Philosophy
Saturday, October 23, 2010
Rumi Translator
Shahram Shiva is a performance poet, award-winning translator and scholar of Rumi and author of several books. He is known for his rich and entrancing concerts of Rumi, the 13th Century Persian mystic poet.
Shiva was born to a Persian Jewish family in Iran and migrated to the US at the age of 16. Shiva is the only major presenter in the West who performs Rumi's poetry in his own English renditions as well as the original Persian verses.
Rumi Odes
Love Said to Me
I worship the moon.
Tell me of the soft glow of a
candle light
and the sweetness of my moon.
Tell me of the soft glow of a
candle light
and the sweetness of my moon.
Don't talk about sorrow,
tell me of that treasure,
hidden if it is to you,
then just remain silent.
tell me of that treasure,
hidden if it is to you,
then just remain silent.
Last night
I lost my grip on reality
and welcomed insanity.
Love
saw me and said,
I showed up.
Wipe you tears
and be silent.
I lost my grip on reality
and welcomed insanity.
Love
saw me and said,
I showed up.
Wipe you tears
and be silent.
I said, O Love
I am frightened,
but it's not you.
Love said to me,
there is nothing that is not me.
be silent.
I am frightened,
but it's not you.
Love said to me,
there is nothing that is not me.
be silent.
I will whisper secrets in your ear
just nod yes
and be silent.
just nod yes
and be silent.
A soul moon
appeared in the path of my heart.
How precious is this journey.
appeared in the path of my heart.
How precious is this journey.
I said, O Love
what kind of moon is this?
Love said to me,
this is not for you to question.
be silent.
what kind of moon is this?
Love said to me,
this is not for you to question.
be silent.
I said, O Love
what kind of face is this,
angelic, or human?
Love said to me,
this is beyond anything that you know.
Be silent.
what kind of face is this,
angelic, or human?
Love said to me,
this is beyond anything that you know.
Be silent.
I said, please reveal this to me
I am dying in anticipation.
Love said to me,
that is where I want you:
Always on the edge,
be silent.
You dwell in this hall of
images and illusions,
leave this house now
and be silent.
I am dying in anticipation.
Love said to me,
that is where I want you:
Always on the edge,
be silent.
You dwell in this hall of
images and illusions,
leave this house now
and be silent.
I said, O Love,
tell me this:
Does the Lord know you are
treating me this way?
Love said to me,
yes He does,
just be totally…
totally… silent
tell me this:
Does the Lord know you are
treating me this way?
Love said to me,
yes He does,
just be totally…
totally… silent
Lover Me
Lover me, cave me,
the sweet burn of Love me.
Lover you, cave you,
Shams protect me.
Noah you, soul you,
conqueror and the conquered you
the awakened heart you.
Why hold me at that gate of your secret?
the sweet burn of Love me.
Lover you, cave you,
Shams protect me.
Noah you, soul you,
conqueror and the conquered you
the awakened heart you.
Why hold me at that gate of your secret?
Light you, celebration you,
the victorious land you
the bird of Mount Sinai you.
You carry me on your tired beak.
Drop you, ocean you,
compassion and rage you,
sugar you, poison you.
Please don't continue to hurt me.
the victorious land you
the bird of Mount Sinai you.
You carry me on your tired beak.
Drop you, ocean you,
compassion and rage you,
sugar you, poison you.
Please don't continue to hurt me.
The orb of the Sun you,
the house of Venus you,
the sliver of hope you.
Open up the way for me.
Day you, night you,
fasting and the crumbs of a beggar you,
water and a pitcher you.
Quench my thirst, Beloved.
the house of Venus you,
the sliver of hope you.
Open up the way for me.
Day you, night you,
fasting and the crumbs of a beggar you,
water and a pitcher you.
Quench my thirst, Beloved.
Bait you, trap you,
wine you, cup you,
baked and raw you.
Please don't let me be unbaked.
wine you, cup you,
baked and raw you.
Please don't let me be unbaked.
If you don't run my body too hard,
if you don't cut my way too much,
if you try to help rather than make my life more difficult.
Oh, all these words of mine.
if you don't cut my way too much,
if you try to help rather than make my life more difficult.
Oh, all these words of mine.
I Saw Goodness Getting Drunk
I am gone,
lost any sense of wanting the wine
of the nowhereness ask me,
I don't know where I am.
At times I plunge
to the bottom of the sea,
at times, rise up
like the Sun.
At times, the universe is pregnant by me,
at times I give birth to it.
The milestone in my life
is the nowhereness,
I don't fit anywhere else.
This is me:
a rogue and a drunkard,
easy to spot
in the tavern of Lovers.
I am the one shouting hey ha.
They ask me why I don't
behave myself.
I say, when you
reveal your true nature,
then I will act my age.
Last night, I saw Goodness getting drunk.
He growled and said,
I am a nuisance, a nuisance.
A hundred souls cried out, but
we are yours, we are yours, we are yours.
You are the light
that spoke to Moses and said
I am God, I am God, I am God.
I said Shams-e Tabrizi, who are you?
He said, I am you, I am you, I am you.
I am gone,
lost any sense of wanting the wine
of the nowhereness ask me,
I don't know where I am.
At times I plunge
to the bottom of the sea,
at times, rise up
like the Sun.
At times, the universe is pregnant by me,
at times I give birth to it.
The milestone in my life
is the nowhereness,
I don't fit anywhere else.
This is me:
a rogue and a drunkard,
easy to spot
in the tavern of Lovers.
I am the one shouting hey ha.
They ask me why I don't
behave myself.
I say, when you
reveal your true nature,
then I will act my age.
Last night, I saw Goodness getting drunk.
He growled and said,
I am a nuisance, a nuisance.
A hundred souls cried out, but
we are yours, we are yours, we are yours.
You are the light
that spoke to Moses and said
I am God, I am God, I am God.
I said Shams-e Tabrizi, who are you?
He said, I am you, I am you, I am you.
You Worry Too Much
Oh soul,
you worry too much.
You say,
I make you feel dizzy.
Of a little headache then,
why do you worry?
You say, I am your moon-faced beauty.
Of the cycles of the moon and
passing of the years,
why do you worry?
You say, I am your source of passion,
I excite you.
Of playing into the Devils hand,
why do you worry?
Oh soul,
you worry too much.
Look at yourself,
what you have become.
