TAIWAN. 2010. 30th
WORLD CONGRESS OF POETS

FOREWORD

Poet Lyn Coffin Bavuudorj is a strong and compelling poet. He takes you on journeys of the mind and heart. Prepare yourself to travel, reader.Bavuudorj began writing poems when he was 11-- His first poem was written near the highest mountain in Outer Mongolia, though (for the sake of his sons' education) he lives now in Ulanbator. These facts help one to understand how a relatively young man has managed to put together such as astonishingly rich oeuvre- 8 books and counting, with such a strong and abiding spiritual presence. To paraphrase an American proverbial expression- you can take the Mongol poet away from the mountain, but you can't take the mountain away from the Mongol poet.Bavuudorj writes refreshing, surprising poems. They are often philosophical or spiritual in imagery-- "This window is like the unblinking eye of God." He is the master of the unsaid: in "Meditating in the Temple," the Buddha arrives and "stands here beaming" but after a three-dot ellipsis, returns weeping, "wiping his tears on his sleeves." I love his lyrical use of repetition-- "having left behind the cane of desire,/ having tried to sleep on planetary waves,/having lost the brightest of my gemlike feathers." He moves easily from his native religion--"I ran from the palace of the cold, cold Buddha" to an extravagant and highly-wrought romanticism: How many countless silkworms went into the weave of your dazzling golden sari?" He has the craft and ingenuity of a Herbert or a Donne: in his poem "To a Woman of the East," he begins with a godlike "Orient" who creates beautiful lips and "draws" beautiful eyes, but by the time he has reached the poem's conclusion, the beautiful woman has become the beloved audience of one whom the poet addresses, the gorgeous incarnation of all that is eastern: "Oh, Orient, darling Orient."

MEDITATING IN THE TEMPLE

The East is my temple in the void

It has one window like a crystal pointing West

This window aches like a heart,

is as sensitive as an eye in the forehead of Heaven

This window welcomes the sun and sorrow in the morning

and gracefully meets the moon at night

This window is like the unblinking eye of God

Who knows how many have come here like me, and stood in fear?

The Buddha comes here in a flying red cloak

Like a burning candle with a flame the color of blood,

the Enlightened One stands here beaming

When he returns weeping, wiping his tears with his sleeves

I walk past him, carrying heather and incense

This mysterious window that reflects the whole world

is plain but uncommonly conscious

And it's looking toward the West

Realization

The realization of the West has changed

The realization of the high skies has changed

The realization of lullabies has changed

So has that of the globe

The realization we give to snow has changed

And the realization of time

The realization of mortality has changed

So has the realization conceived in a womb of wilver

The realization we call lovers has changed

The realization of the spilled white moon has changed

The realization of the eyes on palms has changed

And the realization of silence

The realization of light and shaow has changed

The realization of the shining body has changed

The realization of the very grass has changed

So has the realization of the dew on the grass

Th erealization of the sun has changed overhead

The realization of the covering of a ger has changed

The realization of everything in the sight of the gods has changed

Only the realization "Orient" remains

Mystery of mysteries forever and ever

DOORSTEP

I slammed the doors of the castle called World

and went completely away.

I ran from the Palace of the cold, cold Buddha,

looking for a place in the blue, blue stars.

But I came back with a wretched heart

having left behind the cane of desire,

having tried to sleep on planetary waves,

having lost the brightest of my gemlike feathers….

Having walked with drunken silver evenings

sent to me by the moon herself,

I stepped over my Eastern doorstep and fell:

after a long quest, I found my lover.

TO A WOMAN OF THE EAST

How many millennia did the Earth have to span

before we, beloved, could dearly meet?

How many ages did the Moon require

to grow the cypress in whose small shade we stand?

How many billions of flower seeds

did the Orient use creating your lips?

How many countless silkworms went into

the weave of your dazzling golden sari?

How many bright eyes did the Orient draw—

Dissatisfied until it drew yours?

How many centuries did the Orient meditate,

hiding its magic in how many years?

How many white elephants did the Orient breed

To placate Time, invader of the shining Universe?

How many hairs on Earth’s head turned gray

Before God Ochivaani created me?

