a poem for a sunday

Portland. This is some kind of town. Powell's. What more could a girl want. Truly, I am ready to move in. All I need is a pillow and I would be good to go (they have yoga mats, food, coffee, and more books than I could read in six lifetimes...but I sure would like to try). They had a poetry reading while we were there Saturday afternoon...I walked out with five new books of poetry...more on all of this soon, but I wanted to share a poem from a poet my brother introduced me to this weekend.

The Vintage Man

The
Difference
Between a good artist
And a great one

Is:

The novice
Will often lay down his tool
Or brush

Then pick up an invisible club
On the mind’s table

And helplessly smash the easels and
Jade.

Whereas the vintage man
No longer hurts himself or anyone

And keeps on
Sculpting

Light.

Hafiz

(from The Gift: Poems by Hafiz the Great Sufi Master translations by Daniel Ladinsky)