You are now a field of sugar canes,
why show that sour face to me?
You say that I keep you warm inside.
Then why this cold sigh?
You have gone to the roof of heavens.
Of this world of dust, why do you worry?
Oh soul,
you worry too much.
Your arms are heavy
with treasures of all kinds.
About poverty,
why do you worry?
You are Joseph,
beautiful, strong,
steadfast in your belief,
all of Egypt has become drunk
because of you.
Of those who are blind to your beauty,
and deaf to your songs,
why do you worry?
Oh soul,
you worry too much.
You have seen your own strength.
You have seen your own beauty.
You have seen your golden wings.
Of anything less,
why do you worry?
You are in truth
the soul, of the soul, of the soul.
You are the security,
the shelter of the spirit of Lovers.
Oh the sultan of sultans,
of any other king,
why do you worry?
Be silent, like a fish,
and go into that pleasant sea.
You are in deep waters now,
of life's blazing fire.
Why do you worry?
Oh soul,
you worry too much.
You say,
I make you feel dizzy.
Of a little headache then,
why do you worry?
You say, I am your moon-faced beauty.
Of the cycles of the moon and
passing of the years,
why do you worry?
You say, I am your source of passion,
I excite you.
Of playing into the Devils hand,
why do you worry?
Oh soul,
you worry too much.
Look at yourself,
what you have become.
You are now a field of sugar canes,
why show that sour face to me?
You say that I keep you warm inside.
Then why this cold sigh?
You have gone to the roof of heavens.
Of this world of dust, why do you worry?
Oh soul,
you worry too much.
Your arms are heavy
with treasures of all kinds.
About poverty,
why do you worry?
You are Joseph,
beautiful, strong,
steadfast in your belief,
all of Egypt has become drunk
because of you.
Of those who are blind to your beauty,
and deaf to your songs,
why do you worry?
Oh soul,
you worry too much.
You have seen your own strength.
You have seen your own beauty.
You have seen your golden wings.
Of anything less,
why do you worry?
You are in truth
the soul, of the soul, of the soul.
You are the security,
the shelter of the spirit of Lovers.
Oh the sultan of sultans,
of any other king,
why do you worry?
Be silent, like a fish,
and go into that pleasant sea.
You are in deep waters now,
of life's blazing fire.
Why do you worry?
A Time for Madness
Once more,
Love is pouring down my ceiling
and my walls.
Once more, it's the night of the full moon,
it is time for madness.
All my immense knowledge
cannot help me now.
Once more,
Insomnia took my patience.
Rain washed away my intellect.
The Lover made me lose my profession.
What good is my work anyway?
Once more, rise, rise, rise,
Like the way a garden burns
in a hundred shades of orange in the fall,
a Lover's heart shrivels for a sense of the Beloved's touch.
Now the face of that charred garden
is my field of flowers.
Look, two hundred Jupiters
are dancing around my moon.
My Love business is booming,
but don't credit the consultants.
I am done with the consultants
and the pundits,
they call you Jafar the imposter.
Little do they know,
that you are my Shams the Flyer.
Love is pouring down my ceiling
and my walls.
Once more, it's the night of the full moon,
it is time for madness.
All my immense knowledge
cannot help me now.
Once more,
Insomnia took my patience.
Rain washed away my intellect.
The Lover made me lose my profession.
What good is my work anyway?
Once more, rise, rise, rise,
Like the way a garden burns
in a hundred shades of orange in the fall,
a Lover's heart shrivels for a sense of the Beloved's touch.
Now the face of that charred garden
is my field of flowers.
Look, two hundred Jupiters
are dancing around my moon.
My Love business is booming,
but don't credit the consultants.
I am done with the consultants
and the pundits,
they call you Jafar the imposter.
Little do they know,
that you are my Shams the Flyer.
Go Back to Sleep
Go back,
go back to sleep.
go back to sleep.
Yes, you are allowed.
You who have no Love in your heart,
you can go back to sleep.
You who have no Love in your heart,
you can go back to sleep.
The power of Love
is exclusive to us,
you can go back to sleep.
is exclusive to us,
you can go back to sleep.
I have been burnt
by the fire of Love.
You who have no such yearning in your heart,
go back to sleep.
by the fire of Love.
You who have no such yearning in your heart,
go back to sleep.
The path of Love,
has seventy-two folds and countless facets.
Your love and religion
is all about deceit, control and hypocrisy,
go back to sleep.
has seventy-two folds and countless facets.
Your love and religion
is all about deceit, control and hypocrisy,
go back to sleep.
I have torn to pieces my robe of speech,
and have let go of the desire to converse.
You who are not naked yet,
you can go back to sleep.
and have let go of the desire to converse.
You who are not naked yet,
you can go back to sleep.
Didn't I Tell You
Didn't I tell you
not to go to that place?
It is me, who is your intimate friend.
In this imaginary plain of non-existence,
I am your spring of eternal life.
Even if you lose yourself in wrath
for a hundred thousand years,
at the end you will discover,
it is me, who is the culmination of your dreams.
Didn't I tell you
not to be satisfied with the veil of this world?
I am the master illusionist,
it is me, who is the welcoming banner at the gate of your contentment.
Didn't I tell you?
I am an ocean, you are a fish;
do not go to the dry land,
it is me, who is your comforting body of water.
Didn't I tell you
not to fall in this trap like a blind bird?
I am your wings, I am the strength in your wings,
I am the wind keeping you in flight.
Didn't I tell you
that they will kidnap you from the path?
They will steal your warmth,
and take your devotion away.
I am your fire, I am your heartbeat,
I am the life in your breath.
Didn't I tell you?
They will accuse you of all the wrongdoings,
they will call you ugly names,
they will make you forget
it is me, who is the source of your happiness.
Didn't I tell you?
Wonder not, how your life will turn out,
how you will ever get your world in order,
it is me, who is your omnipresent creator.
If your are a guiding torch of the heart,
know the path to that house.
If you are a person of God, know this,
It is me, who is the chief of the village of your life.
not to go to that place?
It is me, who is your intimate friend.
In this imaginary plain of non-existence,
I am your spring of eternal life.
Even if you lose yourself in wrath
for a hundred thousand years,
at the end you will discover,
it is me, who is the culmination of your dreams.
Didn't I tell you
not to be satisfied with the veil of this world?
I am the master illusionist,
it is me, who is the welcoming banner at the gate of your contentment.
