Poems of the Shakuhachi

Shaku-haiku

By Peter Smith

Player and music,
bamboo flute in between--
what distinction?

Another hour of struggle
drips
from my root end.

Sound rises
from the fertile earth--
I play my Hocchiku.

Long breath,
released to express
its own destiny.

The breeze catching
the edge from my tone
has flown away.

Koan "Iron Flute"
stuck inside, no matter
how hard I blow.

Held aloft,
the wind sounds my flute
with no intent.

The impossible note
is not heard,
only played.

There is RO!
the rest of the song
left unplayed.

Muraiki:
stress of perfection
finally letting go.
 
Flute left on the shelf;
the music will come
on its own terms.
 
Play as bamboo
still in the ground
yearning to grow.
 
A nuthatch visits--
today, the music,
we are both charmed
 
At sensei's concert
the one Buddha note,
so many choices.
 
With none than bamboo
can I truly meet
bamboo.
 
I sit at my desk
with thoughts of the woods--
free to play.
 
The master player--
patina from use
around the finger holes.
 
Antique temple flute
held again to play--
butterfly awakens.
 
Every fear and desire
laid out in public--
these notes I play.
 
In a small tea room
whistle of the kettle,
we're almost in tune.
 
My flute does sigh,
I sit in polite company
unable to play.
 
Wildflower rains
soak bamboo fillings
--birth of shakuhachi.
 
Fresh bamboo shoot
breaks through the soil--
atari of Ro.
 
Mind of shakuhachi,
spirit of sound--
different fingering.
 
Nowhere in particular,
my shakuhachi here
with me.
 
Held to the light
I can see down the bore
--nothing.
 
2.4 hocchiku
wielded like a broad sword--
Manjusri smiles.
 
San shaku san sun
wielded like a battle lance--
soft wind.

In a soft breath
I whisper to my flute
I'm here.

5 hole formula,
7 holes closed,
5 senses awakened.

I tell my flute
this tale of attachment--
tears drip out.

I tell my flute
these joys of life--
smell of bamboo.

I tell my flute
no thought, no composition--
beacon to heaven.

Again today
my heart has a visitor:
chi-chi-ru, chi-ru.

Japan 2006

Shakuhachi Roots Pilgrimage
By Peter Smith

First night's sleep,
ryokan orchestra--
loud snoring.

[ryokan = Japanese inn]

Quiet of the dawn
we softy chant
"ah".

Eighty-eight bells

on eighty-eight pilgrims
on top Mt. Koya.

Crimson leaf
flutters down to meet
monk's rake.

It's a puzzle:
which menu kana
to order for lunch.
[kana = Japanese writing]

Soba noodles,
one left behind

on the floor.

Next visit
I'll just play my own--
urushi rash.
[urushi = natural lacquer high in allergens]

Today The Beatles
meet Shakuhachi
wearing horn rim glasses.

Bitter cold dawn,
lone tree in the fog--
plump persimmons.

My upturned soup bowl
has broken
the zendo eating rules.

Past zendo gate,
which stone am I,

rock garden?

Skin flushed...
muscles relax...
ofuro time!
[ofuro = Japanese bath]

One block down,
the vending machine full
of our beer money.

Autumn viewing
of grand temple gardens--
crowded bus.

Music lessons
build an large appetite--
a dozen more gyoza.

Walked back to the room
and still have on

the toilet slippers.

With more purchases,
backpack stretched even higher--
Kyoto Tower.

Knock, knock, knock,

knock, knock, knock,
at Amida's door.
[Amida = Buddha of Jodo-shu]

Intently we listen
to the train announcement
for our stop.

Train door closes
just as someone asks:
"Where's Randall?"

At Matsumoto-jo
we polish the wood floors

with cold socks.

Smell of cut wood
high on country-side hill--
shakuhachi harvest.

Old ryokan,

cricket hops in--
the taste of dinner.

Shoes left at the door
in Tokyo discount hotel;
we can barely squeeze by.

The mix of
focusing on a new song
while kneeling in pain.

Coffee shop,
I drink in the
sales clerk's smile.

Dream:
I have amnesia;
awakened in Japan.
--- Peter Smith

Japan 2007
Shakuhachi Roots Pilgrimage
By Peter Smith

Sore bones
from a long flight
dissolve in the bath.

First morning back,
the rising sun illuminates
my photograph of Al.

