Persijska Knjiz

Love Poems of Rumi
Home Page Love Poems of Rumi

Books on Rumi
Bibliography
Like This I am Only the House of Your Beloved
Works of Rumi
Rumi's Poetry Love is the Water of Life The Springtime of Lovers Has Come
A Moment of Happiness The Intellectual is Always Showing Off
– Lovers Love Has Nothing to Do With Five Senses
Events in UK
All Through Eternity When the Rose is Gone and the Garden Faded
Events List
I Swear Because I Cannot Sleep
Daily Poem
Daily Quotes Let Go of Your Worries Ode 314
Discussion Forum This is Love Those Who Don't Feel This Love
Music Love is Reckless Last Night You Left Me And Slept
Persian with Rumi
I am a Sculptor a Molder of Form I Have Been Tricked by Flying Too Close
Sufism
Passion Makes Old Medicine New Who Is At My Door?
– The Beauty of The Heart In The Arc Of Your Mallet
Reflections
Acknowledgements
Search
Contact
Pick Language
—
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.
file:///C|/Documents%20and%20Settings/Sonja/Desktop/love_poems.html (1 of 15) [5/22/2009 10:59:16 PM]

Love Poems of Rumi
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

Love Poems of Rumi
Like this.
From ‘The Essential Rumi’, Translations

by Coleman Barks with John Moyne
Love is the Water of Life
Everything other than love for the most beautiful God
though it be sugar- eating.
What is agony of the spirit?
To advance toward death without seizing
hold of the Water of Life.
Masnawi I 3686-87
A moment of happiness,
you and I sitting on the verandah,
apparently two, but one in soul, you and I.
We feel the flowing water of life here,
you and I, with the garden's beauty
and the birds singing.
The stars will be watching us,
and we will show them
what it is to be a thin crescent moon.
You and I unselfed, will be together,
indifferent to idle speculation, you and I.
The parrots of heaven will be cracking sugar
as we laugh together, you and I.
In one form upon this earth,
and in another form in a timeless sweet land.

Love Poems of Rumi
Kulliyat-e Shams, 2114
Lovers
O lovers, lovers it is time

to set out from the world.
I hear a drum in my soul's ear
coming from the depths of the stars.
Our camel driver is at work;

the caravan is being readied.
He asks that we forgive him
for the disturbance he has caused us,
He asks why we travelers are asleep.
Everywhere the murmur of departure;

the stars, like candles
thrust at us from behind blue veils,
and as if to make the invisible plain,
a wondrous people have come forth.
The Divani Shamsi Tabriz, XXXVI
All through eternity

Beauty unveils His exquisite form
in the solitude of nothingness;
He holds a mirror to His Face
and beholds His own beauty.
he is the knower and the known,
the seer and the seen;
No eye but His own
has ever looked upon this Universe.
His every quality finds an expression:

Eternity becomes the verdant field of Time and Space;
Love, the life-giving garden of this world.

Love Poems of Rumi
Every branch and leaf and fruit

Reveals an aspect of His perfection-
They cypress give hint of His majesty,
The rose gives tidings of His beauty.
Whenever Beauty looks,

Love is also there;
Whenever beauty shows a rosy cheek
Love lights Her fire from that flame.
When beauty dwells in the dark folds of night
Love comes and finds a heart
entangled in tresses.
Beauty and Love are as body and soul.
Beauty is the mine, Love is the diamond.
They have together

since the beginning of time-
Side by side, step by step.
I swear, since seeing Your face,

the whole world is fraud and fantasy
The garden is bewildered as to what is leaf
or blossom. The distracted birds
can't distinguish the birdseed from the snare.
A house of love with no limits,

a presence more beautiful than venus or the moon,
a beauty whose image fills the mirror of the heart.
The Divani Shamsi Tabriz XV
Let go of your worries

and be completely clear-hearted,
like the face of a mirror
that contains no images.
If you want a clear mirror,
behold yourself

Love Poems of Rumi
and see the shameless truth,

which the mirror reflects.
If metal can be polished
to a mirror-like finish,
what polishing might the mirror
of the heart require?
Between the mirror and the heart
is this single difference:
the heart conceals secrets,
while the mirror does not.
The Divani Shamsi Tabriz, XIII
This is love: to fly toward a secret sky,

to cause a hundred veils to fall each moment.
First, to let go of live.
In the end, to take a step without feet;
to regard this world as invisible,
and to disregard what appears to be the self.
Heart, I said, what a gift it has been

to enter this circle of lovers,
to see beyond seeing itself,
to reach and feel within the breast.
Love is reckless; not reason.

Reason seeks a profit.
Love comes on strong,
consuming herself, unabashed.
Yet, in the midst of suffering,

Love proceeds like a millstone,

Love Poems of Rumi
hard surfaced and straightforward.
Having died of self-interest,

she risks everything and asks for nothing.
Love gambles away every gift God bestows.
Without cause God gave us Being;

without cause, give it back again.
Mathnawi VI, 1967-1974
I am a sculptor, a molder of form.

In every moment I shape an idol.
But then, in front of you, I melt them down
I can rouse a hundred forms
and fill them with spirit,
but when I look into your face,
I want to throw them in the fire.
My souls spills into yours and is blended.
Because my soul has absorbed your fragrance,
I cherish it.
Every drop of blood I spill
informs the earth,
I merge with my Beloved
when I participate in love.
In this house of mud and water,
my heart has fallen to ruins.
Enter this house, my Love, or let me leave.
The Divani Shamsi Tabriz, XXXIV
Passion makes the old medicine new:

Passion lops off the bough of weariness.

Love Poems of Rumi
Passion is the elixir that renews:

how can there be weariness
when passion is present?
Oh, don't sigh heavily from fatigue:
seek passion, seek passion, seek passion!
The beauty of the heart

is the lasting beauty:
its lips give to drink
of the water of life.
Truly it is the water,
that which pours,
and the one who drinks.
All three become one when
your talisman is shattered.
That oneness you can't know
by reasoning.
Mathnawi II, 716-718
"I am only the house of your beloved,

not the beloved herself:
true love is for the treasure,
not for the coffer that contains it."
The real beloved is that one who is unique,
who is your beginning and your end.
When you find that one,
you'll no longer expect anything else:
that is both the manifest and the mystery.
That one is the lord of states of feeling,
dependent on none;
month and year are slaves to that moon.
When he bids the "state,"

Love Poems of Rumi
it does His bidding;

when that one wills, bodies become spirit.
Mathnawi III, 1417-1424
The springtime of Lovers has come,

that this dust bowl may become a garden;
the proclamation of heaven has come,
that the bird of the soul may rise in flight.
The sea becomes full of pearls,
the salt marsh becomes sweet as kauthar,
the stone becomes a ruby from the mine,
the body becomes wholly soul.
The intellectual is always showing off,

the lover is always getting lost.
The intellectual runs away.
afraid of drowning;
the whole business of love
is to drown in the sea.
Intellectuals plan their repose;
lovers are ashamed to rest.
The lover is always alone.
even surrounded by people;
like water and oil, he remains apart.
The man who goes to the trouble
of giving advice to a lover
get nothing. He's mocked by passion.
Love is like musk. It attracts attention.
Love is a tree, and the lovers are its shade.

Love Poems of Rumi
Love has nothing to do with

the five senses and the six directions:
its goal is only to experience
the attraction exerted by the Beloved.
Afterwards, perhaps, permission
will come from God:
the secrets that ought to be told with be told
with an eloquence nearer to the understanding
that these subtle confusing allusions.
The secret is partner with none
but the knower of the secret:
in the skeptic's ear
the secret is no secret at all.
When the rose is gone and the garden faded

you will no longer hear the nightingale's song.
The Beloved is all; the lover just a veil.
The Beloved is living; the lover a dead thing.
If love withholds its strengthening care,
the lover is left like a bird without care,
the lover is left like a bird without wings.
How will I be awake and aware
if the light of the Beloved is absent?
Love wills that this Word be brought forth.
Mathnawi I, 23-31
Because I cannot sleep

I make music at night.
I am troubled by the one
whose face e has the color of spring flowers.

Love Poems of Rumi
I have neither sleep nor patience,

neither a god reputation nor disgrace.
A thousand robes of wisdom are gone.
All my good manners have moved a thousand miles away.
The heart and the mind are left angry with each other.
The starts and the moon are envious of each other.
Because of this alienation the physical universe
is getting tighter and tighter.
The moon says, "How long will I remain
suspended without a sun?"
Without Love's jewel inside of me,
let the bazaar of my existence by destroyed stone by stone.
O Love, You who have been called by a thousand names,
You who know how to pour the wine
into the chalice of the body,
You who give culture to a thousand cultures,
You who are faceless but have a thousand faces,
O Love, You who shape the faces
of Turks, Europeans, and Zanzibaris,
give me a glass from Your bottle,
or a handful of bheng from Your Branch.
Remove the cork once more.
The we'll see a thousand chiefs prostrate themselves,
and a circle of ecstatic troubadours will play.
Then the addict will be breed of craving.
and will be resurrected,
and stand in awe till Judgement Day.
Ode 314
Those who don't feel this Love

pulling them like a river,
those who don't drink dawn
like a cup of spring water
or take in sunset like supper,
those who don't want to change,
let them sleep.
This Love is beyond the study of theology,

that old trickery and hypocrisy.
I you want to improve your mind that way,
sleep on.
I've given up on my brain.

I've torn the cloth to shreds
and thrown it away.
If you're not completely naked,

Love Poems of Rumi
wrap your beautiful robe of words

around you,
and sleep.
"Like This" Coleman Barks, Maypop, 1990
A lifetime without Love is of no account
Drink it down with heart and soul!
Divan-i-Shams 11909
Last night you lfet me and slept

your own deep sleep. Tonight you turn
and turn. I say,
"You and I will be together
till the universe dissolves."
You mumble back things you thought of
when you were drunk.
Like This, Rumi, Coleman Barks, Maypop Books
I have been tricked by flying too close

to what I thought I loved.
Now the candleflame is out, the wine spilled,

and the lovers have withdrawn
somewhere beyond my squinting.
The amount I thought I'd won, I've lost.

My prayers becomes bitter and all about blindness.

Love Poems of Rumi
How wonderful it was to be for a while

with those who surrender.
Others only turn their faces on way,

then another, like pigeon in flight.
I have known pigeons who fly in a nowhere,

and birds that eat grainlessness,
and tailor who sew beautiful clothes

by tearing them to pieces.
(Mathnawi, V. 346-353) Like This,

Rumi, Coleman Barks, Maypop Books
Who is at my door?
He said, "Who is at my door?"

I said, "Your humble servant."
He said, "What business do you have?"
I said, "To greet you, 0 Lord."
He said, "How long will you journey on?"

I said, "Until you stop me."
He said, "How long will you boil in the fire?"
I said, "Until I am pure.
"This is my oath of love.

For the sake of love
I gave up wealth and position."
He said, "You have pleaded your case

but you have no witness."
I said, "My tears are my witness;
the pallor of my face is my proof.'
He said, "Your witness has no credibility;
your eyes are too wet to see."
I said, "By the splendor of your justice
my eyes are clear and faultless."
He said, "What do you seek?"

I said, "To have you as my constant friend."
He said, "What do you want from me?"
I said, "Your abundant grace."

Love Poems of Rumi
He said, "Who was your companion on the 'ourney?

I said, "The thought of you, 0 King."
He said, "What called you here?"
I said, "The fragrance of your wine."
He said, "What brings you the most fulfillment?"

I said, "The company of the Emperor."
He said, "What do you find there?"
I said, "A hundred miracles."
He said, "Why is the palace deserted?"
I said, "They all fear the thief."
He said, "Who is the thief?"
I said, "The one who keeps me from -you.
He said, "Where is there safety?"

I said, "In service and renunciation."
He said, "What is there to renounce?"
I said, "The hope of salvation."
He said, "Where is there calamity?"

I said, "In the presence of your love."
He said, "How do you benefit from this life?"
I said, "By keeping true to myself
Now it is time for silence.

If I told you about His true essence
You would fly from your self and be gone,
and neither door nor roof could hold you back!
Rumi - In the Arms of the Beloved, Jonathan Star

Jeremy P. Tarcher/Putnam, New York 1997
In The Arc Of Your Mallet
Don't go anywhere without me.

Let nothing happen in the sky apart from me,
or on the ground, in this world or that world,
without my being in its happening.
Vision, see nothing I don't see.
Language, say nothing.
The way the night knows itself with the moon,
be that with me. Be the rose
nearest to the thorn that I am.
I want to feel myself in you when you taste food,

in the arc of your mallet when you work,
when you visit friends, when you go

Love Poems of Rumi
up on the roof by yourself at night.
There's nothing worse than to walk out along the street

without you. I don't know where I'm going.
You're the road, and the knower of roads,
more than maps, more than love.
The Essential Rumi Coleman Barks
Further reading:
Rumi: The Path of Love, by Manuela Dunn Mascetti (Editor) Camille & Kabir Helminski,
Hardcover - 96 pages ( 4 November, 1999) Element Books Ltd
Hush, Don't Say Anything to God : Passionate Poems of Rumi Jalal Al-Din Rumi, Shahram
Shiva, ( 1 October, 1999) Jain Publishing Company
Look! This Is Love Poems of Rumi (Shambhala Centaur Editions) Jalal Al-Din Rumi, et al /
Published 1996
Rumi's Divan of Shems of Tabriz Selected Odes (Element Classics of World Spirituality)
Mevlana Jalaluddin Rumi, et al / Published 1997
The Way of Passion: A Celebration of Rumi, by Andrew Harvey
The Sufi Path of Love The Spiritual Teachings of Rumi William C. Chittick (Translator)
Published 1983
Where Two Oceans Meet A Selection of Odes from the Divan of Shems of Tabriz Mevlana
Jalaluddin Rumi, James G. Cowan (Translator) Published 199
Home Page | Life of Rumi | Masnavi | Bibliography | Books on Rumi | Discourses | Divani Shams | Daily Poem | Sufism
Reflections | Contact Us | Rumi Links | Glossary | Rubaiyat | Poetry | Love Poems | Search |Life & Death | Poems of Passion
Last updated: May 9, 2004

rumi.org.uk

Rumi
Home Page
Books on Rumi
Life & Death
Bibliography
{
Works of Rumi
Rumi's Poetry
look at love
how it tangles
– with the one fallen in love
Events in UK
Events List look at spirit
Daily Poem how it fuses with earth
Daily Quotes giving it new life
Discussion Forum
Music why are you so busy
Persian with Rumi with this or that or good or bad
Sufism pay attention to how things blend
– why talk about all

the known and the unknown
Reflections see how the unknown merges into the known
Acknowledgements
Search why think seperately
Contact of this life and the next
when one is born from the last
Pick Language look at your heart and tongue

one feels but deaf and dumb
the other speaks in words and signs
look at water and fire

earth and wind
enemies and friends all at once
the wolf and the lamb

the lion and the deer
far away yet together
look at the unity of this

spring and winter
manifested in the equinox
you too must mingle my friends

since the earth and the sky
are mingled just for you and me
be like sugarcane
sweet yet silent
don't get mixed up with bitter words
my beloved grows
right out of my own heart
how much more union can there be
file:///C|/Documents%20and%20Settings/Sonja/Desktop/life&death.htm (1 of 9) [5/22/2009 10:59:18 PM]

Rumi
come on sweetheart
let's adore one another
before there is no more
of you and me
a mirror tells the truth

look at your grim face
brighten up and cast away
your bitter smile
a generous friend
gives life for a friend
let's rise above this
animalistic behavior
and be kind to one another
spite darkens friendships

why not cast away
malice from our heart
once you think of me

dead and gone
you will make up with me
you will miss me
you may even adore me
why be a worshiper of the dead

think of me as a goner
come and make up now
since you will come

and throw kisses
at my tombstone later
why not give them to me now
this is me
that same person
i may talk too much

but my heart is silence
what else can i do
i am condemned to live this life
i've come again

like a new year
to crash the gate
of this old prison
i've come again

to break the teeth and claws
of this man-eating
monster we call life
i've come again

Rumi
to puncture the
glory of the cosmos
who mercilessly
destroys humans
i am the falcon
hunting down the birds
of black omen
before their flights
i gave my word
at the outset to
give my life
with no qualms
i pray to the Lord
to break my back
before i break my word
how do you dare to

let someone like me
intoxicated with love
enter your house
you must know better

if i enter
i'll break all this and
destroy all that
if the sheriff arrives

i'll throw the wine
in his face
if your gatekeeper
pulls my hand
i'll break his arm
if the heavens don't go round

to my heart's desire
i'll crush its wheels and
pull out its roots
you have set up

a colorful table
calling it life and
asked me to your feast
but punish me if
i enjoy myself
what tyranny is this
you mustn't be afraid of death

you're a deathless soul
you can't be kept in a dark grave
you're filled with God's glow

Rumi
be happy with your beloved

you can't find any better
the world will shimmer
because of the diamond you hold
when your heart is immersed

in this blissful love
you can easily endure
any bitter face around
in the absence of malice

there is nothing but
happiness and good times
don't dwell in sorrow my friend
Translated by Nader Khalili "Rumi, Fountain of Fire"

Cal-Earth Press, 1994
Remember me.
I will be with you in the grave

on the night you leave behind
your shop and your family.
When you hear my soft voice
echoing in your tomb,
you will realize
that you were never hidden from my eyes.
I am the pure awareness within your heart,
with you during joy and celebration,
suffering and despair.
On that strange and fateful night

you will hear a familar voice --
you'll be rescued from the fangs of snakes
and the searing sting of scorpions.
The euphoria of love will sweep over your grave;
it will bring wine and friends, candles and food.
When the light of realization dawns,

shouting and upheaval
will rise up from the graves!
The dust of ages will be stirred
by the cities of ecstasy,
by the banging of drums,
by the clamor of revolt!
Dead bodies will tear off their shrouds

and stuff their ears in fright--
What use are the senses and the ears
before the blast of that Trumpet?
Look and you will see my form

whether you are looking at yourself
or toward that noise and confusion.

Rumi
Don't be blurry-eyed,
See me clearly-
See my beauty without the old eyes of delusion.
Beware! Beware!
Don't mistake me for this human form.
The soul is not obscured by forms.
Even if it were wrapped in a hundred folds of felt
the rays of the soul's light
would still shine through.
Beat the drum,

Follow the minstrels of the city.
It's a day of renewal
when every young man
walks boldly on the path of love.
Had everyone sought God

Instead of crumbs and copper coins
T'hey would not be sitting on the edge of the moat
in darkness and regret.
What kind of gossip-house

have you opened in our city?
Close your lips
and shine on the world
like loving sunlight.
Shine like the Sun of Tabriz rising in the East.

Shine like the star of victory.
Shine like the whole universe is yours!
translated by Jonathan Star

"Rumi - In the Arms of the Beloved"
HOW SHOULD THE SOUL not take wings

when from the Glory of God
It hears a sweet, kindly call:

"Why are you here, soul? Arise!"
How should a fish not leap fast

into the sea from dry land
When from the ocean so cool

the sound of the waves reaches its
How should the falcon not fly

back to his king from the hunt
When from the falconer's drum

it hears to call: "Oh, come back"?

Rumi
Why should not every Sufi

begin to dance atom-like
Around the Sun of duration

that saves from impermanence?
What graciousness and what beauty?

What life-bestowing! What grace!
If anyone does without that, woe-

what err, what suffering!
Oh fly , of fly, O my soul-bird,

fly to your primordial home!
You have escaped from the cage now-

your wings are spread in the air.
Oh travel from brackish water

now to the fountain of life!
Return from the place of the sandals

now to the high seat of souls!
Go on! Go on! we are going,

and we are coming, O soul,
From this world of separation

to union, a world beyond worlds!
How long shall we here in the dust-world

like children fill our skirts
With earth and with stones without value,

with broken shards without worth?
Let's take our hand from the dust grove,

let's fly to the heavens' high,
Let's fly from our childish behaviour

and join the banquet of men!
Call out, O soul, to proclaim now

that you are rules and king!
You have the grace of the answer,

you know the question as well!
HE SAID: "Who's knocking at my door?"