Didn't I tell you?
I am an ocean, you are a fish;
do not go to the dry land,
it is me, who is your comforting body of water.
Didn't I tell you
not to fall in this trap like a blind bird?
I am your wings, I am the strength in your wings,
I am the wind keeping you in flight.
Didn't I tell you
that they will kidnap you from the path?
They will steal your warmth,
and take your devotion away.
I am your fire, I am your heartbeat,
I am the life in your breath.
Didn't I tell you?
They will accuse you of all the wrongdoings,
they will call you ugly names,
they will make you forget
it is me, who is the source of your happiness.
Didn't I tell you?
Wonder not, how your life will turn out,
how you will ever get your world in order,
it is me, who is your omnipresent creator.
If your are a guiding torch of the heart,
know the path to that house.
If you are a person of God, know this,
It is me, who is the chief of the village of your life.
I've Got You Now
My face free of sorrow,
my mouth full of wine,
my clothes torn off my body.
Look what you've done to me now.
He says, That's what I do.
I tear away the layers.
I melt the shame.
I reveal the unrevealed.
I tear away the layers.
I melt the shame.
I reveal the unrevealed.
He moves too fast.
One breath, he is outside the window.
Next breath, he is inside my shirt.
One breath, he is outside the window.
Next breath, he is inside my shirt.
I can't think clear,
my mind is not here,
he is all I see.
NOW!
There is new life in me.
my mind is not here,
he is all I see.
NOW!
There is new life in me.
The seven heavens cannot contain him,
but he is here,
moving up my shirt.
Pop, one button here.
Pop, one button there.
but he is here,
moving up my shirt.
Pop, one button here.
Pop, one button there.
This lion of God
watches over me,
I sing as he roars.
watches over me,
I sing as he roars.
He says, I've got you now.
I gave you life,
I created you,
I do what I want now.
I gave you life,
I created you,
I do what I want now.
I am your harp,
play me easy,
play me hard, or
don't touch my strings at all.
play me easy,
play me hard, or
don't touch my strings at all.
You know!
I think,
I've got YOU now.
Before I met you,
I had only one heart,
I had only one body,
I was only being.
I think,
I've got YOU now.
Before I met you,
I had only one heart,
I had only one body,
I was only being.
But look at me now,
I've got you now.
I've got you now.
Be Guiltless
(this is a poem by Shahram Shiva and not a Rumi translation)
Listen,
my love,
they can't hurt you.
They can't hurt you at all,
Your soul is ever intact.
my love,
they can't hurt you.
They can't hurt you at all,
Your soul is ever intact.
Don't mind the destination,
Don't mind the end.
Don't mind the good or bad
or right and wrong.
Don't mind the end.
Don't mind the good or bad
or right and wrong.
Grow from the past,
But grab hold of now.
Now is always evolving.
But grab hold of now.
Now is always evolving.
The end is eternal
It's ever reaching.
It's ever reaching.
Last night,
Under the roof of all nations
A woman in red
spoke of self-realization.
She said proudly,
He is fully illuminated.
Under the roof of all nations
A woman in red
spoke of self-realization.
She said proudly,
He is fully illuminated.
Listen my love,
Illumination is eternal,
It can never be full.
Evolution is eternal.
Now is always evolving.
Illumination is eternal,
It can never be full.
Evolution is eternal.
Now is always evolving.
As there are billions of stars
There are billions of steps.
As there are billions of souls,
There are billions of ways to grow.
There are billions of steps.
As there are billions of souls,
There are billions of ways to grow.
Don't mind the destination,
Don't mind the end.
Don't mind the good or bad
or right and wrong.
Don't mind the end.
Don't mind the good or bad
or right and wrong.
Grow from the past,
But grab hold of now.
Now is always evolving.
But grab hold of now.
Now is always evolving.
Listen my love,
As you walk this eternal path,
Show courage
by remaining guiltless
in the midst of an ever-reaching end.
As you walk this eternal path,
Show courage
by remaining guiltless
in the midst of an ever-reaching end.
Rumi QUATRAINS
To Love is to be God.
Never will a Lover's chest
feel any sorrow.
Never will a Lover's robe
be touched by mortals.
Never will a Lover's body
be found buried in the earth.
To Love is to be God.
To heal the burning of your sorrow,
I seek a flame.
To gather the dust of your door,
I seek the palms of my hands.
To deal with you hiding behind your holiness,
I seek a good time instead.
You think you are alive
because you breathe air?
Shame on you,
that you are alive in such a limited way.
Don't be without Love,
so you won't feel dead.
Die in Love
and stay alive forever.
Bring the pure wine of
love and freedom.
But sir, a tornado is coming.
More wine, we'll teach this storm
A thing or two about whirling.
My head is bursting
with the joy of the unknown.
My heart is expanding a thousand fold.
Every cell,
taking wings,
flies about the world.
All seek separately
the many faces of my love.
I am so drunk
I have lost the way in
and the way out.
I have lost the earth, the moon, and the sky.
Don't put another cup of wine in my hand,
pour it in my mouth,
for I have lost the way to my mouth.
Last night,
I saw the realm of joy and pleasure.
There I melted like salt;
no religion, no blasphemy,
no conviction or uncertainty remained.
In the middle of my heart,
a star appeared,
and the seven heavens were lost in its brilliance.
I am drumming,
I am drumming,
I am drumming
for my Love's ever nearing union.
They say get a life.
What is all this drumming?
I swear to that Love,
the day that I stop drumming,
is the day that I will stop living.
I said, meet me in the garden.
You know the one--
it is called Smiling Spring.
There are nightingales chirping away,
wine and candle lights,
and companions as soft as
pomegranate blossoms.
You think this all would sound so perfect!
But without you by my side,
what use is the Smiling Spring?
And when you are with me,
what use are pomegranate blossoms?
I am an atom;
you are like the countenance of the Sun for me.
I am a patient of Love
you are like medicine for me.
Without wings, without feathers,
I fly about looking for you.
I have become a rose petal
and you are like the wind for me.
Take me for a ride.
The Lover is ever drunk with Love.
He is mad,
she is free.
He sings with delight,
she dances with ecstasy.
Caught by our own thoughts,
we worry about everything.
But once we get drunk on that Love
whatever will be, will be.
Love is best when mixed with anguish.
