occurs by simply giving up oneʼs mind; yet one canʼt do that in order to write
it” (5-11). As she delves into the philosophy of experimental poetics, she
dances around Zen themes but rather complicates them beyond themselves.
The relationship between Zen and poetry is probably much simpler.
Scalapino asserts that writing requires one to give up oneʼs mind; Zen
would teach that it requires one not to give up his or her mind but to give
up his or her ego. According to the Four Noble Truths of Buddhism, one
must sacrifi ce the ego in order to reach nirvana. Buddhists would never
8 Scalapino, Leslie. The Public World/Syntactically Impermanence.
Hanover: Wesleyan University Press, 1999.
9 Fischer, Norman. I Was Blown Back. San Diego: Singing Horse, 2005.
57
teach mindlessness. In fact, mindfulness and awareness are their primary
goals, and a method of practice to move towards this consciousness
is meditation. As any Buddhist would tell you, pure mindfulness and
awareness are diffi cult to achieve. People cycle in and out of intensifi ed
levels of consciousness, but the objective is to remain in a heightened state
of awareness as long as possible. Similar to this level of mindfulness is John
Keatsʼ theory of negative capability, “when a man is capable of being in
uncertainties, mysteries, doubts, without any irritable reaching after fact and
reason – … the sense of Beauty overcomes every other consideration, or
rather obliterates all consideration.”10 This amplifi ed state of mind requires
practice, very focused and concentrated practice. Letting go of oneʼs ego,
human intentions, and complications can allow the poem simply to occur,
to come into its own as an art form manifesting the bizarre yet ordinary
mindful phenomena. Fischer observes, “Like characters in a novel, or
intimate friends, my poems seem to have minds of their own, and to draw
me toward insights and intentions I would never have had if left to my
own devices.”
Good, high quality writing, like meditation, requires practice. An
aspiring writer cannot simply pump out a Pulitzer-worthy book without fi rst
refi ning his or her skill and studying the works of those who came before.
Gail Sher, a poet in attendance at Green Gulch, says, “The crucial word is
practice. For me writing was a practice with the same spirit of attending
periods of zazen. … the context in which my writing takes place is derived
from Zen practice” (5)11. In a sense (whether it be the Buddhist sense or not)
all poets meditate. Jane Hirshfi eld contends, “Poetry is zazen in language.
… Zazen and poetry are each deeply intimate paths, self becoming self,
true natureʼs expression” (5-6).12 Thus, practice serves as an essential link
between Zen and writing. However, it is not only practice to perfect a skill
or talent but practice to reach a purer and truer state of mind. Paul Reps and
Nyogen Senzaki write in Zen Flesh, Zen Bones that practice is “[t]he Zen
habit of self-searching through meditation to realize oneʼs true nature, with
disregard to formalism, with insistence on self-discipline” (18).13
Scalapino pays special attention to the conjunctive/disjunctive nature
of the “moment” in writing, when the poet transcribes the intangibles of the
10 Keats, John. Keatsʼ Negative Capability. 15 July 2006 < http://www.
mrbauld.com/negcap.html>
11 Sher, Gail. Jimmy and Lucyʼs House of “K.” vol. 9. 1989.
12 Hirshfi eld, Jane. Jimmy and Lucyʼs House of “K.” vol. 9. 1989.
13 Reps, Paul and Nyogen Senzaki. Zen Flesh Zen Bones. Boston: Tuttle,
1988.
Zen Buddhism
The University of Alabama McNair Journal
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mind into something material with ink on paper. Reps and Senzaki say, “Zen
is … an experience” (18). The writing experience occurs in the moment; a
sense of spontaneity prevails in that each thought, each phrase, each poem
that is written is new. It comes and then it goes as it leaves the mind and is
penned into language. Hirshfi eld suggests, “When we enter zazen everything
is new – no breath repeats. Each poem is new. Without judging, breath and
language arise and pass. … The true poems are effortless efforts, … but
how many hours of painful knees must live in them” (6).
Elegant twists of the mind unfold naturally during meditation and
the writing process, as if they simply happen spontaneously with the
natural order of the universe. Spontaneity becomes an essential element
in Zen poetry. That which is spontaneous arises from a natural inclination
or impulse independent of external constraints. Spontaneity all at once
intensifi es and relieves the tension between that which is unknown and
that which will transpire. It is the moment of happening. So much of the
Buddhist (and the writing) experience is dependent upon the moment and
that which occurs within the moment. In Chinese Taoist philosophy, this
would be called wu-wei. Yi-Ping Ong writes in her introduction to Lao Tzuʼs