Said I: "Your humble servant!"
Said He: "What business have you got?"
Said I: "I came to greet You!"
Said He: "How long are you to push?"
Said I: "Until You'll call me!"
Said He: "How long are you to boil?"
Said I: "Till resurrection!"
I claimed I was a lover true
and I took may oaths

Rumi
That for the sake of love I lost

my kingdom and my wealth!
He said: "You make a claim - the judge
needs witness for your cause!"
Said I: "My witness is my tears,
my proof my yellow face!"
Said He: "The witness is corrupt,
your eye is wet and ill!"
Said I: "No, by Your eminence:
My eye is sinless clear!"
He said: "And what do you intend?"
Said I: "Just faithful friendships!"
Said He: "What do you want from me?"
Said I: "Your grace abundant!"
Said He: "Who travelled here with you?"
Said I: "Your dream and phantom!"
Said He: "And what led you to me?"
Said I: "Your goblet's fragrance!"
Said He: "What is most pleasant, say?"
Said I: "The ruler's presence!"
Said He: "What did you see there, friend?"
Said I: "A hundred wonders!"
Said He: "Why is it empty now?"
Said I: "From fear of brigands!"
Said He: "The brigand, who is that?"
Said I: "IT is the blaming!"
Said He: "And where is safety then?"
Said: "In renunciation."
Said He: "Renunciation? That's ... ?"
Said I: "The path to safety!"
Said He: "And where is danger, then?"
Said I: "In Your love's quarters!"
Said He: "And how do you fare there?"
Said I: "Steadfast and happy."
I tested you and tested you,
but it availed to nothing -
Who tests the one who was once tried,
he will repent forever!
Be silent! If I'd utter here
the secrets fine he told me,
You would go out all of yourself,
no door nor roof could hold you!
OH HAPPY DAY when in you presence,

my ruler, I shall die!
When near the sugar-treasure melting
like sugar I shall die!
Out of my dust will grow a thousand
of centrifolias
When in the shade of yonder cypress
in gardens I shall die.
And when you pour into my goblet
the bitter drink of death,
I'll kiss the goblet full of joy, dear,
and drunken I shall die.
I may turn yellow like the autumn

Rumi
when people speak of death,

Thanks to your smiling lip: like springtime
and smiling shall I die.
I have died many times, but your breath
made me alive again,
Should I die thus a hundred more times
I happily shall die!
A child that dies in mother's bosom,
that's how I am, my friend,
For in the bosom of His Mercy
and kindness, I shall die.
Say: Where would death be for the lovers?
Impossible is that!
For in the fountain of the Water
of Life - there I shall die!
translated by Annemarie Schimmel, 'Look! This is Love'
WHY CLING
Why cling to one life

till it is soiled and ragged?
The sun dies and dies

squandering a hundred lived
every instant
God has decreed life for you

and He will give
another and another and another
(translated by Daniel Liebert)

Mathnawi V. 411-414 (translated by Kabir Helminski)
The Rumi Collection, Edited by Kabir Helminski
At the twilight, a moon appeared in the sky;

Then it landed on earth to look at me.
Like a hawk stealing a bird at the time of prey;
That moon stole me and rushed back into the sky.
I looked at myself, I did not see me anymore;
For in that moon, my body turned as fine as soul.
The nine spheres disappeared in that moon;
The ship of my existence drowned in that sea.
Divan, 649:1-3,5
Now sleeping, now awake, my hart is in constant fervor.

Rumi
It is a covered saucepan, placed on fire.

O you! who have offered us from a cup a silencing wine;
Each moment a new tale is shouting to be told in silence.
In his wrath there are a hundred kindnesess, in his meanness a hundred generosities;
In his ignorance immeasurable gnosis, silently speaking like the mind.
The words of those whom you have silenced, cannot hear
but those whom you have made unconscious;
I am both silent and fermenting for you like the sea of Aden!
Divan, 1808:6-9
Translated by Fatemeh Keshavarz,

'Reading Mystical Lyric: The Case of Jalal al-Din Rumi
University of South Carolina Press, 1998.

rumi.org.uk

Rumi - Divani Shamsi Tabriz
Home Page Divani Shamsi Tabriz

Books on Rumi
Bibliography ˜
Works of Rumi
Rumi's Poetry THE DIVANI SHAMSI TABRIZ, by R. A. NICHOLSON
– Mystical Poems
Events in UK
Events List
My heart, site only with those
Daily Poem
Daily Quotes
Discussion Forum The love of such one
Music
Persian with Rumi A thief in the Night
Sufism
–
˜
Reflections
Acknowledgements My heart, sit only with those
Search who know and understand you.
Contact Sit only under a tree
that is full of blossoms.
In the bazaar of herbs and potions
Pick Language don't wander aimlessly
find the shop with a potion that is sweet
If you don't have a measure
people will rob you in no time.
You will take counterfeit coins
thinking they are real.
Don't fill your bowl with food from
every boiling pot you see.
Not every joke is humorous, so don't search
for meaning where there isn't one.
Not every eye can see,
not every sea is full of pearls.
My hart, sing the song of longing
like nightingale.
The sound of your voice casts a spell
on every stone, on every thorn.
First, lay down your head
file:///C|/Documents%20and%20Settings/Sonja/Desktop/divan.htm (1 of 6) [5/22/2009 10:59:20 PM]

then one by one

let go of all distractions.
Embrace the light and let it guide you
beyond the winds of desire.
There you will find a spring and nourished by its see waters
like a tree you will bear fruit forever.
Rumi: The Hidden Music

by Maryam Mafi & Azima Melita Kolin
THE LOVE OF SUCH A ONE
VI.
O thou who art my soul's comfort in the season of sorrow,

30 31 32
O thou who art my spirit's treasure in the bitterness of dearth!
33
That which the imagination has not conceived , that
34
which the understanding has not seen. ,
35
Visiteth my soul from thee, hence in worship I turn toward thee
By thy grace I keep fixed on eternity my amorous gaze,
Except, O king, the pomps that perish lead me astray.
36
The favour of that one, who brings glad tidings of thee,
Even without thy summons, is sweeter in mine ear that songs.
38
In the prostrations of prayer thought of thee, O lord,
39
Is necessary and binding on me as the seven verses.
To thee belongs mercy and intercession for the sin of infidels:
As regards me, thou art chief and principal of the stony-hearted.
If a never-ceasing bounty should offer kingdoms,
40
If a hidden treasure should set before me all that is ,
I would bend down with my soul, I would lay my face in the dust,
41
I would say, Of all these the love of such a one for me!'
Eternal life, me thinks, is the time of union,
Because time, for me, hath no place there.
42
Life is the vessels , union the clear draught in them;
43
Without thee what does the pain of the vessels avail me?
I had twenty thousand desires ere this;

44
In passion for him not even (care of) my safety remained .
45
By the help of his grace I am become safe, because
46
The unseen king saith to me, Thou art the soul of the world .'
47
The essence of the meaning of "He" has filled my heart and soul;
48 49 50
"Au" cries the street-dog , and neither have I third or second" .
51
The body, at the time of union with him, paid no regard to the spirit ;
Tho' incorporeal, he became visible unto me.
52
I aged with his affliction, but when Tabriz
You name, all my youth comes back to me.
-"Selected Poems from the Divani Shamsi Tabriz"

Edited and translated by Reynold A. Nicholson
A THIEF IN THE NIGHT
Suddenly
(yet somehow unexpected)
he arrived
the guest...
the heart trembling
"Who's there?"
and soul responding
"The Moon..."
came into the house

and we lunatics
ran into the street
stared up
looking
for the moon.
Then-inside the house-

he cried out
"Here I am!"
and we
beyond earshot
running around
calling him...
crying for him
for the drunken nightingale
locked lamenting
in our garden
while we
mourning ring doves
murmured "Where
where?"
As if at midnight
the sleepers bolt upright
in their beds
hearing a thief
break into the house
in the darkness
they stumble about
crying "Help!
A thief! A thief!"
but the burglar himself
mingles in the confusion
echoing their cries:
"...a thief!"
till one cry
melts with the others.
27
And He is with you
with you
in your search
when you seek Him
look for Him
in your looking
closer to you
than yourself
to yourself:
Why run outside?
Melt like snow.
wash yourself
with yourself:
urged by Love
tongues sprout
from the soul
like stamens
from the lily...
But learn
this custom
from the flower:
silence
your tongue.
Diwan-e Shams, v.V.ED. FURUZANFAR, P., 2172

(translated by Peter Lamborn Wilson)
The Rumi Collection, edited by Kabir Helminski
O Friend! we are near you in friendship,

Wherever you set foot, we prostrate ourselves like earth.
How is it permissible, in the religion of love,
That we should see your Creation and neglect to see You?
That Friend brought me up with great care and attention;

He sewed me a garment from skin and veins.
The body is like a cloak and my heart in it like a mystic,
The world is like a monastery and He is my Guide.
Seek knowledge which unravels mysteries

Before your life comes to close
Give up that non-existence which looks like existence,
Seek that Existence which looks like non-existence!
There is a world outside Islam and Disbelief,

We are enamoured of the atmosphere therein.
The mystic lays down his head when he reaches there.
There is neither Islam nor Disbelief in this place.
Whenever I prostrate my head He is the one to whom I bow;

In six directions or outside the six, he is the one I worship.
The garden, the rose, the nightingale, music and the beauteous maiden
Are a mere excuse and He alone is the real object.
From Divani Shams, "Life and Work of Muhammad Jalal-ud Din Rumi"
by Afzal Iqbal

rumi.org.uk

Love Poems of Rumi
Home Page Love Poems of Rumi

Books on Rumi
Bibliography
Like This I am Only the House of Your Beloved
Works of Rumi
Rumi's Poetry Love is the Water of Life The Springtime of Lovers Has Come
A Moment of Happiness The Intellectual is Always Showing Off
– Lovers Love Has Nothing to Do With Five Senses
Events in UK
All Through Eternity When the Rose is Gone and the Garden Faded
Events List
I Swear Because I Cannot Sleep
Daily Poem
Daily Quotes Let Go of Your Worries Ode 314
Discussion Forum This is Love Those Who Don't Feel This Love
Music Love is Reckless Last Night You Left Me And Slept
Persian with Rumi
I am a Sculptor a Molder of Form I Have Been Tricked by Flying Too Close
Sufism
Passion Makes Old Medicine New Who Is At My Door?
– The Beauty of The Heart In The Arc Of Your Mallet
Reflections
Acknowledgements
Search
Contact
Pick Language
—
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.

Love Poems of Rumi
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

Love Poems of Rumi
Like this.
From ‘The Essential Rumi’, Translations

by Coleman Barks with John Moyne
Everything other than love for the most beautiful God
though it be sugar- eating.
What is agony of the spirit?
To advance toward death without seizing
hold of the Water of Life.
Masnawi I 3686-87
A moment of happiness,
you and I sitting on the verandah,
apparently two, but one in soul, you and I.
We feel the flowing water of life here,
you and I, with the garden's beauty
and the birds singing.
The stars will be watching us,
and we will show them
what it is to be a thin crescent moon.
You and I unselfed, will be together,
indifferent to idle speculation, you and I.
The parrots of heaven will be cracking sugar
as we laugh together, you and I.
In one form upon this earth,
and in another form in a timeless sweet land.

Love Poems of Rumi
Lovers
O lovers, lovers it is time

to set out from the world.
I hear a drum in my soul's ear
coming from the depths of the stars.
Our camel driver is at work;

the caravan is being readied.
He asks that we forgive him
for the disturbance he has caused us,
He asks why we travelers are asleep.
Everywhere the murmur of departure;

the stars, like candles
thrust at us from behind blue veils,
and as if to make the invisible plain,
a wondrous people have come forth.
The Divani Shamsi Tabriz, XXXVI
All through eternity

Beauty unveils His exquisite form
in the solitude of nothingness;
He holds a mirror to His Face
and beholds His own beauty.
he is the knower and the known,
the seer and the seen;
No eye but His own
has ever looked upon this Universe.
His every quality finds an expression:

Eternity becomes the verdant field of Time and Space;
Love, the life-giving garden of this world.

Love Poems of Rumi
Every branch and leaf and fruit

Reveals an aspect of His perfection-
They cypress give hint of His majesty,
The rose gives tidings of His beauty.
Whenever Beauty looks,

Love is also there;
Whenever beauty shows a rosy cheek
Love lights Her fire from that flame.
When beauty dwells in the dark folds of night
Love comes and finds a heart
entangled in tresses.
Beauty and Love are as body and soul.
Beauty is the mine, Love is the diamond.
They have together

since the beginning of time-
Side by side, step by step.
I swear, since seeing Your face,

the whole world is fraud and fantasy
The garden is bewildered as to what is leaf
or blossom. The distracted birds
can't distinguish the birdseed from the snare.
A house of love with no limits,

a presence more beautiful than venus or the moon,
a beauty whose image fills the mirror of the heart.
The Divani Shamsi Tabriz XV
Let go of your worries

and be completely clear-hearted,
like the face of a mirror
that contains no images.
If you want a clear mirror,
behold yourself

Love Poems of Rumi
and see the shameless truth,

which the mirror reflects.
If metal can be polished
to a mirror-like finish,
what polishing might the mirror
of the heart require?
Between the mirror and the heart
is this single difference:
the heart conceals secrets,
while the mirror does not.
This is love: to fly toward a secret sky,

to cause a hundred veils to fall each moment.
First, to let go of live.
In the end, to take a step without feet;
to regard this world as invisible,
and to disregard what appears to be the self.
Heart, I said, what a gift it has been

to enter this circle of lovers,
to see beyond seeing itself,
to reach and feel within the breast.
Love is reckless; not reason.

Reason seeks a profit.
Love comes on strong,
consuming herself, unabashed.
Yet, in the midst of suffering,

Love proceeds like a millstone,

Love Poems of Rumi
hard surfaced and straightforward.
Having died of self-interest,

she risks everything and asks for nothing.
Love gambles away every gift God bestows.
Without cause God gave us Being;

without cause, give it back again.
I am a sculptor, a molder of form.

In every moment I shape an idol.
But then, in front of you, I melt them down
I can rouse a hundred forms
and fill them with spirit,
but when I look into your face,
I want to throw them in the fire.
My souls spills into yours and is blended.
Because my soul has absorbed your fragrance,
I cherish it.
Every drop of blood I spill
informs the earth,
I merge with my Beloved
when I participate in love.
In this house of mud and water,
my heart has fallen to ruins.
Enter this house, my Love, or let me leave.
The Divani Shamsi Tabriz, XXXIV
Passion makes the old medicine new:

Passion lops off the bough of weariness.

Love Poems of Rumi
Passion is the elixir that renews:

how can there be weariness
when passion is present?
Oh, don't sigh heavily from fatigue:
seek passion, seek passion, seek passion!
The beauty of the heart

is the lasting beauty:
its lips give to drink
of the water of life.
Truly it is the water,
that which pours,
and the one who drinks.
All three become one when
your talisman is shattered.
That oneness you can't know
by reasoning.
Mathnawi II, 716-718
"I am only the house of your beloved,

not the beloved herself:
true love is for the treasure,
not for the coffer that contains it."
The real beloved is that one who is unique,
who is your beginning and your end.
When you find that one,
you'll no longer expect anything else:
that is both the manifest and the mystery.
That one is the lord of states of feeling,
dependent on none;
month and year are slaves to that moon.
When he bids the "state,"

Love Poems of Rumi
it does His bidding;

when that one wills, bodies become spirit.
The springtime of Lovers has come,

that this dust bowl may become a garden;
the proclamation of heaven has come,
that the bird of the soul may rise in flight.
The sea becomes full of pearls,
the salt marsh becomes sweet as kauthar,
the stone becomes a ruby from the mine,
the body becomes wholly soul.
The intellectual is always showing off,

the lover is always getting lost.
The intellectual runs away.
afraid of drowning;
the whole business of love
is to drown in the sea.
Intellectuals plan their repose;
lovers are ashamed to rest.
The lover is always alone.
even surrounded by people;
like water and oil, he remains apart.
The man who goes to the trouble
of giving advice to a lover
get nothing. He's mocked by passion.
Love is like musk. It attracts attention.
Love is a tree, and the lovers are its shade.

Love Poems of Rumi
Love has nothing to do with

the five senses and the six directions:
its goal is only to experience
the attraction exerted by the Beloved.
Afterwards, perhaps, permission
will come from God:
the secrets that ought to be told with be told
with an eloquence nearer to the understanding
that these subtle confusing allusions.
The secret is partner with none
but the knower of the secret:
in the skeptic's ear
the secret is no secret at all.
When the rose is gone and the garden faded

you will no longer hear the nightingale's song.
The Beloved is all; the lover just a veil.
The Beloved is living; the lover a dead thing.
If love withholds its strengthening care,
the lover is left like a bird without care,
the lover is left like a bird without wings.
How will I be awake and aware
if the light of the Beloved is absent?
Love wills that this Word be brought forth.
Mathnawi I, 23-31
Because I cannot sleep

I make music at night.
I am troubled by the one
whose face e has the color of spring flowers.

Love Poems of Rumi
I have neither sleep nor patience,

neither a god reputation nor disgrace.
A thousand robes of wisdom are gone.
All my good manners have moved a thousand miles away.
The heart and the mind are left angry with each other.
The starts and the moon are envious of each other.
Because of this alienation the physical universe
is getting tighter and tighter.
The moon says, "How long will I remain
suspended without a sun?"
Without Love's jewel inside of me,
let the bazaar of my existence by destroyed stone by stone.
O Love, You who have been called by a thousand names,
You who know how to pour the wine
into the chalice of the body,
You who give culture to a thousand cultures,
You who are faceless but have a thousand faces,
O Love, You who shape the faces
of Turks, Europeans, and Zanzibaris,
give me a glass from Your bottle,
or a handful of bheng from Your Branch.
Remove the cork once more.
The we'll see a thousand chiefs prostrate themselves,
and a circle of ecstatic troubadours will play.
Then the addict will be breed of craving.
and will be resurrected,
and stand in awe till Judgement Day.
Ode 314
Those who don't feel this Love

pulling them like a river,
those who don't drink dawn
like a cup of spring water
or take in sunset like supper,
those who don't want to change,
let them sleep.
This Love is beyond the study of theology,

that old trickery and hypocrisy.
I you want to improve your mind that way,
sleep on.
I've given up on my brain.

I've torn the cloth to shreds
and thrown it away.
If you're not completely naked,

Love Poems of Rumi
wrap your beautiful robe of words

around you,
and sleep.
"Like This" Coleman Barks, Maypop, 1990
A lifetime without Love is of no account
Drink it down with heart and soul!
Divan-i-Shams 11909
Last night you lfet me and slept

your own deep sleep. Tonight you turn
and turn. I say,
"You and I will be together
till the universe dissolves."
You mumble back things you thought of
when you were drunk.
Like This, Rumi, Coleman Barks, Maypop Books
I have been tricked by flying too close

to what I thought I loved.
Now the candleflame is out, the wine spilled,

and the lovers have withdrawn
somewhere beyond my squinting.
The amount I thought I'd won, I've lost.

My prayers becomes bitter and all about blindness.

Love Poems of Rumi
How wonderful it was to be for a while

with those who surrender.
Others only turn their faces on way,

then another, like pigeon in flight.
I have known pigeons who fly in a nowhere,

and birds that eat grainlessness,
and tailor who sew beautiful clothes

by tearing them to pieces.
(Mathnawi, V. 346-353) Like This,

Rumi, Coleman Barks, Maypop Books
Who is at my door?
He said, "Who is at my door?"

I said, "Your humble servant."
He said, "What business do you have?"
I said, "To greet you, 0 Lord."
He said, "How long will you journey on?"

I said, "Until you stop me."
He said, "How long will you boil in the fire?"
I said, "Until I am pure.
"This is my oath of love.

For the sake of love
I gave up wealth and position."
He said, "You have pleaded your case

but you have no witness."
I said, "My tears are my witness;
the pallor of my face is my proof.'
He said, "Your witness has no credibility;
your eyes are too wet to see."
I said, "By the splendor of your justice
my eyes are clear and faultless."
He said, "What do you seek?"

I said, "To have you as my constant friend."
He said, "What do you want from me?"
I said, "Your abundant grace."

Love Poems of Rumi
He said, "Who was your companion on the 'ourney?

I said, "The thought of you, 0 King."
He said, "What called you here?"
I said, "The fragrance of your wine."
He said, "What brings you the most fulfillment?"

I said, "The company of the Emperor."
He said, "What do you find there?"
I said, "A hundred miracles."
He said, "Why is the palace deserted?"
I said, "They all fear the thief."
He said, "Who is the thief?"
I said, "The one who keeps me from -you.
He said, "Where is there safety?"

I said, "In service and renunciation."
He said, "What is there to renounce?"
I said, "The hope of salvation."
He said, "Where is there calamity?"

I said, "In the presence of your love."
He said, "How do you benefit from this life?"
I said, "By keeping true to myself
Now it is time for silence.

If I told you about His true essence
You would fly from your self and be gone,
and neither door nor roof could hold you back!
Rumi - In the Arms of the Beloved, Jonathan Star

Jeremy P. Tarcher/Putnam, New York 1997
In The Arc Of Your Mallet
Don't go anywhere without me.