City nightlife,
crosswalk plays music:
unfamiliar melody.

Darkened bamboo flute,
fingers lead the way--
music from the past.

Temple key hole
unable to restrain
the promise of Buddha.

Over glasses of sake
a lesson on atari:
“Kampai” to Ro.

Persimmons hung to dry
they too listen in--
suizen.
[suizen = meditative blowing]

Outdoor hot spring--
autumn leaf floats by
my toes.

Obey the sock
tied as an obi--
laundry day.
[obi = Japanese belt]

Remembrance Day
at Hiroshima Peace Park--
silent rainbow.

Autumn wind song--
one bamboo culm
taps another.

Break from harvesting,
coffee machine
100 metres away.

Studying hiragana,
the symbol for “ha”--
shinkansen roars by.

First scene,
the puppet’s hand clutches
onto time.

Tired travellers
in search of a local bar--
sliver moon.

Sacred deer,
scared schoolgirl--
handful of food.

Music lesson prank:
Jane plays another
deep meri.
[meri = flat note]

Beautiful phrase
actually an example,
what not to play.

Three bottles of sake--
neighbour dozes to the
sounds of chi-ru chi-ru.

Train platform
loud speaker offers more
noise pollution.

Camellia still blooming--
scarf wrapped tight
around my neck.

Temple bell urges
green leaves in wait:
“Please turn red.”

Loved one at home,
longing transposed--
shakuhachi melody.

Bamboo on our backs,
on the trains again--
standing room only.

Squeezed into train,
in everyone’s way
as the doors open.

“Nato Boy”
printed on a t-shirt
stained from breakfast.
[nato = fermented soybeans]

Thirsty work
in search of fitting bamboo--
bottled green tea.

Bamboo dug up,
among the roots
ants now homeless.

Descending the hill
more slowly--
armload of flutes to be.

Late night party
magic from everyone--
my turn to play.

Finger holes
releasing the bamboo’s
longing to sing.

Shaku-poems

By Shindake

The root of my heart

Desires to blow the flute

On the cavern floor

I step on the Path

Wind blows eternally none

I am still a child

Moving to extreme

I back into a balance

Again I miss it

Blowing the beauty

I ride the blade once again

Magic and wisdom

I walk into death

Opening lotus people

RO TSU RE CHI RI

Concentrated air

fueling the bamboo tube

breath-sight, empty sky

The clock ticks falsely

The mind makes movement and soundThe bamboo shatters

KISS OF EMPTINESS

Merging

Shattering the 4th dimention

Perfectly imperfect

It calls to me

To stroke earth light dark shining surface

To extract the sonic power

Riding on the edge of eternity

of the bonding

Through light and dark combibations

Pulling KI from the centre point

Pushing through to the sacred sphere with finger tips

Stroking space and time

Dpening and closing the empty forms

Deeply moving

Deeply yearning

A bell in the distance

Floating in the empty sky

On a sea of clouds and dreams

Embracing the mountain

Anywhere, everywhere, nowhere

Roots clutching

Three beings extracting you from primordial ground

Touching makes the alchemy happen

Sculpting space into true wonder

Remembering

Forgetting

Letting go

Whispering like the harmonics of stones

Echoing like the melody of not two

Listening to the sound of no sound

We kiss

and the universe awakens

As waves crash against the soul

Not One But Not Two

In the dim light thought clouds drift in slowly. Faint vibrations of life. Soft light quiet voice. Sea and earth swimming within the depths somewhere. Luminous, floating in space. Curves and skin so wondrous. In movement with the currents, graceful and glowing in the dark.

In the land the ancient spirits still move fluid among the living. You are the land from whence I came where the stars determined I was to be placed. Bamboo, you came delivered by the gods in harmony. The land is me. Before my return I will leave part of me in the land.

Bamboo world of mysteries. I am the secert, opened to a cavern in my heart. No shadows where the light is deeper. The gift beyond society into the universal where intuition resides and logic is dissipated. Danger and chaos unbounded potential. Like a knight on a quest I encounter the Gods and bow to them in supplication. Bamboo--the grail beyond the opposites. Enter the realm of the sorcerer and shaman. The unseen world, where the soundless sound rules, giving and guiding, playing nothing.

