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My Grandmother standing wordless fifteen minutes Between rows of loganberries, clippers poised in her hand.

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
Hands
Gardening
Fifteen
Grandmother
Essentials
Garden
Clippers
Standing
Wordless
Minutes
Rows
Hand
Poised

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True affluence is not needing anything.
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O, ah! The awareness of emptiness brings forth a heart of compassion!
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You run into people who want to write poetry who don't want to read anything in the tradition. That's like wanting to be a builder but not finding out what different kinds of wood you use.
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After weeks of watching the roof leak I fixed it tonight by moving a single board
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I try to hold both history and wilderness in mind, that my poems may the true measure of things and stand against the unbalance and ignorance of our times.
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Find your place on the planet. Dig in, and take responsibility from there.
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Thought is just an apprehension of touch.
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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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A reading is a kind of communion. The poet articulates the semi-known for the tribe.
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Revolutionary consciousness is to be found among the most ruthlessly exploited masses: animals, trees, water, air, grasses
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The other side of the sacred is the sight of your beloved in the underworld, dripping with maggots.
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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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I don't know of any other city where you can walk through so many culturally diverse neighborhoods, and you're never out of sight of the wild hills. Nature is very close here.
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All that we did was human, stupid, easily forgiven, Not quite right.
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Burning the small dead branches broke from beneath thick spreading whitebark pine. A hundred summers snowmelt rock and air hiss in a twisted bough.
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Sometime in the last ten years the best brains of the Occident discovered to their amazement that we live in an Environment. This discovery has been forced on us by the realization that we are approaching the limits of something.
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In Western Civilization, our elders are books.
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Zen aims at freedom but its practice is disciplined.
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A great poet does not express his or her self he expresses all of our selves.
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Being the Stream Meditation is not just a rest or retreat from the turmoil of the stream or the impurity of the world. It is a way of being the stream, so that one can be at home in both the white water and the eddies. Meditation may take one out of the world, but it also puts one totally into it.
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