In our town,
we won't call you a Lover
if you escape the pain.
Look for Love in this way,
welcome it to your soul,
and watch your spirit fly away in ecstasy.
It is your turn now,
you waited, you were patient.
The time has come,
for us to polish you.
We will transform your inner pearl
into a house of fire.
You're a gold mine.
Did you know that,
hidden in the dirt of the earth?
It is your turn now,
to be placed in fire.
Let us cremate your impurities.
The Lovers
will drink wine night and day.
They will drink until they can
tear away the veils of intellect and
melt away the layers of shame and modesty.
When in Love,
body, mind, heart and soul don't even exist.
Become this,
fall in Love,
and you will not be separated again.
Love rests on no foundation.
It is an endless ocean,
with no beginning or end.
Imagine,
a suspended ocean,
riding on a cushion of ancient secrets.
All souls have drowned in it,
and now dwell there.
One drop of that ocean is hope,
and the rest is fear.
I am powerless by Love's game.
How can you expect me
to behave and act modest?
How can you expect me
to stay at home,
like a good little boy?
How can you expect me
to enjoy being chained like a mad man?
Oh, my love, you will find me every night,
on your street,
with my eyes glued to your window,
waiting for a glimpse of your radiant face.
A true Lover doesn't follow any one religion,
be sure of that.
Since in the religion of Love,
there is no irreverence or faith.
When in Love,
body, mind, heart and soul don't even exist.
Become this,
fall in Love,
and you will not be separated again.
Tonight
is the night.
It's the creation of that land of eternity.
It's not an ordinary night,
it's a wedding of those who seek Love.
Tonight, the bride and groom
speak in one tongue.
Tonight, the bridal chamber
is looking particularly bright.
When we talk about the witness in our verse,
we talk about you.
A pure heart and a noble demeanor
cannot compete with your radiant face.
They will ask you
what you have produced.
Say to them,
except for Love,
what else can a Lover produce?
My head is bursting
with the joy of the unknown.
My heart is expanding a thousand fold.
Every cell,
taking wings,
flies about the world.
All seek separately
the many faces of my love.
Love came,
and became like blood in my body.
It rushed through my veins and
encircled my heart.
Everywhere I looked,
I saw one thing.
Love's name written
on my limbs,
on my left palm,
on my forehead,
on the back of my neck,
on my right big toe…
Oh, my friend,
all that you see of me
is just a shell,
and the rest belongs to love.
I am in Love!
All this advise--
what's the use?
I have drunk poison.
All this sugar
what's the use?
You say hurry,
tie up his feet.
But its my heart that's gone crazy,
all this rope
around my feet--
what's the use?
There is a certain Love
that is formed out of the
elixir of the East.
There is a certain cloud,
impregnated with a
thousand lightnings.
There is my body,
in it an ocean formed of his glory,
all the creation,
all the universes,
all the galaxies,
are lost in it.
I wish I could give you a taste of
the burning fire of Love.
There is a fire
blazing inside of me.
If I cry about it, or if I don't,
the fire is at work,
night and day.
People make clothing to cover their intellect,
but the heart of Lovers
is a shroud,
inflamed in golden hues of Love.
By day I praised you
and never knew it.
By night I stayed with you
and never knew it.
I always thought that
I was me--but no,
I was you
and never knew it.
This world is no match for your Love.
Being away from you
is death aiming to take my soul away.
My heart, so precious,
I won't trade for a hundred thousand souls.
Your one smile takes it for free.
I saw Sorrow
holding a cup of pain.
I said, hey sorrow,
sorry to see you this way.
What's troubling you?
What's with the cup?
Sorrow said,
what else can I do?
All this Joy that you have brought to the world has killed my business completely.
I sipped some of love's sweet wine,
and now I am ill.
My body aches,
my fever is high.
They called in the doctor and he said,
drink this tea!
Ok, time to drink this tea.
He said,
Take these pills!
Ok, time to take these pills.
The doctor said,
And get rid of the sweet wine of love's lips!
Ok, time to get rid of the doctor.
This is a gathering of Lovers.
In this gathering
there is no high, no low,
no smart, no ignorant,
no special assembly,
no grand discourse,
no proper schooling required.
There is no master,
no disciple.
This gathering is more like a drunken party,
full of tricksters, fools,
mad men and mad women.
This is a gathering of Lovers.
May this marriage be blessed.
May this marriage be as sweet as milk and honey.
May this marriage be as intoxicating as old wine.
May this marriage be fruitful like a date tree.
May this marriage be full of laughter and everyday a paradise.
May this marriage be a seal of compassion for here and hereafter.
May this marriage be as welcome as the full moon in the night sky.
Listen lovers, now you go on, as I become silent and kiss this blessed night.
Never will a Lover's chest
feel any sorrow.
Never will a Lover's robe
be touched by mortals.
Never will a Lover's body
be found buried in the earth.
To Love is to be God.
To heal the burning of your sorrow,
I seek a flame.
To gather the dust of your door,
I seek the palms of my hands.
To deal with you hiding behind your holiness,
I seek a good time instead.
You think you are alive
because you breathe air?
Shame on you,
that you are alive in such a limited way.
Don't be without Love,
so you won't feel dead.
Die in Love
and stay alive forever.
Bring the pure wine of
love and freedom.
But sir, a tornado is coming.
More wine, we'll teach this storm
A thing or two about whirling.
My head is bursting
with the joy of the unknown.
My heart is expanding a thousand fold.
Every cell,
taking wings,
flies about the world.
All seek separately
the many faces of my love.
I am so drunk
I have lost the way in
and the way out.
I have lost the earth, the moon, and the sky.
Don't put another cup of wine in my hand,
pour it in my mouth,
for I have lost the way to my mouth.
Last night,
I saw the realm of joy and pleasure.
There I melted like salt;
no religion, no blasphemy,
no conviction or uncertainty remained.
In the middle of my heart,
a star appeared,
and the seven heavens were lost in its brilliance.
I am drumming,
I am drumming,
I am drumming
for my Love's ever nearing union.
They say get a life.
What is all this drumming?
I swear to that Love,
the day that I stop drumming,
is the day that I will stop living.
I said, meet me in the garden.
You know the one--
it is called Smiling Spring.
There are nightingales chirping away,
wine and candle lights,
and companions as soft as
pomegranate blossoms.
You think this all would sound so perfect!
