(100 MONKEYS)
Like snow monkeys of Hokkaido
we sit in steaming pools
under a flurry of snowflakes
and discuss our stomachs,
Keats, and the idea of truth and beauty.
We bring our ideas of culture to backwoods
artists who were content to paint
on rusted frying pans and saws.
To them this is what art is.
Imu, of the 100 monkeys story, was the first
to wash sand from grains of wheat in the sea
and soon the whole tribe copied her.
Scientists were puzzled by snow monkeys
arranging small white stones because
it had nothing to do with survival.
They couldn't bear the thought of monkeys
inventing a new game, or art.
Later, when the story of Imu's influence
was challenged by fundamentalists, I saw
a photo of the monkeys and people
bathing in the hot springs together.
Who was copying who?
Hoarfrost forms in our hair, melts and
trickles onto our scalps like blood.
Snow piles up on bare black willow branches
and leaves a dermis of skin on the water.
Nothing is as simple as it seems.
2/1983
Campbell Hot Springs
rev. 1988
CAMPBELL HOT SPRINGS
Like the snow monkeys of Hokkaido
we sit in steaming pools
under a flurry of snowflakes
discussing our stomachs.
Ice forming in our hair
melts and trickles down
to our scalps like blood.
Snow gathers on bare willow twigs
and leaves a dermis on the water.
2/83
CAMPBELL HOT SPRINGS
Like the snow monkeys of Hokkaido
under a flurry of snowflakes
discussing our stomachs.
Ice forming in our hair
melts and trickles down
to our scalps like blood.
Snow gathers on bare willow twigs
and leaves a dermis on the water.
2/83
CAMPBELL HOT SPRINGS
Like the snow monkeys of Hokkaido
in a flurry of snowflakes
we sit in steaming pools
discussing our stomachs.
Ice forms in our hair,
melts and trickles down to our scalps
like blood.
Snow gathers on bare twigs of willow
Ice forms in our hair,
melts and trickles down to our scalps
like blood.
Snow gathers on bare twigs of willow
snow on skin, on the water leaving marks—
the dermis of snow on water.
2/83
The original impetus for this pool may have been written in Chico, 1982. It’s almost a different poem.
Crows sit over the orchards.
The way a woodpecker approaches a tree is with intent.
We follow the Feather River north along the bowl.
We sit in the steaming pool, discussing our stomachs
amid a flurry of snowflakes. Ice forms in our hair and melts,
trickling down our scalps like blood.
Snow gathers on willow branches.
Snow on skin, the water, leaving marks,
dermis of snow on the water.
3/12/83
the dermis of snow on water.
2/83
The original impetus for this pool may have been written in Chico, 1982. It’s almost a different poem.
Crows sit over the orchards.
The way a woodpecker approaches a tree is with intent.
We follow the Feather River north along the bowl.
We sit in the steaming pool, discussing our stomachs
amid a flurry of snowflakes. Ice forms in our hair and melts,
trickling down our scalps like blood.
Snow gathers on willow branches.
Snow on skin, the water, leaving marks,
dermis of snow on the water.
3/12/83
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