Classic and Contemporary Poetry: Explained

Gary Snyder’s "Up Branches of Duck River" is a fluid, wandering meditation on landscape, history, and the rhythms of human and natural interaction. The poem reads like a journey through a particular place—likely in Japan—where layers of past and present, nature and industry, tradition and modernity coexist. As is common in Snyder’s work, the poem does not simply describe but immerses the reader in a lived experience, moving through place with an awareness that is both sensory and historical. The final line—"hold it close / give it all away."—captures the paradox at the heart of the poem: an intimate engagement with place that must ultimately be released, experienced fully but not possessed.

The opening lines immediately establish movement and contrast: "Shaka valley—chickens thousands / murmur in sheet walls past plaster house of welder-sculptor / shakuhachi pond, dead grass golf-course bulldozed on the hill." The "Shaka valley" invokes both a specific location and a subtle Buddhist reference—Shakyamuni, the historical Buddha—suggesting a landscape infused with deeper layers of meaning. The mention of "chickens thousands / murmur in sheet walls" suggests an industrialized, large-scale poultry farm, an image of controlled, enclosed life. This is juxtaposed against the "plaster house of welder-sculptor," which evokes an artisan’s space, a place of human craftsmanship rather than mass production. The presence of a "shakuhachi pond"—the shakuhachi being a Japanese bamboo flute associated with Zen practice—adds another layer, hinting at the interplay between sound, nature, and meditative awareness.

Yet, within this environment of quiet tradition, modern incursions appear: "dead grass golf-course bulldozed on the hill." The image of a golf course, its grass "dead," its land "bulldozed," signals an intrusion of development that disregards the organic flow of the land. Golf courses in Japan, often seen as symbols of Westernization and economic excess, contrast sharply with the subtler, more attuned interactions with the land that the poem later explores.

Snyder then moves toward a sacred space: "pine Dragon Benten ridgetop—far off Kyoto on the flat, / turn in to deeper hills toward himuro, 'Ice House'—" The "pine Dragon Benten ridgetop" suggests a reference to Benten (Benzaiten), the Japanese goddess associated with water, music, and wisdom, often worshiped in mountainous shrines. The mention of Kyoto—Japan’s ancient capital—grounds the journey in a landscape where historical and spiritual elements are always present. The "Ice House" (himuro) is particularly evocative; these were ancient Japanese structures used to store ice through the summer, a practice that predates modern refrigeration and reflects a careful, seasonal relationship with nature.

The poem’s focus then turns to labor and landscape: "cut-back Sugi—logger shelter— / Low pass, a snow patch still up here, they once stored ice for summer, / old women stoking bath fire white plum bloom." The "cut-back Sugi" (Japanese cedar) suggests managed forestry, where trees are periodically trimmed for sustainability. The "logger shelter" marks human presence in the landscape, a temporary dwelling tied to the labor of working the land. The persistence of "a snow patch still up here" is a reminder of seasonal cycles, just as the "old women stoking bath fire" continues traditional ways of life. The image of "white plum bloom" signals early spring, a time of renewal, a delicate contrast to the physical labor described.

The poem then takes a downward turn, descending from the highlands toward the river: "Old man burning brush, a wood sheath for the saw / Over the edge & down to Kamo River / white hills—Mt. Hiei, Hira—cut clean reseed patchwork, orchard fir." The "old man burning brush" is another figure engaged in the landscape, clearing fields through controlled fire, an ancient practice for managing land fertility. The "wood sheath for the saw" suggests a care for tools, an attentiveness to craft and use. The descent toward the Kamo River moves the speaker from the high ridges toward a more settled area, passing "white hills—Mt. Hiei, Hira." These mountains hold deep spiritual significance—Mt. Hiei is home to the Enryaku-ji monastery, central to Japanese Buddhism, while Hira is associated with sacred traditions.

The next passage shifts into direct sensory experience: "Muddy slipping trail / wobbly twin pole bridges / gully throat forks in / somebody clearing brush & growing tea." The "muddy slipping trail" suggests both physical instability and a deeper metaphorical openness to movement and change. The "wobbly twin pole bridges" reinforce this idea—crossings that are unsteady, makeshift, demanding attention and balance. The "gully throat forks in" creates a striking natural image, as if the landscape itself has a body, a mouth, a point of division. The phrase "somebody clearing brush & growing tea" returns to human labor, but in a different mode than the earlier logging or brush burning—tea cultivation is a slower, more delicate engagement with the land, requiring patience and care.

The final movement of the poem brings the speaker back home: "& out, turn here for home along the Kamo River. / hold it close / give it all away." The return "home along the Kamo River" signals the completion of the journey, a return to a known place. Yet the final lines, "hold it close / give it all away," leave the poem open-ended. This paradox encapsulates Snyder’s Zen-inflected worldview: one can fully immerse in place, in experience, in memory, yet ultimately, everything must be let go. This reflects both the Buddhist principle of non-attachment and a poetic ethos of witnessing without possession.

"Up Branches of Duck River" is a journey through a landscape that is at once deeply historical, sacred, and industrialized. Snyder’s careful observations of land use—forestry, agriculture, industry, and sacred traditions—create a layered meditation on how humans interact with place. The poem acknowledges both destruction (bulldozed golf courses) and continuity (old women tending bath fires, tea being grown). By moving through these different registers, the poem captures a world in flux, one where past and present intertwine, where care and exploitation exist side by side. The final lines remind the reader that while we experience and engage with the world intimately, it is never ours to keep—only to witness, cherish, and release.

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