By Joe Survant
The Stone
“The Stone: New and Selected Poems from Asia, is another gift from Joe Survant’s treasury. “The Jungle Letter To My Wife” begins colloquially enough – “There was something I wanted to say,”. In the next stanza, a “strangler fig” appears (like Chekhov’s Act I pistol) / whose slow aerial life / brings down the greatest tree.” The pistol shot arrives 3 lines later: “the terrible secret / hummed unheard / within you, a seed / some wayward bird / dropped carelessly / in the warm bark high / up your body’s tree.” Survant’s effortless, skillful joinery in this poem previews what’s evident in every poem. No jungle splendor exists without terrors. Risk is the price of rapture. Survant reveals the journey, laid (like Snyder’s Rip Rap), word by word, guiding us towards deep feeling and wisdom. I urge you to read this book.” – Peter Coyote, author, actor, Zen Buddhist Priest.
Conversation with
the Shaman
In the trees
away from the light
in the deep deep trees
inside the night
were your dreams good?
What did you dream
last night?
My soul leaped
with dreams
last night.
The man
with a sharp head
turned and leered
in the light.
Were your dreams good?
What did you dream
last night?
My soul roared with dreams
last night.
I looked the man
with a long tongue
in the face.
My body is sick
from the sight.
Were your dreams good?
What did you dream
last night?
My soul shook
with dreams
last night.
I saw the world
without its skin.
My body filled
with the height.
Were your dreams good?
What did you dream
last night?
My soul didn’t
roam in dreams
last night.
It lay heavy
and thick
in the body’s hut
last night.
Were your dreams good?
What did you dream
last night?
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