Classic and Contemporary Poetry: Explained

Gary Snyder’s "Three Worlds, Three Realms, Six Roads" is a sprawling meditation on place, movement, memory, and experience. Structured as a list of activities associated with different locations, the poem captures the rhythms of daily life, cultural engagement, and personal history through a seemingly simple yet deeply evocative catalog of experiences. The title references Buddhist cosmology—three worlds (desire, form, and formlessness), three realms (earthly, heavenly, and hellish), and six roads (the paths of rebirth in samsara)—suggesting that these locations are not just places but states of being, pathways in a greater cycle of existence.

Snyder opens with "Things to Do Around Seattle," painting a childhood landscape of exploration: "Hear phone poles hum / Catch garter snakes. Make lizard tails fall off." The sensory immediacy of these actions conveys an intimacy with the land, one that includes both play and direct engagement with nature. The phrase "Peeling old bark off madrone to see the clean red new bark" reflects Snyder’s lifelong fascination with cycles of renewal, while "Reading books in the back of the University District Goodwill" reveals an early love of secondhand knowledge and urban wandering. The contrast between "Feeding chickens" and "Feeling Penelope’s udder, one teat small" hints at the shift from city to farm life, balancing pastoral and urban experiences in a single breath.

In "Things to Do Around Portland," the tone shifts toward a more communal, working-class ethos: "Drink buttermilk at the Buttermilk Corner / Walk over Hawthorne Bridge the car tires sing." The references to nature, like "Vine maple leaves in the slopes above St. John’s Bridge in autumn," are interspersed with acts of labor and urban survival, as in "Cash paychecks at the Pastime / Beer in Ericson’s, hamburgers at Tic Tock." The poem’s deep sense of rootedness comes from the way Snyder lets places speak through their rituals—whether that means fishing, hiking, or simply standing in the rain.

"Things to Do Around a Lookout" offers a stark contrast to the city lists, presenting the solitary world of a fire lookout. The descriptions—"Wrap up in a blanket in cold weather and just read," "Mark well sunrise and sunset—drink lapsang soochong," "Learn the names of all the peaks you see and which is highest"—evoke the meticulous and contemplative life Snyder lived during his time in the mountains. The presence of books, star charts, and weather observation suggests that nature here is both a subject of study and a source of spiritual reflection. The closing lines—"Get ready for the snow, get ready / To go down."—hint at the inevitable return from isolation to society, reinforcing the Buddhist notion of impermanence.

"Things to Do Around San Francisco" captures the anarchic, countercultural spirit of the Beat years: "Get drunk all the time. Go someplace and score." The mixture of bohemian indulgence and disciplined artistic practice is evident in "Practicing yr frailing on guitar / Get dropped off in the fog in the night / Fall in love twenty times / Get divorced / Keep moving—move out to the Sunset / Get lost—or / Get found." The interplay of getting lost and found mirrors the restless spiritual and poetic questing of Snyder’s generation. The sense of impermanence and improvisation makes this section feel both exhilarating and melancholic.

"Things to Do Around a Ship at Sea" brings a different kind of isolation—one of mechanical routine and distant horizons. The ocean is framed through a mix of scientific observation and sailor camaraderie: "Go out with a small flashlight and a star chart on a clear night and check out the full size of Eridanus." The poetic beauty of constellations is set against the grittier realities of ship life: "Listening to hours of words and lifetimes—fuck and shit—Figuring out the revolution / Hammer pipes and flanges." Even here, Snyder finds a way to locate the spiritual within the physical, merging the study of the cosmos with the mechanics of survival.

"Things to Do Around Kyoto" returns to an introspective, disciplined life, infused with Buddhist practice: "Lie on the mats and sweat in summer, / Shiver in winter, sit and soak like a foetus in the bath." The sensory descriptions of Kyoto life—"Paikaru and gyoza at Min Min with Marxist students full of China," "Watching the flocks of sparrows whirling over trees on winter sunsets"—reflect Snyder’s deep engagement with both Japanese culture and Zen Buddhism. The emphasis on simplicity and impermanence is clear in "Throwing away the things you’ll never need / Stripping down / Going home." Kyoto, for Snyder, is a place of refinement, where stripping away excess becomes a spiritual and poetic practice.

By structuring the poem as a series of place-based experiences, Snyder suggests that each location is a realm within the larger journey of life. The activities range from childhood play to work, from indulgence to discipline, from isolation to social engagement. This progression mirrors the Buddhist path of growth, suffering, and eventual release. The final lines—"Going home."—resonate with the ultimate theme of the poem: the search for a place, both external and internal, where one belongs.

"Three Worlds, Three Realms, Six Roads" is an ode to movement, memory, and the physicality of existence. Snyder weaves together personal history, environmental awareness, and spiritual practice into a single tapestry, showing how life is shaped not just by the places we inhabit but by the ways in which we engage with them. Whether in the forests of the Pacific Northwest, the crowded streets of San Francisco, or the disciplined stillness of Kyoto, each moment is part of a continuous unfolding—one that ultimately leads back to the self.

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