Time for Planting, Yolo County
—Poems and Photos by James Lee Jobe, Davis, CA
Strong coffee, Thelonious Monk playing solo,
And some poems by W.S. Merwin.
We lost Merwin last week, 91 years old.
He’s been on my mind;
The poetry, his work with the trees,
Restoring a piece of the earth.
And a Buddhist like me.
Keeping his own practice, I’m sure.
I turn off the music and close the book.
I did my morning zazen hours ago,
But another quiet time has come.
I can feel it. Prayer beads
And the Loving Kindness Sutra—
I’ve worked out my own ritual with them.
Praying for W.S. Merwin in the Bardo.
Olive Trees, Yolo County
My skeleton is walking under the valley oaks,
Half past October already,
But the leaves still are green and firm.
Autumn in the Sacramento Valley is brief and late.
My bones move along through the shade.
The leaves will turn and fall soon enough;
Perhaps they are whispering among themselves
And I am not allowed to listen in.
On skeletal feet I move into the pines,
Their green lasts all year. There comes a breeze
And from the pines comes a lovely scent.
Yolo County Countryside
Valley sky. Like a steel sword, silver.
Valley floor. Like a tilled field, rich soil.
Valley man. I haunt the creeks and woods.
Valley poems. Words growing like corn.
Like sunflowers.
And I am here for the harvest.
_________________
“Who were you?” —I ask the younger me.
“You, but not completely,” he says.
I didn’t want to look at him anymore, you know.
I didn’t want to hear his words, as foolish
As I already knew him to be.
Late afternoon. Dust mites
Were floating in the softly sunlit room.
Walnut Trees, Yolo County
I could have spent my life making hammers;
It’s honest work, and someone has to do it.
No crimes are committed in hammer making,
Even the wood is replanted.
And so it might be that as I drive down the valley
I could see a fine house or a tool shed
Build with one of my hammers.
Wouldn’t that be nice? To be a part of someone’s home?
Or maybe a big red barn with the loft open
And a young lad up there,
Forking hay down to the waiting cows,
Sweating even though it is a cool morning
In earliest days of Spring.
Sacramento River, from the Yolo County Bank
Boulders in the shallow water, covered
In clean white snow. The Yuba River
In the depths of winter. The sounds
Of water on rock is as true
As the Dharma. Ssh. Listen.
_________________
Today’s LittleNip:
Let me be small, let me be empty.
That I might be but a breath in the wind.
—James Lee Jobe
_________________
Our thanks to James Lee Jobe for his quiet thoughts and images on a NorCal Saturday.
Starting at 10am today, Writers on the Air presents The Celtic Hour at Sac. Poetry Center, with readers, storytellers, and open mic. Then from 2-4pm, Poetic License poetry read-around meets in Placerville at the Sr. Center. Scroll down to the blue column (under the green column at the right) for info about these and other upcoming poetry events in our area—and note that more may be added at the last minute.
—Medusa
For more about W.S. Merwin, go to www.mauinews.com/news/local-news/2019/03/w-s-merwin-pulitzer-winning-poet-and-peahi-resident-dies/.
W.S. Merwin (1927-2019)
—Photo of Merwin on his land in Hawaii
—Photo of Merwin on his land in Hawaii
Photos in this column can be enlarged by
clicking on them once, then clicking on the x
in the top right corner to come back to Medusa.