But without you by my side,
what use is the Smiling Spring?
And when you are with me,
what use are pomegranate blossoms?
I am an atom;
you are like the countenance of the Sun for me.
I am a patient of Love
you are like medicine for me.
Without wings, without feathers,
I fly about looking for you.
I have become a rose petal
and you are like the wind for me.
Take me for a ride.
The Lover is ever drunk with Love.
He is mad,
she is free.
He sings with delight,
she dances with ecstasy.
Caught by our own thoughts,
we worry about everything.
But once we get drunk on that Love
whatever will be, will be.
Love is best when mixed with anguish.
In our town,
we won't call you a Lover
if you escape the pain.
Look for Love in this way,
welcome it to your soul,
and watch your spirit fly away in ecstasy.
It is your turn now,
you waited, you were patient.
The time has come,
for us to polish you.
We will transform your inner pearl
into a house of fire.
You're a gold mine.
Did you know that,
hidden in the dirt of the earth?
It is your turn now,
to be placed in fire.
Let us cremate your impurities.
The Lovers
will drink wine night and day.
They will drink until they can
tear away the veils of intellect and
melt away the layers of shame and modesty.
When in Love,
body, mind, heart and soul don't even exist.
Become this,
fall in Love,
and you will not be separated again.
Love rests on no foundation.
It is an endless ocean,
with no beginning or end.
Imagine,
a suspended ocean,
riding on a cushion of ancient secrets.
All souls have drowned in it,
and now dwell there.
One drop of that ocean is hope,
and the rest is fear.
I am powerless by Love's game.
How can you expect me
to behave and act modest?
How can you expect me
to stay at home,
like a good little boy?
How can you expect me
to enjoy being chained like a mad man?
Oh, my love, you will find me every night,
on your street,
with my eyes glued to your window,
waiting for a glimpse of your radiant face.
A true Lover doesn't follow any one religion,
be sure of that.
Since in the religion of Love,
there is no irreverence or faith.
When in Love,
body, mind, heart and soul don't even exist.
Become this,
fall in Love,
and you will not be separated again.
Tonight
is the night.
It's the creation of that land of eternity.
It's not an ordinary night,
it's a wedding of those who seek Love.
Tonight, the bride and groom
speak in one tongue.
Tonight, the bridal chamber
is looking particularly bright.
When we talk about the witness in our verse,
we talk about you.
A pure heart and a noble demeanor
cannot compete with your radiant face.
They will ask you
what you have produced.
Say to them,
except for Love,
what else can a Lover produce?
My head is bursting
with the joy of the unknown.
My heart is expanding a thousand fold.
Every cell,
taking wings,
flies about the world.
All seek separately
the many faces of my love.
Love came,
and became like blood in my body.
It rushed through my veins and
encircled my heart.
Everywhere I looked,
I saw one thing.
Love's name written
on my limbs,
on my left palm,
on my forehead,
on the back of my neck,
on my right big toe…
Oh, my friend,
all that you see of me
is just a shell,
and the rest belongs to love.
I am in Love!
All this advise--
what's the use?
I have drunk poison.
All this sugar
what's the use?
You say hurry,
tie up his feet.
But its my heart that's gone crazy,
all this rope
around my feet--
what's the use?
There is a certain Love
that is formed out of the
elixir of the East.
There is a certain cloud,
impregnated with a
thousand lightnings.
There is my body,
in it an ocean formed of his glory,
all the creation,
all the universes,
all the galaxies,
are lost in it.
I wish I could give you a taste of
the burning fire of Love.
There is a fire
blazing inside of me.
If I cry about it, or if I don't,
the fire is at work,
night and day.
People make clothing to cover their intellect,
but the heart of Lovers
is a shroud,
inflamed in golden hues of Love.
By day I praised you
and never knew it.
By night I stayed with you
and never knew it.
I always thought that
I was me--but no,
I was you
and never knew it.
This world is no match for your Love.
Being away from you
is death aiming to take my soul away.
My heart, so precious,
I won't trade for a hundred thousand souls.
Your one smile takes it for free.
I saw Sorrow
holding a cup of pain.
I said, hey sorrow,
sorry to see you this way.
What's troubling you?
What's with the cup?
Sorrow said,
what else can I do?
All this Joy that you have brought to the world has killed my business completely.
I sipped some of love's sweet wine,
and now I am ill.
My body aches,
my fever is high.
They called in the doctor and he said,
drink this tea!
Ok, time to drink this tea.
He said,
Take these pills!
Ok, time to take these pills.
The doctor said,
And get rid of the sweet wine of love's lips!
Ok, time to get rid of the doctor.
This is a gathering of Lovers.
In this gathering
there is no high, no low,
no smart, no ignorant,
no special assembly,
no grand discourse,
no proper schooling required.
There is no master,
no disciple.
This gathering is more like a drunken party,
full of tricksters, fools,
mad men and mad women.
This is a gathering of Lovers.
May this marriage be blessed.
May this marriage be as sweet as milk and honey.
May this marriage be as intoxicating as old wine.
May this marriage be fruitful like a date tree.
May this marriage be full of laughter and everyday a paradise.
May this marriage be a seal of compassion for here and hereafter.
May this marriage be as welcome as the full moon in the night sky.
Listen lovers, now you go on, as I become silent and kiss this blessed night.
Saturday, September 18, 2010
War is in the Blood of Some Men: Thomas Babington Macaulay
Thomas Babington Macaulay, 1st Baron Macaulay composed Lays of Ancient Rome, a series of very popular ballads about heroic episodes in Roman history. The most famous of them, Horatius, concerns the heroism of Horatius Cocles. It contains the oft-quoted lines:
Then out spake brave Horatius,
The Captain of the Gate:
"To every man upon this earth
Death cometh soon or late.
And how can man die better
Than facing fearful odds,
For the ashes of his fathers,
And the temples of his gods?"
Then out spake brave Horatius,
The Captain of the Gate:
"To every man upon this earth
Death cometh soon or late.
And how can man die better
Than facing fearful odds,
For the ashes of his fathers,
And the temples of his gods?"
Thursday, September 16, 2010
Saturday Verse: Wallace Stevens (1879-1955)
A Rabbit as King of the Ghosts (1937)
The difficulty to think at the end of day,
When the shapeless shadow covers the sun
And nothing is left except light on your fur—
There was the cat slopping its milk all day,
Fat cat, red tongue, green mind, white milk
And August the most peaceful month.