Let nothing happen in the sky apart from me,
or on the ground, in this world or that world,
without my being in its happening.
Vision, see nothing I don't see.
Language, say nothing.
The way the night knows itself with the moon,
be that with me. Be the rose
nearest to the thorn that I am.
I want to feel myself in you when you taste food,

in the arc of your mallet when you work,
when you visit friends, when you go

Love Poems of Rumi
up on the roof by yourself at night.
There's nothing worse than to walk out along the street

without you. I don't know where I'm going.
You're the road, and the knower of roads,
more than maps, more than love.
Further reading:
Rumi: The Path of Love, by Manuela Dunn Mascetti (Editor) Camille & Kabir Helminski,
Hardcover - 96 pages ( 4 November, 1999) Element Books Ltd
Hush, Don't Say Anything to God : Passionate Poems of Rumi Jalal Al-Din Rumi, Shahram
Shiva, ( 1 October, 1999) Jain Publishing Company
Look! This Is Love Poems of Rumi (Shambhala Centaur Editions) Jalal Al-Din Rumi, et al /
Published 1996
Rumi's Divan of Shems of Tabriz Selected Odes (Element Classics of World Spirituality)
Mevlana Jalaluddin Rumi, et al / Published 1997
The Sufi Path of Love The Spiritual Teachings of Rumi William C. Chittick (Translator)
Published 1983
Where Two Oceans Meet A Selection of Odes from the Divan of Shems of Tabriz Mevlana
Jalaluddin Rumi, James G. Cowan (Translator) Published 199

rumi.org.uk

Home Page Divani Shamsi Tabriz

Books on Rumi
Bibliography ˜
Works of Rumi
Rumi's Poetry THE DIVANI SHAMSI TABRIZ, by R. A. NICHOLSON
– Mystical Poems
Events in UK
Events List
My heart, site only with those
Daily Poem
Daily Quotes
Discussion Forum The love of such one
Music
Persian with Rumi A thief in the Night
Sufism
–
˜
Reflections
Acknowledgements My heart, sit only with those
Search who know and understand you.
Contact Sit only under a tree
that is full of blossoms.
In the bazaar of herbs and potions
Pick Language don't wander aimlessly
find the shop with a potion that is sweet
If you don't have a measure
people will rob you in no time.
You will take counterfeit coins
thinking they are real.
Don't fill your bowl with food from
every boiling pot you see.
Not every joke is humorous, so don't search
for meaning where there isn't one.
Not every eye can see,
not every sea is full of pearls.
My hart, sing the song of longing
like nightingale.
The sound of your voice casts a spell
on every stone, on every thorn.
First, lay down your head

then one by one

let go of all distractions.
Embrace the light and let it guide you
beyond the winds of desire.
There you will find a spring and nourished by its see waters
like a tree you will bear fruit forever.
Rumi: The Hidden Music

by Maryam Mafi & Azima Melita Kolin
THE LOVE OF SUCH A ONE
VI.
O thou who art my soul's comfort in the season of sorrow,

30 31 32
O thou who art my spirit's treasure in the bitterness of dearth!
33
That which the imagination has not conceived , that
34
which the understanding has not seen. ,
35
Visiteth my soul from thee, hence in worship I turn toward thee
By thy grace I keep fixed on eternity my amorous gaze,
Except, O king, the pomps that perish lead me astray.
36
The favour of that one, who brings glad tidings of thee,
Even without thy summons, is sweeter in mine ear that songs.
38
In the prostrations of prayer thought of thee, O lord,
39
Is necessary and binding on me as the seven verses.
To thee belongs mercy and intercession for the sin of infidels:
As regards me, thou art chief and principal of the stony-hearted.
If a never-ceasing bounty should offer kingdoms,
40
If a hidden treasure should set before me all that is ,
I would bend down with my soul, I would lay my face in the dust,
41
I would say, Of all these the love of such a one for me!'
Eternal life, me thinks, is the time of union,
Because time, for me, hath no place there.
42
Life is the vessels , union the clear draught in them;
43
Without thee what does the pain of the vessels avail me?
I had twenty thousand desires ere this;

44
In passion for him not even (care of) my safety remained .
45
By the help of his grace I am become safe, because
46
The unseen king saith to me, Thou art the soul of the world .'
47
The essence of the meaning of "He" has filled my heart and soul;
48 49 50
"Au" cries the street-dog , and neither have I third or second" .
51
The body, at the time of union with him, paid no regard to the spirit ;
Tho' incorporeal, he became visible unto me.
52
I aged with his affliction, but when Tabriz
You name, all my youth comes back to me.
-"Selected Poems from the Divani Shamsi Tabriz"

Edited and translated by Reynold A. Nicholson
A THIEF IN THE NIGHT
Suddenly
(yet somehow unexpected)
he arrived
the guest...
the heart trembling
"Who's there?"
and soul responding
"The Moon..."
came into the house

and we lunatics
ran into the street
stared up
looking
for the moon.
Then-inside the house-

he cried out
"Here I am!"
and we
beyond earshot
running around
calling him...
crying for him
for the drunken nightingale
locked lamenting
in our garden
while we
mourning ring doves
murmured "Where
where?"
As if at midnight
the sleepers bolt upright
in their beds
hearing a thief
break into the house
in the darkness
they stumble about
crying "Help!
A thief! A thief!"
but the burglar himself
mingles in the confusion
echoing their cries:
"...a thief!"
till one cry
melts with the others.
27
And He is with you
with you
in your search
when you seek Him
look for Him
in your looking
closer to you
than yourself
to yourself:
Why run outside?
Melt like snow.
wash yourself
with yourself:
urged by Love
tongues sprout
from the soul
like stamens
from the lily...
But learn
this custom
from the flower:
silence
your tongue.
Diwan-e Shams, v.V.ED. FURUZANFAR, P., 2172

(translated by Peter Lamborn Wilson)
O Friend! we are near you in friendship,

Wherever you set foot, we prostrate ourselves like earth.
How is it permissible, in the religion of love,
That we should see your Creation and neglect to see You?
That Friend brought me up with great care and attention;

He sewed me a garment from skin and veins.
The body is like a cloak and my heart in it like a mystic,
The world is like a monastery and He is my Guide.
Seek knowledge which unravels mysteries

Before your life comes to close
Give up that non-existence which looks like existence,
Seek that Existence which looks like non-existence!
There is a world outside Islam and Disbelief,

We are enamoured of the atmosphere therein.
The mystic lays down his head when he reaches there.
There is neither Islam nor Disbelief in this place.
Whenever I prostrate my head He is the one to whom I bow;

In six directions or outside the six, he is the one I worship.
The garden, the rose, the nightingale, music and the beauteous maiden
Are a mere excuse and He alone is the real object.
From Divani Shams, "Life and Work of Muhammad Jalal-ud Din Rumi"
by Afzal Iqbal

rumi.org.uk

EL-GHAZALI
Home Page EL-GHAZALI

Books on Rumi
Bibliography THE twelfth-century philosopher and Sufi El-Ghazali quotes in his Book of Knowledge this line from El-
Works of Rumi Mutanabbi: 'To the sick man, sweet water tastes bitter in the mouth.'
Rumi's Poetry
This could very well be taken as Ghazali's motto. Eight hundred years before Pavlov, he pointed out and
– hammered home (often in engaging parables, sometimes in startlingly 'modern' words) the problem of
Events in UK conditioning.
Events List
Daily Poem In spite of Pavlov and the dozens of books and report of clinical studies into human behaviour made since
1
Daily Quotes the Korean war, the ordinary student of things of the mind is unaware of the power of indoctrination.
Discussion Forum Indoctrination, in totalitarian societies, is something which is desirable providing that it furthers the
Music beliefs of such societies. In other groupings its presence is scarcely even suspected. This is what makes
Persian with Rumi almost anyone vulnerable to it.
Sufism
Ghazali's work not only predates, but also exceeds, the contemporary knowledge of these matters. At the
time of writing informed opinion is split between whether indoctrination (whether overt of covert) is
–
desirable or otherwise, whether too, it is inescapable or not.
Reflections
Acknowledgements Ghazali not only points out that what people call belief may be a state of obsession; he states clearly, in
accordance with Sufi principles, that it is not inescapable, but insists that it is essential for people to be
Search
able to identify it.
Contact
His books were burnt by Mediterranean bigots from Spain to Syria. Nowadays they are not put into the
Pick Language flames, but their effect, except among Sufis, is perhaps less; they are not read very much.
He regarded the distinction between opinion and knowledge as something which can easily be lost. When
this happens, it is incumbent upon those who know the difference to make it plain as far as they are able.
Ghazali's scientific, psychological discoveries, though widely appreciated by academics of all kinds, have
not been given the attention they deserve because he specifically disclaims the knowledge or logical
method as their origin. He arrived at his knowledge through his upbringing in Sufism, among Sufis, and
through a form of direct perception of the truth which has nothing to do with mechanical intellection.
This, of course, at once puts him outside the pale of scientists. What is rather curious, however, is that his
discoveries are so astonishing that one would have thought that investigators would have liked to find out
how he made them.
'Mysticism' having been given a bad name like the dog in the proverb, if it cannot be hanged, can at least
be ignored. This is a measure of scholastic psychology: accept the man's discoveries if you cannot deny
them, but ignore his method if it does not follow your beliefs about method.
If Ghazali had produced no worthwhile results, he would naturally have been regarded as only a mystic,
and a proof that mysticism is educationally or socially unproductive.
The influence of Ghazali on Western thought is admitted on all hands to be enormous. But this influence
itself shown the working of conditioning; the philosophers of medieval Christendom who adopted many
of his ideas did so selectively, completely ignoring the parts which were embarrassing to their own
indoctrination activities.
Ghazali's way of thought attempted to bring to a wider audience than the comparatively small Sufi one a
final distinction between belief and obsession. He stressed the role of upbringing in the inculcation of
religious beliefs, and invited his readers to observe the mechanism involved. He insisted upon pointing
out that those who are learned my be, and often are, stupid as well, and can be bigoted, obsessed. He
affirms that, in addition to having information and being able to reproduce it, there is such a thing as
knowledge, which happens to be a higher form of human thought.
file:///C|/Documents%20and%20Settings/Sonja/Desktop/el-ghazali.htm (1 of 6) [5/22/2009 10:59:36 PM]

EL-GHAZALI
The habit of confusing opinion with knowledge, a habit which is to be met with every day at the current
time, Ghazali regards as an epidemic disease.
In saying all these things, with a wealth of illustration and in an atmosphere which was most unconducive
to scientific attitudes, Ghazali was not merely playing the part of a diagnostician. He had acquired his
own knowledge in a Sufic manner, and he realized that higher understanding - being a Sufi, in fact - was
only possible to people who could see and avoid the phenomena which he was describing.
Ghazali produced numerous books and published many teachings. His contribution to human thought and
the relevance of his ideas hundreds of years later are unquestioned. Let us partly repair the omission of
our predecessors by seeing what he has to say about method. What was the Way of El-Ghazali? What
does man have to do in order to be like him, who was admittedly one of the world's giants of philosophy
and psychology?
Ghazali on the Path
A human being is not a human being while his tendencies include self-indulgence, covetousness, temper
and attacking other people.
A student must reduce to the minimum the fixing of his attention upon customary things like his people
and his environment, for attention-capacity is limited.
The pupil must regard his teacher like a doctor who knows the cure of the patient. He will serve his
teacher. Sufis teach in unexpected ways. An experienced physician prescribes certain treatments correctly.
Yet the outside observer might be quite amazed at what he is saying and doing; he will fail to see the
necessity or the relevance of the procedure being followed.
This is why it is unlikely that the pupil will be able to ask the right questions at the right time. But the
teacher knows what and when a person can understand.
The Difference between Social and Initiatory Activity
Ghazali insists upon the connection and also the difference between the social or diversionary contact of
people, and the higher contact.
What prevents the progress of an individual and a group of people, from praiseworthy beginnings, is their
stabilizing themselves upon repetition and what is a disguised social basis.
If a child, he says, asks us to explain to him the pleasures which are contained in wielding sovereignty, we
may say that it is like the pleasure which he feels in sport; though, in reality, the two have nothing in
common except that they both belong to the category of pleasure.
Parable of the People with a Higher Aim
Imam El-Ghazali relates to tradition form the life of Isa, ibn Maryam: Jesus, Son of Mary.
Isa one day saw some people sitting miserably on a wall, by the roadside. He asked: 'What is your
affliction?' The said: 'We have become like this through our fear of Hell.'
He went on his way, and saw a number of people grouped disconsolately in various postures by the
wayside. He said: 'What is your affliction?' They said: 'Desire for Paradise has made us like this.'
He went on his way, until he came to a third group of people. They looked like people who had endured

EL-GHAZALI
much, but their faces shone with joy.
Isa asked them: 'What has made you like this?' and they answered: 'The Spirit of Truth. We have seen
Reality, and this has made us oblivious of lesser goals.'
Isa said: 'These are the people who attain. On the Day of Accounting these are they who will be in the
Presence of God.'
The Three Functions of the Perfected Man
The Perfected Man of the Sufis has three forms of relationship with people. These vary with the condition
of the people.
The three manners are exercised in accordance with

(1) The form of belief which surrounds the Sufi;
(2) The capacity of students, who are taught in accordance with their ability to understand;
(3) A special circle of people who will share an understanding of the knowledge which is derived from
direct inner experience.
Attraction of Celebrities
A man who is being delivered from the danger of a fierce lion does not object, whether this service is
performed by an unknown or an illustrious individual. Why, therefore, do people seek knowledge from
celebrities?
The Nature of Divine Knowledge
The question of divine knowledge is so deep that it is really known only to those who have it.
A child has no real knowledge of the attainments of an adult. An ordinary adult cannot understand the
attainments of a learned man.
In the same way, an educated man cannot yet understand the experiences of enlightened saints or Sufis.
Love and Self-interest
If one loves someone because it gives pleasure, one should not be regarded as loving that person at all.
The love is, in reality, though this is not perceived, directed towards the pleasure. The source of the
pleasure is the secondary object of attention, and it is perceived only because the perception of the
pleasure is not well enough developed for the real feeling to be identified and described.
You Must be Prepared
You must prepare yourself for the transition in which there will be none of the things to which you have
accustomed yourself, says Ghazali. After death your identity will have to respond to stimuli of which have
a chance to get foretaste here. If you remain attached to the few things with which you are familiar, it will
only make you miserable.
Ignorance
People oppose things because they are ignorant of them.
Ceremonies of Music and Movement

EL-GHAZALI
Such meetings must be held in accordance with the requirements of time and place. Onlookers whose
motives are not worthy shall be excluded. The participants in audition must sit silently and not look at
each other. They seek what may appear from their own 'hearts'.
The Sterile Woman
A man went to a doctor and told him that his wife was not bearing children. The physician saw the
woman, took her pulse, and said:
'I cannot treat you for sterility because I have discovered that you will in any case die within forty days.'
When she heard this the woman was so worried that she could eat nothing during the ensuing forty days.
But she did not die at the time predicted.
The husband took the matter up with the doctor, who said: 'Yes, I knew that. Now she will be fertile.'
The husband asked how this had come about.
The doctor told him:
'Your wide was too fat, and this was interfering with her fertility. I knew that the only thing which would
put her off her food would be fear of dying. She is now, therefore, cured.'
The question of knowledge is a very dangerous one.
The Dance
A disciple had asked permission to take part in the 'dance' of the Sufis.
The Sheikh said: 'Fast completely for three days. Then have luscious dishes cooked. If you then prefer to
"dance", you may take part in it.'
A Quality must have a Vehicle
Speed, which becomes a virtue when it is found in a horse, by itself has no advantages.
The Idiot Self
If you cannot find in a man an appropriate example of dedication, study the lives of the Sufis. Man should
also say to himself: 'O my soul! You think yourself clever and are upset at being called idiotic. But what
else are you in reality? You make clothes for winter, but no provision for another life. You are like a man
in winter who says: " I shall not wear warm clothes, but place trust in God's kindness to protect me form
the cold." He does not realize that, in addition to creating cold, God placed before man the means to
protect himself from it.'
Man was made for Learning
A camel is stronger than a man; an elephant is larger; a lion has greater valour; cattle can eat more than
man; birds are more virile. Man was made for the purpose of learning.
The Price of Knowledge
'Assuredly there is a price on this knowledge. It is to be given only to those who can keep it and not lose
it.'
Book of Knowledge, quoting Ikrima
Commentary of Junubi:

EL-GHAZALI
This knowledge is of course the Sufi knowledge. It does not refer to book-knowledge, something which
an be written down or preserved in factual form; because such material would not be diminished by
exposing it to someone who might fail to benefit from it. It is the knowledge given in the time and manner
which verifies and makes live the book-knowledge. 'Giving knowledge which will be lost' refers to
allowing certain 'states' of recognition of truth to be engendered in an individual before that person is in a
condition to preserve that state; hence he loses its advantage and it is lost.
Comment by Ahmad Minai:
Because of the difficulty of grasping this fact, and due to an understandable laziness, intellectuals have
decided to 'abolish' any learning which cannot be contained in books. This si not to say that it does not
exist. It makes it more difficult to find and teach, since the above-named types (intellectuals) have trained
people not to look for it.
Possessions
You possess only whatever will not be lost in a shipwreck.
Gain and Loss
I should like to know what a man who has no knowledge has really gained, and what a man of knowledge
has not gained.
From 'The Way of The Sufi' by Idris Shah
Further Reading:
Al-Ghazali's Path to Sufism by Abu Hamid Al Ghazali, et al ( January 2001)

The Remembrance of Death and the Afterlife : Kitab Dhikr Al-Mawt Wa-Ma Badahu Book Xl of the
Revival of the Religious Sciences, Ihya Ulum Al-Din by Ghazzali, et al
On Disciplining the Soul by Abu, H. Al-Ghazali (Translator), T. J. Winter,- 1995
Deliverance from Error : An Annotated Translation of Al-Munqidh Min Al Dalal and Other Relevant
Works of Al-Ghazali by Ghazzali, et al
The Incoherence of the Philosophers (Islamic Translation Series) -- Michael E. Marmura, Al-Ghazali
Al-Ghazali on the Ninety-Nine Beautiful Names of God -- Al-Ghazali, et al.
Remembrance and Prayer : The Way of the Prophet Muhammad by Shaykh Muhammad Al Ghazali, Y. T.
Delorenzo (Translator) (Paperback - August 1996)
Al-Ghazali on Invocations and Supplications : Book IX of the Revival of Religious Sciences (Islamic
Texts Society) by Nakamura, Kojiro Nakamura (Translator) ( January 1990)
Imam Abu Hamid Ghazali : An Exponent of Islam in Its Totality by Hamid Algar
The Proper Conduct of Marriage in Islam (Adab an-Nikah): Book 12 of Ihya 'Ulum ad-Din
by Imam Al-Ghazali
On Faith in Divine Unity and Trust in Divine Providence: Kitab at-tawhid wa tawakkul by Iman Abu
Hamid Al-Ghazali
Al-Ghazali's Letter to a Disciple (Islamic Texts Society) by Tobias Mayer (Translator) (- July 1999)
Ethics of Al Ghazali : The Composite Ethics in Islam by Muhammad Quasem ( June 1975)

EL-GHAZALI

rumi.org.uk

Rumi
Home Page
Books on Rumi
Life & Death
Bibliography
{
Works of Rumi
Rumi's Poetry
look at love
how it tangles
– with the one fallen in love
Events in UK
Events List look at spirit
Daily Poem how it fuses with earth
Daily Quotes giving it new life
Discussion Forum
Music why are you so busy
Persian with Rumi with this or that or good or bad
Sufism pay attention to how things blend
– why talk about all

the known and the unknown
Reflections see how the unknown merges into the known
Acknowledgements
Search why think seperately
Contact of this life and the next
when one is born from the last
Pick Language look at your heart and tongue

one feels but deaf and dumb
the other speaks in words and signs
look at water and fire

earth and wind
enemies and friends all at once
the wolf and the lamb

the lion and the deer
far away yet together
look at the unity of this

spring and winter
manifested in the equinox
you too must mingle my friends

since the earth and the sky
are mingled just for you and me
be like sugarcane
sweet yet silent
don't get mixed up with bitter words
my beloved grows
right out of my own heart
how much more union can there be

Rumi
come on sweetheart
let's adore one another
before there is no more
of you and me
a mirror tells the truth

look at your grim face
brighten up and cast away
your bitter smile
a generous friend
gives life for a friend
let's rise above this
animalistic behavior
and be kind to one another
spite darkens friendships

why not cast away
malice from our heart
once you think of me

dead and gone
you will make up with me
you will miss me
you may even adore me
why be a worshiper of the dead

think of me as a goner
come and make up now
since you will come

and throw kisses
at my tombstone later
why not give them to me now
this is me
that same person
i may talk too much

but my heart is silence
what else can i do
i am condemned to live this life
i've come again

like a new year
to crash the gate
of this old prison
i've come again

to break the teeth and claws
of this man-eating
monster we call life
i've come again

Rumi
to puncture the
glory of the cosmos
who mercilessly
destroys humans
i am the falcon
hunting down the birds
of black omen
before their flights
i gave my word
at the outset to
give my life
with no qualms
i pray to the Lord
to break my back
before i break my word
how do you dare to

let someone like me
intoxicated with love
enter your house
you must know better

if i enter
i'll break all this and
destroy all that
if the sheriff arrives

i'll throw the wine
in his face
if your gatekeeper
pulls my hand
i'll break his arm
if the heavens don't go round

to my heart's desire
i'll crush its wheels and
pull out its roots
you have set up

a colorful table
calling it life and
asked me to your feast
but punish me if
i enjoy myself
what tyranny is this
you mustn't be afraid of death

you're a deathless soul
you can't be kept in a dark grave
you're filled with God's glow

Rumi
be happy with your beloved

you can't find any better
the world will shimmer
because of the diamond you hold
when your heart is immersed

in this blissful love
you can easily endure
any bitter face around
in the absence of malice

there is nothing but
happiness and good times
don't dwell in sorrow my friend
Translated by Nader Khalili "Rumi, Fountain of Fire"

Cal-Earth Press, 1994
Remember me.
I will be with you in the grave

on the night you leave behind
your shop and your family.
When you hear my soft voice
echoing in your tomb,
you will realize
that you were never hidden from my eyes.
I am the pure awareness within your heart,
with you during joy and celebration,
suffering and despair.
On that strange and fateful night

you will hear a familar voice --
you'll be rescued from the fangs of snakes
and the searing sting of scorpions.
The euphoria of love will sweep over your grave;
it will bring wine and friends, candles and food.
When the light of realization dawns,

shouting and upheaval
will rise up from the graves!
The dust of ages will be stirred
by the cities of ecstasy,
by the banging of drums,
by the clamor of revolt!
Dead bodies will tear off their shrouds

and stuff their ears in fright--
What use are the senses and the ears
before the blast of that Trumpet?
Look and you will see my form

whether you are looking at yourself
or toward that noise and confusion.

