The Collected Wisdom and Poetry of "Hulbeyu and the Short Fat Guys":

> chulbe@ellis.uchicago.edu (Christina Hulbe) writes:
It's all Dar's fault:
> There's poems about modular furniture?

Ned, quoting Ikkyu:
> Woodcutters and fishermen know just how to use things.
> What would they do with fancy chairs and meditation platforms?
> In straw sandals and with a bamboo staff, I roam three
>   thousand worlds,
> Dwelling by the water, feasting on the wind, year after year.

Tina, writing Hulbeyu:
> click
> it fits
> sleek white
> jet black
> endures by design
> modular living
> room of mine

Dar:
> plush comfy couch
> no money down
> payments next year
> living on nothing.
> Do you need a glass?

Ned, quoting Ikkyu:
> A thatched hut of three rooms surpasses seven great halls.
> Crazy Cloud is shut up here far removed from the vulgar world.
> The night deepens, I remain within, all alone,
> A single light illuminating the long autumn night.

Tina, writing Hulbeyu:
> leaves up
> leaves down
> oak, birch, maple, and pine
> both autumn and
> the hallway stand

Ned, quoting Ikkyu:
> A wonderful autumn night, fresh and bright;
> Over the echo of music and drums from a distant village
> The single clear tone of a shakuhachi brings a flood of tears -
> Startling me from a deep, melancholy dream.

Tina, writing Hulbeyu:
> whistling wind
> sings out change
> of tune
> of tone
> of hue
> of season
> on the stove top
> time to make tea

P.K. Harvey:
> tea kettle whistles
> steam leaps to crisp morning air
> curls through ceiling fan
> resting after Summer's work
> care for hot cider instead?
>
> apple steam hovers
> mist of fruit and cinnamon
> empty mug sits on
> woodgrain dinette table top
> the breakfast dishes can wait

Trinlay:
> The distant cry of Missionary birds on the Commons....
> the bustle of wind in the leaves,
> Warm zephyr, the last breath of Summer.

Ned, quoting Ikkyu:
> Rinzai's disciples never got the Zen message,
> But I, the Blind Donkey, know the truth:
> Love play can make you immortal.
> The autumn breeze of a single night of love is better than
>   a hundred thousand years of sterile sitting meditation...

Tina, writing Hulbeyu:
> open arms
> sweet, airy embrace
> Queen Anne
> seated
> herself
> in flowery lace

Ned, quoting Ikkyu:
> Bliss and sorrow, love and hate, light and shadow,
>     hot and cold, joy and anger, self and other.
> The enjoyment of poetic beauty may well lead to hell.
> But look what we find strewn all along our Path:
> Plum blossoms and peach flowers!

Tina, writing Hulbeyu:
> open up now
> bright light sparks on
> warm air
> rush in
> feathery frost
> retreat
> close up before
> the ice cubes melt!

John Neatrour:
> a fissure
> in the gray lattice
> opens to reveal
> its treasures
> brilliant ruby crystals
> against the smooth
> cool green surface
> lettuce
> tomato
> on rye

Jeff Sutherland (via Dar):
> Amidst the sycamore trees
> I wonder what life once held for me
> And yet i hope to be
> Both it's fruit and pruner.
> A soft wind blows
> And by it time slows
> As the raven crows
> Forever present.

Ned, quoting Ikkyu:
> The wise heathens have no knowledge;
> They just keep their mind continually set on the Way.
> There are no big-shot Buddhas in nature,
> And the thousand sutras are distilled in a single song.

Tina, writing Hulbeyu:
> autumn leaves
> drunk like red wine
> distill
> the summer sun
> that genie
> needs no bottle

Ned, quoting Ikkyu:
> I like it best when no one comes,
> Preferring fallen leaves and swirling flowers for company.
> Just an old Zen monk living like he should,
> A withered plum tree suddenly sprouting a hundred blossoms.

Sun E. Boy (via drm):
> Counting the blossoms:
> but too many honey- and
> bumblebees to count!

Tina, writing Hulbeyu:
> creak, creak, creak,
> limbs bowed and worn with wisdom
> the burnish
> of wind and time glows comfort
> on
> the kitchen floor
> the yard oak tree
> and thee

Ned, quoting Ikkyu:
> Even if I were a god or a Buddha you'd be on my mind.
> I sit beneath the lamp, a skinny monk chanting love songs.
> The fierce autumn wind nearly bowls me over
> And my heart is choked with thick clouds.

