Sam Hamill: The New York Poem
I sit in the dark, not brooding exactly, not waiting for the dawn that is just beginning, at six-twenty-one, in gray October light behind the trees. I sit, breathing, mind … Continue reading
Sam Hamill: “Zazen on Ching-t’ing Mountain” by Li Po
The birds have vanished down the sky. Now the last cloud drains away. We sit together, the mountain and me, until only the mountain remains. — From Crossing the Yellow … Continue reading
Sam Hamill: The Orchid Flower
Just as I wonder whether it’s going to die, the orchid blossoms and I can’t explain why it moves my heart, why such pleasure comes from one small bud on … Continue reading
Sam Hamill: Who Will Stand With The Innocents?
Fifty years ago, I found myself in the war-ravaged former nation of Okinawa, where some of the fiercest battles of the Pacific War had taken place, and where I began … Continue reading
Sam Hamill: Old Bones
I. All the quiet afternoon splitting wood, thinking about books, I remembered Snyder making a handle for an ax as he remembered Ezra Pound thirty years before, thinking about Lu … Continue reading
Sam Hamill: On the Anniversary of Her Death
Awakened from a restless, wine-inspired sleep, I wake in the night to find Yuan Chen’s elegy and read, “Even if I had wings, the net of grief would snare me.” … Continue reading