Rumi
Don't be blurry-eyed,
See me clearly-
See my beauty without the old eyes of delusion.
Beware! Beware!
Don't mistake me for this human form.
The soul is not obscured by forms.
Even if it were wrapped in a hundred folds of felt
the rays of the soul's light
would still shine through.
Beat the drum,

Follow the minstrels of the city.
It's a day of renewal
when every young man
walks boldly on the path of love.
Had everyone sought God

Instead of crumbs and copper coins
T'hey would not be sitting on the edge of the moat
in darkness and regret.
What kind of gossip-house

have you opened in our city?
Close your lips
and shine on the world
like loving sunlight.
Shine like the Sun of Tabriz rising in the East.

Shine like the star of victory.
Shine like the whole universe is yours!
translated by Jonathan Star

"Rumi - In the Arms of the Beloved"



into the sea from dry land




Rumi
















HE SAID: "Who's knocking at my door?"

Said I: "Your humble servant!"
Said He: "What business have you got?"
Said I: "I came to greet You!"
Said He: "How long are you to push?"
Said I: "Until You'll call me!"
Said He: "How long are you to boil?"
Said I: "Till resurrection!"
I claimed I was a lover true
and I took may oaths

Rumi
That for the sake of love I lost

my kingdom and my wealth!
He said: "You make a claim - the judge
needs witness for your cause!"
Said I: "My witness is my tears,
my proof my yellow face!"
Said He: "The witness is corrupt,
your eye is wet and ill!"
Said I: "No, by Your eminence:
My eye is sinless clear!"
He said: "And what do you intend?"
Said I: "Just faithful friendships!"
Said He: "What do you want from me?"
Said I: "Your grace abundant!"
Said He: "Who travelled here with you?"
Said I: "Your dream and phantom!"
Said He: "And what led you to me?"
Said I: "Your goblet's fragrance!"
Said He: "What is most pleasant, say?"
Said I: "The ruler's presence!"
Said He: "What did you see there, friend?"
Said I: "A hundred wonders!"
Said He: "Why is it empty now?"
Said I: "From fear of brigands!"
Said He: "The brigand, who is that?"
Said I: "IT is the blaming!"
Said He: "And where is safety then?"
Said: "In renunciation."
Said He: "Renunciation? That's ... ?"
Said I: "The path to safety!"
Said He: "And where is danger, then?"
Said I: "In Your love's quarters!"
Said He: "And how do you fare there?"
Said I: "Steadfast and happy."
I tested you and tested you,
but it availed to nothing -
Who tests the one who was once tried,
he will repent forever!
Be silent! If I'd utter here
the secrets fine he told me,
You would go out all of yourself,
no door nor roof could hold you!
OH HAPPY DAY when in you presence,

my ruler, I shall die!
When near the sugar-treasure melting
like sugar I shall die!
Out of my dust will grow a thousand
of centrifolias
When in the shade of yonder cypress
in gardens I shall die.
And when you pour into my goblet
the bitter drink of death,
I'll kiss the goblet full of joy, dear,
and drunken I shall die.
I may turn yellow like the autumn

Rumi
when people speak of death,

Thanks to your smiling lip: like springtime
and smiling shall I die.
I have died many times, but your breath
made me alive again,
Should I die thus a hundred more times
I happily shall die!
A child that dies in mother's bosom,
that's how I am, my friend,
For in the bosom of His Mercy
and kindness, I shall die.
Say: Where would death be for the lovers?
Impossible is that!
For in the fountain of the Water
of Life - there I shall die!
translated by Annemarie Schimmel, 'Look! This is Love'
WHY CLING
Why cling to one life

till it is soiled and ragged?
The sun dies and dies

squandering a hundred lived
every instant
God has decreed life for you

and He will give
another and another and another
(translated by Daniel Liebert)

At the twilight, a moon appeared in the sky;

Then it landed on earth to look at me.
Like a hawk stealing a bird at the time of prey;
That moon stole me and rushed back into the sky.
I looked at myself, I did not see me anymore;
For in that moon, my body turned as fine as soul.
The nine spheres disappeared in that moon;
The ship of my existence drowned in that sea.
Divan, 649:1-3,5
Now sleeping, now awake, my hart is in constant fervor.

Rumi
It is a covered saucepan, placed on fire.

O you! who have offered us from a cup a silencing wine;
Each moment a new tale is shouting to be told in silence.
In his wrath there are a hundred kindnesess, in his meanness a hundred generosities;
In his ignorance immeasurable gnosis, silently speaking like the mind.
The words of those whom you have silenced, cannot hear
but those whom you have made unconscious;
I am both silent and fermenting for you like the sea of Aden!
Divan, 1808:6-9
Translated by Fatemeh Keshavarz,

'Reading Mystical Lyric: The Case of Jalal al-Din Rumi
University of South Carolina Press, 1998.

rumi.org.uk

Rumi - Masnavi
Home Page Masnavi of Rumi

Books on Rumi
Bibliography "the Koran in Persian"
Works of Rumi
Rumi's Poetry Prologue and First Story
– Tales from Masnavi by A.J. Arberry

Events in UK
Events List
Umar the Harpist-- by Ibrahim Gamard
Daily Poem
Daily Quotes
Mathnawi VI: 255-260
Discussion Forum
Music
At the hour of the morning-drink
Persian with Rumi
Sufism
–
Dar al Masnavi
Reflections
Acknowledgements •
Search
Contact Mathnawi VI: 255-260
Pick Language Wealth has no permanence: it comes in the morning,

and at night it is scattered to the winds.
Physical beauty too has no importance,
for a rosy face is made pale by the scratch of a single thorn.
Noble birth also is of small account,
for many become fools of money and horses.
Many a nobleman's son has disgraced his father by his wicked deeds.
Don't court a person full of talent either,
even if he seems exquisite in that respect:
1
take warning from the example of Iblis .
Iblis had knowledge, but since his love was not pure,
he saw in Adam nothing but a figure of clay.
Version by Camille and Kabir Helminski

"Rumi: Jewels of Remembrance"
Threshold Books, 1996
At the hour of the morning-drink
At the hour of the morning-drink a beloved said to her lover

by way of trial, "O such-and-such son of such-and-such,
I wonder, do you love me or yourself more? Tell the truth,
O man of sorrows."
file:///C|/Documents%20and%20Settings/Sonja/Desktop/masnawi.html (1 of 3) [5/22/2009 10:59:45 PM]

Rumi - Masnavi
He replied, "I have become so naughted in thee that I am

full of thee from head to foot.
Of my existence there is nothing (left) in me but the name:
in my being there is naught but thee, O thou whose wishes are gratified.
By that means I have become thus naughted, like vinegar, in
thee (who are) an ocean of honey."
As the stone that is entirely turned into pure ruby: it is filled with the qualities of the
sun.
That stony nature does not remain in it: back and front, it is
filled with sunniness.
Afterwards, if it love itself, that (self-love) is love of the sun,O youth;
And if it love the sun with (all) its soul, ‘tis undoubtedly love of itself.
Whether the pure ruby loves itself or whether it loves the sun,
There is really no difference in these two loves: both sides
(aspects) are naught but the radiance of the sunrise.
Until it (the stone) has become a ruby, it is an enemy to itself,
because it is not a single "I": two "I’s" are there;
For the stone is dark and blind to the day (-light): the dark is
essentially opposed to light.
(If) it love itself, it is an infidel, because it offers intense
resistance to the supreme Sun.
Therefore ‘tis not fitting that the stone should say "I," (for)
it is wholly darkness and in (the state of) death.
A Pharaoh said, "I am God" and was laid low; a Mansur
(Hallaj) said, "I am God" and was saved.
The former "I" is followed by God’s curse and the latter
"I" by God’s mercy, O loving man;
For that one (Pharaoh) was a black stone, this one (Hallaj) a
cornelian; that one was an enemy to the Light, and this one
passionately enamoured (of it).
This "I," O presumptuous meddler, was "He" (God) in the inmost
consciousness, through oneness with the Light, not
through (belief in) the doctrine of incarnation.
Strive that thy stony nature may be diminished, so that thy
stone may become resplendent with the qualities of the ruby.
Show fortitude in (enduring) self-mortification and affliction;
continually behold everlasting life in dying to self.
(Then) thy stoniness will become less at every moment, the
nature of the ruby will be strengthened in thee.
The qualities of (self-) existence will depart from thy body,
the qualities of intoxication (ecstasy) will increase in thy head (thy spiritual centre).
Become entirely hearing, like an ear, in order that thou mayst
2
gain an ear-ring of ruby.
-- Translation by Reynold A. Nicholson

"The Mathnawi of Jalalu’ddin Rumi"
The spirit is like an ant, and the body like a grain of wheat
which the ant carries to and fro continually.

Rumi - Masnavi
The ant knows that the grains of which it has taken charge
will change and become assimilated.
One ant picks up a grain of barley on the road;
another ant picks up a grain of wheat and runs away.
The barley doesn't hurry to the wheat,
but the ant comes to the ant, yes it does.
The going of the barley to the wheat is merely consequential:
it's the ant that returns to its own kind.
Don't say, "Why did the wheat go to the barley?"
Fix your eye on the holder, not on that which is held.
As when a black ant moves along on a black felt cloth:
the ant is hidden from view; only the grain is visible on its way.
But Reason says: "Look well to your eye:
when does a grain ever move along without a carrier?"
"Rumi: Jewels of Remembrance"

Camille and Kabir Helminski
WHISPERS OF LOVE
Lover whispers to my ear,

"Better to be a prey than a hunter.
Make yourself My fool.
Stop trying to be the sun and become a speck!
Dwell at My door and be homeless.
Don't pretend to be a candle, be a moth,
so you may taste the savor of Life
and know the power hidden in serving."

'The Rumi Collection', Edited by Kabir Helminski

rumi.org.uk

Mystical Poems of Rumi
Home Page Mystical Poems of Rumi

Books on Rumi
Bibliography
Works of Rumi
Rumi's Poetry
{ Confused and Distraught
{ Reason says, "I will beguile him with the tongue;"
–
Events in UK { I have come so that, tugging your ear...
Events List { A New Rule
Daily Poem { It is the rule with drunkards ...
Daily Quotes { Ode 2180
Discussion Forum { This is Love: to Fly to Heaven
Music { Sweetly parading, you go my soul of soul
Persian with Rumi
Sufism
– —
Reflections Confused and distraught

Acknowledgements
Search
Contact Again I am raging, I am in such a state by your soul that every
bond you bind, I break, by your soul.
I am like heaven, like the moon, like a candle by your glow; I am all
Pick Language reason, all love, all soul, by your soul.
My joy is of your doing, my hangover of your thorn; whatever
side you turn your face, I turn mine, by your soul.
I spoke in error; it is not surprising to speak in error in this
state, for this moment I cannot tell cup from wine, by your soul.
I am that madman in bonds who binds the "divs"; I, the madman,
am a Solomon with the "divs", by your soul.
Whatever form other than love raises up its head from my
heart, forthwith I drive it out of the court of my heart, by your soul.
Come, you who have departed, for the thing that departs
comes back; neither you are that, by my soul, nor I am that, by your soul.
Disbeliever, do not conceal disbelief in your soul, for I will recite
the secret of your destiny, by your soul.
Out of love of Sham-e Tabrizi, through wakefulness or
nightrising, like a spinning mote I am distraught, by your soul.
"Mystical Poems of Rumi 2" A. J. Arberry

The University of Chicago Press, 1991
Reason says, "I will beguile him with the tongue;"

Love says, "Be silent. I will beguile him with the soul."
The soul says to the heart, "Go, do not laugh at me
and yourself. What is there that is not his, that I may beguile him thereby?"
He is not sorrowful and anxious and seeking oblivion
that I may beguile him with wine and a heavy measure.
The arrow of his glance needs not a bow that I should
beguile the shaft of his gaze with a bow.
He is not prisoner of the world, fettered to this world
of earth, that I should beguile him with gold of the kingdom of the world.
He is an angel, though in form he is a man; he is not
lustful that I should beguile him with women.
file:///C|/Documents%20and%20Settings/Sonja/Desktop/mystical_poems.htm (1 of 5) [5/22/2009 10:59:47 PM]

Angels start away from the house wherein this form

is, so how should I beguile him with such a form and likeness?
He does not take a flock of horses, since he flies on wings;
his food is light, so how should I beguile him with bread?
He is not a merchant and trafficker in the market of the
world that I should beguile him with enchantment of gain and loss.
He is not veiled that I should make myself out sick and
utter sighs, to beguile him with lamentation.
I will bind my head and bow my head, for I have got out
of hand; I will not beguile his compassion with sickness or fluttering.
Hair by hair he sees my crookedness and feigning; what's
hidden from him that I should beguile him with anything hidden.
He is not a seeker of fame, a prince addicted to poets,
that I should beguile him with verses and lyrics and flowing poetry.
The glory of the unseen form is too great for me to
beguile it with blessing or Paradise.
Shams-e Tabriz, who is his chosen and beloved - perchance
I will beguile him with this same pole of the age.

I have come so that, tugging your ear, I may draw you to me,
unheart and unself you, plant you in my heart and soul.
Rosebush, I have come a sweet springtide unto you, to seize
you very gently in my embrace and squeeze you.
I have come to adorn you in this worldly abode, to convey you
above the skies like lovers' prayers.
I have come because you stole a kiss from an idol fair; give it
back with a glad heart, master, for I will seize you back.
1
What is a mere rose? You are the All , you are the speaker of
2
the command "Say" . If no one else knows you, since you are I, I know you.
3
You are my soul and spirit, you are my Fatiha-chanter , be-
come altogether the Fatiha, so that I may chant you in my heart.
You are my quarry and game, though you have sprung from
the snare; return to the snare, and if you will not, I will drive you.
The lion said to me, "You are a wonderous deer; be gone! Why
do you run in my wake so swiftly? I will tear you to pieces."
Accept my blow, and advance like a hero's shield;
give your ear to naught but the bowstring, that I may bend you like a bow.
So many thousand stages there are from earth's bounds to
man; I have brought you from city to city, I will not leave you by the roadside.
Say nothing, froth not, do not raise the lid of the cauldron;
simmer well, and be patient, for I am cooking you.
No, for you are a lion's whelp hidden in a deer's body: I will
cause you suddenly to transcend the deer's veil.
You are my ball, and you run in the curved mallet of my
decree; though I am making you to run, I am still running in your track.
"Mystical Poems of Rumi 1", A.J. Arberry


A New Rule
It is the rule with drunkards to fall upon each other,

to quarrel, become violent, and make a scene.
The lover is even worse than a drunkard.
I will tell you what love is: to enter a mine of gold.
And what is that gold?
The lover is a king above all kings,

unafraid of death, not at all interested in a golden crown.
The dervish has a pearl concealed under his patched cloak.
Why should he go begging door to door?
Last night that moon came along,

drunk, dropping clothes in the street.
"Get up," I told my heart, "Give the soul a glass of wine.
The moment has come to join the nightingale in the garden,
to taste sugar with the soul-parrot."
I have fallen, with my heart shattered -

where else but on your path? And I
broke your bowl, drunk, my idol, so drunk,
don't let me be harmed, take my hand.
A new rule, a new law has been born:

break all the glasses and fall toward the glassblower.
"Love is a Stranger", Kabir Helminski

It is the rule with drunkards to fall upon one another, to fight

and squabble and make tumult.
The lover is worse than the drunkard; the lover also belongs
to that party. I will tell what love is; it is to fall into a goldmine.
What may that gold be? The lover is the king of kings; it
means becoming secure from death and not caring for the golden crown.
The darvish in his cloak, and in his pocket the pearl - why
should he be ashamed of begging from door to door?
Last night that moon came along, having flung his girdle on the road, so
drunken that he was not aware that his girdle had fallen.
I said, "Leap up, my heart, place wine in the hand of the soul;
for such a time has befallen, it is time to be roistering.
"To become hand in hand with the garden nightingale, to fall
into sugar with the spiritual parrot."
I, heart-forlorn and heart-yielded, fallen upon your way - by
Allah, I know of no other place to fall.
If I broke your bowl, I am drunk, my idol. I am drunk - leave
me not from you hand to fall into danger.
This is a newborn rule, a newly enacted decree - to shatter

glasses, and to fall upon the glassmaker!

Ode 2180
From these depths depart towards heaven;

may your soul be happy, journey joyfully.
You have escaped from the city full of fear and trembling;
4
happily become a resident of the Abode of Security .
If the body’s image has gone, await the image-maker; if the
body is utterly ruined, become all soul.
If your face has become saffron pale through death, become a
dweller among tulip beds and Judas trees.
If the doors of repose have been barred to you, come, depart
by way of the roof and the ladder.
If you are alone from Friends and companions, by the help of
5
God become a saheb-qeran [lord of happy circumstance].
If you have been secluded from water and bread, like bread
become the food of the souls, and so become!