Deep under the cold earth, the fire blazes strong. True blaze, heat intense. Looking into it blinded by its strength, beauty and danger dancing around it I am mesmerized. With the aid of spirits I touch it and hold it, protected by the dampness and earth which calms the fire and karma, burning in a ceremony of hollow sounds and change. Immersed in culms of fire a world is revealed to me. Musubi. Weeping walls, I drink from your mouth, the air of the ages. The flame engulfs, burning away body into ash; black chips as waterfalls, leaving a mark that moves metal into rainbow. Remains upon dead heaps of incense, soft ash; powder is memory now becoming a spirit returning to the center of all things.

I emerge reborn between cracks in the deep earth. Not one but not two. Temple bell sounds from the bamboo universe.

Kiss of Emptiness II

When I walked into your field of vision
Your beauty immediately captured me;
Body, slender and long reaching into space
silken skin, smooth to the touch
with markings like ink paintings glowing with shadows
Some other energy you emitted
Your scent of worlds to be explored
The sheen of your emptiness
Your shape
Drew me to you without thought
You enticed me to hold you
And kiss your mouth...
As you breath my air I breath the Universe

And the Sound
Emerged

A Minor Path

Follow the rise of the root
Within the heart of the beautiful shoot
Currents of clouds in our bones
Never too far from the stones
Standing alone on the plane
Casting shadows of time like the rain
For the bell of the mind to control
Evermore, nevermore, to ignore
The blade of the mouth to entrust
A wish so elusive it hurts
To make because empty is True
And Empty's emptiness more so
In gaseous matrix we breathe
Separated by thoughts we achieve
Grounding and vertical rise
Gripping the soil with no eyes
We struggle for such deep release
Which keeps us from finding the peace
of oceans and lakes far beyond
the 5 holes that mesmerize Dawn
and Dusk which sings to me now
As we walk into eternal glow

Thoughts

Riding on the winds of mystery
Past Present Future merging
A crack in the skin of permanence
takes me back to my original face

Is all this in my mind just recycled thoughts of others?
I don't know anything, am afraid to let go,
but desire to chase liberation

Groping through the forest
I feel where the good energy is
intuitive scanning with the eyes of a child
Can bamboo cry?

One Verse One Song

My lessons continue

My self doubt still exists

but it is like a tired fly that can be

removed

from my arm

with a breath

Harmless

Persistent

even bothersome

but somehow charming

it is part of me

We arrive again at Sanya Hocchiku

MMMMMMMM so warm

The shape

its oval fitting right into my hands

like it belongs there

I play for hours

Crawling inside of it

Reaching in to the universe it holds

Reaching out to the universe it holds

Substantial in all ways

Can't believe it's sound is resonating in and through me

its weight, its size....

Reminds me of the first time I looked through a telescope with a 20 inch mirror

Standing on a step ladder looking  out to the universe, swimming in the universe

consumed in the universe

One verse

One song

SHAKUHACHI

----Jim Flight

I exist outside of Shakuhachi

Inside Shakuhachi I Live

Sometimes, even if only but for a moment , after playing Shakuhachi

I live within my existence.

----Jim Flight

WORDLESS WONDER

Shakuhachi peels off the Armour

Wordless Wonder

Beauty.............
With each Word I slowly Dress Myself

The Armour that protects

The Armour that destroys True Beauty

-----Jim Flight

Shakuhachi

You came to me in the morning

Enticing me

To touch your golden silkiness

To blow breath

Through airways

Forming

Singing tones

I hold you

In fond embrace

Music is birthed

From our

Union

November 5, 2004

Barbara McConville

The Bell

small and dark

misshapen and rounded

a rough wooden clapper

ringing

singing

a clear tone in my ear

resonates

calms

draws memories

a Tibetan bell

shared with a lover

cow bells

heard in alpine pastures

ship bells

and

bells on buoys

bring memories of ocean walks on the beach

the gong tolls again

monks chanting

perambulating time

rebound in my mind

April 2000

Barbara McConville

by the river today
the fraser at sunset
trying to remember choshi.
the notes come the breath comes a long note
RE is released
yes
bidden and asked for
but deliciously unvexed
floats of itself to the natural end of breath
and for the first time today
l have some peace

----Michael Barden, Dec. 2005

Dong Zhi in the garden
Rain streams from roof tiles
The master's shakuhachi

---Douglas Brunt

At that time
I aint no player
I ain't no prayer
I just am, Oh Hocchiku
Wanting to be gets in the way of being....
Again......
And then I forget.....
I am

--anonymous