Classic and Contemporary Poetry: Explained

Gary Snyder’s "Six Years: Envoy to Six Years" serves as a reflective conclusion to his Zen monastic training, juxtaposing spiritual discipline with the raw physicality of industrial labor. The poem shifts from the silent, meditative world of the monastery to the mechanical, grease-stained belly of a ship, illustrating how Snyder’s Zen awareness extends beyond formal practice into the realm of everyday work.

The poem opens with a descent: “Down in the engine room again / Touching a silver steam line / with a tiny brush.” This is a stark contrast to the structured, ritualistic world of the monastery in "Six Years: December". Instead of temple bells and sutras, the setting is industrial, defined by machinery and the meticulous work of cleaning and maintaining it. The steam line, touched “with a tiny brush,” is given an almost reverential treatment, as if even this mundane task holds an element of mindfulness. The word “again” suggests routine, repetition—just as monastic practice involves sweeping the same floor daily, working in the engine room requires a similar discipline.

The language is mechanical, practical, and tactile: “Soogy the oil sump-gloves and rags.” Soogy is a slang term for something soaked with oil or grease, immediately evoking the physicality and grime of the work. Snyder does not romanticize this setting; instead, he immerses the reader in its textures and smells, reinforcing his commitment to seeing all aspects of life—including hard labor—as part of the same whole.

The poem then shifts to a voice from another worker, likely a shipmate: “‘how long you say you been Japan? six years eh you must like the place.’” This casual inquiry acknowledges Snyder’s past without fully understanding its depth. The speaker is not interested in Zen training or meditation; he is grounded in a practical, material world. The conversation veers toward cynicism and commerce: “‘those guys in New York / bunch of fuckin crooks. / they ain't just selling / little two-bit caps, they making books.’” The gruff language, the reference to capitalism and corruption, marks a return to a more grounded, workaday reality—far from the disciplined world of temple halls and sutras.

Snyder resumes his task with a methodical, almost meditative action: “Rinse out the soogy rag in kerosene, / And wipe off sooty oil condenser line.” The repetition of physical labor mirrors the cyclical nature of Zen practice. Just as monks kneel and sweep temple floors daily, here he repeats his movements in the engine room, treating the grease-covered machinery with the same level of care.

The final lines shift to a broader perspective, capturing the immense power of the ship’s core: “Driving forward geared turbine— / The driveshaft treetrunk thick, / Bearings bathed in flowing oil, / The belly of the ship.” The image of the driveshaft being “treetrunk thick” suggests a connection between the natural world and human-made machinery, a theme Snyder often explores. The ship’s engine, like a great tree, is central to its movement, embodying a force of propulsion and transformation.

The phrase “The belly of the ship” concludes the poem with a sense of enclosure, a return to an internal, unseen world. Much like the monastery, the engine room operates beneath the surface, a hidden but essential component of movement and function. The ship, like a Zen practitioner, must be maintained through careful attention and discipline.

"Six Years: Envoy to Six Years" is a powerful meditation on work, transition, and continuity. Snyder’s move from Zen training to the engine room suggests that spiritual practice does not end when one leaves the monastery—it is carried into everyday labor, into the rhythmic motions of cleaning, maintaining, and observing. The contrast between the worker’s crude cynicism and Snyder’s quiet attentiveness highlights the different ways people engage with the world, yet the poem never passes judgment. Instead, it embraces both realities, finding mindfulness in the act of wiping down an oil condenser line just as much as in chanting sutras in a temple. Through this, Snyder suggests that the essence of Zen is not bound to any one place or practice but is woven into the fabric of all actions, no matter how seemingly mundane.

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