This is love: to fly to heaven, every moment to rend a hundred veils;

At first instance, to break away from breath -- first step, to renounce feet;
6
To disregard this world, to see only that which you yourself have seen .
I said, "Heart, congratulations on entering the circle of lovers,
"On gazing beyond the range of the eye, on running into the alley of the breasts."
Whence came this breath, O heart? Whence came this throbbing, O heart?
Bird, speak the tongue of birds: I can heed your cipher!
The heart said, "I was in the factory whilst the home of water and clay was abaking.
"I was flying from the workshop whilst the workshop was being created.
"When I could no more resist, they dragged me; how shall I
tell the manner of that dragging?"
"Mystical Poems of Rumi 1", A.J. Arberry

Sweetly parading you go my soul of soul, go not without me;

life of your friends, enter not the garden without me.
Sky, revolve not without me; moon, shine not without me;

earth travel not without me, and time, go not without me.
With you this world is joyous, and with you that world is joyous;
in this world dwell not without me, and to that world depart not without me.
Vision, know not without me, and tongue, recite not without
me; glance behold not without me, and soul, go not without me.
The night through the moon's light sees its face white; I am
light, you are my moon, go not to heaven without me.
The thorn is secure from the fire in the shelter of the roses
face: you are the rose, I your thorn; go not into the rose garden without me.
I run in the curve of your mallet when your eye is with me;
even so gaze upon me, drive not without me, go not without me.
When, joy, you are companion of the king, drink not without
me; when, watchman, you go to the kings roof, go not without me.
Alas for him who goes on this road without your sign; since
you, O signless one, are my sign, go not without me.
Alas for him who goes on the road without my knowledge;
you are the knowledge of the road for me; O road-knower, go not without me.
Others call you love, I call you the king of love; O you who are
higher than the imagination of this and that, go not without me.


rumi.org.uk

Rumi - Poems of Passion
Home Page Poems of Passion

Books on Rumi
Bibliography
Works of Rumi
Rumi's Poetry LOVE IS THE MASTER
– Love is the One who masters all things;

Events in UK I am mastered totally by Love.
Events List By my passion of love for Love
Daily Poem I have ground sweet as sugar.
Daily Quotes O furious Wind, I am only a straw before you;
Discussion Forum How could I know where I will be blown next?
Whoever claims to have made a pact with Destiny
Music
Reveals himself a liar and a fool;
Persian with Rumi What is any of us but a straw in a storm?
Sufism How could anyone make a pact with a hurricane?
God is working everywhere his massive Resurrection;
– How can we pretend to act on our own?
In the hand of Love I am like a cat in a sack;
Reflections Sometimes Love hoists me into the air,
Acknowledgements Sometimes Love flings me into the air,
Search Love swings me round and round His head;
I have no peace, in this world or any other.
Contact
The lovers of God have fallen in a furious river;
They have surrendered themselves to Love's commands.
Pick Language Like mill wheels they turn, day and night, day and night,
Constantly turning and turning, and crying out.
STAY CLOSE, MY HEART
Stay close, my heart, to the one who knows your ways;

Come into the shade of the tree that allays has fresh flowers.
Don't stroll idly through the bazaar of the perfume-markers:
Stay in the shop of the sugar-seller.
If you don't find true balance, anyone can deceive you;
Anyone can trick out of a thing of straw,
And make you take it for gold
Don't squat with a bowl before every boiling pot;
In each pot on the fire you find very different things.
Not all sugarcanes have sugar, not all abysses a peak;
Not all eyes possess vision, not every sea is full of pearls.
O nightingale, with your voice of dark honey! Go on lamenting!
Only your drunken ecstasy can pierce the rock's hard heart!
Surrender yourself, and if you cannot be welcomes by the Friend,
Know that you are rebelling inwardly like a thread
That doesn't want to go through the needle's eye!
The awakened heart is a lamp; protect it by the him of your robe!
Hurry and get out of this wind, for the weather is bad.
And when you've left this storm, you will come to a fountain;
You'll find a Friend there who will always nourish your soul.
And with your soul always green, you'll grow into a tall tree
Flowering always with sweet light-fruit, whose growth is interior.
(translated by Andrew Harvey)
file:///C|/Documents%20and%20Settings/Sonja/Desktop/passion.htm (1 of 13) [5/22/2009 10:59:50 PM]

THE INTEREST WITHOUT THE CAPITAL
The lover's food is the love of the bread;

no bread need be at hand:
no one who is sincere in his love is a slave to existence.
Lovers have nothing to do with with with existence;

lovers have the interest without the capital.
Without wings they fly around the world;

without hands they carry the polo ball off the field.
That dervish who caught the scent of Reality

used to weave basket even though his hand had been cut off.
Lover have pitched their tents in nonexistence:

they are of one quality and one essence, as nonexistence is.
THE SHIP SUNK IN LOVE
Should Love's heart rejoice unless I burn?

For my heart is Love's dwelling.
If You will burn Your house, burn it, Love!
Who will say, 'It's not allowed'?
Burn this house thoroughly!
The lover's house improves with fire.
From now on I will make burning my aim,
From now on I will make burning my aim,
for I am like the candle: burning only makes me brighter.
Abandon sleep tonight; traverse fro one night
the region of the sleepless.
Look upon these lovers who have become distraught
and like moths have died in union with the One Beloved.
Look upon this ship of God's creatures
and see how it is sunk in Love.

Oh Beloved,
take me.
Liberate my soul.
Fill me with your love and
release me from the two worlds.
If I set my heart on anything but you

let fire burn me from inside.
Oh Beloved,
take away what I want.
Take away what I do.
Take away what I need.
Take away everything
that takes me from you.
CRADLE MY HEART
Last night,
I was lying on the rooftop,
thinking of you.
I saw a special Star,
and summoned her to take you a message.
I prostrated myself to the Star
and asked her to take my prostration
to that Sun of Tabriz.
So that with his light, he can turn
my dark stones into gold.
I opened my chest and showed her my scars,
I told her to bring me news
of my bloodthirsty Lover.
As I waited,
I paced back and forth,
until the child of my heart became quiet.
The child slept, as if I were rocking his cradle.
Oh Beloved, give milk to the infant of the heart,
and don't hold us from our turning.
You have cared for hundreds,
don't let it stop with me now.
At the end, the town of unity is the place for the heart.
Why do you keep this bewildered heart
in the town of dissolution?
I have gone speechless, but to rid myself
of this dry mood,
oh Saaqhi, pass the narcissus of the wine.
Hush Don't Say Anything to God:

Passionate Poems of Rumi Translated by Shahram Shiva
THE AWAKENING
In the early dawn of happiness

you gave me three kisses
so that I would wake up
to this moment of love
I tried to remember in my heart

what I’d dreamt about

during the night
before I became aware
of this moving
of life
I found my dreams
but the moon took me away
It lifted me up to the firmament
and suspended me there
I saw how my heart had fallen
on your path
singing a song
Between my love and my heart

things were happening which
slowly slowly
made me recall everything
You amuse me with your touch

although I can’t see your hands.
You have kissed me with tenderness
although I haven’t seen your lips
You are hidden from me.
But it is you who keeps me alive
Perhaps the time will come

when you will tire of kisses
I shall be happy
even for insults from you
I only ask that you
keep some attention on me.
The Love Poems of Rumi by

Deepak Chopra (Editor)
Tonight is a night of union for the stars and of scattering,

scattering, since a bride is coming from the skies, consisting of a full moon.
Venus cannot contain herself for charming melodies, like the
nightingale which becomes intoxicated with the rose in spring-time.
See how the polestar is ogling Leo;
behold what dust Pisces is stirring up drom the deep!
Jupiter has galloped his steed against ancient Saturn, saying
"Take back your youth and go, bring good tidings!"
Mars' hand, which was full of blood from the handle of his
sword, has become as life-giving as the sun, the exalted in works.
Since Aquarius has come full of that water of life, the dry
cluster of Virgo is raining pearls from him.
The Pleiades full of goodness fears not Libra and being
broken; how should Aries flee away in fright from its mother?
When from the moon the arrow of a glance struck the heart
of Sagittarius, he took to night-faring in passion for her, like Scorpio.
On such a festival, go, sacrifice Taurus, else you are crooked of

gait in the mud like Cancer.

This sky is the astrolabe, and the reality is Love;
whatever wesay of this, attend to the meaning.
Shamsi-Tabriz, on that dawn when you shine, the dark night
is transformed to bright day by your moonlike face.
"Mystical Poems of Rumi 1"A.J. Arberry

AFTER BEING IN LOVE, THE NEXT RESPONSIBILITY
Turn me like a waterwheel turning a millstone.

Plenty of water, a Living River.
Keep me in one place and scatter the love.
Leaf-moves in wind, straw drawn toward amber,
all parts of the world are in love,
but they do not tell their secrets. Cows grazing
on a sacramental table, ants whispering in Solomon's ear.
Mountains mumbling an echo. Sky, calm.
If the sun were not in love, he would have no brightness,
the side of the hill no grass on it.
The ocean would come to rest somewhere.
Be a lover as they are, that you come to know

you Beloved. Be faithful that you may know
Faith. The other parts of the universe did not accept
the next responsibility of love as you can.
They were afraid they might make a mistake
with it, the inspired knowing
that springs from being in love
FURUZANFAR #2674 (translated by Coleman Barks)

That moon, which the sky ne'er saw even in dreams, has returned
And brought a fire no water can quench.
See the body' s house, and see my. soul,
This made drunken and that desolate by the cup of his love.
When the host of the tavern became my heart-mate,
My blood turned to wine and my heart to kabab.
When the eye is filled with thought of him, a voice arrives :
W ell done, O flagon, and bravo, wine!
Love's fingers tear up, root and stem,
Every house where sunbeams fall from love.
When my heart saw love's sea, of a sudden
It left me and leaped in, crying, , Find me.'
The face of Shamsi Din, Tabriz's glory, is the sun
In whose track the cloud-like hearts are moving.
From Divan-i Shams

translated by R. A. Nicholson

THROUGH LOVE all that is bitter will sweet

Through Love all that is copper will be gold.
Through Love all dregs will turn to purest wine
Through Love all pain will turn to medicine.
Through Love the dead will all become alive.
Through Love the king will turn into a slave!
ONCE a beloved asked her lover: "Friend,

You have seen many places in the world!
Now - which of all these cities was the best?
He said: "The city where my sweetheart lives!"
FROM MYSELF I am copper,

through You, friend, I am gold.
From myself I'm a stone, but
through You I am a gem!
O SUN, fill our house once more with light!

Make happy all your friends and blind your foes!
Rise from behind the hill, transform the stones
To rubies and the sour grapes to wine!
O Sun, make our vineyard fresh again,
And fill the steppes with houris and green cloaks!
Physician of the lovers, heaven's lamp!
Rescus the lovers! Help the suffering!
Show but your face - the world is filled with light!
But if you cover it, it's the darkest night!

into the sea form dry land


Translated by Annemarie Schimmel, 'Look! This is Love'
WHISPERS OF LOVE
Lover whispers to my ear,

"Better to be a prey than a hunter.
Make yourself My fool.
Stop trying to be the sun and become a speck!
Dwell at My door and be homeless.
Don't pretend to be a candle, be a moth,
so you may taste the savor of Life
and know the power hidden in serving."

how long
can i lament
with this depressed
heart and soul

how long
can i remain
a sad autumn
ever since my grief
has shed my leaves
the entire space

of my soul
is burning in agony
how long can i

hide the flames
wanting to rise
out of this fire
how long can one suffer

the pain of hatred
of another human
a friend behaving like an enemy
with a broken heart

how much more
can i take the message
from body to soul
i believe in love
i swear by love
believe me my love
how long
like a prisoner of grief
can i beg for mercy
you know i'm not

a piece of rock or steel
but hearing my story
even water will become
as tense as a stone
if i can only recount

the story of my life
right out of my body
flames will grow
rocking and rolling

what have you been drinking
please let me know
you must be drunk

going house to house
wandering from street to street

who have you been with

who have you kissed
who's face have you been fondling
you are my soul

you are my life
i swear my life and love is yours
so tell me the truth

where is that fountainhead
the one you've been drinking from
don't hide this secret

lead me to the source
fill my jug over and over again
last night i finally caught

your attention in the crowd
it was your image filling my dream
telling me to stop this wandering

stop this search for
good and evil
i said my dear prophet

give me some of
that you've drunk for ecstasy of life
if i let you drink you said

any of this burning flame
it will scorch your mouth and throat
your portion has been

given already by heaven
ask for more at your peril
i lamented and begged

i desire much more
please show me the source
i have no fear
to burn my mouth and throat
i'm ready to drink every flame and more
show me your face

i crave
flowers and gardens
open your lips
i crave
the taste of honey
come out from
behind the clouds
i desire a sunny face

your voice echoed

saying "leave me alone"
i wish to hear your voice
again saying "leave me alone"
i swear this city without you
is a prison
i am dying to get out
to roam in deserts and mountains
i am tired of
flimsy friends and
submissive companions
i die to walk with the brave
am blue hearing
nagging voices and meek cries
i desire loud music
drunken parties and
wild dance
one hand holding
a cup of wine
one hand caressing your hair
then dancing in orbital circle
that is what i yearn for
i can sing better than any nightingale
but because of
this city's freaks
i seal my lips
while my heart weeps
yesterday the wisest man
holding a lit lantern
in daylight
was searching around town saying
i am tired of
all these beasts and brutes
i seek
a true human
we have all looked
for one but
no one could be found
they said
yes he replied
but my search is
for the one
who cannot be found
Translated by Nader Khalili

"Rumi, Fountain of Fire"
THE ALCHEMY OF LOVE
You come to us
from another world
From beyond the stars

and void of space.
Transcendent, Pure,

Of unimaginable beauty,
Bringing with you
the essence of love
You transform all

who are touched by you.
Mundane concerns,
troubles, and sorrows
dissolve in your presence,
Bringing joy
to ruler and ruled
To peasant and king
You bewilder us
with your grace.
All evils
transform into
goodness.
You are the master alchemist.
You light the fire of love

in earth and sky
in heart and soul
of every being.
Through your love

existence and nonexistence merge.
All opposites unite.
All that is profane
becomes sacred again.
LOOKING FOR LOVE
A strange passion is moving in my head.

My heart has become a bird
which searches in the sky.
Every part of me goes in different directions.
Is it really so
that the one I love is everywhere?
LOOKING FOR YOUR FACE
From the beginning of my life

I have been looking for your face
but today I have seen it

Today I have seen

the charm, the beauty,
the unfathomable grace
of the face
that I was looking for
Today I have found you

and those who laughed
and scorned me yesterday
are sorry that they were not looking
as I did
I am bewildered by the magnificence

of your beauty
and wish to see you
with a hundred eyes
My heart has burned with passion

and has searched forever
for this wondrous beauty
that I now behold
I am ashamed
to call this love human
and afraid of God
to call it divine
Your fragrant breath

like the morning breeze
has come to the stillness of the garden
You have breathed new life into me
I have become your sunshine
and also your shadow
My soul is screaming in ecstacy

Every fiber of my being
is in love with you
Your efflugence
has lit a fire in my heart
for me
the earth and sky
My arrow of love
has arrived at the target
I am in the house of mercy
and my heart
is a place of prayer
The Love Poems of RUMI

Edited by Deepak Chopra
Translations by Farsi scholar Fereydoun Kia

Reason says, I will beguile him with the tongue;" Love says, "Be silent. I will beguile him with the soul."
The soul says to the heart, "Go, do not laugh at me and yourself. What is there that is not his, that I may
beguile him thereby?"
He is not sorrowful and anxious and seeking oblivion that I may beguile him with wine and a heavy measure.
The arrow of his glance needs not a bow that I should beguile the shaft of his gaze with a bow.
He is not prisoner of the world, fettered to this world of earth, that I should beguile him with gold of the
kingdom of the world.
He is an angel, though in form he is a man; he is not lustful that I should beguile him with women.
Angels start away from the house wherein this form is, so how should I beguile him with such a form and
likeness?
He does not take a flock of horses, since he flies on wings; his food is light, so how should I beguile him with bread?
He is not a merchant and trafficker in the market of the world that I should beguile him with enchantment of gain and
loss.
He is not veiled that I should make myself out sick and utter sighs, to beguile him with lamentation.
I will bind my head and bow my head, for I have got out of hand; I will not beguile his compassion with sickness or
fluttering.
Hair by hair he sees my crookedness and feigning; what’s hidden from him that I should beguile him with anything
hidden.
He is not a seeker of fame, a prince addicted to poets, that I should beguile him with verses and lyrics and flowing
poetry.
The glory of the unseen form is too great for me to beguile it with blessing or Paradise.
Shams-e Tabriz, who is his chosen and beloved – perchance I will beguile him with this same pole of the age.
I saw my sweetheart wandering about the house; he had taken a rebec and was playing a melody.
With a plectrum like fire he was playing a sweet melody, drunken and dissolute and charming from the Magian wine.
1
He was invoking the saqi in the air of Iraq ; the wine was his object, the saqi was his excuse.
The moonfaced saqi pitcher in his hand, entered from a corner and set it in the middle.
He filled the first cup with that flaming wine; did you ever see water sending out flames?
He set it on his hand for the sake of the lovers, then prostrated and kissed the threshold.
My sweetheart seized it from him and quaffed the wine; flames from that wine went running over his face.
He was beholding his own beauty, and saying to the evil eye, "Never has there been, nor shall there come in this age,
another like me."
Translation by A. J. Arberry "Mystical Poems of Rumi 2"


rumi.org.uk

Poems by Rumi
Home Page Poems by Rumi

Books on Rumi
Bibliography Wedding Poems Make yourself free
Works of Rumi Be Lost in the Call The Many Wines
Rumi's Poetry O you who've gone on pilgrimage A Star Without a Name
We are as the flute How Did you Get Away
– On the Deathbed Gone to the Unseen
Events in UK
This Marriage Poor Copies
Events List
This World Departure
Daily Poem
Call of Love I am Part of the Load
Daily Quotes
Our Death is our Wedding Remembered Music
Discussion Forum
I've said before that every craftsman The Spirit of the Saints
Music
"NOONE" says it better The True Sufi
Persian with Rumi
These Spiritual Window-shoppers Unseen Power
Sufism
The drum of the realization The Progress of Man
From Fihi ma Fihi Reality And Appearance
– I Died from minerality Descent
Soul receives from soul
Reflections
If thou wilt be observant
Acknowledgements
I said, 'Thou art harsh'
Search
Contact
Pick Language
•
Be Lost in the Call
Lord, said David, since you do not need us,

why did you create these two worlds?
Reality replied: O prisoner of time,

I was a secret treasure of kindness and generosity,
and I wished this treasure to be known,
so I created a mirror: its shining face, the heart;
its darkened back, the world;
The back would please you if you've never seen the face.
Has anyone ever produced a mirror out of mud and straw?

Yet clean away the mud and straw,
and a mirror might be revealed.
Until the juice ferments a while in the cask,

it isn't wine. If you wish your heart to be bright,
you must do a little work.
My King addressed the soul of my flesh:

You return just as you left.
Where are the traces of my gifts?
We know that alchemy transforms copper into gold.

This Sun doesn't want a crown or robe from God's grace.
He is a hat to a hundred bald men,
file:///C|/Documents%20and%20Settings/Sonja/Desktop/poems.html (1 of 22) [5/22/2009 10:59:57 PM]

Poems by Rumi
a covering for ten who were naked.
Jesus sat humbly on the back of an ass, my child!

How could a zephyr ride an ass?
Spirit, find your way, in seeking lowness like a stream.
Reason, tread the path of selflessness into eternity.
Remember God so much that you are forgotten.

Let the caller and the called disappear;
be lost in the Call.
-
"Love is a Stranger", Kabir Helminski
O you who've gone on pilgrimage -

where are you, where, oh where?
Here, here is the Beloved!
Oh come now, come, oh come!
Your friend, he is your neighbor,
he is next to your wall -
You, erring in the desert -
what air of love is this?
If you'd see the Beloved's
form without any form -
You are the house, the master,
You are the Kaaba, you! . . .
Where is a bunch of roses,
if you would be this garden?
Where, one soul's pearly essence
when you're the Sea of God?
That's true - and yet your troubles
may turn to treasures rich -
How sad that you yourself veil
the treasure that is yours!
Rumi 'I Am Wind, You are Fire'

Translation by Annemarie Schimmel
Oh, if a tree could wander

and move with foot and wings!
It would not suffer the axe blows
and not the pain of saws!
For would the sun not wander
away in every night ?
How could at ev?ry morning
the world be lighted up?
And if the ocean?s water

Poems by Rumi
would not rise to the sky,

How would the plants be quickened
by streams and gentle rain?
The drop that left its homeland,
the sea, and then returned ?
It found an oyster waiting
and grew into a pearl.
Did Yusaf not leave his father,
in grief and tears and despair?
Did he not, by such a journey,
gain kingdom and fortune wide?
Did not the Prophet travel
to far Medina, friend?
And there he found a new kingdom
and ruled a hundred lands.
You lack a foot to travel?
Then journey into yourself!
And like a mine of rubies
receive the sunbeams? print!
Out of yourself ? such a journey
will lead you to your self,
It leads to transformation
of dust into pure gold!
Look! This is Love - Poems of Rumi,

Annemarie Schimme
Ý
•
Come, come, whoever you are.
Wonderer, worshipper, lover of leaving.
It doesn't matter.
Ours is not a caravan of despair.
Come, even if you have broken your vow
a thousand times
Come, yet again, come, come.
Ý
•
We are as the flute, and the music in us is from thee;

we are as the mountain and the echo in us is from thee.
We are as pieces of chess engaged in victory and defeat:

our victory and defeat is from thee, O thou whose qualities are comely!
Who are we, O Thou soul of our souls,

that we should remain in being beside thee?

Poems by Rumi
We and our existences are really non-existence;

thou art the absolute Being which manifests the perishable.
We all are lions, but lions on a banner:

because of the wind they are rushing onward from moment to moment.
Their onward rush is visible, and the wind is unseen:

may that which is unseen not fail from us!
Our wind whereby we are moved and our being are of thy gift;
our whole existence is from thy bringing into being.
Masnavi Book I, 599-607
On the DeathbedGo, rest your head on a pillow, leave me alone;

leave me ruined, exhausted from the journey of this night,
writhing in a wave of passion till the dawn.
Either stay and be forgiving,
or, if you like, be cruel and leave.
Flee from me, away from trouble;
take the path of safety, far from this danger.
We have crept into this corner of grief,
turning the water wheel with a flow of tears.
While a tyrant with a heart of flint slays,
and no one says, "Prepare to pay the blood money."
Faith in the king comes easily in lovely times,
but be faithful now and endure, pale lover.
No cure exists for this pain but to die,
So why should I say, "Cure this pain"?
In a dream last night I saw
an ancient one in the garden of love,
beckoning with his hand, saying, "Come here."
On this path, Love is the emerald,
the beautiful green that wards off dragonsnough, I am losing myself.
If you are a man of learning,
read something classic,
a history of the human struggle
and don't settle for mediocre verse.
Kulliyat-i-Shams 2039
Ý
•
This Marriage
May these vows and this marriage be blessed.

