PERFECT STILLNESS

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Peter Matthiessen, 1927-2014

You whose written words ushered so many

Into the theater of meditation

While all the while as restless as a leopard

Confined to a soiled cage of his own making,

Who sought connection but evinced a cruel

Detachment from his wives, his family,

What have you left for those of us who still

Believe in prose, regardless of its author?


Perhaps it’s nothing less than an open mind

Teeming with unsummoned memories

Of Himalayan vistas, the Serengeti,

Greenland, Florida, a distant father.

Little wonder that the title Roshi,

However earned, rested uneasily

On you, even as you sat in perfect stillness.


By Ben Howard

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