P.K. Harvey:
> shocking blue Fall day
> wine red leaf in sudden wind
> shudders and

Tina, writing Hulbeyu:
> whispering brush
> the dry breeze rush
> brings soil and must,
> needles and dust
> craggy red bark
> Stellar's Jay's lark
> my lover's cry
> a lullaby

Ned, quoting Ikkyu:
> Blind Mori night after night tends my singing;
> under the quilts, two mandarin ducks, we whisper our love once more,
> once more her vow, "till the dawn of Maitreya's preaching,"
> for an old buddha who's been here all along, ten thousand springs!
>                          ---
> The tree had withered, leaves fallen, then spring came round again;
> the green grew out, blossoms were born, old vows made anew -
> oh Mori, if I forget the great debt I owe you,
> for endless kalpas let me be born a beast.

P.K. Harvey:
> Autumn evening
> snap of still October air
> leaf rattles window
> alone amid flannel sheets
> why doesn't she come join me?

Ed White, quoting Han Shan:
> My mind is like the autumn moon
> shining clean and clear in the green pool.
> No, that's not a good comparison.
> Tell me, how should I explain?

Sari, quoting Basho:
> On an autumn branch
> a crow alone is perching,
> autumn evening now.

Ville Sinkko:
> Silent, invisible conversation
> correction:
> The coat hanger should be upside-down

Tina, replying to Ville:
> pitter pat
> twitter tat
> ruffled down
> pale grey gown
> sharp-tooth sneak
> hidden squeak
> reverse roles
> sparks from coals
> dead of night
> blinding bright

Ed White:
> I think of your blue eyes
> Like the irises of spring
> As I rake the leaves of autumn.
> In my autumn years
> I wonder: am I worthy of you?
> Do my worries matter to the falling leaves?

Pete Watters, quoting Shakyaspear:
> That time of year thou may'st in me behold,
> when yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hange
> upon those boughs which shake against the cold,
> bare, ruined choirs, where late the sweet birds sang.

Brian Drummond:
> Dark Atlantic sky
> Unseen furies thrash the trees,
> The lights dim, buzz and

Tina, writing Hulbeyu:
> white clouds
> scud through my heart
> when I hear your name
> unspoken
>
> rain drops
> dry grass brush-shush
> bold Cardinal's scold
> everywhere

Ned, quoting Ikkyu:
> I am infatuated with the beautiful Mori from the
>   celestial garden.
> Lying on the pillows, tongue on her flower stamen,
> My mouth fills with the pure perfume of the waters
>   of her stream.
> Twilight comes, then moonlight shadows, as we sing
>   fresh songs of love.

Tina, writing Hulbeyu:
> white down
> plucked from the milkweed
> at water's edge
> plucked from my breast
>
> green leaves
> brought from our garden
> at water's edge
> brought by your hands
>
> red mud
> scooped from the steep slope
> at water's edge
> scooped from my womb
>
> sheer thread
> pulled from spider's webs
> at water's edge
> pulled from thin air
>
> with these
> we make our home

Ned, quoting Ikkyu:
> The perfume from her narcissus causes my bud to sprout,
>   sealing our love pact.
> The delicate fragrance of the flower of eros,
> A waterborne nymph, she engulfs me in love play,
> Night after night, by the emerald sea, under the azure sky.

Tina, writing Hulbeyu:
> cherry blossoms
> set sail upon
> a moonlit sea
>
> stars, bright way points
> guide my voyage
> into your eyes

Ned, quoting Ikkyu:
> Every day, priests minutely examine the Dharma
> And endlessly chant complicated sutras.
> Before doing that, though, they should learn
> How to read the love letters sent by the wind and rain, 
>   the snow and moon.

Tina, writing Hulbeyu:
> an open window
> calls rabbit moon in
> furry wet paw prints
> tell tales where he's been

Ned, quoting Ikkyu:
> No moon on the best night for moon viewing;
> I sit alone near the iron candle stand and quietly 
>   chant old tunes -
> The best poets have loved these evenings
> But I just listen to the sound of the rain and recall 
>   the emotions of past years.

Ed White, quoting William Blake:
> When the voices of the children are heard on the green
> And whisperings are in the dale:
> The days of my youth rise fresh in my mind,
> My face turns green and pale.
> 
> Then come home my children, the sun is gone down
> And the dews of night arise
> Your spring & your day, are wasted in play
> And your winter and night in disguise.