May it be sweet milk,

Poems by Rumi
this marriage, like wine and halvah.

May this marriage offer fruit and shade
like the date palm.
May this marriage be full of laughter,
our every day a day in paradise.
May this marriage be a sign of compassion,
a seal of happiness here and hereafter.
May this marriage have a fair face and a good name,
an omen as welcomes the moon in a clear blue sky.
I am out of words to describe
how spirit mingles in this marriage.
Kulliyat-i-Shams 2667
Ý
•
This World Which Is Made of Our Love for Emptiness
Praise to the emptiness that blanks out existence. Existence:

This place made from our love for that emptiness!
Yet somehow comes emptiness,

this existence goes.
Praise to that happening, over and over!

For years I pulled my own existence out of emptiness.
Then one swoop, one swing of the arm,

that work is over.
Free of who I was, free of presence, free of dangerous fear, hope,

free of mountainous wanting.
The here-and-now mountain is a tiny piece of a piece of straw

blown off into emptiness.
These words I'm saying so much begin to lose meaning:

Existence, emptiness, mountain, straw:
Words and what they try to say swept

out the window, down the slant of the roof.
Ý
•
"It is said that after Muhammad and the prophets revelation does not descend upon anyone else. Why not?
In fact it does, but then it is not called 'revelation.' It is what the Prophet referred to when he said, 'The
believer sees with the Light of God.' When the believer looks with 'The believer sees with the Light of

Poems by Rumi
God.' When the believer looks with God's Light, he sees all things: the first and the last, the present and
the absent. For how can anything be hidden from God's Light? And if something is hidden, then it is not
the Light of God. Therefore the meaning of revelation exists, even if it is not called revelation."
Fihi ma fihi [Discourses of Rumi]

quoted from William C. Chittick, _The Sufi Path of Love:
The Spiritual Teachings of Rumi(Albany: SUNY, 1983)
The drum of the realization of the promise is beating,

we are sweeping the road to the sky. Your joy is here today, what remains for tomorrow?
The armies of the day have chased the army of the night,
Heaven and earth are filled with purity and light.
Oh! joy for he who has escaped from this world of perfumes and color!
For beyond these colors and these perfumes, these are other colors in the heart and the soul.
Oh! joy for this soul and this heart who have escaped
the earth of water and clay,
Although this water and this clay contain the hearth of the
philosophical stone.
(Mystic Odes 473)
Ý
•
At every instant and from every side, resounds the call of Love:
We are going to sky, who wants to come with us?
We have gone to heaven, we have been the friends of the angels,
And now we will go back there, for there is our country.
We are higher than heaven, more noble than the angels:
Why not go beyond them? Our goal is the Supreme Majesty.
What has the fine pearl to do with the world of dust?
Why have you come down here? Take your baggage back. What is this place?
Luck is with us, to us is the sacrifice!...
Like the birds of the sea, men come from the ocean--the ocean of the soul.
Like the birds of the sea, men come from the ocean--the ocean of the soul.
How could this bird, born from that sea, make his dwelling here?
No, we are the pearls from the bosom of the sea, it is there that we dwell:
Otherwise how could the wave succeed to the wave that comes from the soul?
The wave named 'Am I not your Lord' has come, it has broken the vessel of the body;
And when the vessel is broken, the vision comes back, and the union with Him.

Poems by Rumi
Eva de Vitray-Meyerovitch, 'Rumi and Sufism' trans. Simone Fattal

Sausalito, CA: Post-Apollo Press, 1977, 1987.
Ý
•
Our death is our wedding with eternity.

What is the secret? "God is One."
The sunlight splits when entering the windows of the house.
This multiplicity exists in the cluster of grapes;
It is not in the juice made from the grapes.
For he who is living in the Light of God,
The death of the carnal soul is a blessing.
Regarding him, say neither bad nor good,
For he is gone beyond the good and the bad.
Fix your eyes on God and do not talk about what is invisible,
So that he may place another look in your eyes.
It is in the vision of the physical eyes
That no invisible or secret thing exists.
But when the eye is turned toward the Light of God
What thing could remain hidden under such a Light?
Although all lights emanate from the Divine Light
Don't call all these lights "the Light of God";
It is the eternal light which is the Light of God,
The ephemeral light is an attribute of the body and the flesh.
...Oh God who gives the grace of vision!
The bird of vision is flying towards You with the wings of desire.
(Mystic Odes 833)
Ý
•
I've said before that every craftsman

searches for what's not there
to practice his craft.
A builder looks for the rotten hole

where the roof caved in. A water-carrier
picks the empty pot. A carpenter
stops at the house with no door.
Workers rush toward some hint

of emptiness, which they then
start to fill. Their hope, though,
is for emptiness, so don't think
you must avoid it. It contains
what you need!
Dear soul, if you were not friends
with the vast nothing inside,
why would you always be casting you net
into it, and waiting so patiently?

Poems by Rumi
This invisible ocean has given you such abundance,

but still you call it "death",
that which provides you sustenance and work.
God has allowed some magical reversal to occur,

so that you see the scorpion pit
as an object of desire,
and all the beautiful expanse around it,
as dangerous and swarming with snakes.
This is how strange your fear of death

and emptiness is, and how perverse
the attachment to what you want.
Now that you've heard me

on your misapprehensions, dear friend,
listen to Attar's story on the same subject.
He strung the pearls of this

about King Mahmud, how among the spoils
of his Indian campaign there was a Hindu boy,
whom he adopted as a son. He educated
and provided royally for the boy
and later made him vice-regent, seated
on a gold throne beside himself.
One day he found the young man weeping..

"Why are you crying? You're the companion
of an emperor! The entire nation is ranged out
before you like stars that you can command!"
The young man replied, "I am remembering

my mother and father, and how they
scared me as a child with threats of you!
'Uh-oh, he's headed for King Mahmud's court!
Nothing could be more hellish!' Where are they now
when they should see me sitting here?"
This incident is about your fear of changing.

You are the Hindu boy. Mahmud, which means
Praise to the End, is the spirit's
poverty or emptiness.
The mother and father are your attachment

to beliefs and blood ties
and desires and comforting habits.
Don't listen to them!
They seem to protect
but they imprison.
They are your worst enemies.

They make you afraid
of living in emptiness.
Some day you'll weep tears of delight in that court,

Poems by Rumi
remembering your mistaken parents!
Know that your body nurtures the spirit,

helps it grow, and gives it wrong advise.
The body becomes, eventually, like a vest

of chain mail in peaceful years,
too hot in summer and too cold in winter.
But the body's desires, in another way, are like

an unpredictable associate, whom you must be
patient with. And that companion is helpful,
because patience expands your capacity
to love and feel peace.
The patience of a rose close to a thorn
keeps it fragrant. It's patience that gives milk
to the male camel still nursing in its third year,
and patience is what the prophets show to us.
The beauty of careful sewing on a shirt

is the patience it contains.
Friendship and loyalty have patience

as the strength of their connection.
Feeling lonely and ignoble indicates

that you haven't been patient.
Be with those who mix with God

as honey blends with milk, and say,
"Anything that comes and goes,

rises and sets, is not
what I love." else you'll be like a caravan fire left
to flare itself out alone beside the road.
Rumi VI (1369-1420) from 'Rumi : One-Handed Basket Weaving
Ý
•
"NOONE" says it better:
12
What is the mi'raj of the heavens?
Non-existence.
The religion and creed of the lovers is non- existence.

Poems by Rumi
Masnavi VI 233
Ý
•
These spiritual window-shoppers,

who idly ask, 'How much is that?' Oh, I'm just looking.
They handle a hundred items and put them down,
shadows with no capital.
What is spent is love and two eyes wet with weeping.

But these walk into a shop,
and their whole lives pass suddenly in that moment,
in that shop.
Where did you go? "Nowhere."

What did you have to eat? "Nothing much."
Even if you don't know what you want,

buy _something,_ to be part of the exchanging flow.
Start a huge, foolish project,

like Noah.
It makes absolutely no difference

what people think of you.
Rumi, 'We Are Three', Mathnawi VI, 831-845
Ý
•
I died from minerality and became vegetable;

And From vegetativeness I died and became animal.
I died from animality and became man.
Then why fear disappearance through death?
Next time I shall die
Bringing forth wings and feathers like angels;
After that, soaring higher than angels -
What you cannot imagine,
I shall be that.
Soul receives from soul that knowledge, therefore not by book

nor from tongue.

Poems by Rumi
If knowledge of mysteries come after emptiness of mind, that is

illumination of heart.
If thou wilt be observant and vigilant, thou wilt see at every moment the response to thy action. Be
observant if thou wouldst have a pure heart, for something is born to thee in consequence of every
action.
I said, 'Thou art harsh, like such a one.'

'Know,' he replied,
'That I am harsh for good, not from rancor and spite.
Whoever enters saying, "This I," I smite him on the brow;
For this is the shrine of Love, o fool! it is not a sheep cote!
Rub thine eyes, and behold the image of the heart.'
Make yourself free from self at one stroke!

Like a sword be without trace of soft iron;
Like a steel mirror, scour off all rust with contrition.
Ý
•
A Star Without a Name
When a baby is taken from the wet nurse,

it easily forgets her
and starts eating solid food.
Seeds feed awhile on ground,

then lift up into the sun.
So you should taste the filtered light

and work your way toward wisdom
with no personal covering.

Poems by Rumi
That's how you came here, like a star

without a name. Move across the night sky
with those anonymous lights.
(Mathnawi III, 1284-1288)
"Say I am You" Coleman Barks Maypop, 1994
Ý
•
God has given us a dark wine so potent that,

drinking it, we leave the two worlds.
God has put into the form of hashish a power

to deliver the taster from self-consciousness.
God has made sleep so

that it erases every thought.
God made Majnun love Layla so much that

just her dog would cause confusion in him.
There are thousands of wines

that can take over our minds.
Don't think all ecstacies

are the same!
Jesus was lost in his love for God.

His donkey was drunk with barley.
Drink from the presence of saints,

not from those other jars.
Every object, every being,

is a jar full of delight.
Be a conoisseur,
and taste with caution.
Any wine will get you high.

Judge like a king, and choose the purest,
the ones unadulterated with fear,

or some urgency about "what's needed."
Drink the wine that moves you

as a camel moves when it's been untied,

Poems by Rumi
and is just ambling about.
Mathnawi IV, 2683-96

The Essential Rumi, Coleman Barks
Ý
•
Gone to the Unseen
At last you have departed and gone to the Unseen.

What marvelous route did you take from this world?
Beating your wings and feathers,

you broke free from this cage.
Rising up to the sky
you attained the world of the soul.
You were a prized falcon trapped by an Old Woman.
Then you heard the drummer's call
and flew beyond space and time.
As a lovesick nightingale, you flew among the owls.

Then came the scent of the rosegarden
and you flew off to meet the Rose.
The wine of this fleeting world

caused your head to ache.
Finally you joined the tavern of Eternity.
Like an arrow, you sped from the bow
and went straight for the bull's eye of bliss.
This phantom world gave you false signs

But you turned from the illusion
and journeyed to the land of truth.
You are now the Sun -

what need have you for a crown?
You have vanished from this world -
what need have you to tie your robe?
I've heard that you can barely see your soul.

But why look at all? -
yours is now the Soul of Souls!
O heart, what a wonderful bird you are.

Seeking divine heights,
Flapping your wings,
you smashed the pointed spears of your enemy.
The flowers flee from Autumn, but not you -

You are the fearless rose
that grows amidst the freezing wind.
Pouring down like the rain of heaven

you fell upon the rooftop of this world.

Poems by Rumi
Then you ran in every direction

and escaped through the drain spout . . .
Now the words are over

and the pain they bring is gone.
Now you have gone to rest
in the arms of the Beloved.
"Rumi - In the Arms of the Beloved", Jonathan Star

New York 1997
Ý
•
How did you get away?

You were the pet falcon of an old woman.
Did you hear the falcon-drum?
You were a drunken songbird put in with owls.
Did you smell the odor of a garden?
You got tired of sour fermenting
and left the tavern.
You went like an arrow to the target

from the bow of time and place.
The man who stays at the cemetery pointed the way,
but you didn't go.
You became light and gave up wanting to be famous.
You don't worry about what you're going to eat,
so why buy an engraved belt?
I've heard of living at the center, but what about

leaving the center of the center?
Flying toward thankfulness, you become
the rare bird with one wing made of fear,
and one of hope. In autumn,
a rose crawling along the ground in the cold wind.
Rain on the roof runs down and out by the spout
as fast as it can.
Talking is pain. Lie down and rest,

now that you've found a friend to be with.
"These Branching Moments", Coleman Barks

Copper Beech Press, 1988
Ý
•
He Comes
He comes, a moon whose like the sky ne'er saw, awake or dreaming.
Crowned with eternal flame no flood can lay.
Lo, from the flagon of thy love, O Lord, my soul is swimming,

Poems by Rumi
And ruined all my body's house of clay!
When first the Giver of the grape my lonely heart befriended,

Wine fired my bosom and my veins filled up;
But when his image all min eye possessed, a voice descended:
'Well done, O sovereign Wine and peerless Cup!'
Love's mighty arm from roof to base each dark abode is hewing,
Where chinks reluctant catch a golden ray.
My heart, when Love's sea of a sudden burst into its viewing,
Leaped headlong in, with 'Find me now who may!'
As, the sun moving, clouds behind him run,

All hearts attend thee, O Tabriz's Sun!
R. A. Nicholson
'Persian Poems', an Anthology of verse translations

edited by A.J.Arberry, Everyman's Library, 1972
Poor copies out of heaven's originals,

Pale earthly pictures mouldering to decay,
What care although your beauties break and fall,
When that which gave them life endures for aye?
Oh never vex thine heart with idle woes:

All high discourse enchanting the rapt ear,
All gilded landscapes and brave glistering shows
Fade-perish, but it is not as we fear.
Whilst far away the living fountains ply,

each petty brook goes brimful to the main
Since baron nor fountain can for ever die,
Thy fears how foolish, thy lament how vain!
What is this fountain, wouldst thou rightly know?

The Soul whence issue all created things.
Doubtless the rivers shall not cease to flow,
Till silenced are the everlasting springs.
Farewell to sorrow, and with quiet mind

Drink long and deep: let others fondly deem
The channel empty they perchance may find,
Or fathom that unfathomable stream.
The moment thou to this low world wast given,

A ladder stood whereby thou might'st aspire;
And first thy steps, which upward still have striven,
From mineral mounted to the plant; then higher
To animal existence; next, the Man,

Poems by Rumi
With knowledge, reason, faith. Oh wondrous goal!

This body, which a crumb of dust began-
How fairly fashioned the consummate whole!
Yet stay not here thy journey: thou shalt grow

An angel bright and home far off in heaven.
Plod on, plunge last in the great Sea, that so
Thy little drop make oceans seven times seven.
'The Son of God!' Nay, leave that word unsaid,

Say: 'God is One, the pure, the single Truth.'
What though thy frame be withered, old, and dead,
If the soul keep her fresh immortal youth?
R. A. Nicholson

DEPARTURE
Up, O ye lovers, and away! 'Tis time to leave the world for aye.
Hark, loud and clear from heaven the from of parting calls-let none delay!
The cameleer hat risen amain, made ready all the camel-train,
And quittance now desires to gain: why sleep ye, travellers, I pray?
Behind us and before there swells the din of parting and of bells;
To shoreless space each moment sails a disembodied spirit away.
From yonder starry lights, and through those curtain-awnings darkly blue,
Mysterious figures float in view, all strange and secret things display.
From this orb, wheeling round its pole, a wondrous slumber o'er thee stole:
O weary life that weighest naught, O sleep that on my soul dost weigh!
O heart, toward they heart's love wend, and O friend, fly toward the Friend,
Be wakeful, watchman, to the end: drowse seemingly no watchman may.
R. A. Nicholson

REMEMBERED MUSIC
'Tis said, the pipe and lute that charm our ears
Derive their melody from rolling spheres;
But Faith, o'erpassing speculation's bound,
Can see what sweetens every jangled sound.

Poems by Rumi
We, who are parts of Adam, heard with him

The song of angels and of seraphim.
Out memory, though dull and sad, retains
Some echo still of those unearthly strains.
Oh, music is the meat of all who love,

Music uplifts the soul to realms above.
The ashes glow, the latent fires increase:
We listen and are fed with joy and peace.
R. A. Nicholson

THE SPIRIT OF THE SAINTS
There is a Water that flows down from Heaven

To cleanse the world of sin by grace Divine.
At last, its whole stock spent, its virtue gone.
Dark with pollution not its own, it speeds
Back to the Fountain of all purities;
Whence, freshly bathed, earthward it sweeps again,
Trailing a robe of glory bright and pure.
This Water is the Spirit of the Saints,

Which ever sheds, until itself is beggared,
God's balm on the sick soul; and then returns
To Him who made the purest light of Heaven.
R. A. Nicholson

THE TRUE SUFI
What makes the Sufi? Purity of heart;

Not the patched mantle and the lust perverse
Of those vile earth-bound men who steal his name.
He in all dregs discerns the essence pure:
In hardship ease, in tribulation joy.
The phantom sentries, who with batons drawn
Guard Beauty's place-gate and curtained bower,
Give way before him, unafraid he passes,
And showing the King's arrow, enters in.

Poems by Rumi
R. A. Nicholson

THE UNSEEN POWER
We are the flute, our music is all Thine;

We are the mountains echoing only Thee;
And movest to defeat or victory;
Lions emblazoned high on flags unfurled-
They wind invisible sweeps us through the world.
R. A. Nicholson

THE PROGRESS OF MAN
First he appeared in the realm inanimate;

Thence came into the world of plants and lived
The plant-life many a year, nor called to mind
What he had been; then took the onward way
To animal existence, and once more
Remembers naught of what life vegetive,
Save when he feels himself moved with desire
Towards it in the season of sweet flowers,
As babes that seek the breast and know not why.
Again the wise Creator whom thou knowest
Uplifted him from animality
To Man's estate; and so from realm to realm
Advancing, he became intelligent,
Cunning and keen of wit, as he is now.
No memory of his past abides with him,
And from his present soul he shall be changes.
Though he is fallen asleep, God will not leave him
In this forgetfulness. Awakened, he
Will laugh to think what troublous dreams he had.
And wonder how his happy state of being
He could forget, and not perceive that all
Those pains and sorrows were the effect of sleep
And guile and vain illusion. So this world
Seems lasting, though 'tis but the sleepers' dream;
Who, when the appointed Day shall dawn, escapes
From dark imaginings that haunted him,
And turns with laughter on his phantom griefs

Poems by Rumi
When he beholds his everlasting home.
R. A. Nicholson

REALITY AND APPEARANCE
'Tis light makes colour visible: at night

Red, greene, and russet vanish from thy sight.
So to thee light by darness is made known:
Since God hat none, He, seeing all, denies
Himself eternally to mortal eyes.
From the dark jungle as a tiger bright,
Form from the viewless Spirit leaps to ligth.
R. A. Nicholson

DESCENT
I made a far journey

Earth's fair cities to view,
but like to love's city
City none I knew
At the first I knew not

That city's worth,
And turned in my folly
A wanderer on earth.
From so sweet a country

I must needs pass,
And like to cattle
Grazed on every grass.
As Moses' people
I would liefer eat
Garlic, than manna
And celestial meat.
What voice in this world

to my ear has come

Poems by Rumi
Save the voice of love

Was a tapped drum.
Yet for that drum-tap

From the world of All
Into this perishing
Land I did fall.
That world a lone spirit

Inhabiting.
Like a snake I crept
Without foot or wing.
The wine that was laughter

And grace to sip
Like a rose I tasted
Without throat or lip.
'Spirit, go a journey,'
Love's voice said:
'Lo, a home of travail
I have made.'
Much, much I cried:

'I will not go';
Yea, and rent my raiment
And made great woe.
Even as now I shrink

To be gone from here,
Even so thence
To part I did fear.
'Spirit, go thy way,'

Love called again,
'And I shall be ever nigh thee
As they neck's vein.'
Much did love enchant me

And made much guile;
Love's guile and enchantment
Capture me the while.
In ignorance and folly

When my wings I spread,
From palace unto prison
I was swiftly sped.
Now I would tell

How thither thou mayst come;
But ah, my pen is broke
And I am dumb.
A..J. Arberry

Poems by Rumi
I am part of the load

Not rightly balanced
I drop off in the grass,
like the old Cave-sleepers, to browse
wherever I fall.
For hundreds of thousands of years I have been dust-grains

floating and flying in the will of the air,
often forgetting ever being
in that state, but in sleep
I migrate back. I spring loose
from the four-branched, time -and-space cross,
this waiting room.
I walk into a huge pasture

I nurse the milk of millennia
Everyone does this in different ways.

