far off, wild ducks … Poetry as an art of survival

A question – If all the poetry in the world were destoryed but a handful lines, what lines would I most want/need to survive? Here’s one piece:

Yosa Buson

   Washing the hoe–
ripples on the water;
   far off, wild ducks.

            (Trans. Robert Hass)

I could live a lifetime in that poem – and never find the center.

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~ by samofthetenthousandthings on September 13, 2011.

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