I, Hokusai, Reply
by Philip Quinlan
I long for little, but I long for this:
the moving landscape that a journey is,
the going and becoming;
the placing of figures in a scene
to stand for only what their motions mean —
their making and their doing;
and an art not in the eye, but in the hand,
which only fingertips can understand;
mountains in clouds, dissolving;
not some insensate stasis.
No, that was never what I meant.
Forgive a mad old man, who loved to paint,
who isn’t seeking still,
but even yet has motion as his will:
to feel the great wave coming over him, and then
to have the fortune to begin again.