Knowing that conscious decisions
and personal memory
are much too small a place to live,
every human being streams at night
into the loving nowhere, or during the day,
in some absorbing work.
(Mathnawi, VI 216-227)
Rumi, 'We Are Three'
Ý
•
Further reading:
Rumi: The Path of Love, by Manuela Dunn Mascetti (Editor) Camille & Kabir Helminski, ( 4 November,
1999) Element Books Ltd
Hush, Don't Say Anything to God : Passionate Poems of Rumi Jalal Al-Din Rumi, Shahram Shiva,s ( 1
October, 1999) Jain Publishing Company
Look! This Is Love Poems of Rumi (Shambhala Centaur Editions) Jalal Al-Din Rumi, et al Published 1996
Rumi's Divan of Shems of Tabriz Selected Odes (Element Classics of World Spirituality) Mevlana Jalaluddin
Rumi, et al Published 1997

Poems by Rumi
The Sufi Path of Love The Spiritual Teachings of Rumi William C. Chittick (Translator) Published 1983
Where Two Oceans Meet A Selection of Odes from the Divan of Shems of Tabriz Mevlana Jalaluddin Rumi,
James G. Cowan (Translator) Published 1992

rumi.org.uk

Rumi - Wedding Poems
Home Page Wedding Poems

Books on Rumi
Bibliography {
Works of Rumi
Rumi's Poetry May the blessings which flow in all weddings
be gathered, God, together in our wedding!
– The blessings of the Night of Power,
Events in UK the month of fasting
Events List the festival to break the fast
Daily Poem the blessings of the meeting of Adam and Eve
the blessings of the meeting of Joseph and Jacob
Daily Quotes
the blessings of gazing on the paradise of all abodes
Discussion Forum and yet another blessing which cannot be put in words:
Music the fruitful scattering of joy
Persian with Rumi of the children of the Shayak
Sufism and our eldest!
– In companionship and happiness

may you be like milk and honey
Reflections in union and fidelity,
Acknowledgements just like sugar and halva.
Search May the blessings of those who toast
and the one who pours the wine
Contact
anoint the ones who said Amen and
the one who said the prayer.
Pick Language
Translation by Franklin D. Lewis "Rumi -- Past and Present, East and
West" Oneworld Publications, Oxford, 2000
This Marriage - Ode 2667
May these vows and this marriage be blessed.

May it be sweet milk,
this marriage, like wine and halvah.
May this marriage offer fruit and shade
like the date palm.
May this marriage be full of laughter,
our every day a day in paradise.
May this marriage be a sign of compassion,
a seal of happiness here and hereafter.
May this marriage have a fair face and a good name,
an omen as welcome
as the moon in a clear blue sky.
I am out of words to describe
how spirit mingles in this marriage.
Kabir Helminski "Love is a Stranger" Threshold Books, 1993
file:///C|/Documents%20and%20Settings/Sonja/Desktop/wedding.htm (1 of 5) [5/22/2009 10:59:58 PM]

May these nuptials be blessed for us, may this marriage be blessed for us,
May it be ever like milk and sugar, this marriage like wine and halvah.
May this marriage be blessed with leaves and fruits like the date tree;
May this marriage be laughing forever, today,tomorrow, like the houris of paradise.
May this marriage be the sign of compassion and the approval of happiness here and hereafter;
May this marriage be fair of fame, fair of face and fair of omen as the moon in the azure sky.
I have fallen silent for words cannot describe how the spirit has mingled with this marriage.
Translation by A.J. Arberry "Mystical Poems of Rumi 2"

Our feast, our wedding

Will be auspicious to the world.
God fit the feast and wedding
To our length like a proper garment.
Venus and the moon

Will be matched to each other,
The parrot with sugar.
The most beautifully-faced Beloved
Makes a different kind of wedding every night.
With the favor of our Sultan's prosperity,

Hearts become spacious
And men pair up with each other.
Troubles and anxieties are all gone.
Here tonight, You go again

To the wedding and feasting.
O beauty who adorned our city,
You will be groom to the beauties.
How nicely You walk in our neighborhood,

Coming to us so beautifully.
O our river, O One
Who is searching for us,
How nicely You flow in our stream.
How nicely You flow with our desires,

Unfastening the binding of our feet.
You make us walk so nicely, holding our hand,
O Joseph of our world.
Cruelty suits You well.

It's a mistake for us to expect Your loyalty.
Step as You wish on our bloody Soul.
O Soul of my Soul, pull our Souls

To our Beloved's temple.
Take this piece of bone.

Give it as a gift to our Huma*.
O wise ones, give thanks

To our Sultan's kindness, who adds Souls to Soul,
Keep dancing, O considerate ones.
Keep whirling and dancing.
At the wedding night of rose and Nasrin*

I hang the drum on my neck.
Tonight, the tambourine and small drum
Will become our clothes.
Be silent! Venus becomes the Cupbearer tonight

And offers glasses to our sweetheart,
Whose skin is fair and rosy,
Who takes a glass and drinks.
For the sake of God, because of our praying,

Now Sufis become exuberant
At the assembly of God's Absence.
They put the belt of zeal on their waists
And start Sama'*.
One group of people froth like the sea,

Prostrating like waves.
The other group battles like swords,
Drinking the blood of our glasses.
Be silent! Tonight, the Sultan

Went to the kitchen.
He is cooking with joy.
But a most unusual thing,
Tonight, the Beloved is cooking our Halva*.
-- Ghazal (ode) 31 Divan-i Kebir, Meter 1

Translated by Nevit Oguz Ergin
Current Walla Walla, WA, U.S.A
* Huma: legendary bird which eats bone. The person on whom she casts her shadow becomes a Sultan. Also
called stately bird.
* Nasrin: A variety of rose.
* Sama': Ritual of the Whirling Dervishes.
* Halva: Sweetmeats.
A Marriage at Daybreak
Do you know, brother, that you are a prince?

A son of Adam. And that the witch of Kabul,
who holds you with her color and her perfume,
is the world?
Say the words, I take refuge
with the Lord of the Daybreak.

Avoid the hot breathing that keeps you tied

to her. She breathes on knots and no one
can unknot them. That’s why the prophets came.
Look for those whose breath is cool.

When they breathe on knots, they loosen.
The old woman of the world has had you

in her net for sixty years. Her breathing
is the breathing of God’s anger. But God’s mercy
has more strength. Mercy is prior to wrath.
You must marry your soul.

That wedding is the way.
Union with the world is sickness.
But it’s hard to be separated from these forms!

You don’t have enough patience to give this up?
But how do you have enough patience
to do without God?
You can’t quit drinking the earth’s dark drink?

But how can you not drink from this other fountain?
You get restless, you say, when you don’t sip

the world’s fermentation. But if for one second
you saw the beauty of the clear water of God,
you’d think this other was embalming fluid.
Nearness to the Beloved is the splendor

of your life. Marry the Beloved.
Let the thorn of the ego slide from your foot.
What a relief to be empty!

Then God can live your life.
When you stay tied to mind and desire, you stumble

in the mud like a nearsighted donkey.
Keep smelling Joseph’s shirt.

Don’t be satisfied with borrowed light.
Let your brow and your face illuminate with union.
(IV, 3189-3240)
Rumi: One-Handed Basket Weaving

Coleman Barks, Maypop, 1991
Wedding Night
The day I've died, my pall is moving on -

But do not think my heart is still on earth!
Don't weep and pity me: "Oh woe, how awful!"

You fall in devil's snare - woe, that is awful!

Don't cry "Woe, parted!" at my burial -
For me this is the time of joyful meeting!
Don't say "Farewell!" when I'm put in the grave -
A curtin is it for eternal bliss.
You saw "descending" - now look at the rising!
Is setting dangerous for sun and moon?
To you it looks like setting, but it's rising;
The coffin seems a jail, yet it means freedom.
Which seed fell in the earth that did not grow there?
Why do you doubt the fate of human seed?
What bucket came not filled from out the cistern?
Why should the Yusaf "Soul" then fear this well?
Close here your mouth and open it on that side.
So that your hymns may sound in Where-no-place!
Annemarie Schimmel "Look! This is Love - Poems of Rumi"

Shambhala, 1991

rumi.org.uk

Hafiz
Home Page Hafiz

Books on Rumi
Bibliography 'Hafiz: Tongue of the Hidden',
Works of Rumi Poems from the Divan, by Paul Smith
Rumi's Poetry
AT YOUR FEET I DIE
–
Events in UK My Monarch, You walk so well, head at Your Feet: I die;
Events List My Turk, You sway sweetly, before You, complete: I die.
Daily Poem
Daily Quotes You said: "When will you die before Me?" Why hurry?
Discussion Forum You entreat O so sweetly, but before You repeat: I die.
Music
Persian with Rumi I'm lover, drunk, exiled; where is Winebringer's form?
Sufism Sway You fine fair form this way; when I see it: I die.
Should You, causing lifetime's illness through separation,

–
Enhance me one glance from eye's dark grey seat: I die.
Reflections
Acknowledgements You said: "My ruby lip dispenses pain and sweet remedy.
Search Before pain came, and before Your remedy sweet: I die.
Contact
You sweetly sway: may the evil eyes never see Your face.
I find one thought in my mind: that at Your feet, I die.
Pick Language
Although Hafiz's place isn't Your Secret Place of Union,
All Your places please; before Your places replete: I die.
DRUNK WITH GRIEF
I'am drunk with grief of love for Winehouse Friend of mine:

On my wounded heart You glance arrows of grief's design.
If that cross at that tip of the end of Your hair You show,
O may is the Muslim corrupted by this infidelity so fine.
To You I join; from anything but You, I'll sever the heart:
Your lover does neither to stranger nor to relative incline.
Kindly grant a gracious glance to me whose heart is lost;

Without lover does neither to stranger nor to relative incline.
Kindly grant a gracious glance to me whose heart is lost;

Without help of Your grace my work is at end of its line.
If you ruby lip pours out salt on my poor wounded heart,

O Rule of Beauty's realm, where finally does hurt incline?
Before and behind me Your intoxicated eye lay in ambush;

To the wind, the harvest of all my patience it did consign.
file:///C|/Documents%20and%20Settings/Sonja/Desktop/hafiz.htm (1 of 3) [5/22/2009 10:59:59 PM]

Hafiz
From mouth's box of honey lay a lotion on Hafiz's heart,

For it's bleeding from that knifelike glance, a stinging sign.
MORE THAN THIS
To us intoxicated lovers glance our way, more than this;

To Winehouse door show the pathway, more than this.
Thank You for the grace that flows to use form Your lip,
It's wonderful, but give a little more I say: more than this.
To that One Who simplifies this crazy mixed-up world,

Say: 'Make explanation in a subtle way, more than this'.
How can I not lay my heart at such beautiful young feet?

Time never birthed beauty on any day, more than this.
The critic said to me: 'Besides grief, what is from love?'

'Wise sir,' I said, 'it has meaning today, more than this.'
'Take up the cup' I say, 'drink away and kiss the lip;'
For my soul, answer none could say, more than this.
The reed of Hafiz's pen is a sweet branch of sugarcane;

Take it, in garden no fruit is a higher pay, more than this.
Further reading:
'Hafiz: Tongue of the Hidden', Poems from the Divan, Versions by Paul Smith, New
Humanity Books, 1986
Poems of Hafez by Hafiz, Reza Saberi (Translator)
Drunk on the Wine of Beloved : 100 Poems of Hafiz by Hafiz, Thomas Rain Crowe
(Translator)
The Spiritual Wisdom of Hafez : Teachings of the Philosopher of Love by Haleh

Pourafzal, Roger Montgomery
In Wineseller's Street : Rendering of Hafez, by Hafiz, Thomas Rain Crowe (Preface)

(March 1998)
The Hafez Poems of Gertrude Bell : With the Original Persian on the Facing Page
(Classics of Persian Literature ; 1) by Hafiz, Gertrude Lowthian Bell, E. Denison
Ross (Introduction)

Hafiz

rumi.org.uk

Al Hallaj
Home Page Al Hallaj Mystic and Martyr I saw my Lord with

Books on Rumi the eye of the heart.
Bibliography Al Halláj was a legendary Iranian Sufi master who lived in between I said: Who art
Works of Rumi 858 - 922 AD. Al Hallaj was one of the earliest Sufi masters, he lead Thou?
his life as a dervish wanderer, he would often go into trans where he felt He answered
Rumi's Poetry one with all the creation, existence, with God.
Thou.
– He once said "Ana al-haqq" ("I am the Truth"--i.e., God), something
people at the time found offensive and could not understand, because of
Events in UK that. Al Hallaj was persecuted and found guilty of heresy. He found an
Events List unfortunate and brutal death (for further details please see Death of Al
Daily Poem Hallaj). Al Hallaj before put to death said:
Daily Quotes
Discussion Forum Now stands no more between Truth and me
Music Or reasoned demonstration,
Or proof of revelation;
Persian with Rumi
Now, brightly blazing full, Truth's lumination
Sufism
Each flickering, lesser light.
– Al Hallaj inspired many subsequent Sufi mystics including Rumi. Here

are two poems where Rumi talks about al Hallaj, following is al Hallaj's
Reflections poem on God.
Acknowledgements
Search ˜
Contact
The Sunrise Ruby
Pick Language
In the early morning hour,
just before dawn, lover and beloved wake
and take a drink of water.
She ask, "Do you love me or yourself more?

Really, tell the absolute truth."
He says, "There’s nothing left of me.

I’m like a ruby held up to the sunrise.
Is it still a stone, or a world
made of redness? It has no resistance
to sunlight."
This is how Hallaj said, I am God,

and told the truth!
The ruby and the sunrise are one.

Be courageous and discipline yourself.
Completely become hearing and ear,

and wear this sun-ruby as an earring.
Work. Keep digging your well.

Don’t think about getting off from work.
Water is there somewhere.
Submit to a daily practice.

Your loyalty to that
is a ring on the door.
file:///C|/Documents%20and%20Settings/Sonja/Desktop/hallaj.html (1 of 4) [5/22/2009 11:00:01 PM]

Al Hallaj
Keep knocking, and the joy inside

will eventually open a window
and look out to see who’s there.
HALLAJ
Hallaj said what he said and went to the origin

through the hoe in the scaffold.
I cut a cap's worth of cloth from his robe,

and it swamped over me from head to foot.
Years ago, I broke a bunch of roses

from the top of his wall. A torn from that
is still in my palm working deeper.
From Hallaj, I learned to hunt ions,

but I became something hungrier than a lion.
I was a frisky colt. He broke me

with a quiet hand on the side of my head.
A person comes to him naked. It's cold.

There's a fur coat floating in the river.
"Jump in and get it," he says.

You dive in. You reach for the coat.
It reaches for you.
It's a live bear that has fallen in upstream,

drifting with the current.
"How long does it take!" Hallaj yells from the bank.

"Don't wait," you answer. "This coat
has decided to wear me home!"
A little part of a story, a hint.

Do you need long sermons on Hallaj!
Al Hallaj says about God:

Al Hallaj
"Before" does not outstrip Him,

"after" does not interrupt Him
"of" does not vie with Him for precedence
"from" does not accord with Him
"to" does not join with Him
"in" does not inhabit Him
"when" does not stop Him
"if" does not consult with Him
"over" does not overshadow
Him "under" does not support Him
"opposite" does not face Him
"with" does not press Him
"behind" does not limit Him
"previous" does not display Him
"after" does not cause Him to pass away
"all" does not unite Him
"is" does not bring Him into being
"is not" does not deprive Him from Being.
Concealment does not veil Him
His pre-existence preceded time,
His being preceded non-being,
His eternity preceded limit.
If thou sayest 'when',
His existing has outstripped time;
If thou sayest 'before', before is after Him;
If thou sayest 'he', 'h' and 'e' are His creation;
If thou sayest 'how', His essence is veiled from
description;
If thou sayest 'where', His being preceded space;
If thou sayest 'ipseity' (ma huwa),
His ipseity (huwiwah) is apart from things.
Other than He cannot
be qualified by two (opposite) qualities at
one time; yet With Him they do not create opposition.
He is hidden in His manifestation,
manifest in His concealing.
He is outward and inward,
near and far; and in this respect He is
removed beyond the resemblance of creation.
He acts without contact,
instructs without meeting,
guides without pointing.
Desires do not conflict with Him,
thoughts do not mingle with Him:
His essence is without qualification (takyeef),
His action without effort (takleef).
Arberry, A.J., The Doctrine of the Sufis,
Yunus Emre on Hallaj
The Tawasin of Mansur Al-Hallaj
Read further on Al Hallaj

Al Hallaj

rumi.org.uk

IBN EL-ARABI
Home Page IBN EL-ARABI

Books on Rumi
Bibliography Mohiuddin ibn El-Arabi (1165-1240) is one of the great Sufis of the Middle Ages whose life and writings
Works of Rumi are shown nowadays to have deeply penetrated the thought of East and West alike. He was known to the
Rumi's Poetry Arabs as Sheikh El-Akbar, 'the Greatest Sheikh', and to the Christian West by a direct translation of this
title: 'Doctor Maximus'. He died in the thirteenth century.
–
Events in UK
Events List
Daily Poem When Came the Title?
Daily Quotes
Discussion Forum Jafar the son of Yahya of Lisbon determined to find the Sufi 'Teacher of the Age', and he travelled to
Mecca as a young man to seek him. There he met a mysterious stranger, a man in a green robe, who said
Music
to him before any word had been spoken:
Persian with Rumi 'You seek the Greatest Sheikh, Teacher of the Age. But you seek him in the East, when he is in the West.
Sufism And there is another thing which is incorrect in your seeking.'
He sent Jafar back to Andalusia, to find the man he named-Mohiudin, son on El-Arabi, of the tribe of
– Hatim-Tai. 'He is the Greatest Sheikh.'
Telling nobody why he sought him, Jafar found the Tai family in Murcia and inquired for their son. He
Reflections found that he had actually been in Lisbon when Jafar set off on his travels. Finally he traced him to
Acknowledgements Seville.
Search 'There,' said a cleric, 'is Mohiudin.' He pointed to a mere schoolboy, carrying a book on the Traditions,
who was at that moment hurrying from a lecture-hall.
Contact
Jafar was confused, but stopped the boy and said:
'Who is the Greatest Teacher?'
Pick Language 'I need time to answer that question', said the other.
'Art thou the only Mohiudin, son of El-Arabi, of the Tribe of Tai? asked Jafar.
'I am he.'
'Then I have no need of thee.'
Thirty years later in Aleppo, he found himself entering the lecture-hall of the Greatest Sheikh, Mohiudin
ibn El-Arabi, of the tribe of Tai. Mohiudin saw him as he entered, and spoke:
'Now that I am ready to answer the question you put to me, there is no need to put it at all. Thirty years
ago, Jafar, thou hadst no need of me. Hat thou still no need of me? The Green One spoke of something
wrong in thy seeking. It was time and place.'
Jafar son of Yahya became one of the foremost disciples of El-Arabi.
The Vision at Mosul
A Seeker well versed in inducing significant inner experiences still suffered from the difficulty of
interpreting them constructively. He applied to the great sheikh Ibn El-Arabi for guidance about a dream
which had deeply disturbed him when he was at Mosul, in Iraq.
He had seen the sublime Master Maaruf of Karkh as if seated in the middle of the fire of hell. How could
the exalted Maaruf be in hell?
What he lacked was the perception of his own state. Ibn El-Arabi, from his understanding of the Seeker's
inner self and its rawness, realized that the essentials were seeing Maaruf surrounded by fire. The fire was
explained by the undeveloped part of the mind as something within which the great Maaruf was trapped.
Its real meaning was a barrier between the state of Maaruf and the state of the Seeker.
If the Seeker wanted to reach a state of being equivalent to that of Maaruf, the realm of attainment
signified by the figure of Maaruf, he would have to pass through a realm symbolized in the vision by an
encircling fire.
Through this interpretation the Seeker was able to understand his situation and to address himself to what
he had still to experience.
file:///C|/Documents%20and%20Settings/Sonja/Desktop/ibnarabi.htm (1 of 5) [5/22/2009 11:00:03 PM]

IBN EL-ARABI
This mistake had been in supposing that a picture of Maaruf was Maaruf, that a fire was hell-fire. It is not
only the impression (Naqsh) but the correct picturing of the impression, the art which is called Tasvir (the
giving of meaning to a picture), which is the function of the Rightly Guided Ones.
The Three Forms of Knowledge
Ibn El-Arabi of Spain instructed his followers in this most ancient dictum:
There are three forms of knowledge. The first is intellectual knowledge, which is in fact only information
and the collection of facts, and the use of these to arrive at further intellectual concepts. This is
intellectualism.
Second comes the knowledge of states, which included both emotional feeling and strange states of being
in which man thinks that he has perceived something supreme but cannot avail himself of it. This is
emotionalism.
Third comes real knowledge, which is called the Knowledge of Reality. In this form, man can perceive
what is right, what is true, beyond the boundaries of thought and sense. Scholastics and scientists
concentrate upon the first form of knowledge. Emotionalists and experientialists use the second form.
Others use the two combined, or either one alternatively.
But the people who attain to truth are those who know how to connect themselves with the reality which
lies beyond both these forms of knowledge. These are the real Sufis, the Dervishes who have Attained.
Truth
She has confused all the learned of Islam,

Everyone who has studied the Psalms,
Every Jewish Rabbi,
Every Christian priest.
A Higher Love
The ordinary lover adores a secondary phenomenon. I love the Real.
The Special Love
As the full moon appears from the night, so appears

her face amid the tresses.
From sorrow comes the perception of her: the eyes

crying on the cheek; life the black narcissus
Shedding tears upon a rose.
More beauties are silenced: her fair quality is

overwhelming.
Even to think of her harms her subtlety (thought is

Too coarse a thing to perceive her). If this be
So, how can she correctly be seen by such a clumsy
organ as the eye?
Her fleeting wonder eludes thought.

