Classic and Contemporary Poetry: Explained

Gary Snyder’s "Toji" is a quietly observant poem that captures a moment of cultural and spiritual intersection within the setting of Tōji, a Shingon Buddhist temple in Kyoto. The poem juxtaposes the daily realities of human life—men sleeping under the temple eaves, a mother resting in the shade—with the enduring presence of sacred figures, both monumental and subtle. Through this contrast, Snyder explores the fluid coexistence of the sacred and the mundane, the historical and the contemporary, with a tone that is both reverent and gently ironic.

The poem’s structure is loose and fluid, reflecting Snyder’s signature style of direct, moment-by-moment observation. There is no punctuation, which creates an unbroken flow of images, reinforcing the sense of quiet movement within the temple grounds. The first lines immediately set the scene: “Men asleep in their underwear / Newspapers under their heads.” The image is unceremonious, grounding the poem in the ordinary. These men, likely travelers or homeless individuals, use the temple’s eaves for shelter, their vulnerability emphasized by their state of undress. The presence of the temple does not impose any restriction or demand for formality—it is a space of tolerance, where rest is permitted without interference.

The poem then shifts to an iconic, imposing figure: “Kobo Daishi solid iron and ten feet tall / Strides through, a pigeon on his hat.” Kobo Daishi, also known as Kukai, was the founder of the Shingon school of Buddhism, and his presence here, represented as a massive iron statue, signals the weight of religious tradition. Yet the image of a pigeon perched on his hat humorously undercuts his grandeur, subtly reminding the reader that even the most revered spiritual figures are not beyond the reach of the everyday. This interplay between reverence and lightness pervades the poem, allowing it to acknowledge the power of sacred figures without slipping into solemnity.

Snyder’s attention to detail continues in his description of the temple’s interior: “Peering through chickenwire grates / At dusty gold-leaf statues.” The presence of chickenwire—a practical but crude barrier—suggests a layer of separation between the viewer and the sacred artifacts, as well as the wear and aging of the temple. The “dusty gold-leaf statues” indicate a kind of fading grandeur, their brilliance slightly dulled by time. This detail reinforces the theme of impermanence, a central concept in Buddhist thought, while also adding to the poem’s texture of sensory experience.

The most vivid and enigmatic figure in the poem appears in the next lines: “A cynical curving round-belly / Cool Bodhisattva—maybe Avalokita— / Bisexual and tried it all, weight on / One leg.” Avalokita, or Avalokiteshvara, is a bodhisattva associated with compassion and often depicted as androgynous or fluid in gender. Snyder’s description—"bisexual and tried it all"—injects an earthy, human element into this divine being, emphasizing their worldliness and all-encompassing compassion. The pose, with weight on one leg, conveys a relaxed yet poised attitude, reinforcing the impression of a figure that embodies both wisdom and ease. The reference to a “haloed in snake-hood gold” suggests an image infused with both power and sensuality, a blending of protective force and aesthetic grace. This portrayal of Avalokiteshvara highlights the inclusivity of Buddhist compassion—embracing all experiences, all identities.

The poem then briefly turns to the broader cultural lineage embedded in the statue’s presence: “Tingling of India and Tibet.” This phrase acknowledges the deep historical connections between Japan’s Buddhist traditions and their roots in India and Tibet. It is a moment of recognition, a subtle nod to the migrations of spiritual practice, philosophy, and artistic influence that shaped Kyoto’s Buddhist landscape.

Snyder then returns to a more grounded, human moment: “Loose-breasted young mother / With her kids in the shade here / Of old Temple tree.” This image, in its simplicity, mirrors the earlier description of men sleeping under the eaves. The temple serves as a place of rest and refuge, where people from different walks of life—whether wanderers or mothers with children—can exist without disturbance. The phrase “loose-breasted” suggests an unselfconscious naturalness, reinforcing the idea that this space allows for ease and acceptance.

The final lines confirm this atmosphere of quiet tolerance: “Nobody bothers you in Tōji; / The streetcar clanks by outside.” This conclusion resituates the temple within the larger urban setting, with the modern sound of the streetcar marking the boundary between the temple grounds and the outside world. The phrasing underscores a key theme of the poem: the coexistence of sacred and everyday life. Tōji is not an isolated spiritual sanctuary but an integrated part of Kyoto, where the rhythms of modernity and tradition flow seamlessly together. The temple does not impose itself upon those who enter; it allows them space, whether to sleep, to reflect, or to simply pass through.

"Toji" exemplifies Snyder’s ability to weave together travel, spirituality, and human presence without imposing a rigid narrative or moral conclusion. Instead, he presents a set of interwoven images—ordinary people, grand religious icons, echoes of history—that exist in a balance reflective of Buddhist thought itself. By refusing to separate the sacred from the mundane, the poem captures the essence of a lived spirituality, where divinity is not detached from daily life but embedded within it.

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