Hokusai's Great Wave

The great wave hangs endlessly near Tokyo.

At seventy-five, Hokusai had learned the patterns of nature,

so he painted the marvelous wave that does not touch the shore

but shows its white cap as it threatens to roll onward

dwarfing Mount Fuji, centered in the vastness of water,

reminding us it, too, will one day do much more.

His wave does not leave ugly sludge filled with bodies

of people vital and smiling,

alive the moment before.

There are no desperate, wounded children nearby.

The great wave hangs in beauty

in faultless harmony;

destruction and loss forever an act undone.

 

 

Reviews

[Fabian G. Franklin]

And would it not be wonderful if real tsunamis were so generous? Ah, such is the way of life...art imitates the beauty of life but less often, the brutality. The poem reminded me of the tragedy in 2004 in Thailand. A quarter million people dead in one day...devastating. People forget the brutal force of nature until it strikes.

[Rene Velez]

quiet beautiful in scope, I am a fan of ancient Japanese art, this was refreshing to say the least..

[Bubo]

What a way to capture that sadness that has caused such destruction and great loss of life, but here your writing, faultless, in that it is captured, and almost arrested and never to be............balanced in it's beauty, loved it.

[moonbeam40]

greetings amos, I relly enjoyed reading your poem Hokusais great wave, I felt transported there, wondering what force was holding the wave back, nature like love is the most powerful force in the universe, more please, more power to your elbow, as the saying goes, best wishes to you, Moonbeam,

[V.B.]

I am with Emily. This thing of yours packs a serious punch. This one is going to stick with me for awhile--aside from its obvious merits as a poem, it will make me think twice anytime I see that ubiquitous painting.

Beautiful, sad, and superbly written. Well done.

[Emily B]

of all the poems I've read that were inspired by Japan's tragedy and devastation, this is by far my favorite . . . it is wonderful, especially that last line

[Ed Hart]

echoes of sadness, loss, beautifully textured