To be, in the grass, in the peacefullest time,
Without that monument of cat,
The cat forgotten in the moon;
And to feel that the light is a rabbit-light,
In which everything is meant for you
And nothing need be explained;
Then there is nothing to think of. It comes of itself;
And east rushes west and west rushes down,
No matter. The grass is full
And full of yourself. The trees around are for you,
The whole of the wideness of night is for you,
A self that touches all edges,
You become a self that fills the four corners of night.
The red cat hides away in the fur-light
And there you are humped high, humped up,
You are humped higher and higher, black as stone—
You sit with your head like a carving in space
And the little green cat is a bug in the grass.
The difficulty to think at the end of day,
When the shapeless shadow covers the sun
And nothing is left except light on your fur—
There was the cat slopping its milk all day,
Fat cat, red tongue, green mind, white milk
And August the most peaceful month.
To be, in the grass, in the peacefullest time,
Without that monument of cat,
The cat forgotten in the moon;
And to feel that the light is a rabbit-light,
In which everything is meant for you
And nothing need be explained;
Then there is nothing to think of. It comes of itself;
And east rushes west and west rushes down,
No matter. The grass is full
And full of yourself. The trees around are for you,
The whole of the wideness of night is for you,
A self that touches all edges,
You become a self that fills the four corners of night.
The red cat hides away in the fur-light
And there you are humped high, humped up,
You are humped higher and higher, black as stone—
You sit with your head like a carving in space
And the little green cat is a bug in the grass.
Walt Whitman O living always-
O living always
O living always, always dying!
O the burials of me past and present,
O me while I stride ahead, material, visible, imperious as ever;
O me, what I was for years, now dead, (I lament not, I am content;)
O to disengage myself from those corpses of me, which I turn and
look at where I cast them,
To pass on, (O living! always living!) and leave the corpses behind.
Walt WHITMAN (1819-1892)
O living always, always dying!
O the burials of me past and present,
O me while I stride ahead, material, visible, imperious as ever;
O me, what I was for years, now dead, (I lament not, I am content;)
O to disengage myself from those corpses of me, which I turn and
look at where I cast them,
To pass on, (O living! always living!) and leave the corpses behind.
Walt WHITMAN (1819-1892)
by Walt Whitman
Whispers of heavenly death
in LEAVES OF GRASS
Darest thou now O soul,
Walk out with me toward the unknown region,
Where neither ground is for the feet nor any path to follow?
No map there, nor guide,
Nor voice sounding, nor touch of human hand,
Nor face with blooming flesh, nor lips, nor eyes, are in that land.
I know it not O soul,
Nor dost thou, all is a blank before us,
All waits undream'd of in that region, that inaccessible land.
Till when the ties loosen,
All but the ties eternal, Time and Space,
Nor darkness, gravitation, sense, nor any bounds bounding us.
Then we burst forth, we float,
In Time and Space O soul, prepared for them,
Equal, equipt at last, (O joy! O fruit of all!) them to fulfil O soul.
Whispers of Heavenly Death
Whispers of heavenly death murmur'd I hear,
Labial gossip of night, sibilant chorals,
Footsteps gently ascending, mystical breezes wafted soft and low,
Ripples of unseen rivers, tides of a current flowing, forever flowing,
(Or is it the plashing of tears? the measureless waters of human tears?)
I see, just see skyward, great cloud-masses,
Mournfully slowly they roll, silently swelling and mixing,
With at times a half-dimm'd sadden'd far-off star,
Appearing and disappearing.
(Some parturition rather, some solemn immortal birth;
On the frontiers to eyes impenetrable,
Some soul is passing over.)
in LEAVES OF GRASS
Darest thou now O soul,
Walk out with me toward the unknown region,
Where neither ground is for the feet nor any path to follow?
No map there, nor guide,
Nor voice sounding, nor touch of human hand,
Nor face with blooming flesh, nor lips, nor eyes, are in that land.
I know it not O soul,
Nor dost thou, all is a blank before us,
All waits undream'd of in that region, that inaccessible land.
Till when the ties loosen,
All but the ties eternal, Time and Space,
Nor darkness, gravitation, sense, nor any bounds bounding us.
Then we burst forth, we float,
In Time and Space O soul, prepared for them,
Equal, equipt at last, (O joy! O fruit of all!) them to fulfil O soul.
Whispers of Heavenly Death
Whispers of heavenly death murmur'd I hear,
Labial gossip of night, sibilant chorals,
Footsteps gently ascending, mystical breezes wafted soft and low,
Ripples of unseen rivers, tides of a current flowing, forever flowing,
(Or is it the plashing of tears? the measureless waters of human tears?)
I see, just see skyward, great cloud-masses,
Mournfully slowly they roll, silently swelling and mixing,
With at times a half-dimm'd sadden'd far-off star,
Appearing and disappearing.
(Some parturition rather, some solemn immortal birth;
On the frontiers to eyes impenetrable,
Some soul is passing over.)
Walt WHITMAN ( 1819-1892)
Gubbinal by Wallace STEVENS
Gubbinal by Wallace STEVENS
that strange flower, the sun,
is just what you say.
have it your way.
the world is ugly,
and the people are sad.
that tuft of jungle feathers,
that animal eye,
is just what you say.
that savage of fire,
that seed,
have it your way.
the world is ugly,
and the people are sad.
by Wallace STEVENS
HARMONIUM (1923)
Wallace STEVENS
that strange flower, the sun,
is just what you say.
have it your way.
the world is ugly,
and the people are sad.
that tuft of jungle feathers,
that animal eye,
is just what you say.
that savage of fire,
that seed,
have it your way.
the world is ugly,
and the people are sad.
by Wallace STEVENS
HARMONIUM (1923)
Wallace STEVENS
The Reader by Wallace Stevens
The Reader
All night I sat reading a book,
Sat reading as if in a book
Of sombre pages.
It was autumn and falling stars
Covered the shrivelled forms
Crounched in the moonlight.
No lamp was burning as I read
A voice was mumbling, "Everything
Falls back to coldness,
Even the musky muscadines,
The melons, the vermilion pears
Of the leafless garden."
The sombre pages bore no print
Except the trace of burning stars
In the frosty heaven.
HARMONIUM
Wallace STEVENS
All night I sat reading a book,
Sat reading as if in a book
Of sombre pages.
