 |
|||||||||||||||
 |
|||||||||||||||
 |
|||||||||||||||
|
PHILIP WHALEN
|
|||||||||||||||
|
On, June 26th, 2002, in San Francisco, my dear friend, mentor, and poet, Philip Whalen, died. Born in Portland, Oregon, October 20th, 1923, he was 78. I will always remember his Kind and Wise Counsel. In the Bay Area Buddhist Smorgasbord of the early 70's, he was one of the few with a Historical Perspective of what we were doing. At Zen Center we spent many an afternoon slinging the bull. There, with Great Patience, he helped me deal with the Loss of a Lover, the Return of Dick Baker from Japan, and my Escape from Living a Life within a Circle too Small.
Four years ago, I spent a day viewing prints and drawings of Hokusai in Obuse, Japan. I returned to Nagano by following the winding, emerald green Chikuma River. That night I ask my friend, Matsushima, whose family had lived along that river for over 400 years, "Where is the living successor to Issa, Ikkyu, Basho?" "He doesn't live far, it would be hard to go there." "He doesn’t receive visitors." "Cause, if you saw his house, you’d say, ‘Dog House!’" "Oh, Damn! That’s the same thing we do with our Poets back home!" Now that Philip's gone, maybe he'll receive the Greater Recognition he deserves. May His Passage be Without Hindrance. |
|||||||||||||||
 |
|||||||||||||||
 |
|||||||||||||||
| I praise those ancient Chinamen Who left me a few words. Usually a pointless joke or a silly question A line of poetry drunkenly scrawled on the margin of a quick splashed picture - bug, leaf, caricature of Teacher on paper held together now by little more than ink & their own strength brushed momentarily over it Their world & several others since Gone to hell in a handbasket, they knew it - Cheered as it whizzed by - & conked out among the busted spring rain cherryblossom winejars Happy to have saved us all. |
|||||||||||||||
| –PW | |||||||||||||||