There are birds in Asia
Which I have never seen
And will never see
That I do not know
And will never know
The Names of
In any Language
Like shimmering dawns
Rising within
Plumes of violet mist
The rays of Sun
Startle into a horizon’s wingspan
Upon the vans of whistling dawn…
Ball of blazing feathers
Across kaleidoscopic cliffs
Swirling into the prism of sky;
Plumages of stone and vapor,
Crags of claws, eminences of beaks
Pointed suddenly toward the Infinite.
Aura of sun and wings, sun and wings
Above jagged spires
Of temple candles.
New flames
Like stars still upon the firmament.
An eruption of wicks
Secreting soft downs of wax molting into sunrise…
Feathery clouds arising from joss sticks
Circling above the Buddha altar,
Flocks of incense spiraling into blue-white wings
Overflowing into a thousand temple courtyards
Awaking to the brilliant singing
Of the birds of Asia.
And dawn’s swift choir of eyes,
Piercing rays and voices of eyes,
Singing mindlessly into eternity…
Exotic chorale of chanting colors:
Indigo pupils, fountaining pools
In which rainbows play…
Spectrums of streaming light
Splaying within the temples
Of my mind
I hear…
Sun rise, sun
Rise sweet
Hear here
Songs viewed in a beating instant
Of visual music
Inside the aviaries of one winging thought.
Birds I have seen and birds I have known.
Those assembled in a concert of memory,
Fluttering like qifu strings into the soaring wings
Of the deep revery
Of my life’s journey through Asia.
Unfolding across the dressing screen
Of my vision,
A coy hint of flesh only hinting
At what truly dwelt
Behind it all:
The sweet call of an Asian bird
Coming forth from behind
An ethereal screen of painted sky,
Giving soft wing
To a downy robe of silk,
Molting nakedly
Before my gaze
And leaping gracefully into my arms
To delicately alight upon my lips
Endless night songs.
Ah, so many…
Wings and bodies coalescing
In soft, feathery beds
Between midnight and dawn.
Spiraling in the air,
Springing in coils of flight;
Gliding daydreams
Streaming aside a ray of light
Abounding with the sweet, eager faces
Of birds and women singing
As they took flight.
Of oriels of golden orioles
Inside the Maiden’s Hair,
Of radiant presences of gold and silver
Pheasants bursting through sylvan ravines
Past carved stone bridges over rushing streams, and
Winging rainbows
Of Mandarin ducks
Splashing into jade pools,
Of Egrets sunning beside tea fields
In ponds of setting bronze that beckoned from afar
The rays of the sun heralded
In the loud, colorful necks
Of boldly crowing roosters
Ringing rudely, day after day,
Through cackling Korean neighborhoods.
These are birds I have seen.
These are birds I have known.
And everywhere
The mythical image of the Phoenix
Throughout Asia, drawn and carved
In a continual reincarnation of carving,
Rebirthing the wood
In which it forever arises in chisled flames.
And I too beside
Her and the incredible remains
Of ancient palaces
Faithfully guarded still
By magnificent peacocks making of them
Perpetual nesting grounds.
Yet the breasts of birds
The color of jasmine tea
Were the breasts of birds
I loved most to drink
And meditate upon
As I sipped a morning’s cup.
Pouring in endless flights
To find the Real
Mountains, temples, palaces and
Birds of Asia.
And knowing the mountain
I needed to climb
Was just the very beginning of thousands
Not even conceived of yet
And all aflutter with birds
I would never know the names of.
Only
Envisioning them forever
At Move or Rest.
Metaphysically suspended
… endlessly… stretching
Within the Supreme Ultimate.
Living arrows of birds and women
Held inside the timeless extensions
Of bending bows and arches
Of exotic trees hurtling toward me in dreams,
Shafts entwined in Maiden’s Hair,
Speeding through
The tiny limbs of Rose of Sharon:
Quivering darts of leaves like gorgeous faces
Tipped with soft, languorous arms
And long, long silk kisses
That pierced keenly to my heart.
And only when it was done, when I entered
Dreamless sleep,
Only then did relief come
As a bird that comes to a tree for rest.
These birds and women of dreams and remembrance:
Captivatingly bound together with them
From midnight until dawn
In Asian forests.
Under sheets of pine
Upon a bed of orange or apple, pear or cherry blossoms,
A whiteness of spring
For my journeys took me past all such flowers
And all such faces,
Flying between flowering magnolias or mulberries
Amidst the limbs of small peonies or
Across wind-swept rice fields.
All these birds and women
Suffused against an opiate-like liquid
Drop of blue-green silk
The electrical color of Asia.
Only
Before I came,
Inlayed in shimmering, metallic rainbows
Of mother of pearl
Into exquisite boxes and chests
A conception swiftly brushed
In a delicate wash of water colors,
Or a stream of thread deeply embossed
In robes of finest tailor,
Embroidered into sweeping fans
Or evenly sliced into endless paper cuts.
Only there had I seen before
The birds of Asia.
But now in this valley of clouds
Which I discover myself,
Filled with a sea of electric
Green-blue rice fields
Beneath the endless blue-green
Mountains of Korea, Taiwan and China,
All is One,
And
All Times and Places are Now,
And too, All embodiments of Persons.
And that is the mystery I ponder here and now
From a house I newly call home,
Atop this rooftop garden
Languidly drinking tea
Beside a woman I have loved.
And as of her
I see for the first time
A bird spontaneously arising
Before my eyes,
Beginninglessly gliding
Across the durationless sky,
Never reaching the end of its element
In this place so
Nameless for me
One married to another sky
As all birds, it appears, must be.
In this place of mysterious dawns,
Mysterious evenings. Imponderable nights.
The streets of endless cities filled with multitudes
Of light and bodies
Extending through them for centuries
Below skies that forever await the flight of dawn.
And all days and all nights in Asia long, I would learn,
If there were no birds, unattached to even the sky,
To greet my waking eyes
In the morning.
Only loneliness
And yearning for the bird
Who could fly into my heart
And freely accompany my travels,
Unattached to it all,
One knowing only how to sing and fly.
It is said that
Journeying Far
Can arouse
Enlightenment.
To gaze upon a flower,
To hear the sound of
A waterfall
Or the song of a bird
In a foreign land
Can arouse
Sudden enlightenment.
Yet, I have found that the only thing
That arouses enlightenment
Suddenly
Is love.
More has been gained by one kiss
From an exotic woman
Than a thousand hours of sitting.
JAL
