Saturday, August 22, 2009

Mawlānā Jalāl-ad-Dīn Muhammad Balkhi (Rūmī)

"Forget safety.
Live where you fear to live.
Destroy your reputation.
Be notorious."

Carl Sandburg (Honey and Salt)

"Come clean with a child heart
Laugh as peaches in the summer wind
Let rain on a house roof be a song
Let the writing on your face
be a smell of apple orchards on late June."

Like this

— Mawlānā Jalāl-ad-Dīn Muhammad Balkhi (Rūmī)

"If anyone asks you
how the perfect satisfaction
of all our sexual wanting
will look, lift your face
and say,

Like this.

When someone mentions the gracefulness
of the nightsky, climb up on the roof
and dance and say,

Like this.

If anyone wants to know what "spirit" is,
or what "God’s fragrance" means,
lean your head toward him or her.
Keep your face there close.

Like this.

When someone quotes the old poetic image
about clouds gradually uncovering the moon,
slowly loosen knot by knot the strings
of your robe.

Like this.

If anyone wonders how Jesus raised the dead,
don’t try to explain the miracle.
Kiss me on the lips.

Like this. Like this.

When someone asks what it means
to "die for love," point
here.
If someone asks how tall I am, frown
and measure with your fingers the space
between the creases on your forehead.

This tall.

The soul sometimes leaves the body, the returns.
When someone doesn’t believe that,
walk back into my house.

Like this.

When lovers moan,
they’re telling our story.

Like this.

I am a sky where spirits live.
Stare into this deepening blue,
while the breeze says a secret.

Like this.

When someone asks what there is to do,
light the candle in his hand.

Like this.

How did Joseph’s scent come to Jacob?
Huuuuu.

How did Jacob’s sight return?
Huuuu.

A little wind cleans the eyes.

Like this.
When Shams comes back from Tabriz,
he’ll put just his head around the edge
of the door to surprise us

Like this."

Confession

Frantisek Halas (1901 - 1949)

Touched by all that love is
I draw closer toward you
Saddened by all that love is
I run from you

Surprised by all that love is
I remain alert in stillness
Hurt by all that love is
I yearn for tenderness

Defeated by all that love is
at the truthful mouth of the night
Forsaken by all that love is
I will grow toward you.

Love Sonnet XVII

Pablo Neruda
I don't love you as if you were the salt-rose, topaz
or arrow of carnations that propagate fire:
I love you as certain dark things are loved,
secretly, between the shadow and the soul.
I love you as the plant that doesn't bloom and carries
hidden within itself the light of those flowers,
and thanks to your love, darkly in my body
lives the dense fragrance that rises from the earth.

I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where,
I love you simply, without problems or pride:
I love you in this way because I don't know any other way of loving

but this, in which there is no I or you,
so intimate that your hand upon my chest is my hand,
so intimate that when I fall asleep it is your eyes that close.

Maybe

Carl Sandburg
Maybe he believes me, maybe not. 
Maybe I can marry him, maybe not.  
Maybe the wind on the prairie, 
The wind on the sea, maybe, 
Somebody, somewhere, maybe can tell.  
I will lay my head on his shoulder 
And when he asks me 
I will say yes, 
Maybe.

Love Sonnet XI

Pablo Neruda

I crave your mouth, your voice, your hair.
Silent and starving, I prowl through the streets.
Bread does not nourish me, dawn disrupts me, all day
I hunt for the liquid measure of your steps.

I hunger for your sleek laugh,
your hands the color of a savage harvest,
hunger for the pale stones of your fingernails,
I want to eat your skin like a whole almond.

I want to eat the sunbeam flaring in your lovely body,
the sovereign nose of your arrogant face,
I want to eat the fleeting shade of your lashes,

And I pace around hungry, sniffing the twilight,
hunting for you, for your hot heart,
like a puma in the barrens of Quitratue.

Under the Harvest Moon

Carl Sandburg

Under the harvest moon, 
When the soft silver
Drips shimmering 
Over garden nights, 
Death, the gray mocker, 
Comes and whispers to you 
As a beautiful friend 
Who remembers.  
Under the summer roses 
When the flagrant crimson 
Lurks in the dusk 
Of the wild red leaves, 
Love, with little hands, 
Comes and touches you  
With a thousand memories, 
And asks you 
Beautiful, unanswerable questions.