[He is pruning the privet]

By Joanne Kyger b. 1934 Joanne Kyger

He is pruning the privet

of sickly sorrow desolation

in loose pieces of air he goes clip clip clip

the green blooming branches fall—‘they’re getting out

of hand’ delirious and adorable what a switch

we perceive multiple

identities when you sing so beautifully the shifting

clouds You are not alone is this world

not a lone a parallel world of reflection

in a window keeps the fire burning

in the framed mandala, the red shafted flicker

sits on the back of the garden chair in the rain

the red robed monks downtown in the rain a rainbow arises

simple country practices thunder

lightning, hail and rain eight Douglas Iris

ribbon layers of attention

So constant creation of ‘self’ is a tricky

mess He is pruning the loquat, the olive

which looks real enough in the damp late morning air

May 15, 1995

Source: About Now: Collected Poems (National Poetry Foundation, 2007)

Biography

Associated with the poets of the San Francisco Renaissance, poet Joanne Kyger studied philosophy and literature at the University of California, Santa Barbara, moving to San Francisco in 1957 just before she finished her degree. In San Francisco she attended the Sunday meetings of poets Jack Spicer and Robert Duncan, and moved into the East West House, a communal house for students of Zen Buddhism and Asian studies. She lived in . . .

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