There is a Mountain: Issa's Sunday Service, #167

Mt. Fuji by Fg2

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I could have sworn a dozen times over that "There is a Mountain" by Donovan had previously been on the Sunday Service but it seems not. This is a lovely little song, based on a Zen aphorism, with added lyrics that have a imagistic/haiku feel.

The song's origins go way down the alley. Wikipedia nails it, so here's the details: 

The lyrics refer to a Buddhist saying originally formulated by Qingyuan Weixin, later translated by D.T. Suzuki in his Essays in Zen Buddhism, one of the first books to popularize Buddhism in Europe and the US. Qingyuan writes

Before I had studied Chan (Zen) for thirty years, I saw mountains as mountains, and rivers as rivers. When I arrived at a more intimate knowledge, I came to the point where I saw that mountains are not mountains, and rivers are not rivers. But now that I have got its very substance I am at rest. For it's just that I see mountains once again as mountains, and rivers once again as rivers. 

There are lots of versions (the best of all the Donovan versions is Live at the Hollywood Bowl, the one you are can listen to above) - long jams by the Allman Brothers and quoted by the Grateful Dead in their song "Alligator" (or the Allman Brothers and Grateful Dead together), Kenny Loggins, a duet of Donovan and Bobbie Gentry, but the strangest of all is the following:





"There Is A Mountain"

The lock upon my garden gate's a snail, that's what it is
The lock upon my garden gate's a snail, that's what it is
First there is a mountain, then there is no mountain, then there is
First there is a mountain, then there is no mountain, then there is

The caterpillar sheds his skin to find a butterfly within
Caterpillar sheds his skin to find a butterfly within
First there is a mountain, then there is no mountain, then there is
First there is a mountain, then there is no mountain

Oh Juanita, oh Juanita, oh Juanita, I call your name Ah Oh,
The snow will be a blinding sight to see, as it lies on yonder hillside.

The lock upon my garden gate's a snail, that's what it is
The lock upon my garden gate's a snail, that's what it is
Caterpillar sheds his skin to find a butterfly within
Caterpillar sheds his skin to find a butterfly within

First there is a mountain, then there is no mountain, then there is
First there is a mountain, then there is no mountain, then there is
First there is a mountain, then there is no mountain, then there is
First there is a mountain, then there is no mountain, then there is
First there is a mountain 


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Fuji san by Maki_C30D

making mountains rise
in the clouds...
cawing crow

Issa
translated by David G. Lanoue

best,

Don   

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Sunny South Kensington: Issa's Sunday Service, #147

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This is Donovan's third appearance on the Sunday Service and this number is particularly evocative of another time (60s) and place (London). There's a bit of name dropping and it is Mr. Ginsberg's that makes the lit connection :

Sunny South Kensington

Come take a walk in sunny South Kensington
Any day of the week
See the girl with the silk Chinese blouse on
You know she ain't no freak
Come balloon soon down Cromwell Road, man
You got to spread your wings
A-flip out, skip out, trip-out, and a-make your stand, folks
To dig me as I sing
Jean-Paul Belmondo and-a Mary Quant got
Stoned to say the least
Ginsberg, he ended up drying and so
He a-took a trip out east
If I'm a-late waitin' down the gate, it's such a 'raz' scene
A groovy place to live
In the Portobella I met a fella with a cane umbrella
Who must've used a sieve
So come balloon soon down Cromwell Road, man
You got to spread your wings
A-flip out, skip out, trip-out and a-make your stand, folks
To dig me as I sing
Hmm, hmm, hmm
Come take a walk in sunny South Kensington
Any day of the week
Come see the girl with the silk Chinese blouse on
You know she ain't no freak
If I'm a-late waitin' down the gate, it's such a 'raz' scene
A groovy place to live
In the Portobella I met a fella with a cane umbrella
Who must've used a sieve
Jean-Paul Belmondo and-a Mary Quant got
Stoned to say the least
Ginsberg, he ended up drying and so
He a-took a trip out east
Hmm, hmm, hmm
Come loon soon down Cromwell Road, man
You got, you got to spread your wings, yeah
See the girl with the silk Chinese blouse on, yeah
You know she ain't no freak, hmm, hmm

One must be a certain age to know who Mary Quant was and that's a fact. It seemed, however, a good time, mid-December, to take a bright, cheery walk through the paisley-tinged streets of an old school memory.

So to trim up things neatly, here's an amazing reading by Allen Ginsberg at the 93rd Street Y, February 26, 1973, with Gregory Corso acting the igniter to Ginsberg's dynamite (incredible focus - Louis Ginsberg, Allen's poet father, gives it a bit to Corso - & Allen, too, ultimately, lovingly, gives it - all is love, hare krishna, hare krishna - and Charlie, calm the fuck down, don't touch the angel - hallelujah):

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well, well
pale purple, this year's color...
for young bamboo

 Issa

 translated by David G. Lanoue 

best,
Don 

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Song of Wandering Aengus: Issa's Sunday Service, No. 122

Today's selection of a W. B. Yeats poem performed by Donovan was a suggestion from a Facebook friend that I couldn't resist, particularly while still in mourning over the passing of Bert Jansch.