It was autumn and falling stars
Covered the shrivelled forms
Crounched in the moonlight.
No lamp was burning as I read
A voice was mumbling, "Everything
Falls back to coldness,
Even the musky muscadines,
The melons, the vermilion pears
Of the leafless garden."
The sombre pages bore no print
Except the trace of burning stars
In the frosty heaven.
by Wallace STEVENS
HARMONIUM
Wallace STEVENS
The snow man by Wallace STEVENS (1879-1955)
The snow man by Wallace STEVENS (1879-1955)
The Snow Man
One must have a mind of winter
To regard the frost and the boughs
Of the pine-trees crusted with snow;
And have been cold a long time
To behold the junipers shagged with ice,
The spruces rough in the distant glitter
Of the January sun; and not to think
Of any misery in the sound of the wind,
In the sound of a few leaves,
Which is the sound of the land
Full of the same wind
That is blowing in the same bare place
For the listener, who listens in the snow,
And, nothing himself, beholds
Nothing that is not there and the nothing that is.
HARMONIUM (1923)
Wallace STEVENS
The Snow Man
One must have a mind of winter
To regard the frost and the boughs
Of the pine-trees crusted with snow;
And have been cold a long time
To behold the junipers shagged with ice,
The spruces rough in the distant glitter
Of the January sun; and not to think
Of any misery in the sound of the wind,
In the sound of a few leaves,
Which is the sound of the land
Full of the same wind
That is blowing in the same bare place
For the listener, who listens in the snow,
And, nothing himself, beholds
Nothing that is not there and the nothing that is.
HARMONIUM (1923)
Wallace STEVENS
Wallace Stevens - In the Carolinas
In the Carolinas The lilacs wither in the Carolinas. Already the butterflies flutter above the cabins. Already the new-born children interpret love In the voices of mothers. Timeless mothers, How is it that your aspic nipples For once vent honey? The pine-tree sweetens my body The white iris beautifies me. [(from Harmonium, 1923, 1931) The Collected Poems of Wallace Stevens, 1982] Copyright (c) 1923, 1931, 1935, 1936, 1937, 1942, 1943, 1944, 1945, 1946, 1947, 1948, 1949, 1950, 1951, 1952, 1954 Wallace Stevens
Sunday, September 12, 2010
When Madness Is in the Wings By MICHELLE NICOLE LEE
ercial use only. You can order presentation-ready copies for distribution to your colleagues, clients or customers here or use the "Reprints" tool that appears next to any article. Visit www.nytreprints.com for samples and additional information. Order a reprint of this article now.
October 25, 2009
MODERN LOVE
When Madness Is in the Wings
By MICHELLE NICOLE LEE
THERE are two kinds of madness: the kind that strikes suddenly, like a startled bird, and the kind that stalks silently for years, circling round and round until you are fully gathered in its dark wings. Mine was the latter.
All my life I have been afraid of losing my mind. I don’t know why — there is no legacy of mental illness in my family — but at a young age I decided that reality was a wild horse on which the best you could hope for was a tenuous grip.
For a military kid who moved every few years, this was not far from the truth. The world could, and often did, shift swiftly and resolutely. As I grew older, though, I came to know my illness as largely subdued, if still capable of sudden squalls: those episodes in college, for instance, when I locked myself in my dorm room for weeks at a time, surviving on industrial-size bags of cereal swiped from the dining hall. If anyone knocked, I’d indicate that I was not alone. And I wasn’t. I would awake to find gravity clinging to me like wet cloth to stone.
When clinical depression was diagnosed in my senior year, it was a relief. The phantom had been given form, something I could rail against and, finally, accept. It was Prozac that brokered the truce. With it, I believed I had put my fear behind me.
Then I met Margaret, the woman whose brief presence in my life ultimately would allow me to rescue myself, though I never would have thought so at the time.
It was my first week in graduate school. She stood on the steps of the Yale School of Drama, leaves in her hair, bellowing lines based on a passage from Medea: “What feeble night bird of misfortune is this at my door? Is this that great adventurer — the famous lord of the seas and delight of women, the heir of rich Corinth — this crying drunkard beating down the dark doorstep? Yet you’ve not had enough. You’ve come to drink the last bitter drops. I’ll pour them for you.”
The scene was electric, and I, stricken. What had wrung this rapturous outpouring from this woman, and why did no one else seem to take note of her feral presence?
BRIEFLY I wondered if she was an apparition (there was something surreal about her wide eyes and hawkish face), but then she smiled and caught my gaze and I knew. She was one of them. Here but not here. With us but not. Afflicted by, and in communion with, a force both fierce and unseen — a force that both chastened and exalted her.
If you have vertigo, you avoid bridges. If you fear madness, as I do, you avoid the Faraway Nearby — that which is at once distant and perilously close, a term I had taken from the title of a Georgia O’Keeffe painting.
That day was the first of many on which I simply lowered my gaze and walked around her. Yet not only was Margaret a difficult person to ignore, she was positively viral. Her loud, vibrato voice was mesmerizing; it flung Shakespearean and Greek verse about like nursery rhymes. Her rangy physique and erect carriage added nobility to even the shabbiest ensemble. She gave off a sour-milk odor that lingered long after she’d moved on. To inoculate myself, I developed a kind of hysterical blindness. I simply stopped seeing her.
Avoiding Margaret, however, was not the same as avoiding madness. During my second year at the drama school, the yawning darkness began to swallow me once again, and when the term ended I officially withdrew.
A kind professor arranged for a transfer to a different program, thinking a change of location might help. Yet I felt paralyzed. Unable to move forward or back, I spent most of the summer in a stupor. Then one day I heard a voice call my name from across the street.
I do not know how Margaret knew my name. I froze as though caught in the stare of the Gorgon. She smiled and admired my newly shorn head (I did not have the energy to care for it so had simply unburdened myself).
“Beautiful,” she said. “I wore mine just like it when I was at the drama school.”
That she had been a student at Yale some 15 years earlier was only one of the many parallels in our lives that unnerved me. Like me, she was a black woman. Like me, she fancied herself a writer and director. Like me, she had abruptly left the program.
But by fall I had gotten myself sufficiently together to re-enroll, and I soon commenced work on a documentary project that led me back to Margaret. I didn’t know what it would be. I just knew I wanted to hear her story. And over the course of a month, I conducted several interviews with her. She not only was willing to share her story but also seemed grateful for the opportunity, though at times her participation struck me less as an act of generosity than an exorcism.
