Classic and Contemporary Poetry: Explained

Gary Snyder’s "Six Years: December" is an immersive glimpse into the disciplined life of a Zen monastery, capturing both the daily rhythms and the deep meditative stillness that underpins such an existence. The poem is structured as a series of sensory impressions, detailing the austere, ritualized routine of monastic practice. The title itself, Six Years: December, suggests an ongoing, cyclical experience rather than a singular event—perhaps a reference to Snyder’s years of Zen training in Japan during the 1950s.

The poem opens in the predawn hours with a distant sound: “Three a.m.—a far bell coming closer.” This bell signals the start of the monastic day, and its movement toward the speaker evokes both the physical reality of the monastery and the symbolic approach of mindfulness. Sleep is discarded as quickly as a physical object: “fling up useless futon on the shelf.” The act of rising is immediate, disciplined, almost mechanical. The cold is an immediate presence—“outside, ice-water in the hand & wash the face”—a moment of stark clarity that reinforces the Zen emphasis on direct experience and awakening through physical sensation.

Snyder introduces the character of Ko, described as “the bird-head, silent, skinny, swiftly cruise the room with salt plum tea.” The cryptic description suggests someone moving with quiet efficiency, perhaps a fellow monk or a teacher performing their morning duties. The small ritual of drinking salt plum tea is both a practical measure against the cold and a symbol of Zen’s focus on simplicity and mindful appreciation of daily actions.

The bell, a constant motif in Buddhist practice, returns: “Bell from the hondo chanting sutras.” The hondo, or main hall of a Zen temple, is the spiritual heart of the practice, and the chanting of sutras is part of the communal ritual that structures monastic life. Snyder lists the instruments that accompany the chanting—“deep bell, small bell, wooden drum”—a rhythmic layering of sound that marks the transition into the morning’s religious observances.

The structure of the morning continues with sanzen at four: “kneel on icy polisht boards in line.” Sanzen is the formal meeting with the Zen master, a critical moment for a student seeking deeper understanding. The stark image of kneeling on polished, icy boards reinforces the physical rigor and discipline of Zen training. Breakfast follows: “Shukuza rice and pickles barrel and bucket dim watt bulb,” an unembellished description of the frugality and routine that define monastic meals.

The hours unfold in a structured rhythm, alternating between meditation, work, and meals. “Till daybreak nap upright. / sweep / garden and hall. frost outside / wind through walls.” The idea of napping upright suggests the minimal comfort afforded to the monks—perhaps a moment of rest between long hours of meditation. The sweeping of the garden and hall is not merely a chore but part of Zen practice itself, an act of mindfulness in which tending the external world reflects internal discipline. The frost outside and the wind through the walls emphasize the season’s harshness, echoing the rigorous demands of Zen training.

The monastic schedule continues: “At eight the lecture bell. high chair. / Ke helps the robe-red, gold, black lacquer in the shadow sun and cold.” Here, a formal teaching takes place, with robes and ritual objects marking the solemnity of the moment. The high chair may indicate the seat of the Zen master, while the “robe-red, gold, black lacquer” suggests the presence of ceremonial garments or religious artifacts.

The structured, rhythmic life moves inexorably forward: “Saiza a quarter to ten / soup and rice dab on the bench / feed the hungry ghosts back in the hall by noon.” Saiza, the formal seated posture, signals another moment of discipline and meditation. The phrase “feed the hungry ghosts” refers to an important Buddhist ritual in which offerings are made to restless spirits, symbolic of unfulfilled desires and attachments.

The cycle of practice, work, and sustenance repeats: “two o clock sanzen three o clock bellywarmer boild up soup-rice mush.” Another sanzen session takes place at two, reinforcing the centrality of direct teaching and inquiry in Zen. At three, the practical necessity of nourishment arises again, with the simple and unembellished “soup-rice mush” serving as a reminder of the monastery’s austere existence.

The final lines capture a brief moment of release: “dinging and scuffing. out back smoke, and talk.” The contrast is striking—after a day of silent meditation, ritual, and discipline, there is finally an informal moment where the monks step outside to talk and perhaps smoke. This moment of human ease amidst the rigor of monastic life brings warmth to the poem, acknowledging that even within the strict Zen framework, there is room for small acts of camaraderie.

"Six Years: December" distills the essence of Zen training into a sensory and temporal sequence. Through fragmented, direct language, Snyder captures the rhythm of monastic life—the bells, the meals, the sweeping, the moments of reflection, and the moments of physical hardship. The structure of the poem mimics the experience it describes: disciplined, spare, and without extraneous commentary. Yet within this discipline, Snyder also finds beauty—the small rituals of tea, the patterns of bells and drums, the companionship of fellow practitioners. The poem reflects his deep engagement with Zen practice, not as an abstract philosophy but as an embodied way of living, where every action, every breath, and every sound is part of an unbroken meditation on existence.

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