Year of the Iron Tiger

Year of the Iron Tiger

Be prepared for uncharted fields
in the wild. Brace yourself to stalk
the prey of wandering thoughts
before you pounce
that old enemy—distraction,
all those frivolous wisps of hope and fear
hidden among weeds of mind.

Crouch low
Keep your nose to the ground

Smell wind
Hear the rustle of ignorance
when hungry to ambush
that wildebeest of one’s own rage.

Growl at adversity in the night
By day drink from the spring of Refuge
Flash your tiger’s teeth at enemies
Guard your pride with ease among outcrops.

Then, let your steely gaze ignite the fire
of impenetrable essence –
Awake in the blaze.


Jacqueline Gens
Conway, MA
Losar 2010

[unformatted version}

Moment to Moment

How did you like Jurassic Park, I ask the old lama?
It's like the Bardo only the Bardo is worse

For J & AM ...........May We R.I.P.

This morning H. Smith, my diabetes counselor
captures my poetic sensibility when he tells me that Byetta,
the miracle drug for lowering blood glucose
comes from the saliva of the Gila monster
a sort of reptilian bodhisattva though
repugnant creature-- sluggish, ugly, and foul,
Like all losers I fantasize that my April first
Powerball is a winner
I see my seaside cottage overgrown with Rose of Sharon
rose hip clusters at the weathered picket fence, air scented
with salt, kelp and sweet grasses
distant laughter carried over the swoosh of ocean sounds

                          I’m happiest here, in my primal memory from growing up  on 

             the Pacific coast.

I’ve already gifted poet friends, given millions
                                                                      to a Cambodian girls

recovery fund from sexual bondage in brothels.

             I know my charities
I want to walk barefoot
           on pristine hardwood floors accented by plush
oriental carpets
                                     a high bed looking out to sea through gossamer curtains.

my own movie almost as good as the real thing,.

It’s all I have

     I’m already exhausted imagining it all.

     I’m not surprised you consider me “crazy” or “power hungry,” 

a “malicious liar”—I’ve been called worse.

            Remember “dear ones” every projection is a T-Rex
            Chasing you down in the bardo corridor

when you’re lost in Juarez without a name.
oooxxxx    Won’t MATTER HERE
on the back streets of Old Weird America.

    I cleaned my fridge down on haunches emptying out fetid fruits, 

veggies, and brown labia sprouting barnacles

          My disregard for the world’s hungry shameless

MY MIND A Garbage

Bag

I remember her once before things got complicated
she wore his fedora hat when we were in Mexico
still      humble       in    awe of the company and her lover

the poet, ugly as a toad,  who sang of my scrambled eggs
I hand picked from the market
                                   each night sipping tequila from thumbnails
                       before the fireplace

swapping tales of poet scandals.

But it’s the old man leaning on a wall
I conjure
basking in the first rays of the sun *
misery dissolved
as he lifts his brown face upward

free from the moment.


*The old man basking in the sun is a traditional metaphor for rigpa or primordial wisdom

Jacqueline Gens

Brattleboro, VT

7/4/09

Ali Akbar Khan 1922-2009

Photo Credit: By Lawson Knight

ALI AKBAR KHAN, SUPREME SIDDHA, brother of legendary hermit musician Annupurna, son of the great wizard Ustad Alauddin Khan, who broughtt the solo instrumental music of the West to the USA, in his performances w. Chatur Lal at the Museum of Modern Art in the 1950's- who taught thousands of students at his school in San Raphel, California,which I was privileged to attend, who taught me the melodies for the Mira Bai Bhajans which you have heard on many occasions -who gave me a scholarship to study at the Conservatory of Music in Basel - Heaven is blessed to receive him.

from an email by Louise Landes Levi, June 20, 2009



for a video of Ali Akbar Khan, click here

Obituary from the Washington Post

More links to come

Allen Ginsberg--83rd Birthday, June 3

Garrison Keeler on the Writer's Almanac this morning gave a fine and intelligent homage to Allen on his birthday today, June 3.
The Bard lives on. You can listen to it below.

Remembering Tiananmen Square June 4, 1989-Twenty Years Ago

To read the compelling story of Shi Tao's poem, June, click here. Shi Tao is one of many Chinese writers currently imprisoned. His poem, June, was selected by the Pen Poem Relay to be rranslated in every language and circle the globe.

June

by Shi Tao

My whole life

Will never get past “June”
June, when my heart died
When my poetry died
When my lover
Died in romance’s pool of blood

June, the scorching sun burns open my skin
Revealing the true nature of my wound
June, the fish swims out of the blood-red sea
Toward another place to hibernate
June, the earth shifts, the rivers fall silent
Piled up letters unable to be delivered to the dead

Translated to English from Chinese by Chip Rolley.