Shoveling Snow With Buddha Poem by Billy Collins

Shoveling Snow With Buddha

Rating: 4.0


In the usual iconography of the temple or the local Wok
you would never see him doing such a thing,
tossing the dry snow over a mountain
of his bare, round shoulder,
his hair tied in a knot,
a model of concentration.

Sitting is more his speed, if that is the word
for what he does, or does not do.

Even the season is wrong for him.
In all his manifestations, is it not warm or slightly humid?
Is this not implied by his serene expression,
that smile so wide it wraps itself around the waist of the universe?

But here we are, working our way down the driveway,
one shovelful at a time.
We toss the light powder into the clear air.
We feel the cold mist on our faces.
And with every heave we disappear
and become lost to each other
in these sudden clouds of our own making,
these fountain-bursts of snow.

This is so much better than a sermon in church,
I say out loud, but Buddha keeps on shoveling.
This is the true religion, the religion of snow,
and sunlight and winter geese barking in the sky,
I say, but he is too busy to hear me.

He has thrown himself into shoveling snow
as if it were the purpose of existence,
as if the sign of a perfect life were a clear driveway
you could back the car down easily
and drive off into the vanities of the world
with a broken heater fan and a song on the radio.

All morning long we work side by side,
me with my commentary
and he inside his generous pocket of silence,
until the hour is nearly noon
and the snow is piled high all around us;
then, I hear him speak.

After this, he asks,
can we go inside and play cards?

Certainly, I reply, and I will heat some milk
and bring cups of hot chocolate to the table
while you shuffle the deck.
and our boots stand dripping by the door.

Aaah, says the Buddha, lifting his eyes
and leaning for a moment on his shovel
before he drives the thin blade again
deep into the glittering white snow.

Monday, January 13, 2003
Topic(s) of this poem: snow
COMMENTS OF THE POEM
Russell Guard 06 July 2008

'he inside his generous pocket of silence'.....how Yeats would have loved that line and wished it was his own!

17 6 Reply
Joseph Pedulla 26 October 2016

Yeats would not have been so stupid as to put such a fine image in the midst of pablum like this. You really cannot think this is poetry, can you? This easy, prose-quality, Hallmark rubbish? As E. Berdovsky says so well, From mawkish to sentimental to pseudo-profound! ! ! ! !

0 1 Reply
larry potalivo 23 October 2018

Well said, there are some that would do well to find a pocket of silence. Thanks to Mr Collins and his melody of words and wisdom.

0 0 Reply
Ellie- Daphne 22 March 2012

multi-layered art of poetry

17 5 Reply
Gangadharan Nair Pulingat 29 January 2015

Great imagination and it is a nice poem.

6 3 Reply
Catherine 19 December 2020

I neglected to say that the program is on Face Book and to find it just go to Billy Collins Face Book page.

0 0 Reply
Catherine 19 December 2020

For you who like Billy Collins, he has a wonderful program on every day at 5: 30 Eastern Time. Very informal, he chats about everything and anything and reads and discusses poems - his and others.

0 0 Reply
katie 11 September 2020

the boots stand dripping by the door

0 0 Reply
Dr Antony Theodore 25 June 2020

Aaah, says the Buddha, lifting his eyes and leaning for a moment on his shovel before he drives the thin blade again deep into the glittering white snow. a fine poem. tony

0 0 Reply
Mr.PoopiePants 10 May 2019

This Poem is very good. Billy Collins is a VERY GOOD FRICKIN POET SUBCRIBE TO PEWDIEPIE OR DARTHVADER! ! ! ! ! ! BTW THIS KID NAMED M I L E S IS

1 0 Reply
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