I Can’t Stop Telling People About This Obscure Zen Poetry Book
Last week, the popular Twitter account @takezopure asked, “What’s the most underrated book you’ve ever read?”
His question received 194 replies, including some great recommendations such as Vagabonding by Rolf Potts and Stoner by John Williams. Predictably, plenty of people also replied with books that, while worthwhile, aren’t underrated at all, such as James Clear’s uber-bestseller Atomic Habits.
I responded with a true long shot: Crow with No Mouth, an obscure book of poems by the 15th century Zen master Ikkyū, in English versions by Stephen Berg.
My reply was one of the most popular, garnering 33 likes and 4 retweets, which seems unusual, especially since I was recommending an out-of-print poetry book that sells for $200 used on Amazon, in a country where less than 12% of adults read poetry.
Yet Crow with No Mouth has become something of a cult classic among poets and writers, recommended by word of mouth, given as a gift, frequently borrowed and never given back. But few outside of serious poetry circles have ever heard of it.
What makes this book so special? Let’s start with the poet himself.
Ikkyū Sōjun (1394-1481) was the bad boy of Zen Buddhism. After being appointed headmaster of Daitokuji temple in Kyoto–one of the most important in all Japan–he lasted nine days before he got tired of the bureaucracy and fucked right off. He wrote:
ten fussy days running this temple all red tape
look me up if you want to in the bar whorehouse fish market
This incident is typical of Ikkyū’s career.
Said to be the bastard son of the Emperor Go-Komatsu, at age six Ikkyū was sent to a monastery to begin his Zen training. From an early age, he showed a talent for poetry, and was also an accomplished calligrapher, painter, and flute player.
When he was 27, while meditating in a boat on Lake Biwa, he heard a crow call and instantly attained satori–Zen enlightenment–as certified by his master, Kasō Sōdon.
But Ikkyū rebelled against the strictures of monastic life and the entrenched bureaucracy that Zen Buddhism had fallen into during that period. He spent much of his time wandering the countryside, hanging out in sake houses with poets, artists, sex workers, and common fishermen. These wanderings inspired some great poetry:
up all night in this fisherman’s hut drinking talking
his wife hates me bangs her spoon on the kettle
Ikkyū was one of the few Zen priests to address sexuality in his writing, arguing that, contrary to the monastic rule of celibacy, sexual relationships could even deepen enlightenment. He wrote some strikingly erotic poems:
plum blossom close to the ground her dark place opens
wet with the dew of her passion wet with the lust of my tongue
But his poetry could also be surprisingly tender, revealing a person of deep feeling beneath his rowdy persona:
I found my sparrow Sonrin dead one morning
and dug his grave as gently as I would my own daughter’s
It would be tempting to compare Ikkyu to Charles Bukowski, who lived a similarly debaucherous lifestyle, but Ikkyū was a better poet than Bukowski, as well as being a legitimate Zen master. Students of meditation will recognize the taste of the nondual in some of Ikkyū’s lines:
sometimes all I am is a dark emptiness
I can’t hide in the sleeves of my own robes
In an era when mindfulness has been secularized, corporatized, and sanitized, Ikkyū reminds us that awakening is wild. It includes everything in life, from sexual longing, to the death of a loved one, to a pile of horse shit on the road.
Ikkyū is not politically correct. His behavior would be no more socially acceptable today than it was in 15th century Japan–perhaps even less so. In fact, if Ikkyū were alive today, he would be instantly canceled.
But Ikkyū speaks to us from across the centuries. His poems–especially in Stephen Berg’s versions–are pithy enough to be viral Tweets. Their compression and raw vitality would scare the crap out of most Instagram poets. And in their brevity, perhaps they are uniquely suited to an age when attention has become our scarcest resource.
Crow with No Mouth is my favorite poetry book. I’ve quoted it to an obnoxious extent, gifted copies to friends, and even recommended it to my therapist, who now keeps a copy in his waiting room.
With used paperbacks starting at $200, I’m almost hesitant to recommend it to random people on the internet. But maybe, if the publishers see the demand, they’ll put together a new printing. In the meantime, if you’re not a high roller, you can grab the e-book from Amazon, Kobo, or your local library.
Enjoy!
If you appreciated this article, please consider subscribing to my free, weekly newsletter, Mindful Mondays. You’ll get my latest writing delivered straight to your email inbox. I promise not to spam you, and you can unsubscribe at any time.
Cheers,
Chris
