Category: Series

5.6.2026 – not here and now but

not here and now but
now and here – a matter of
life, death, ticking watch

Fish Haul Beach at Low Tide – Spring 2026

Adapted from the collection of poems, After Ikkyū & Other Poems, where Jim Harrison writes:

Not here and now but now and here.
If you don’t know the difference
is a matter of life and death, get down
naked on bare knees in the snow
and study the ticking of your watch.

This collection of poems by Jim Harrison, released in 1996, is deeply influenced by his long-term engagement with Zen practice and is named after the eccentric 15th-century Zen monk Ikkyū Sōjun and was republished in The Complete Poems of Jim Harrison by Jim Harrison (Denver: Copper Canyon Press 2022).

Mr Harrison once wrote, To write a poem you must first create a pen that will write what you want to say. For better or worse, this is the work of a lifetime.

Not here and now

but now and here.

If you don’t know the difference is a matter of life and death,

get down naked on bare knees in the snow …

and study the ticking of your watch.

Not sure OF the difference of here and now or now and here so I am studying the ticking of my watch.

But I wear a watch that winds itself as I walk.

If its ticking I must be walking and if I am walking now I am here now.

For reasons of its own, my watch has stopped.

Now not sure if I am here.

5.3.2026 – the running water

the running water
home of living fish and
silver of the sun

The mountains stand up around the main street m Harper’s Ferry
Shadows stand around the town, and mist creeps up the flanks of tall
rocks

A terrible push of waters sometime made a cloven way for their flood
here

On the main street the houses huddle, the walls crouch for cover
And yet— up at Hilltop House, or up on Jefferson’s Rock, there are
lookouts.

There are the long curves of the meeting of the Potomac and the
Shenandoah,

There is the running water home of living fish and silver of the sun
The lazy flat rocks spread out browns for green and blue silver to run
over

Mascots of silver circles move around Harper’s Ferry
No wonder John Brown came here to fight and be hanged
No wonder Thomas Jefferson came here to sit with his proud red head
writing notes on the great State of Virginia
Borders hem the town, borders of Virginia, West Virginia, Maryland,
Be absent minded a minute or two and you guess at what state you
are in

Harper’s Ferry is a meeting place of winds and waters, rocks and ranges

Landscapes Including States of the Union by Carl Sandburg as publishing Good Morning America in The Complete Poems of Carl Sandburg (New York: Harcourt Brace, 1950).

Yes I went for the one line, There is the running water home of living fish and silver of the sun, to go with my photograph of Horse Creek on Hilton Head Island.

It is not Harper’s Ferry.

This is Harper’s Ferry with me on Jefferson’s Rock and my brother Eddie standing in front of me.

As Mr. Sandburg writes:

or up on Jefferson’s Rock, there are
lookouts.

No wonder Thomas Jefferson came here to sit with his proud red head
writing notes on the great State of Virginia.

I have to point out that visitiors are no longer allowed to sit of stand on Jefferson’s rock.

Today there are guard rails to protect the rock.

In Jefferson’s day there were no were upright stone post to keep the rock in place.

BUT I DIGRESS.

My photo is of the sun over Horse Creek in the center of Hilton Head Island.

Miles from anywhere and miles from anywhere.

Be absent minded a minute or two and you guess at what state you
are in.

4.29.2026 – ignorant of how

ignorant of how
they see, don’t see unless work
very hard at it

Paul Cézanne – The Village of L’Estaque Seen from the Sea (Le village de l’Estaque vu de la mer)

Sprawled there by the creek and cautioning myself against my canteen whiskey I stared at the assortment of dead leaves that had gathered themselves in the spring, with some floating, a few suspended in the clear water, and the bottom of the spring pasted yellow and dull red with the others.

I had once tried to paint this phenomenon, unsuccessfully in the minds of others because it is not the sort of thing one can see clearly.

There was the odd thought, absent for years, that nearly everyone was ignorant of how they see, lost as they were in the attraction for the simplicity of photographs, which is not how anyone sees.

We don’t see all at once unless we work very hard at it.

When I first saw Cézanne’s work I was dumbstruck at his comprehension of true vision.

From True North by Jim Harrison (New York, Grove Press, 2004).

I think that is why I enjoy the beach.

I want to see it all at once.

I work very hard at it.

4.13.2026 – sense of proportion

sense of proportion
in good and bad experience
loses its appeal

Adapted from the passage in the book, The Road Home by Jim Harrison (Atlantic Monthly Press New York, 1998) where Mr. Harrison writes:

With age I need not make judgments about their comparative merits, having lost the impulse to be right.

One is one, and the other is another.

With age one loses all sense of the supposed inevitability of art and life.

Vivid moments are no longer strung together by imagined fate.

The sense of proportion in good and bad experience loses its appeal.

Bad is bad and you let it go.

Good you cherish as it whizzes by.

Mental struggles become lucid and muted with particular visual images attached to them, somewhat irrationally or beyond ordinary logic.

Money shrinks to money.

Fear is always recognizable rather than generalized.

It is sharp and its aim is very good indeed.

If there is wisdom as such, it is boiled down by fatigue.

The sense of proportion in good and bad experience loses its appeal.

When you have a man who sits in the office of president of the United States who post images of himself portrayed as Jesus Christ, all things, good and bad, lose their proportion on a level of good of bad.

Landing in the land of the unbelievable, I need not make judgments about their comparative merits, having lost the impulse to be right.

The sense of proportion in good and bad experience loses its appeal.

When there are no comparative merits, their is little effort needed to be right.

As I wrote the other day that I struggle mentally to become lucid and I feel muted with particular visual images attached to them, somewhat irrationally or beyond ordinary logic and ask how a man could become not immoral, not amoral but, somehow infinitely worse, morally extinguished and president.

The sense of proportion in good and bad experience loses its appeal.

Beyond belief.

I what for the outcry but where your treasure is, their your heart will be also.