“A narrow Fellow in the Grass” (1096) by Emily Dickinson [w/ Audio]

A narrow Fellow in the Grass
 Occasionally rides --
You may have met him? Did you not
 His notice instant is --

The Grass divides as with a Comb,
 A spotted Shaft is seen,
And then it closes at your Feet
 And opens further on --

He likes a Boggy Acre --
 A Floor too cool for Corn --
But when a Boy and Barefoot
 I more than once at Noon

Have passed I thought a Whip Lash
 Unbraiding in the Sun
When stooping to secure it
 It wrinkled And was gone --

Several of Nature's People
 I know, and they know me
I feel for them a transport
 Of Cordiality

But never met this Fellow
 Attended or alone
Without at tighter Breathing
 And Zero at the Bone.

Zen Garden [Lyric Poem]

I see those serene figures sit
 amid Zen Garden evergreens.
Like Benkei, they don't move a whit,
 Their minds are free of thoughts & dreams.

The moss is growing on them, now,
 and birds have left their fecal splat.
Don't envy how they've found the Dao,
 but how they have no need of hats.

BOOKS: “Bohemian Manifesto” by Laren Stover, Paul Himmelein, and Patrisha Robertson

Bohemian Manifesto: A Field Guide to Living on the Edge (Kindle Edition)Bohemian Manifesto: A Field Guide to Living on the Edge by Laren Stover
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

Amazon.in Page

The central premise of this book is that not only does the Bohemian artist live on, but she does so in five distinct varieties: the Beat, the Zen Bohemian, the Dandy, the Folkloric Bohemian, and the Nouveau Bohemian. While the title calls this book a “manifesto,” the term used in the subtitle, i.e. “field guide,” is far more apropos. Like a field guide to birds or mushrooms, it lays out
characteristics and distinctions, the characteristics of Bohemians, generally, and the five flavors thereof, more specifically, and it does so in a way that separates them from the other varieties of human.

One might be wondering, why are these varied categories classed as Bohemian, as it seems they are their own distinct class. One way to understand this is to consider the “Zen Bohemian,” who often bears little resemblance to the “Zen Buddhist” for which one might mistake him. The Zen Buddhist has both a strong connection to and a depth of knowledge of Zen Buddhism, but the Zen Bohemian often rather has a strong connection to a broad hodge-podge of Eastern philosophies and spiritual traditions that he may or may not properly understand the distinctions between.

This book is quite readable, and informative in an easy-going way, but it’s also perplexing. It’s informative in that it clarifies the characteristics of Bohemians across many criteria (e.g. food, clothing, tastes in literature, art, movies, and music, interest in boxing, etc.) It’s perplexing in that it starts with the premise that Bohemians are, at their core, free spirits who refuse to be hemmed in by convention, but then the bulk of the book is about the various tribe-signaling boxes that the Bohemian puts himself within to conform to the norms of the group. It seems that the authors are aware of this and actually produce humor through oddly specific statements such as, “They [Bohemians] still adore Laurie Anderson even though their yuppie brother went to see her.” It feels like they are aware that, to the extent Bohemians are truly free spirits, any description the authors give will be wrong at some level of granularity, and so they lean into it with great (sometimes comedic) specificity.

I enjoyed reading this book and picked up a number of interesting references to other books and whatnot. (I’m currently reading Kliph Nesteroff’s “The Comedians” because of a reference to it in this book.) I did find bits on subjects like wardrobes and astrology to be a bit tedious, but just skimmed through them.

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“Thoughts in a Zoo” by Countee Cullen [w/ Audio]

They in their cruel traps, and we in ours,
Survey each other's rage, and pass the hours
Commiserating each the other's woe,
To mitigate his own pain's fiery glow.
Man could but little proffer in exchange
Save that his cages have a larger range.
That lion with his lordly, untamed heart
Has in some man his human counterpart,
Some lofty soul in dreams and visions wrapped,
But in the stifling flesh securely trapped.
Guant eagle whose raw pinions stain the bars
That prison you, so men cry for the stars!
Some delve down like the mole far underground,
(Their nature is to burrow, not to bound),
Some, like the snake, with changeless slothful eye,
Stir not, but sleep and smoulder where they lie.
Who is most wretched, these caged ones, or we,
Caught in a vastness beyond our sight to see?

The Way [Haiku]

the mountain trail rounds
from shady to sunny side,
where caves line the path.

Crucible [Lyric Poem]

It was a dreary winter day;
 The world was cold, monotone gray.
But then, I caught a hint of heat:
 Felt on my face, not on my feet.

A furnace burned in a dark place.
 I felt it flush my frigid face --
Frigid once, but not any more
 I stood inside that foundry's door.

The orange glow danced on my face.
 It must have shown demon's disgrace.
Like a poor creature lit on fire,
 Or the living dead on a pyre.

Cold as the day and my feet were,
 I heard a voice - just a whisper.
"You must flee now, or you'll jump in,
 and they'll not find a fleck of shin."

“A BLOCKHEAD” by Amy Lowell [w/ Audio]

Before me lies a mass of shapeless days,
 Unseparated atoms, and I must
 Sort them apart and live them. Sifted dust
Covers the formless heap. Reprieves, delays,
There are none, ever. As a monk who prays
 The sliding beads asunder, so I thrust
 Each tasteless particle aside, and just
Begin again the task which never stays.
 And I have known a glory of great suns.
When days flashed by, pulsing with joy and fire!
Drunk bubbled wine in goblets of desire,
 And felt the whipped blood laughing as it runs!
Split is that liquor, my too hasty hand
Threw down the cup, and did not understand. 

The Tao of the Traveler [Lyric Poem]

With a pack on my back,
 I lurched out of the known.
Would I ever be back?
 Or go where I was blown?

Who can know where they'll land?
 Maybe on a distant shore?
Or amid desert sands?
 Or mountains? Or next door?

That's the joy of a life;
 One can end up anywhere.
Embrace chaos sans strife,
 And you'll live a life that's rare.

Sunrise / Sunset [Haiku]

sunset or sunrise?
depends upon where
your gaze lies.

“The Arrow and the Song” by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow [w/ Audio]

I shot an arrow into the air,
 It fell to earth, I knew not where;
For, so swiftly it flew, the sight
 Could not follow it in its flight.

I breathed a song into the air,
 It fell to earth, I knew not where:
For who has sight so keen and strong,
 That it can follow the flight of song?

Long, long afterward, in an oak
 I found the arrow, still unbroke;
And the song, from beginning to end,
 I found again in the heart of a friend.