Tuesday
Arts and PoetryPoetry by Mark Frutkin
A Word from Mark
These poems have not been published previously. They have a particular influence from my experience with meditation and the Shambhala path. I studied poetry with Allen Ginsberg when I attended Naropa Institute in Boulder, Colorado in Summer of 1976, where I also studied with other writers and heard a number of public talks by Chögyam Trungpa, Rinpoche. I have been a Buddhist meditator and a writer since the early 1970s, served as the head of the Ottawa Shambhala Centre for several years, and was appointed as the Warrior of the Centre several years ago. I have taught poetry at numerous locations: Carleton University (Ottawa), Ottawa Shambhala Centre, and Naropa Institute in Halifax. If anyone is interested in contacting me, I can be reached at [email protected]. I hope you enjoy these poems appearing in the Shambhala Times.
The Truth
When you sit down
to meditate
you will eventually
discover the truth
of emptiness
In my lifetime
the most popular book
on meditation and spirituality
was called Be Here Now
by Ram Dass
‘Now here’:
if the space between those two words
is drawn to dissolve
into the vast emptiness of space
then ‘now here’
becomes
‘nowhere’.
The Path
The ground is meditation
giving life to the shoot
and stem of wide-ranging
compassion which blossoms
into the flower of enlightenment.
Meanwhile all my old friends
and family are getting in line
to pay their death dues,
waiting to board the train
that is filled with caskets
and little pots of ashes.
What is this life
for and about,
life after life,
it keeps happening
says the story of birth
and rebirth
but when
does it all end?
Musing
It’s normal and natural,
so no reason to panic.
When my father turned 107,
he would say,
“I’ve been ready to go
for a while now,
don’t know what I’m still doing here.”
And clearly everyone he knew,
excepting his own children,
grandchildren and great grandchildren,
all his friends and family
all his generation
had already passed into that oblivion
that awaits us all,
and perhaps the greatest suffering
is the loneliness
felt by those left behind.
Or the end could be seen as
falling falling falling through space.
But there is no ground,
no ground at all,
but even the stars
(it’s natural and normal),
even the stars burn through all
their fuel and disappear
into that vast black night
adding to the dark background
that allows the living, younger stars
to be seen when they shine,
it’s totally normal and natural,
all things change, all humans,
animals, plants and stars pass,
Time itself is the ultimate
plague and pandemic,
but if you’re falling through space
and there is no ground,
no ground at all,
then falling, without a doubt,
becomes flying, or soaring.
As Breath
Waves break on shore
and recede,
break and recede,
constant as breath
in and out, in and out
Day turns to night
and night turns to day
constant as breath
in and out, in and out
The stomach empties
and must be filled,
empties and must be filled,
constant as breath
in and out, in and out
Summer turns to winter
over and over every year
and winter turns to summer
constant as breath
in and out, in and out
A bird calls in the morning
then silence returns,
the bird calls again
and again, silence,
constant as breath
in and out, in and out.
Aphorism
The only way
to feel completely
grounded
is to fully accept
groundlessness.
Gap
When the breath
goes out and dissolves
there’s a gap
before the next breath
is drawn in –
that gap is called
the bardo of the breath.
The easy part to understand
is that everything
includes nothing.
The hard part to understand
is that nothing
includes everything.
Give It Up
Give in
give out
give up
give over
give back
give around
give beyond
give through
give again and again
give without thought
of giving or gain
give without reason
give for good
give more than tit for tat
give forever
give without end
give with an empty mind
and a full heart.
Haiku
The perfect poem is silence,
not just silence on lips and tongue
but silence in the mind as well.
The Space that Allows
Whether you call it emptiness,
absence or nothingness
it remains simply the space that allows,
the silence that allows speech
the hibernation of winter
that gives birth to spring
the sky that allows sun
clouds and rain.
The space, the openness
proves essential to the appearance
of all forms and designs,
the open mind that allows new ideas,
space and form inseparable.
***
Mark Frutkin lives in Ottawa and has published 19 books, including fiction, non-fiction, and four collections of poetry, in Canada, the US, Britain, and in seven foreign translations.
His 2006 novel, Fabrizio’s Return (Knopf), won the Trillium Award and the Sunburst Award, and was a finalist for the Commonwealth Book Prize (Canada/Caribbean). His novel, Atmospheres Apollinaire (Porcupine’s Quill) was a finalist for the GG award for fiction. And finally, two of his collections of poetry have been finalists for the Ottawa Book Award. Further information on his books can be found on his website at www.markfrutkin.com
Mark came to Canada (his mother’s birthplace) as a draft resister in 1970 during the Vietnam War and lived for nine years in western Quebec in a log cabin with no electricity and no running water. Having grown up in Cleveland, Ohio and attended Loyola University in Chicago, his unusual experiences in the Canadian bush sparked his interest in poetry and it was in the cabin where he first started writing. He hopes you enjoy his work.