Tina, writing Hulbeyu:
> flurry of dry leaves
> on my writing desk
> white parchment hidden
> by red calling cards
> come outside and dance
> write your poems in the sky

Ned, quoting Ikkyu:
> Stilted koans and convoluted answers are all monks have,
> Pandering endlessly to officials and rich patrons.
> Good friends of the Dharma, so proud, let me tell you,
> A brothel girl in gold brocade is worth more than any of you.

P.K. Harvey:
> rustle of brocade
> silken touch, thigh to warm thigh
> lips and moonlit hair

Tina, writing Hulbeyu:
> my kith, kin, and lovers
> gold leaves
> wave timidly
> on a thin grey morning
>
> in loralei flutters
> I see
> the breath of trees
> quaking songs calling me

P.K. Harvey:
> Who does the wind love?
> Drifting leaves across my lawn
> Across other lawns
> Lifting some, leaving others
> Touching and then moving on

Ned, quoting Ikkyu:
> Forests and fields, rocks and weeds - my true companions.
> The wild ways of the Crazy Cloud will never change.
> People think I'm mad but I don't care:
> If I'm a demon here on earth, there is no need to fear the hereafter.

Sun E. Boy (via drm):
> glossy red berries
> will be gone soon--mockingbirds
> eating and dropping
> them all day long: too busy
> to imitate something new.

Tina, writing Hulbeyu:
> above, a battle rages
> warm air meets cold
> as seasons change
> below, on ground lies scattered
> blood of summer
> wet with rain

Ned, quoting Ikkyu:
> One short pause between
> The leaky road here and
> The never-leaking Way there:
> If it rains, let it rain!
> If it storms, let it storm!

Sphere:
> Wisps of water in the air
> Brings thoughts of being being there
> Out I grab for a hand-hold of fermament
> Only to discover a damp bit of merryment
>
> Catching clouds I try,
> But billowing white I find --
> Clouds cannot be caught.

Tina, writing Hulbeyu:
> wet leaves stick
> thick on the soles of my shoes
> and bring themselves home with me
>
> clang clang clang
> ancient steamworks heats my room
> leaves dry in an urban tree
>
> but the leaves
> are not apartment dwellers
> at dawn we set ourselves free

Ned, quoting Ikkyu:
> Still breathing,
> You feel animated,
> So a corpse in a field
> Seems to be something
> Apart from you.

Sun E. Boy (via drm):
> one bright strand--brocade
> and colored bindings--in flat
> black hair: hang the poem!

Tina, writing Hulbeyu:
> wind blows
> through an arboreal sea
> rain falls
> beneath a sky that's cloud free

Ned, quoting Ikkyu:
> My real dwelling
> Has no pillars
> And no roof either
> So rain cannot soak it
> And wind cannot blow it down!

Tina, writing Hulbeyu:
> bare winter branches
> wear magpies
> for leaves
> telling old wives' tales
> they sit
> as they please

Sphere:
> Lunch on the roadbed
> Water at the park
> If we all will hurry
> It'll be over b'fore dark.

Ned, quoting Ikkyu:
> A melancholy autumn wind
> Blows through the world:
> The pampas grass waves,
> As we drift to the moor,
> Drift to the sea.
> 
> What can be done
> With the mind of a man,
> That should be clear
> But, dressed up in a monk's robe,
> He just lets life pass him by?

Christine:
> Floating along in the midst of Chaos,
> my world seems perfectly in order - 
> I allowed myself not to do anything today.

Tina, writing Hulbeyu:
> where I was born
> winter is fog-bound
> winter is rain
> ghostly grey cloaks worn by wise oak trees
> 
> where I was born
> winter is rivers
> winter is flood
> thick torrents rage to feed next year's farm
> 
> where I was born
> winter is rice fire
> winter is seed
> green blankets roll beneath bare fruit trees

P.K. Harvey:
> poetry hangs here
> in woven strands of dark hair
> lines twined together
> cascading across my face
> as she leans, swaying, above

Sun E. Boy (via drm):
> Pond below freezes:
> keeps holding their reflections.
> Talk can't break the ice;
> nor the ugliest magpie.
> Black spring: ice thin, then gone.  Still  .  .  .

Ned, quoting Ikkyu:
> Buddha died just as nature was coming back to life:
> One sword cleaves cleanly soul and body.
> It is hard to obtain Buddhahood that is not born 
>   and does not die -
> Flowers appear and disappear seamlessly in spring.