THE FIRING - poem by Gary Snyder Bitter blue - TopicsExpress



          

THE FIRING - poem by Gary Snyder Bitter blue fingers Winter nineteen sixty-three A.D. showa thirty-eight Over a low pine-covered splay of hills in Shiga West-south-west of the outlet of Lake Biwa Domura village set on sandy fans of the sweep and turn of a river Draining the rotten-granite hills up Shigaraki On a nineteen-fifty-seven Honda cycle model C Rode with some Yamanashi wine St. Neige Into the farmyard and the bellowed kiln. Les & John In ragged shirts and pants, dried slip Stuck to with pineneedle, pitch, dust, hair, woodchips; Sending the final slivers of yellowy pine Through peephole white blast glow No saggars tilting yet and segers bending neatly in a row - Even their beards caked up with mud & soot Firing for fourteen hours. How does she go. Porcelain & stoneware: cheese dish. twenty cups. Tokuri. vases. black chawan Crosslegged rest on the dirt eye cockt to smoke - The hands you layed on clay Kickwheeld, curling creamd to the lip of nothing, And coaxt to a white dancing heat that day Will linger centuries in these towns and loams And speak to men or beasts When Japanese and English Are dead tongues.
Posted on: Tue, 15 Oct 2013 10:15:14 +0000

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