Once I got over my formidable apprehension, I found Margaret to be warm and engaging, full of hard-won insights. She was surprisingly lucid, and though I had initially committed myself to simply listening to rather than believing or disbelieving her narrative, I quickly found myself moved by her candor, and convinced of it. She spilled forth the way only someone who has been chewing her memories for years can.
She told me of her father, who preached his first sermon the day she was born, baptized her in a muddy Georgia creek and ran off her suitor with a shotgun. She told me of a mother who liked to chop wood and make pallets, who picked pecans by day and worked at the cleaners at night.
These conversations were not all catharsis for Margaret. I had stirred the pot and her disquiet was increasingly obvious. One afternoon I found her waiting for me outside my classroom door, frighteningly agitated. She thrust a few sheets of folded paper at me, asked for a few dollars and left.
Opening the pages, I was overcome with dread. The scribbled letter was a release granting me permission to use the interview transcripts as I wished, provided I published the attached statement in any program distributed.
The statement began, “Never in the history of the world has God sent Satan in person, Death and her Two Sisters in person, the Devil in Person, the Snake in Person and St. Joan in Person after one individual” and bled into an account of her experience with what she called her “tactile demons.” It ended with both a plea and a command not to judge her without first walking a mile in her shoes.
I was flooded with grief, remorse and a grim new appreciation for the resilience of my quarry. I had not helped her and could not. She had not helped me and could not. Mental illness was beyond all reckoning, and no amount of digging could expose and extricate its roots. The next time I saw Margaret, I thanked her and said I had everything I needed. Then I put away her letter and tapes and did not open them again for 10 years.
In the time that interceded, she remained my touchstone, always in my thoughts, as I experienced the usual outrages, triumphs and diversions. I married and promptly divorced. I crisscrossed the continent for school and work, with stays in New Jersey, California, Costa Rica, Missouri and Washington State. The only constant in my unruly, if not altogether unrewarding life, was the depression.
Then two years ago, when I was living in Palo Alto, I began to suspect I was being watched. Suspicion quickly escalated to conviction, and before long I was lost.
Describing psychosis is a bit like recounting a dream. There is very little one can say to capture its horror or its brilliance. There were many dimensions to my psychosis, the most prevalent being a severe strain of paranoia fueled by profound guilt and self-reproach. No longer was my world peopled by friends, colleagues, relatives or even strangers. Instead, all had become jurors or witnesses for the prosecution, and I was to be held to account for every real or imagined offense.
I created elaborate lists of past transgressions and suitable acts of contrition. I left bouquets of flowers on doorsteps. I placed Post-it notes inscribed with “I Love You” on car windows. I raked the leaves of unsuspecting neighbors. I bought meals for the homeless. I gave away precious possessions and illegally entered homes so that I might sweep away imaginary cobwebs.
IT was not enough.
One day I decided to purchase two dozen red balloons from the corner grocer and distribute them randomly to passers-by. Most recipients were delighted. A few were wary. One was viscerally alarmed. It was an expression I recognized. It was the look I first gave Margaret all those years ago.
In that instant, something in me was jarred. I knew my old fear had come to pass. I had become one of them: the Faraway Nearby. And I saw just how close I had been all along, how narrow that passage is for so many of us. I wanted to shout, “I know what you’re thinking, lady, but there but for the grace of God. ...”
I wish I could say I immediately checked myself into the hospital, but it would be another two months before I accepted treatment, and even then I did so with reluctance. Still, something had awakened in me, a life-altering awareness of who I was and how deeply I had fallen. I had walked a mile in Margaret’s shoes, exactly as she’d told me to, and I did not judge her but felt I knew her, just as I felt I finally knew myself.
We hear of family and loved ones intervening to help at such times of personal crisis, and mine certainly tried. But in the place I was, that kind of love could not reach me. My awakening — my salvation, at the time — relied instead upon the bond I shared with a brilliant and disturbed stranger I’d met more than a decade earlier and thousands of miles away, a fellow sufferer who in our brief time together had managed to stir me more than those with whom I’d spent a lifetime.
I only wish Margaret could know the gift she gave me.
Michelle Nicole Lee is a writer in St. Louis.
Copyright 2009 The New York Times
When Madness Is in the Wings
By MICHELLE NICOLE LEE
There are two kinds of madness: the kind that strikes suddenly, like a startled bird, and the kind that stalks silently for years, circling round and round until you are fully gathered in its dark wings. Mine was the latter.
Modern Love Essay: http://bit.ly/4ts7t9
Wednesday, August 11, 2010
The Unofficial Bible of the Crane - DigitalCommons@University of Nebraska - Lincoln
http://digitalcommons.unl.edu/bioscicranes/
This work was originally published in 1983 by Indiana University Press, and has been out of print since at least 1992. It has been called the "bible" by crane researchers at the International Crane Foundation, and it is still the only serious world monograph on cranes.
This online electronic edition is a complete reissue of the 1983 book, including the photographs and original artwork by the author. It appears online courtesy of the gracious generosity of its author, creator, and holder of copyright, Paul A. Johnsgard.
The entire work may be downloaded as a single PDF file (25 megabytes), or individual chapters may be downloaded as desired
This work was originally published in 1983 by Indiana University Press, and has been out of print since at least 1992. It has been called the "bible" by crane researchers at the International Crane Foundation, and it is still the only serious world monograph on cranes.
This online electronic edition is a complete reissue of the 1983 book, including the photographs and original artwork by the author. It appears online courtesy of the gracious generosity of its author, creator, and holder of copyright, Paul A. Johnsgard.
The entire work may be downloaded as a single PDF file (25 megabytes), or individual chapters may be downloaded as desired
Cranes in China
Pine, Plum and Cranes, 1759 AD, by Shen Quan (1682—1760). Hanging scroll, ink and colour on silk. The Palace Museum, Beijing.
Saturday, August 7, 2010
Friday, August 6, 2010
Flight
"He play'd his wings as tho' for flight; They webb'd the sky with glassy light. His body sway'd upon tiptoes, Like a wind-perplexed rose; In eddies of the wind he went At last up the blue element."
~ Gerard Manley Hopkins, 1844-1889 ~ "Love Preparing to Fly"
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