NW 49

From my little window, flying

above desolate Alaskan and Albertan

ice fields and glaciers,

great nameless muddy rivers,

parks without rangers

a land without strip malls or parking lots,

where enthusiasm need not be curbed,

the reach of this magnificent wonder,

so calming to my heart, like seeing Tibet,

connected in time and space to our

futile attempts to get something done,

to survival and find meaning,

Robin, this is the world you embraced with your wisdom and kindness,

fearlessly and unscripted,

the dwelling place of the only father guru.

In Boulder in 1986 you were my ,

cut man in the bout

encouraging me to bob and weave in the battle with the beauteous maras,

I was almost down for the count, but the bell rang and you brought out the stool of sanity,

you gave without words, ideas or judgment

and without expecting anything in return.

that was something.

you were in my corner.

You encouraged me to go to Tibet while some scorned,

and when I came back you said,

"you see you really accomplished something for yourself, old man, nobody gave that to you."

Old man.

1986, living at your house on Grape Street,

studying han yu with Prof. Xing Yan,

you had a crush on Shan Shan,

you were a booster of my leap into the unknown --

with your Apsos and orchids,

you had once been married to the late Crown Princess,

you told me that you were trying to be careful,

you had a professional shopping service

and store-bought jars of crushed garlic in oil,

and we listened to Blood on the Tracks endlessly and

you told me how amazing that Dylan could be so public with his deepest grief,

grief about love and loss.

Lover of knowledge, philosophy,

you were a mandarin, Robin,

not born of official hierarchies,

your accomplishment didn't need confirmation.

your knowledge was transmitted effortlessly and passionately,

outside the scriptures., and while that fucking disease could kill you,

in the words of the Boss,

it can't kill the memory of you.

you were good to me once and I'll never forget your kindness,

Old man.

Lee Weingrad, August 2, 2007,

Dynasty Garden, Beijing