This essay takes a magical look at Gary Snyder’s poem, “What You Should Know to Be A Poet”, keeping especially in mind the soul and world repairing functions of a Bard. Any good poem or story speaks for itself, outside of explication, but it can still be fun to exctract the vast amounts of knowledge contained within each compacted line.
According to Snyder a poet should know “all you can about about animals as persons.” Learning what roles an animal plays within its ecosystem is certainly valuable, useful not only for the preservation of ecosystems, but also in the remediation of those already damaged. Beyone these facts, figures, and statistics, when I approach an animal as a person , I touch something closer to myself and my own being –the soul of another. Humans are not the only species with soul. The whole world is a shrine for the soul. This is something you should know to be a Bard.
Animals are encountered everywhere, from the industrial urban environment to the suburban, from rural farmlands and forests to untouched pristine wilderness. Nature is a continuum and from it we cannot be separate. No matter where one may live, animals will be encountered. The Bard is at home in the city as much hiking through the brush or paddling up a stream. In this waking world animals make star crossed paths with us and we can look to them for guidance, as their appearance is always relevant to our lives.
Creatures are also encountered in the amber field of dreams. These connections should be noted and studied by the aspiring Bard.
Snyder says a poet should know “the names of trees and flowers and weeds”. To learn them the poet should also be a flaneur, a rambler, walking anywhere and everywhere as notable poets of the past have done. Along the way we learn the local flora. The trees and bushes in my neighborhood become trusted friends.
Naming a thing or knowing the name of a thing has long been associated with magical power. It is important to distinguish between power-over something and power-with something, for a Bard would never wish to manipulate for his or her selfish glory, but seeks to raise the consciousness of all, to ever greater levels of playing. Restoring colour to a world that is growing ever so gray is the special job of poets at this time, and to do so it may be necessary to call forth the souls of the plants and animals who are on the verge of disappearing.
Any good poem calls forth its implicit qualities, whether good or ill, through the power of its words. Poetry can evoke and invoke. Knowing the names of trees, flowers, and weeds asks the poet to be involved in the life of the land. If the name of a plant is known, what else can be known about it? What stories, songs, and myths are associated with the plant? What medicinal virtues do its leaves, roots, and stems hold for us? Some plants offer the gift of prophecy, others intoxication. There are those considered poisonous, and to greater or lesser degrees, some of those poisons can be transmuted alchemically. It is not surprising that one of Walt Whitman’s poems is called Calamus, the leaves of this famous grass being associated in biblical times with the gift of prophecy.
I heard once that children recognize more corporate logos than plant species. Though I cannot place the source of this information, it has the ring of truth. Such a trend must be reversed. Through poetry and storytelling the mysteries of the natural world can be restored. When we know the name of something we may be less likely to destroy it, as our intimacy with it has grown. A Bard should have frequent and intimate encounters with plant life. Bards may be able to recharge their creative batteries through esoteric eroticism, the ecstasy that comes from tuning into the ever evolving and regenerative play of life around us. In doing so we become Speakers for the Earth, Trees, and Wind.
Knowing “the names of stars and the movements of the planet and the moon” helps the Bard to fall gracefully into syncopation with natural time. The cycles of electricity, the glowing screens of computer and television, the collective light pollution leaking out from cities, have for many of us obscured the awe inspiring majesty of the starry sky. The stars dwarf our worldly ambition, helping us to get a sense of the bigger picture. Learning the constellations alone can fill one with a lifetime of stories from many different cultures.
In his poem Snyder reminds us to know our “own sixth sense, with a watchful elegant mind.” The mind must be stilled from an excess of voices and internal chatter in order to receive clear messages from the senses – the signs and symbols of synchronicity that speak to us when we make ourselves available to listen. Poetic insight, while informed by the five senses, is revealed by the sixth. Polishing the glass of intuition so that it may reflect clearly should be part and parcel of the basic maintenance of our human instrument.
A traditional form of magic should also be learned. Snyder mentions three types that have been most commonly used for divination, I Ching, astrology and tarot. The deeper one digs into these systems the more one comes to realize they are also a tool for transforming inner and outer reality. Each of these systems are the subject for many scores of books and can be studied for deeper application.
The second stanza addresses dreams and the denizen’s who inhabit the multiverse, beginning with “the illusory demons and the illusory shinging gods”. In this stanza Gary shows how the poet acts as a shaman by traveling into the astral landscape, into the higher and lower worlds. In dreams a person comes into contact with spiritual beings of all shades and stripes, the demonic, angelic, the indifferent, ghosts who haven’t moved on, and many other types of non-physical entities. Dreams are the playground of the soul, and in them direct knowledge of the universe and our place in it can be gained.
In the lower world the poet connects with these beings in a most visceral way, by kissing the ass of the devil. This specific image recalls to my mind how the Knights Templar kissed the ass of Baphomet as part of their initiation, which in turn can be elaborated upon as a metaphor for eating shit. Having congress with devils was certainly dangerous in the times of the Inquisition, but thankfully now those interested in these paths can pursue them without fear of being burned at the stake. Even so, most folk will recoil at the image of kissing the devils ass and eating his shit. From an alchemical point of view however, eating shit may be equated with the nigredo stage of the divine transformation. The black, dark, base matter of life must be internalized, and eaten, before it can be transmuted into the philosophers stone. The devil is also symbolic of creative power, especially as it applies to the material substances of the world. To partake of the devils defecation is to ingest what he more thoroughly digested. Poop can be looked at as creative output. Putrefaction transforms into enlightenment.
