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Clouds sink down the hills Coffee is hot again. The dog Turns and turns about, stops and sleeps.

Gary Snyder

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Gary Snyder
Age: 94
Born: 1930
Born: May 8
Environmentalist
Poet
Trade Unionist
Translator
Writer
San Francisco County
California
Gary Snyder
Sleep
Sleeps
Turns
Sink
Stops
Hills
Hot
Coffee
Clouds
Dog

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In Western Civilization, our elders are books.
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My Grandmother standing wordless fifteen minutes Between rows of loganberries, clippers poised in her hand.
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All this new stuff goes on top turn it over, turn it over wait and water down from the dark bottom turn it inside out let it spread through Sift down even. Watch it sprout. A mind like compost.
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Thought is just an apprehension of touch.
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You should really know what the complete natural world of your region is and know what all its interactions are and how you are interacting with it yourself. This is just part of the work of becoming who you are, where you are.
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There are those who love to get dirty and fix things. They drink coffee at dawn, beer after work. And those who stay clean, just appreciate things. At breakfast they have milk and juice at night. There are those who do both, they drink tea.
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I hold the most archaic values on earth ... the fertility of the soul, the magic of the animals, the power-vision in solitude.... the love and ecstasy of the dance, the common work of the tribe.
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Zen aims at freedom but its practice is disciplined.
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The mercy of the West has been social revolution the mercy of the East has been individual insight into the basic self/void.
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After weeks of watching the roof leak I fixed it tonight by moving a single board
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Clambering up the Cold Mountain path, The Cold Mountain trail goes on and on: The long gorge choked with scree and boulders, The wide creek, the mist-blurred grass. The moss is slippery, though there's been no rain The pine sings, but there's no wind. Who can leap the world's ties And sit with me among the white clouds?
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Gratitude to the Great Sky who holds billions of stars - and goes yet beyond that - beyond all powers, and thoughts and yet is within us - Grandfather Space. The Mind is his Wife
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I never find words right away. Poems for me always begin with images and rhythms, shapes, feelings, forms, dances in the back of my mind.
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What is any religion? A little ritual, a little superstition, and some magic. It's not a strictly spiritual affair it has psychological roles to fulfill. You might not want it to be a religion based on your own experience but that's like wanting to clean up your dreams
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All that we did was human, stupid, easily forgiven, Not quite right.
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When the mind is exhausted of images, it invents its own.
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I thought, that day I started, I sure would hate to do this all my life, And dammit, that’s just what I’ve gone and done.
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O, ah! The awareness of emptiness brings forth a heart of compassion!
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To work on behalf of the wild is to restore culture
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A great poet does not express his or her self he expresses all of our selves.
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