Friday, January 31, 2014
Wichita Vortex Sutra Allen Ginsberg from “Wichita Vortex Sutra” (1966
I'm an old man now, and a lonesome man in Kansas
but not afraid
to speak my lonesomeness in a car,
because not only my lonesomeness
it's Ours, all over America,
O tender fellows--
& spoken lonesomeness is Prophecy
in the moon 100 years ago or in
the middle of Kansas now.
It's not the vast plains mute our mouths
that fill at midnite with ecstatic language
when our trembling bodies hold each other
breast to breast on a matress--
Not the empty sky that hides
the feeling from our faces
nor our skirts and trousers that conceal
the bodylove emanating in a glow of beloved skin,
white smooth abdomen down to the hair
between our legs,
It's not a God that bore us that forbid
our Being, like a sunny rose
all red with naked joy
between our eyes & bellies, yes
All we do is for this frightened thing
we call Love, want and lack--
fear that we aren't the one whose body could be
beloved of all the brides of Kansas City,
kissed all over by every boy of Wichita--
O but how many in their solitude weep aloud like me--
On the bridge over the Republican River
almost in tears to know
how to speak the right language--
on the frosty broad road
uphill between highway embankments
I search for the language
that is also yours--
almost all our language has been taxed by war.
Radio antennae high tension
wires ranging from Junction City across the plains--
highway cloverleaf sunk in a vast meadow
lanes curving past Abilene
to Denver filled with old
heroes of love--
to Wichita where McClure's mind
burst into animal beauty
drunk, getting laid in a car
in a neon misted street
15 years ago--
to Independence where the old man's still alive
who loosed the bomb that's slaved all human consciousness
and made the body universe a place of fear--
Now, speeding along the empty plain,
no giant demon machine
visible on the horizon
but tiny human trees and wooden houses at the sky's edge
I claim my birthright!
reborn forever as long as Man
in Kansas or other universe--Joy
reborn after the vast sadness of War Gods!
A lone man talking to myself, no house in the brown vastness to hear,
imaging the throng of Selves
that make this nation one body of Prophecy
languaged by Declaration as
Happiness!
I call all Powers of imagination
to my side in this auto to make Prophecy,
all Lords
of human kingdoms to come
Shambu Bharti Baba naked covered with ash
Khaki Baba fat-bellied mad with the dogs
Dehorahava Baba who moans Oh how wounded, How wounded
Sitaram Onkar Das Thakur who commands
give up your desire
Satyananda who raises two thumbs in tranquility
Kali Pada Guha Roy whose yoga drops before the void
Shivananda who touches the breast and says OM
Srimata Krishnaji of Brindaban who says take for your guru
William Blake the invisible father of English visions
Sri Ramakrishna master of ecstasy eyes
half closed who only cries for his mother
Chaitanya arms upraised singing & dancing his own praise
merciful Chango judging our bodies
Durga-Ma covered with blood
destroyer of battlefield illusions
million-faced Tathagata gone past suffering
Preserver Harekrishna returning in the age of pain
Sacred Heart my Christ acceptable
Allah the Compassionate One
Jahweh Righteous One
all Knowledge-Princes of Earth-man, all
ancient Seraphim of heavenly Desire, Devas, yogis
& holymen I chant to--
Come to my lone presence
into this Vortex named Kansas,
I lift my voice aloud,
make Mantra of American language now,
I here declare the end of the War!
Ancient days' Illusion!
and pronounce words beginning my own millennium.
Let the States tremble,
let the Nation weep,
let Congress legislate it own delight
let the President execute his own desire--
this Act done by my own voice,
nameless Mystery--
published to my own senses,
blissfully received by my own form
approved with pleasure by my sensations
manifestation of my very thought
accomplished in my own imagination
all realms within my consciousness fulfilled
60 miles from Wichita
near El Dorado,
The Golden One,
in chill earthly mist
houseless brown farmland plains rolling heavenward
in every direction
one midwinter afternoon Sunday called the day of the Lord--
Pure Spring Water gathered in one tower
where Florence is
set on a hill,
stop for tea & gas
Allen Ginsberg, an American prophet of highest calibre, created a poem that rolls, like one driving cross country. The map and the
landscape whizz by, the people blur and the land marks blend into one another, an American that becomes one whole piece.
Here is mixes these disparate pieces into one poem and one America, the good and the bad together, the dark and the light. Maybe this
is an American more American than America.
Wallace Shawn on Artistic Solidarity: As Glenn Greenwald Can’t Return to U.S., I Took My Play to Him
http://www.democracynow.org/2014/1/31/wallace_shawn_on_artistic_solidarity_as
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Blogs by ko shin Bob Hanson, Warrior poet, 2011 and 2012 Enjoy!
http://2012koshindharambumontheroadagain.blogspot.com/
Ko shin Dharma Bum On the Road Again 2012
http://bkoshininnerpassage.blogspot.com/
2011 Inner Passage Photo's and Poems (This was to be a blog about my second book)
It did not work out, here it is
Ko shin Dharma Bum On the Road Again 2012
http://bkoshininnerpassage.blogspot.com/
2011 Inner Passage Photo's and Poems (This was to be a blog about my second book)
It did not work out, here it is
Thursday, January 30, 2014
Poems from a new book of poetry from ko shin, Bob Hanson, warrior poet - Working Title: Still Chasing Windmills, why not
Standing, for
decades, old trees
Rough skinned, many
arms going off like an
Ancient Healing
Buddha, or uncombed hair
Years of life broken
by wind, rain snow, human beings…
When cut down, or
downed by a storm
Revealing all those
circles
Telling a story of
life, a journey,
The weather, turmoil,
old, solid hard wood,
Soon aging in the sun
and rain
Then warming the home,
fire wood,
A Birch walking
stick
A protection on the
walk each day
Strong, giving support
to my old knees
Yet, it does not give
direction
I guess I need to know
where I am going don’t I?
