jmyers@post.cis.smu.edu 

Jack Myers, born in Winthrop, Massachusetts in 1941, is the author of seven volumes of poetry, the latest being OneOnOne, and five other works about poetry; among them, the reference work The Longman Dictionary of Poetic Terms and the anthology New American Poets of the 90s.

 His work has been widely anthologized and has appeared in hundreds of literary journals, from Esquire and The Nation to POETRY and The American Poetry Review. His book of poems, As Long As You're Happy, was a National Poetry Series selection by (Nobel Laureate poet Seamus Heaney) for 1985. He has been granted many fellowships and awards for his work: among them, two from both the National Endowment For the Arts, and two from the Texas Institute of Letters.

 He is the father of four children, lives in Mesquite, Texas, and teaches and directs the creative writing program at Southern Methodist University. He serves on the Board of Directors of the Dallas literary center, The Writer's Garret, was a past Vice-President of the 15,000-member Associated Writing Programs, and has also taught creative writing in the low-residency Vermont College MFA Program in Writing.

We have included a complete listing of Meyers' work at the bottom of this page.

Going Up, Coming Down

After fifty years of meditation, an old monk
set out to live on top of a nearby mountain
where he was determined to fast until enlightened.

On the way up, he met an old man who looked wise
and was struggling under a bundle of sticks.

"Say, old man," the monk asked, "do you know anything
about this enlightenment?" The old man, who was really
the Bodhisattva Manjusri and who was said to appear 
to people when they were ready to be enlightened, 
looked at the monk and in answer dropped his bundle. 

The monk, in that moment, was enlightened, and said 
"So that's it, that's all there is to it, just let go?"
The Bodhisattva smiled and, in answer, picked up his burden
and continued his journey.

Doing and Being: 
        A Story About the Buddha

For a hundred thousand eons, or kalpas,
before his birth, the Buddha practiced
patience and compassion, steadfastness and calm.

Each kalpa was one hundred thousand years long,
yet the Buddha secretly smiled, sitting at his practice
which was said to be twice the size of Mt. Everest.

It is said his progress was like that of the raven
who once every hundred years appeared
with a silk scarf in its beak
which it dragged lightly over the mountain top
and thus gradually wore the mountain down.

It was in this way that the Buddha became Buddha

In Bagdabastan This is a Fruit

In Bagdabastan this is a fruit.

It looks strange.
We don't want it.

It eases stubbornness with its stubbornness
because it has absorbed the lesson of the rain 
that softened our rugged landscape into grains of sand.

We have all the fruit we want.
We do not need this fruit.

Inside it has many luscious seeds.
In truth, it is made entirely of seeds
packed together, yet each seed is kept
separate, wrapped as if for a long journey.

There are no long journeys here.
We do not need this fruit.

That is why I offer you this fruit.
Where we live we already have it.
In fact, we cultivate it with great care
though it would do just as well without us.

We don't want this fruit.
We will do without it.

If I may say so that is now impossible
since it is already something you so greatly oppose.
If I take it away you will never be rid of it.

For the last time, we do not want this fruit.
It is not something we require.

Fine, then I will leave it here with you,
for we have found it is something we cannot do without.
If you accept it, you won't know how you've done without it
. Then you'll be able to do without it.

Suhradi

An adviser to the young king explained suhradi,
the attitude of people who pick out a dirty spot
and then sit in it, where they feel great comfort
in criticizing others and gossiping about this one's faults 
and that one's failures, in casting insults and disgracing others,
and how such a pleasure grows to become a burden until, 
the adviser complained, these people make blindness an art.

The young king, in his wisdom and purity of vision, seemed
interested, and asked his learned adviser to explain it again.

The Jewel's Jewel

The jewel hidden inside the rock
does not know it's a "jewel."

That name is hidden inside 
a man in charge 
of gargantuan machines.

Only when it's split open
and polished and sold and resold 

so its worth soars as fabulously 
as its vainglorious light

does the memory of the rock 
it was hidden inside
become the jewel's jewel.

 

NOTE: all of the poems included on this page originally appeared in OneOnOne, 
published by Autumn House Press, 219 Bigham St., Pittsburgh, PA 15211

© Jack Myers. All Rights Reserved. Printed By Permission.