All of this is followed up by Snyder suggesting we “fuck the hag” or the Crone, a type of elderly Witch. The Hag is one aspect of the Triple Goddess, who also appears as the Maiden, and the Mother. In her old age, at the peak of her wisdom and in the full grasp of her accumulated power, on the verge of transitioning through the blue gates of death, the poet goes to the Crone or Hag for initiation, and become closer to the mysteries of death. By copulating with beings from the Otherworld, the boundaries between this world and the Other merge for a time. To have intercourse with spiritual beings is to enter into discourse with them. When the poet emerges from holy sleep, new powers are found awakening in the soul, gifts from the congress that has been shared with the spiritual allies who are now his intimates. These beings are the Muses who will make the tongue silver.
When a person comes down from such a peak experience there is often a corresponding depression. Humans are not meant to always live at the heights of spiritual ecstasy. To be functional in the world, to be of service to other people and the living things in the environment, a poet must know how to ground herself in the routines of daily living. The hearthstone is far from being a constraint to hamper the soul. It is a place returned to with joy, and the daily matters associated with its maintenance should be undertaken in the same spirit. After traveling through the Lower worlds and Upper worlds the gifts that have been given freely to us must be given freely back to the world; we return to make love with our human counterparts, husbands and wives, we return to the role of parenthood and bonding with children, of being in community.
Spiritual practices should never serve to remove one from the world, but to help engage more fully with it. The psychonauts, shamans, and astral voyagers who are most adept at the psychic arts are also the most practical. The practice of being a Bard does not make one removed from everyone else, but, by being a person who carries the stories, songs, and poems of a people, the Bard is a servant to the people. This is why, in my mind, some of the best stories and poems are those that are easily knowable, not requiring decades of scholarly acumen. They have an immediacy about them and have not been deliberately obfuscated and intellectualized so only the learned have access to what is contained inside. A true Bard crafts stories and poems that touch the heart and soul of all. This cannot easily be done from ivory towers, or by becoming so spaced out in esoterica that you cannot function on the material plane of existence.
To keep oneself humble and in tune with the world, “long dry hours of dull work” should be “swallowed and accepted”. Another way it could be said is in the Zen precept “Before enlightenment chop wood, carry water. After enlightenment, chop wood, carry water.” Dishes still need to be washed, clothes hung out on the line to dry, homes maintained. We do not transcend the material world, but transform it through our consciousness. Stripping and sanding the paint off my porch became a meditation for me. The sweat beads on my brow, on my back, in my arm pits. After a few hours I started to notice dull pains and aches in my arm, from the repetitive motion, but as I worked, I felt a sense of craftsmanship growing in me, a connection with the world of things. Working can be seen as a form of Karma Yoga, sweating out impurities, putting equity into the soul. Working, I feel in touch with my body, a useful counterpoint to all the work I do in my head as a writer. It’s fun to get my hands dirty, and after a day of honest labor food, beer, sex and sleep are fully enjoyed.
Snyder speaks of the “wild freedom of the dance”. Dancing has always been a primary method for entering into ecstasy. In a dance the Gods, Goddesses, animal spirits and ancestors are called upon and may even enter the body. The earth is honored by dance. The feet are drums pounding on her back. The heartbeat is raised. Breathing deepens. The dancer becomes entranced. Movements of the head, hair, limbs, torso take one away from the consensus mind, into the deepness of ones own. Dancing is a bridge between the worlds.
The “silent solitary illumination” or “entasy” is the vision quest, the lone Bard on a mountaintop or some other wild place hunting for dreams and visions. Alone and with no one to talk to the internal dialogue and chatter of the mind has a chance to become quiet and the poet is able to listen to the world speak. Blaise Pascal wrote, “all men’s miseries derive from not being able to sit in a quiet room alone”. Here Pascal’s Christianity is close to Snyder’s Buddhism. Both agree that relentless distraction stirs up unending desires, which cause suffering. Out on the vision quest the poet faces her own mortality. When the dream that has been cried for is delivered it is like an answered prayer, but one that requires action. We return to the fold of community renewed. Now, instead of following the path someone else has laid down for us we have our own map to go by, our own visionary blueprint to follow.
Finally Snyder says a poet should know “real danger: gambles and the edge of death”. What great and bold acts of genius were ever committed by playing it safe and following the quotidian line? Who has moved into new areas of research and discovery by refusing to test boundaries and push envelopes? The treasures that are to be found in the deep may be guarded by formidable foes, but in facing them we prove our own strength. Once those glittering jewels have been claimed as ours we will never be content with the rinkydink pleasures found while wading in shallow waters.
A Bard should know the edge of death and walk it daily. In his higher capacity the Bard may even act as a guide or psychopomp into the realms of the dead. The Bard may take on the role of “speaker for the dead” on behalf of the community. With a fine tuned discernment the Bard will be able to incite proper actions on behalf of the departed when necessary, and ease those who are called into their passing. By walking on the edge of death we gain strength for what we need to do now. Contemplating the end of physical life is a great way to break through blocks of procrastination, and a great way to be truly appreciative of the day we have.
Gary Snyder’s poem may be short, but learning and living what is set out in the poem is enough to fill a lifetime of ongoing work. Luckily when one is a Bard, there is no set end, no fixed point where one can say “I am finished”. Being a poet is an infinite and open-ended game. Large victories and small successes may be had along with momentary defeats. These do not constitute the end of play, but rather mark further points of development and departure.
-Justin Patrick Moore
September 8, 2010
Revised March 6, 2012
Cincinnati, Ohio
A free chapbook of this essay will be available at Lyrical Synaesthesia 2, at the Northside Library 4219 Hamilton Ave, featuring readings by Matt Hart, Abiyah, Nick Barrows, and Betsy Young.
