“How true it is that if men strive to
walk in the way of truth and uphold righteousness, fame will follow of itself.”
The above is a line from Basho’s text,
generally known as The Narrow Road to the
Deep North. It was on my mind over
the weekend because I saw Gary Synder do a poetry reading at the Los Angeles
Times Book Festival, where he referred to Basho’s work as The Narrow Trails to the Back Country, which sounds like a translation
of a very different color.
Snyder was born in 1930 and after Lawrence
Ferlinghetti he is, I think, the last of the Beats, and I confess that I regarded
this reading as something of a “last chance to see.” I also didn’t know what
shape he’d be in; to which the answer, I now know, is “Probably better shape than
you and me.” I think he’s probably the
best poetry reader I’ve even seen and heard. And I don’t think I’m just being sentimental
towards the old guy.
Snyder makes an appearance in Iain
Sinclair’s book American Smoke. Sinclair
goes to visit him in at his 100 acre estate in the
Sierra foothills, north of Nevada City (Allen
Ginsberg and Dick Baker were co-owners at one time, but he bought them out), Sinclair describes Snyder as a poet, bioregionalist, teacher …
skier, climber, trail walker.
One of Snyder’s poems is titled “A Walk.” It’s easily available in its entirety online, but it
begins like this:
Sunday
the only day we don't work:
Mules
farting around the meadow,
Murphy fishing,
The tent
flaps in the warm
Early
sun: I've eaten breakfast and I'll
Take a walk
To
Benson Lake. Packed a lunch,
Goodbye.
Sinclair suggests that the younger Snyder
may have been a little less lovable than the current one appears to be. From the 1950s onward he made trips to Japan
to study Zen Buddhism. Sinclair writes.
“The novice monk insisted that his future wife clear her credit-card
debt, which had climbed to $1000, before she travelled out to join him. On
arrival, she discovered a list Snyder had compiled, numbering her faults and
the ways she could improve. The big difference in Japan, Snyder explained, was
the necessity of having the right manners.
“His fourth wife, Carole
Lynn Koda, was Japanese-American. But in Japan, she got everything wrong. ‘I walked
too fast,’ she said. ‘I swung my arms too much. My stride was too long. I
looked at people in the eye. That marked me out as American right away.’”
My
life being the glamorous rollercoaster it is, I got to meet Gary Snyder back
stage (meet as in a chance for me to shake his hand and say, “I really enjoyed your
reading”). And I was, I admit, star
struck. My mouth and my brain weren’t very well connected and I found myself rambling
on about the Iain Sinclair piece.
“Oh yeah,” said Snyder, “that
was a funny piece”
I think he meant it in a good way.
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