How long did He make you carry binoculars before I arrived,

Oh Orient, my dearest Orient

WHEN THE EAST MEDITATES NEARBY

When the East meditates nearby

High skies are calm as usual

Grasses billow with a golden gleam

Stars and heavenly bodies shine and wave

The blue mountains welcome rain

When the East meditates nearby

Humans pursue their inner place

The gold abutment of the world is lit from within

The nomadic Earth trudges on despite its heavy load

Tears that have clouded the eyes do not drop but endure all odds

When the East meditates nearby

Buddha's musical heartbeats can be heard

The wisdom within mist sparkles

People welcome their newborns and the sun is scented with new rays

The binoculars of nomads shimmer in an azure mirage

When the East meditates nearby

THE EAST IS LIKE A STALLION

The East is like a stallion to me

How beautiful

to feel my face against its arrowed mane

and think of the great red sun as immortal

The East is like a stallion to me

How wonderful

to embrace its argent head in my arms

and stand so still I forget the wind of mortality

The East is like a stallion to me

How like paradise

to dip a single golden feather from its magical wings

into rich ink

The East is like a stallion to me

How sad to write

at the last moment of this earth

"I will consecrate its head on the moon"

I think of my East as a stallion

ON THE ROOF OF THE WORLD

On the world’s roof I close my eyes and see

Clouds like lotuses as a white Tara

Azure mountains as cerulean stupas

And the broad blue universe as a magical vajra

I see people as letters on the pages of books

The majestic versatile heaven as the brush of wisdom

The tawny immortal sun as a golden Chakra

Both East and West as Bodhi gazelles

I see this world as a celestial temple

Still waiting for its master

WHO IS THE EAST?

Who is the Orient?

My Beloved with soft eyes follows me, always humming

Who is the Orient?

In silk the color of Heaven
he follows wherever I go
His face is like Buddha’s
but not exactly
He moves the way skies move
but not exactly
His joyful gaze follows me all the time
My only true friends
are the dews on the grass
What would I be without his gaze?
I have no guide except
the Moon wandering in the cosmic wind
What would I be if He were not here?

THIS WIND WITH ITS SMELL OF FLOWERS

I love this peaceful blue evening

It is a castle of the East absolutely

I love this cloud with a golden mane

It is a lantern of the East absolutely

I love this wind with its smell of flowers

It tastes of the East absolutely

I love this sagacious green locust

It is a darling of the East absolutely

I love this moonlight on the white waves

It is a glass of the East absolutely

I love these falling lukewarm tears

They are a poem of the East absolutely

This wind with its smell of flowers

CLOSING MY EYES TO MEDITATE

Closing my eyes to meditate, I see the East at the beginning

O, what a respectful guest it is.

It is as arbitrary as the leaves which turn around in the silence

and as willful as the lightened mantras which twirl in the air

It has red garments like the lamas

It has a silver light like a candle's flame

It has a pew on a lotus

And a flame inside of itself

It has arms which dispense blessings

It has eyes which shine calmly

O, closing my eyes to meditate, I start at the beginning...

RUNNING AWAY FROM MYSELF

I feel like running away from myself

I envy that bright insect on the grass

I long to become an insect too

Free from the rules and restrictions of the world

Oh, but that poor little shining bug

Whispers something inauspicious to me-

"I too am running away from myself,

Climbing the grass to look for pure spirit"

The One who gave us both this affliction

Is none other than my guru, The East

The Time Has Arrived

Oh, my Orient! The time for your magical being is here

It's time to awake the wilderness of your inner secrets

Time to conjure mountains out of your lap

To spell out holy rivers on your palms

To open the third of your eyes

To give weary Buddha a great offering

To whisper to the grass that they are truly grass

To tell all the pebbles they are truly rocks

To establish Heaven's axis again

To invite the spirit of Heaven into Humanity

To descend to Earth on the rays of the Sun

To run through the veins of leaves and remain

To let fall the tears on the eyes of Eastern palms

To gaze at us thoughtfully from far away

To make waving clouds into the horse of a mantra

Yes, my Orient! This is your moment to shine from inside out!

LEAF

Young trees in autumn
Throw down their leaves.
The incredible fiery leaves are
The same as my footprints.

UNDER THE HARMONIOUS MOON

You exist so far from my world
But I have reason to want never to come to you.
I want not to hold aloft your youth
which is infinitely sacred and cannot be touched.
Alone with you and the moon
I want not to linger on the path.
And I want not to be sad in the moonlight
which reveals your face and legs.
So I offer my blessed meeting and my sacred fate
to my wife waiting at home.
Now I am pushing myself
through the stones of my snowy mountains.
You exist so far from my world
But I have reason to want to come to you right now.

THE EAST IS MY LOVER

The East is my lover

Whose glance gives me life

Whose lips unfailingly intrigue me

Whose neck I can't stop kissing

Whose breast I can never breathe enough

I could embrace her slender back forever

Her courtesy intoxicates me

Her Buddha is the candle by my side

Her gods and goddesses sit in the locket of my heart

Her golden bellybutton is my inkwell

Her forgiving moon my brush

My palms carry her scent

My mouth holds her breath

She, my lover,

Is the East