Gabriel Rosenstock on Issa
There's a hymn, isn't there, "What a friend we have in Jesus." That's the way I feel about Issa. (Actually, the Irish for Jesus is Íosa and sometimes people are confused as to whom I am referring!) I feel he is a living friend, a compassionate companion. One feels safe in his world. He has seen the world, blessed it and known it to be essentially good. But his vision is not cloying. He warns us, too, of thorns, sudden showers and cats that will keep us awake!
Mushrooms, fleas, mountains—in him all things come alive. How does he do it? By being aware. Awareness of colour, sound, taste, shape and rhythm—even the rhythm of hailstones. Where is he going in life? Where's anyone going? In one vivid haiku, a cow leads him to a temple. Issa is our guide, in all weathers.
A wild flower by the gate lasts only five or six days, he notices. Do we know the span of things around us? How old is that tree, that bush, that sparrow? We don't know. This we know: Issa is ageless. Though he suffers aches and pains, his heart is eternally young.
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