Wednesday Is Poetry Day

The following poem, by beat poet Gary Snyder, was posted on the inside of a bus i rode this weekend. (The whole "Poetry in Motion" idea is the best thing to happen to public transportation since Wells Fargo invented the stage coach, in my opinion.) i liked it so much, i decided to make it this week's selection:

Why Log Truck Drivers Rise
Earlier Than Students Of Zen

In the high seat, before-dawn dark,
Polished hubs gleam
And the shiny diesel stack
Warms and flutters
Up the Tyler Road grade
To the logging on Poorman creek.
Thirty miles of dust.

There is no other life.

This poem was one of those discoveries where i found myself saying "Yesss, that's it! That's how i want to do it."

It's short, it's not cryptic, and it takes me someplace new in the space of a few lines.

i love the way the little details create a scene that's instantly recognizable, though not overly familiar. Did you notice how the visual picture of the the fluttering diesel stack makes you hear the growl of the truck's engine, without the poet even mentioning the sound?

Writing about poetry is like describing wine. It's so hard to find the right words and the end result always seems meaningless, compared to the original.