no other life...

from my anthology of must read (a)merican poems

Gary Snyder

Why Log Truck Drivers
Rise Earlier Than
Students of Zen

In the high seat,
    before-dawn dark,

Polished hubs gleam
And the shiny diesel stack
Warms and flutters
Up the Tyler Road grade
To the logging on Poorman
                          Creek.

Thirty miles of dust.

There is no other life.

*

On another day, I choose “I Went into the Maverick Bar” or “Axe Handles” or “By Frazier Creek Falls” – but not today.

Such a profound thought, shouldered by one clear, concrete image – in motion – and written with a direct and basic syntax. Of the people, of the body.

The poem itself, a koan.

Straight ahead. To the point. No escape.