bi_janus Posted July 25, 2015 Report Share Posted July 25, 2015 Once, when Baso was walking with his disciple Hyakujo, wild ducks were flying over them. Baso, the great teacher, said, “What are they?” Hyakujo said, “They are wild ducks.” Baso said, “Where are they going?” Hyakujo said, “They are flying away.” Baso gave Hyakujo’s nose a great tweak. Hyakujo cried out with pain. “Did they indeed fly off?” Hyakujo’s Duck The duck knows one cannot prepare.It is the convenient object of a moment.I summon that duck from beyonda horizon of twelve hundred years—Baso has shared it with me,I think as a diversion to trip me. Where has it gone?The duck, the mind, the placewhere I try to stand still?For if I fail to follow the duckas it flies I cannot in a momentanswer the first question—What is it? They will ask this questionabout me soon—where did he go?I will throw Baso’s obstacle at them.Sadly, or not, no trick willstartle them to attention,so they may believe I have goneand they will smack their crownson horizons of their makingas their hearts seek me.Did I indeed fly off? Link to comment
Camy Posted July 26, 2015 Report Share Posted July 26, 2015 Hail the fox. My mate Mick has a gosho he reads a lot. I flippantly extract the michael, but who is truly to say I'm wrong? A lot of your poetry requires far more than a casual glance. Link to comment
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