why?

 

Because now with those five words, meaning

has been created and the words convey emotion.

 

Which word carries the emotion?

 

No one in particular, we need them all.

 

Are you sure? Suppose I said,

Gone falls red butterflies night. Would that be the same?

 

No, sir, certain meaning is needed for emotion to be there.

 

But each word retains its own meaning regardless of

their order, do they not?

 

Yes, sir, they do!

 

So do you know how they gain new meaning when placed

in a particular order, and how that meaning creates emotion?

 

No sir!

 

He stared at me with his slanted eyes as a wolf stalking a hare.

 

You are nothing but a milker of emotions. You have a cow's udder

for a brain. And you just milk it and stuff yourself with emotions

and pride. You will collect excrement every week in the village

to fertilize the garden, and you'll scrub the floors every day, and

since your brain is a cow's tit repeat Mu constantly while doing it.

 

Get out!

 

Pete

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What a fabulous story!

 

> Roshi Cagamucho was rough on poets. He

> thought poets were a complicated, effeminate

> bunch, and very poor material from which to carve

> an enlightened monk.

>

> Seasoned monks advised the novices, " If you're

> a poet don't show it, or you'll be put in charge of

> the honey buckets until the day you leave. "

>

> I disregarded that advice due to my addiction to

> Haiku, waka , renga, and even haiga. I wrote

> poems at every opportunity. And, of course, tried

> to push my poems on the monks. They were

> terrified that Cagamucho would catch them

> reading my poetry. At first they declined politely,

> but I was relentless in forcing my poems on

> them. The ignorant lot didn't realize how

> spiritual my poetry was. I had no doubt it

> would speed up their progress. So It was for

> their own good that I accosted them in the

> aisles, or placed poems under their pillows, or

> crumpled them into little balls, and dropped

> them in their rice bowls. Finally, in desperation,

> several monks went to the head monk.

>

> Next day, the head monk marched me to the

> temple hall, were I found the roshi dressed in

> full regalia, and looking as aloof, cold, and

> imposing as a mountain peak.

>

> I have invited you for some tea, come up and

> sit with me.

>

> After I sat, I noticed my feet felt like ice, but

> the palm of my hands were sweating.

>

> Show me one of those poems you have been

> serving with the rice.

>

> I don't have any with me, but I could recite one.

>

> Oh, you commit them to memory? Your mind

> must be very cluttered .

>

> Well, I just remember the best ones.

>

> I don't remember any of mine, he said.

>

> I'll be honored if you show me some.

>

> I don't write them down, I forget them

> as soon as they come up.

>

> That's terrible, sir, you must write them for

> the good of others.

>

> I can't, my poetry has no words.

>

> No words? That's impossible!

>

> Oh, it's possible. How many words do

> your poems have?

>

> I'm not sure, eight, maybe ten on average.

>

> Too many! Write poems with only one word.

> That'll be a nice start for now.

>

> That's is impossible. A poem needs beauty,

> meaning, sensation, emotion, one word can't

> convey that.

>

> Butterflies, he said.

>

> Pardon me! What about them?

>

> Butterflies have beauty, meaning, they can

> convey sensations and emotions. So, just

> write, Butterflies.

>

> No sir, a single word can not be a poem.

>

> How many words are needed then, would

> red butterflies do?

>

> No!

>

> Red butterflies gone, then?

>

> No.

>

> Red butterflies gone,

> Night?

>

> No. That won't do either.

>

> Red butterflies gone,

> Night falls?

>

> Yes, maybe.

>

> Why?

>

> Because now with those five words, meaning

> has been created and the words convey emotion.

>

> Which word carries the emotion?

>

> No one in particular, we need them all.

>

> Are you sure? Suppose I said,

> Gone falls red butterflies night. Would that be the same?

>

> No, sir, certain meaning is needed for emotion to be there.

>

> But each word retains its own meaning regardless of

> their order, do they not?

>

> Yes, sir, they do!

>

> So do you know how they gain new meaning when placed

> in a particular order, and how that meaning creates emotion?

>

> No sir!

>

> He stared at me with his slanted eyes as a wolf stalking a hare.

>

> You are nothing but a milker of emotions. You have a cow's udder

> for a brain. And you just milk it and stuff yourself with emotions

> and pride. You will collect excrement every week in the village

> to fertilize the garden, and you'll scrub the floors every day, and

> since your brain is a cow's tit repeat Mu constantly while doing it.

>

> Get out!

>

> Pete

>

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