The end of the day....
Brown, red, yellow
the signs of fall, a season of harvest
a time of death and rest for the earth
a time of travel for the butterflies, the sand hill
cranes
and many more families of the earth
they say, might be snow north of here tonight
to early for me
but who is in control
we know who has set up the destruction of the earth
but we are still not in charge.
we spend so much time
remembering the past
just returned from my 55th high school reunion
did I really do those things 55 years ago and more?
we spend too much time wondering about tomorrow
all we have is the moment
wake up live it, be it
or scrap it....
2013 went by very quickly
2014 will be a new challenge for all beings
sit quiet for awhile
be mindful of your breath, your body, your heart
for just a moment let it all go
this is it baby
this is all we have
maybe we just need to say,
thanks!
photo by ko shin on a late afternoon ride, 2013
Why not be one…
-reflection, gratefulness for the cruise….May, 2013
Sicily, Athens, Turkey, Crete
The room is elegant,
the table set so beautifully
I am not accustom to
so many glasses or silverware
Yes, we were assigned,
by numbers I suppose
But isn't it a miracle
what a family has been created, by chance…
The servers, showing
us what service means
The chefs and all the
staff sharing their gifts with us
We gather that first
night, strangers and leave, family
Maybe never to see
each other again
But for a week
Just a few days
We experience, with
different languages, cultures, different ideas
What an oneness,
interconnectedness, a friendship this world gives us…
Or, maybe with family
and old friends a new experience of what it means
To be connected, by
love, memories or a new relationship being celebrated.
Thank You! Yet, lest
we forget,
The people of this
world right now who have no table, or glasses or food,
Might we gaze on this
wonderful experience of the meal, a Eucharist of humanity,
The cruise, as a way
to prepare us to serve those is need, with more compassion…
All of you, the
stranger, now community, the server, the chef and staff remind me of something,
The ancient chat of
the Bodhisattva, in the Buddhist path puts it this way,
May a rain of food and
drink descend
To clear away the pain of thirst and hunger,
And during the eon of famine
May I myself change into food and drink
To clear away the pain of thirst and hunger,
And during the eon of famine
May I myself change into food and drink
May I become an
inexhaustible treasure
For those who are poor and destitute;
May I turn into all things they need
And may these be placed close beside them
For those who are poor and destitute;
May I turn into all things they need
And may these be placed close beside them
Yes, I ate, I
celebrated, I got to know again, or for the first time
The Bodhisattva in
you, in all beings, the one, like you and me
Who can move on, but
stays back to make sure all beings are blessed
The guest, the server,
the chef, the staff….
Is it possible this
could happen at home and everywhere?
Let us see…let us
try…why not? Peace!
Why do we remember
things from long ago?
No historical data
Just memory
It was an afternoon,
in August
Dad was at sea or
about to be
I was comfortably
squirming in my baby carriage
It was outside a
bakery
My Mom rushed out to
say to someone
Maybe Leila
They have bombed Pearl
Harbor
Now that changed
everything for our family
And many more folks
How can I remember
this?
But it will not leave
my mind
So I say, it happened
this way…
Refugee's, a presence of hope for all....
Refugee
Resettlement is a daily part of life in our land. We forget all of us come from
immigrant blood at some time in our history. This is a reflection as I drive
newly arrived refugees to their doctors’ appointments, health checks and shots.
World Relief works at this wonderful task in the Fox River Valley and beyond.
By ko shin Bob Hanson, Volunteer World Relief, Oshkosh, WI
Oh my, snow everywhere, lots of it
And it is cold, real cold
Especially if you have just arrived from Uganda
From a Civil War
From a place of violence
Where there are piles of bodies of human beings
killed in this violence
Rather than piles of snow
People killed and injured old, young, male, female,
children, sons and daughters….
Blood of the people cover the ground
The Colonial times never seem to leave the minds of
the people or the land
Now, the oppressed become the oppressor of their own
In the back seat of my car are two very active
children, after shoveling the snow to get to the car
Dressed warmer than their mother sitting in the
passenger seat next to me
Laughing, talking in their native tongue
Watching, hearing, seeing, wondering, questioning,
Just like young children everywhere
Imagine what they have seen, experienced
Their mom, a strong looking woman, beautiful, silent
So many girls and women like her,
Raped, abused, beaten in her homeland, camps, everywhere
Sitting silent
Taking it all in
Safe for now
Even from having to chat with an old volunteer about
snow or whatever
I wonder now, as I wait for the children to have
their vaccinations
Why does it take us so long to get it
The violence against women and girls, and our boys
Did they experience this in their village, a refugee
camp or on the road somewhere?
It is hardly any different here? We have ways to
hide the truth, the reality….
It’s strange isn't it?
We can often be aware but not always to the point of
action
The care begins not with solving an issue, but in
the midst of the pain and suffering
Soon I will take them back to their apartment,
talking again in silence
With the children a bit more quiet now, the shots
hurt a little.
Again, I wonder, what goes through their minds as we
stop, get some snow out of the way
I wanted to tell them, your presence is a great gift
to all of us. Some day we will be able to chat,
About more than snow…for now just in the moment, I
can sense the pain, the suffering and the hope….
Friday, January 3, 2014
What sound, word, action is most healing, wonderful, and a gift?
That soft kiss and a hug before drifting off to sleep?
The purr of star our beautiful cat, laying on my stomach?
or the words,
"I love you grandpa?"
I love being a grandpa....
(the pictures are of our grand-kids, 2013, this November and December we were able to see all twelve of them, what a gift) Happy New Year All!
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