The Song of Wandering Aengus

Went out to the hazel wood,
Because a fire was in my head,
And cut and peeled a hazel wand,
And hooked a berry to a thread;

And when white moths were on the wing,
And moth-like stars were flickering out,
I dropped the berry in a stream
And caught a little silver trout.

When I had laid it on the floor
I went to blow the fire a-flame,
But something rustled on the floor,
And some one called me by my name:
It had become a glimmering girl
With apple blossom in her hair
Who called me by my name and ran
And faded through the brightening air.

Though I am old with wandering
Through hollow lands and hilly lands,
I will find out where she has gone,
And kiss her lips and take her hands;
And walk among long dappled grass,
And pluck till time and times are done
The silver apples of the moon,
The golden apples of the sun.

William Butler Yeats

There are have been any number of great renderings of this W. B. Yeats poem.  Two follow, the first a delightful animation to a recitation of the poem and the second a great rendition by the Dutch band Fling, who specialize in Irish music.











I can't shake the Bert Jansch blues, so here is Donovan's song, "Bert's Blues," for his old friend, from way back in 1966.  R.I.P., Mr. Jansch:

Finally, a set of 6 tunes by Bert: "Blues," "October Song," "The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face," "Gypsy Dave," "Nobody's Bar," and "Rosemary Lane."





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Had a couple of guesses, via email and Facebook, of what poem it might be that the artwork I posted was based on but nobody got it.  I guess that it will have to remain a mystery for all except the artist and myself.

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This week's poem comes from the Lilliput Review archive comes from  #66, a broadside of the work of Albert Huffstickler.  Enjoy.




Please No Applause Till After the Performance is Over

He walks to the corner,
stops,
turns back, walks
halfway down the block,
stops,
gathers himself together,
turns decisively,
and marches back
to the corner.
He's been doing this
for an hour.
He's rehearsing something,
God knows what.
He may not know himself anymore.
There was something
he was going to do
and never did.
Now he's rehearsing
getting back on track.
Don't mock him.
If you've
never been there,
you don' know how he feels.
If you have
and aren't now,
be grateful

            Albert Huffsticker

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autumn wind--
walking along the valley's cliff
my shadow

Issa
translated by David G. Lanoue

best,

Don

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Under the Greenwood Tree: Issa's Sunday Service, #73

This week's selection for Issa's Sunday Service has a double literary pedigree: it is a song written by William Shakespeare, from Act II, Scene V, of As You Like It and the title of a Thomas Hardy novel after the Shakespeare song. In any case, this is a fine adaptation by Donovan.

Back about two years ago, I had a little something to say about this Hardy novel while blogging at my other job.  Hardy is one of my unabashed favorites.  Shakespeare and Donovan, too, for that matter, though none seem to be in the haiku business.

Hmn.

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Here's an amateur video of Tom Waits performing Lawerence Ferlinghetti's poem "Firemen" from Pictures of the Gone World at the recent Litquake festival in San Francisco.  This is the long version with a typically wonderful Waits intro.

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Lilliput Review #109 featured a parcel of haiku and other short-short pieces.  Here's one that was a little longer, calling an old friend to mind, reminding us of the true value of much literary criticism, and all the moon's light:

Ephemera

Po Chui, we are told, wrote
too many poems on subjects
of no special significance.

Across eleven centuries
we can still see the poet's brush
draw the least leaf to life.

The critic's words, as our breaths
on a winter's night, are
bright in the moon's light.

Robert Chute

Lute

my lute set aside
          on the little table
lazily I meditate
          on cherishing feelings
the reason I don't bother
          to strum and pluck?
there's a breeze over the strings
          and it plays itself

Po Chu-i
translated by James M. Cryer

Children imitating cormorants
are even more wonderful
than cormorants.

Issa
translated by Robert Hass

best,
Don

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Issa' Sunday Service, #3

Today's edition of "Issa's Sunday Service" features a song by Donovan from his excellent, if little known, Sutras album. The album has lots of what can be called "LitRock" tracks. "The Way" is an adaptation of lines from Lao Tsu's (Tzu) Tao Te Ching, translated by Gia-fu Feng and Jane English. In fact, there are adaptations of more than a few literary works on this disk, including pieces by Edgar Allan Poe, Sappho, and Thich Nhat Hanh.

Why Donovan today - because it's his birthday. So, happy birthday to an immensely influential and under appreciated Donovan.

This week's featured poem is from Lilliput Review #4, from sometime in 1989.

after hours

the blues are red tonight
in my neighborhood bar
the foam of things to come
has taken over
the jukebox just ain't
what she used to be
and neither are you
ole buddy

Tony Moffeit

with a just-yanked
radish
pointing the way

Issa
translated by David Lanoue

best
Don