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Fat was this lord, he stood in goodly case.
His bulging eyes he rolled about, and hot
They gleamed and red, like fire beneath a pot;
His boots were soft; his horse of great estate.
Now certainly he was a fine prelate:
He was not pale as some poor wasted ghost.
A fat swan loved he best of any roast.
His palfrey was as brown as is a berry. Geoffrey Chaucer describes the monk in the Canterbury Tales, General Prologue
You are to abstain from meat, except as a remedy for sickness or feebleness. But as, when you are on a journey, you more often than not have to beg your way, outside your own houses you may eat foodstuffs that have been cooked with meat, so as to avoid giving trouble to your hosts. At sea, however, meat may be eaten. The Carmelite Rule of St Albert Avogadro
And all I ask for housekeeping
I get and pay no fees,
Leeks from the garden, poultry, game,
Salmon and trout and bees. St. Manchan of Offaly, Ancient Irish Monk's Poem
This treasure was discovered in a bamboo thicket
I washed the bowl in a spring and then mended it.
After morning meditation, I take my gruel in it;
At night, it serves me soup or rice.
Cracked, worn, weather-beaten, and misshapen
But still of noble stock! Ikkyu, My Cracked Wooden Bowl
Lots of arms, just like Kannon the Goddess;
Sacrificed for me, garnished with citron, I revere it so!
The taste of the sea, just divine!
Sorry, Buddha, this is another precept I just canno
When the first dawn came
Like a cigarette in the rain
Heard the thunder miles away
Didn't think that it would work out this way
The storm came and it rained all night Randy Crawford, Cigarette in the Rain
I need a phone call
I need a raincoat
I really need a raincoat
I really, really need a raincoat
I really, really, really need a raincoat Counting Crows, Raining in Baltimore
I remember what he said about that town
He said I went to London once, came back
Wiped the tears from my eyes, looked out the window
And it was still pouring down
More of that rain, rain, rain
Rain, rain, rain
Rain, rain, rain
Rain, rain, rain
I'm gonna get a train
Never coming back again Ian Hunter, Rain
I took shelter from a shower
And I stepped into your arms
On a rainy night in Soho The Pogues, Rainy Night in Soho
All at sea again
And now my hurricanes
Have brought down this ocean rain
To bathe me again Echo and the Bunnymen, Ocean Rain
It's raining again.
Usually September is the typhoon season in Japan. But September 2012 was the hottest September for more than 100 years. And typhoons are still coming late in October.
Strong in the rain
Strong in the wind
Strong against the summer heat and snow
He is healthy and robust
Free from desire
He never loses his temper
Nor the quiet smile on his lips
He eats four go of unpolished rice
Miso and a few vegetables a day
He does not consider himself
In whatever occurs
His understanding
Comes from observation and experience
And he never loses sight of things
He lives in a little thatched-roof hut
In a field in the shadows of a pine tree grove
If there is a sick child in the east
He goes there to nurse the child
If there's a tired mother in the west
He goes to her and carries her sheaves
If someone is near death in the south
He goes and says, 'Don't be afraid'
If there are strife and lawsuits in the north
He demands that the people put an end to their pettiness
He weeps at the time of drought
He plods about at a loss during the cold summer
Everybody calls him Blockhead
No one sings his praises
Or takes him to heart
That is the sort of person
I want to be
This is a well-known poem in Japan. Kenji Miyazawa was a Buddhist and a vegetarian. The poem describes a simple diet. I wrote about being a vegetarian recently. The poem was written in katakana which was unusual. Katakana is the syllabary normally used in Japanese for foreign loan words.
Translating a poem is very difficult. The translation of so
...More
Sometimes a word will start it, like
Hands and feet, sun and gloves. The way
Is fraught with danger, you say, and I
Notice the word "fraught".... John Ashbery, Variant
Lawn as white as driven snow,
Cyprus black as e'er was crow,
Gloves as sweet as damask roses,
Masks for faces and for noses. William Shakespeare, The Winter's Tale
I saw her hand, she has a leathern hand,
A freestone-colored hand. I verily did think
That her old gloves were on, but 'twas her hands. William Shakespeare, As You Like It
So, hand in glove I stake my claim
I'll fight to the last breath
If they dare touch a hair on your head
I'll fight to the last breath The Smiths, Hand in Glove
Handle with kid gloves
Handle with kid gloves
Then you learn the lessons
Taught in school won't be enough
Put on your kid gloves
Put on your kid gloves
Then you learn the lesson
That it's cool to be so tough
Handle with kid gloves
Handle with kid gloves
Then you learn the weapons
And the ways of hard-knock school
Put on your kid gloves
Put on your kid gloves
Then you learn the lesson
That it's tough to be so cool Rush, Kid Gloves
Well, they sprung me out of Quentin,
I'm back on the mob's payroll
They can buy my body
Sure they can't buy my soul.
I'm working out of Stockton
I''m weighing in at two -o -one
But there's a man in the front row
Sent down by the mob with a gun.
For 'Kid Gloves', 'Kid Gloves',
I'm back out on the street...More
10-29-2012 10:30 PM 
