Ode 2

          I say I saw a samurai, with black skin and without sharp steel.

He wore no face, and seemed to be made all of discipline,

Unpersoned by the fight in him, unnamed by th’act of war.

I say I saw a man with arms and legs, but he was not

Something; this man was nothingness, in the flesh and in the bones.

I saw a master of the martial arts; I saw Jon Jones.

          When he first entered th’octagon, four-limbed, of serpentine arms and legs

Two and two, one master thought ruled, idea paramount:

Fight. And by his movement quick, this idea embodied itself:

Th’internal was made external, and form was turned to fact,

And through his craft of kicks, his violent inner place of mind

Turned outer, striking flurry, pell-mell, violence seeing blind.

          This riddler wrote a koan with his question-marking swipes and steps,

His fists like Ganto’s ax, his aura like the Buddha’s, his.

Those flying knees and thund’rous strikes spoke a philosophy

That sublates opposites, that clarifies through paradox,

That synthesizes blows with throws and kicks into the pure

Motion of the fighting man, flowing like the river clear.

          This hero, swiftest in the feet, attained the sought-for victory.

American from Albuquerque desert, gold of soul

And brave as bronze, this fighter seized the essence of the fight,

And thus is given the exalted name of Ultimate —

Yes, by grand violence and strong force the gold belt has been won,

Crowning with highest honors Plato’s and Musashi’s son.