She is beyond the spectrum of sight.

IBN EL-ARABI
When description tried to explain her, she overcame it.

Whenever such an attempt is made, description is
put to flight.
Because it is trying to circumscribe.
If someone seeking her lowers his aspirations (to

Feel in terms of ordinary love),
-there are always others who will not do so.
Attainments of a Teacher
People think that a Sheikh should show miracles and manifest illumination. The requirement in a teacher,
however, is only that he should possess all that the disciple needs.
The Face of Religion
Now I am called the shepherd of the desert gazelles,

Now a Christian monk,
Now a Zoroastrian,
The Beloved is Three, yet One:
Just as the three are in reality one.
My Heart Can Take on Any Appearance.
My heart can take on any appearance. The heart varies in accordance whit variations of the innermost
consciousness. It may appear in form as a gazelle meadow, a monkish cloister, an idol-temple, a pilgrim
Kaaba, the tablets of the Torah for certain science, the bequest of the leaves of the Koran.
My duty is the debt of Love. I accept freely and willingly whatever burden is placed upon me. Love is as
the love of lovers, except that instead of loving the phenomenon, I love the Essential. That religion, that
duty, is mine, and is my faith. A purpose of human love is to demonstrate ultimate, real love. This is the
love which is conscious. The other is that which makes man unconscious of himself.
Study by Analogy
It is related that Ibn El-Arabi refused to talk in philosophical language with anyone, however ignorant or
however learned. And yet people seemed to benefit from keeping compay with him. He took people on
expeditions, gave them meals, entertained them with talk on hundred topics.
Someone aked him: 'How can you teach when you never seem to speak of teaching?'
Ibn El-Arabi said: 'It is by analogy:' And he told this parable.
A man once buried some money for security under a certain tree. When he came back for it, it was gone.
Someone had laid bare the roots and borne away the gold.
He went to a sage and told him his trouble, saying: 'I am sure that there is no hope of finding my treasure.'
The sage told him to come back after a few days.
In the mean time the sage called upon all the physicians of town, and asked them whether they had
prescribed the root of a certain tree as a medicine for anyone. One of them had, for one of his patients.

IBN EL-ARABI
The sage called this man, and soon found out that it was he who had the money. He took possession of it
and returned it to its rightful owner.
'In a similar manner,' said Ibn El-Arabi, 'I find out what is the real intent of the disciple, and how he can
learn. And I teach him.'
The Man who Knows
The Sufi who knows the Ultimate Truth acts and speaks in a manner which takes into consideration the
understanding, limitations and dominant concealed prejudices of his audience.
To the Sufi, worship means knowledge. Through knowledge he attains sight.
The Sufi abandons the tree 'I's. He does not say 'for me', 'with me', or 'my property'. He must not attribute
anything to himself.
Something is hidden in an unworthy shell. We seek lesser objects, needless of the prize of unlimited value.
The capacity of interpretation means that one can easily read something said by a wise man in two totally
opposite manners.
Straying from the Path
Whoever strays form the Sufi Code will in no way attain to anything worthwhile; even though he acquire
a public reputation which resounds to the heavens.
From 'The Way of The Sufi' by Idris Shah
Further Reading:
The Sufi Path of Knowledge by William C. Chittick
Alone with the Alone by Henry Corbin, Ralph Manheim (Preface)
The Self-Disclosure of God : Principles of Ibn Al-'Arabi's Cosmology (Suny Series in Islam) by William
C. Chittick
Imaginal Worlds : Ibn Al-'Arabi and the Problem of Religious Diversity (Suny Series in Islam) by
William C. Chittick
Mystical Astrology According to Ibn 'Arabi by Titus Burckhardt, Keith Critchlow
The Tarjuman Al-Ashwaq : A Collection of Mystical Odes -- Muhyiddin Ibn Al-Arabi, (June 1978).
Journey to the Lord of Power : A Sufi Manual on Retreat -- Muhyiddin Ibn Arabi, et al;
Contemplation of the Holy Mysteries -- Ibn 'Arabi;

IBN EL-ARABI
Divine Governance of the Human Kingdom, Including What the Seeker Needs and The One Alone by
Afadrat Muhyiddin Ibn 'Arabi Al-Hatimi At-Ta'I, et al (December 1997)
What the Seeker Needs : Essays on Spiritual Practice, Oneness, Majesty and Beauty (Threshold Sufi
Classics) by Muhyiddin Ibn'Arabi, Shaikh Tosun Bayrak Al-Jerrahi, rab Al-Jerrahi (July 1992)
Ibn-Al-Arabi : The Bezels of Wisdom (Classics of Western Spirituality Series)

by R. W. J. Austin (Editor)
Mysteries of Purity : Ibn Al-Arabi's Asrar Al-Taharah by Ibn Al-Arabi, Eric Winkel
The Unlimited Mercifier : The Spiritual Life and Thought of Ibn Arabi
by Stephen Hirtenstein
Meccan Revelations by Ibn'Arabi, Ibn Arabi, Michel Chodkiewicz (Editor), James W. Morris (Translator)

rumi.org.uk

Idris Shah
Home Page Three Stories from the Wisdom of Idiots

Books on Rumi
Bibliography
By Idris Shah
Works of Rumi
Rumi's Poetry
–
Events in UK Because what narrow thinkers imagine to be wisdom is often seen by the Sufis to be folly, the Sufis in contrast sometimes
Events List call themselves 'The Idiots'. By a happy chance, too, the Arabic word for 'Saint' (wali) has the same numerical equivalent as
Daily Poem the word for 'Idiot' (Balid) So we have a double motive for regarding the Sufi great ones as our own Idiots.
Daily Quotes
Discussion Forum
Music
Persian with Rumi
Sufism
THE FRUIT OF HEAVEN
–
Reflections
Acknowledgements There was once a woman who had heard of the Fruit of Heaven. She coveted it.
Search
Contact She asked a certain dervish, whom we shall call Sabar:
Pick Language 'How can I find this fruit, so that I may attain to immediate knowledge?'
'You would best be advised to study with me', said the dervish. 'But if you will not do so, you will have
to travel resolutely and at times restlessly throughout the world.'
She left him and sought another, Arif the Wise One, and then found Hakim, the Sage, then Majzup the
Mad, then Alim the Scientist, and many more......
She passed thirty years in her search. Finally she came to a garden. There stood the Tree of Heaven, and
from its branches hung the bright Fruit of Heaven.
Standing beside the Tree was Sabar, the First Dervish.
'Why did you no tell me when we first met that you were the Custodian of the Fruit of Heaven?' she asked him.
'Because you would not then have believed me. Besides, the Tree produces fruit only once in thirty years
file:///C|/Documents%20and%20Settings/Sonja/Desktop/idris_shah.htm (1 of 4) [5/22/2009 11:00:04 PM]
Idris Shah
and thirty days'.
THE SUFI AND THE TALE OF HALAKU
A Sufi teacher was visited by a number of people of various faiths who said to him:
'Accept as your disciples, for we see that there is no remaining truth in our religions, and we are certain
that what you are teaching is the one true path'.
The Sufi said:
'Have you not heard of the Mongol Halaku Khan and his invasion of Syria? Let me tell you. The
Vizier Ahmad of the Caliph Mustasim of Baghdad invited the Mongol to invade his master's domains. When
Halaku had won the battle for Baghdad, Ahmad went out to meet him, to be rewarded. Halaku said: "Do you seek
your recompense?" and the Vizier answered, "Yes".
'Halaku told him:
' "You have betrayed your own master to me, and yet you expect me to believe that you will be faithful to
me". He ordered Ahmed to be hanged.
'Before you ask anyone to accept you, ask yourself whether it is not simply because you have not followed
the path of your own teacher. If you are satisfied about this, then come and ask to become disciples'.
ABU TAHIR

Idris Shah
Mir Abu Tahir attracted many students through his illuminating discourses and by circulating epistles
which were favourably commented upon by all the major thinkers of the day.
When, however, people collected to hear him speak in person, they could only get him to repeat a
single phrase:
'The desire for the merit, not for the man'.
This admonition was given out several times a day for five years. Someone went to the sage Ibriqi and
begged him to help with some sort of explanation of the strange conduct of Abu Tahir.
Ibriqi said:
'You complain because the Mir says something regularly. But you do not complain that the sun raises and
sets every single day. Yet the two things are the same. Like the sun, the Mir is doing something valuable. If you
make no use of it, he must still continue to 'shine' for the benefit of those who can profit, or of you, at a time when
you can benefit'.

Idris Shah

rumi.org.uk

Kabir
Home Page Songs of Kabir

Books on Rumi
Bibliography Songs of Kabir
Works of Rumi by Rabindranath Tagore (Translator),
Rumi's Poetry Andrew Harvey (Introduction)
– k
Events in UK
Events List IV
Daily Poem
Daily Quotes I. 58 bago na ja re na ja
Discussion Forum
Music DO not go to the garden of flowers!
Persian with Rumi O Friend ! go not there;
Sufism In your body is the garden of flowers.
Take your seat on the thousand petals of the lotus, and there gaze on the Infinite Beauty.
–
k
Reflections
Acknowledgements LII
Search
Contact I. 130. sain vin dard kareje hoy
WHEN I am parted from my Beloved, my heart is full of misery: I have no confort in the day, I have no
Pick Language
sleep in the night.
To whom shall I tell my sorrow?
The night is dark; the hours slip by.
Because my Lord is absent, I start up and tremble with fear.
Kabir says: "Listen, my friend! there is no other satisfaction, save in the encounter with the Beloved."
LIII
I. 122. kaum murali 'sabad 'sun anand bhayo
WHAT is thea flute whose music thrills me with joy?

The flame burns without a lamp;
The lotus blossoms without a root;
Flowers bloom in clusters;
the moon-bird is devoted to the moon;
With all its heart the rain-bird longs for the shower of rain;
But upon whose love does the Lover concentrate His entire life?
LIV
I. 112. 'sunta nahi dhun ki khabar
HAVE you not heard the tune with the Unstruck Music is playing? In the mist of the chamber the harp of
joy is gently and sweetly played; and where is the need of going without to hear it?
If you have not drunk of the nectar of One Love, what boots it though you should purge yourself of all
file:///C|/Documents%20and%20Settings/Sonja/Desktop/kabir.htm (1 of 3) [5/22/2009 11:00:05 PM]

Kabir
stains?
The Kazi is searching the words of the Koran, and instructing others: but if his heard be not steeped in
that love, what does it avail, though he be a teacher of men?
The Yogi dyes his garments with red: but if he knows naught of that colour of love, what does it avail
though his garments be tinted?
Kabir says: "Whether I be in the temple or the balcony, in the camp or in the flower garden, I tell you
truly that every moment my Lord is taking His delight in me."
LV
I. 73. bhakti ka marag jhina re
SUBTLE is the path of love!

Therein there is no asking and no not-asking,
There one loses one's self at His feet,
There one is immersed in the joy of the seeking: plunged in the deeps of love as the fish in the water.
The lover is never slow in offering his head for his Lord's service.
Kabir declares the secret of this love.
LVI
I. 68. bhai koi satguru sant kahawai
HE is the real Sadhu, who can reveal the form of the Formless to the vision of these eyes:
Who teaches the simple way of attaining Him, that is other than rites or ceremonies:
Who does not make you close the doors, and hold the rath, and renounce the world:
Who teaches you to be still in the midst of all your activities.
Ever immersed in bliss, having no fear in his mind, he keeps the spirit of union in the midst of all
enjoyments.
The infinite dwelling of the Infinity Being is everywhere: in earth, water, sky, and air:
Firm as the thunderbolt, the seat of the seeker is establishes above the void.
He who is within is without: I see Him and none else.
Further Reading:
The Bijak of Kabir by Linda Hess (Translator), Shuk Deo Singh (Translator) Oxford University Press;
(March 2002)
The Kabir Book : Forty-Four of the Ecstatic Poems of Kabir by Robert Bly, February 1993.
Poems of Kabir by Robert Bly (Reader), Kabir, Audio Cassette
Sacred Poetry : Poems of Rumi, the Enlightened Heart, Poems of Kabir (Sacred Poetry) by Stephen
Mitchell (Reader), Robert Bly (Translator), Coleman Barks (Reader), Audio Cassette

Kabir
Ocean of Love : The Anurag Sagar of Kabir by Kabir
Kabir Legends and Ananta-Das's Kabir Parachai (Suny Series in Hindu Series) by David N. Lorenzen,
State Univ of New York Pr; (August 1991)
Maxims of Kabir by Kabir, G. N. Das, South Asia Books; 1 edition (May 1, 1998)
Bijak of Kabir, by Ahmad Shah, South Asia Books; reprint edition
Kabir and His Followers by F.E. Keay, South Asia Books (September 1995)
Couplets from Kabir; Kabir Dohe by G.N. Das, South Asia Books; 1 edition (June 1, 1997)
Love Songs of Kabir by G.N. Das, South Asia Books; 1 edition (January 1, 1995)
Kabir and the Kabir Panth by G. H. WESTCOTT, South Asia Books; 1 edition (July 1, 1986)

rumi.org.uk

The Subtleties of Mulla Nasrudin
Home Page The Subtleties of Mulla Nasrudin

Books on Rumi
Bibliography From 'The Sufis' by Idris Shah
Works of Rumi
Rumi's Poetry When you arrive at the sea, you
Do not talk of the tributary.
–
Events in UK (Hakim Sanai, The Walled Garden of Truth)
Events List
Daily Poem The Legend of Nasrudin, appended to the Subtleties and dating from at least the thirteenth century,
Daily Quotes touches on some of the reasons for introducing Nasrudin. Humor cannot be prevented from spreading; it
Discussion Forum has a way of slipping through the patterns of thought which are imposed upon mankind by habit and
Music design. As a complete system of thought, Nasrudin exists at so many depths that he cannot be killed.
Persian with Rumi Some measure of the truth of this might be seen in the fact that such diverse and alien organizations as
the British Society of the Promotion of Christian Knowledge and the Soviet Government have both
Sufism
pressed Nasrudin into service. The S.P.C.K. published a few of the stories as Tales of the Khoja; while
(perhaps on the principle of 'If you cannot beat them, join them') the Russians made a film of Nasrudin
– under the name of The Adventures of Nasrudin. Even the Greeks, who accepted few other things from the
Turks, consider him a part of their cultural heritage. Secular Turkey, through its information department,
Reflections has published a selection o the metaphysical jokes attributed to this supposed Moslem preacher who is
Acknowledgements the archetype of the Sufi mystic. And yet the dervish Orders were suppressed by law in republican
Search Turkey.
Contact
Nobody really knows who Nasrudin was, where he lived, or when. This is truly in character, for the
whole intention is to provide a figure who cannot really be characterized, and who is timeless. It is the
Pick Language message, not the man, which is important to the Sufis. This has not prevented people from providing him
with a spurious history, and even a tomb. Scholars, against whose pedantry in his stories Nasrudin
frequently emerges triumphant, have even tried to take his Subtleties to pieces in the hope of finding
appropriate biographical material. One of the 'discoveries' would have warmed the heart of Nasrudin
himself. Nasrudin said that he considered himself upside down in this world, argues one scholar; and
from this he infers that the supposed date of Nasrudin's death, on his 'tombstone,' should be read not as
386, but 683. Another professor feels that the Arabic numerals used would, if truly reversed, look more
like the figures 274. He gravely records that a dervish to whom he appealed for aid in this "…merely
said, 'Why not drop a spider in some ink and see what marks he makes in crawling out of it. This should
give the correct date or show something.'"
In fact, 386 means 300+80+6. Transposed into Arabic letters, this decodes as SH, W, F, which spells the
word ShaWaF: 'to cause someone to see, to show a thing.' The dervish's spider would 'show' something,
as he himself said.
If we look at some of the classical Nasrudin stories in as detached a way as possible, we soon find that
the wholly scholastic approach is the last one that the Sufi will allow:
Nasrudin, ferrying a pedant across a piece of rough water, said something ungrammatical to him. 'Have
you never studies grammar? Asked the scholar.
'No.'
'Then half of your life has been wasted.'
A few minutes later Nasrudin turned to the passenger. 'Have you ever learned to swim?'
'No. Why?'
'Then all your life is wasted-we are sinking!'
This emphasis upon Sufism as a practical activity, denying that the formal intellect can arrive at truth, and
that pattern-thinking derived from the familiar world can be applied to true reality, which moves in
another dimension.
This is brought out even more forcefully in wry tale set in a teahouse; a Sufi term for a meeting place of
dervishes. A monk enters and states:
file:///C|/Documents%20and%20Settings/Sonja/Desktop/nasrudin.htm (1 of 2) [5/22/2009 11:00:06 PM]

The Subtleties of Mulla Nasrudin
"My master taught me to spread the word that mankind will never be fulfilled until the man who has not
been wronged is as indignant about a wrong as the man who actually has been wronged."
The assembly is momentarily impressed. Then Nasruddin speaks: "My master taught me that nobody at
all should become indignant about anything until he is sure that what he think is a wrong is in fact a
wrong-and not a blessing in disguise!"
Further reading:
The Exploits of the Incomparable Mulla Nasrudin / The Subtleties of the Inimitable Mulla Nasrudin,
Idries Shah, Octagon Press, Paperback - 1985
Learning from Stories : Caravan of Dreams and the Adventures of Mulla Nasrudin,Idries Shah, Octagon
Press, Limited, Audio Cassette - August 1996
The Pleasantries of the Incredible Mulla Nasrudin Idries Shah, (June 1993) Arkana
Nasrudin the Wise, Michael Flanders, (16 May, 1974) Studio Vista.

rumi.org.uk
file:///C|/Documents%20and%20Settings/Sonja/Desktop/nasrudin.htm (2 of 2) [5/22/2009 11:00:06 PM]

Rubaiyat of Khayyam
Home Page Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam

Books on Rumi
Bibliography
Works of Rumi
Rumi's Poetry
Edward FitzGerald's Translation. 1st Edition
–
Events in UK
Events List
Daily Poem 1
Daily Quotes Awake! for Morning in the Bowl of Night
Discussion Forum Has flung the Stone that puts the Stars to Flight:
Music And Lo! the Hunter of the East has caught
Persian with Rumi The Sultan's Turret in a Noose of Light.
Sufism
Reflections
Acknowledgements
Search 2
Contact
Dreaming when Dawn's Left Hand was in the Sky
I heard a Voice within the Tavern cry,
Pick Language "Awake, my Little ones, and fill the Cup
"Before Life's Liquor in its Cup be dry."
And, as the Cock crew, those who stood before

The Tavern shouted--"Open then the Door!
"You know how little while we have to stay,
"And, once departed, may return no more."
Now the New Year reviving old Desires,

The thoughtful Soul to Solitude retires,
Where the WHITE HAND OF MOSES on the Bough
Puts out, and Jesus from the Ground suspires.
*****
Iram indeed is gone with all its Rose,

And Jamshyd's Sev'n-ring'd Cup where no one knows;
But still the Vine her ancient Ruby yields,
And still a Garden by the Water blows.
And David's Lips are lock't; but in divine

High piping Pehlevi, with "Wine! Wine! Wine!
"Red Wine!"---the Nightingale cries to the Rose
That yellow Cheek of hers to incarnadine.
file:///C|/Documents%20and%20Settings/Sonja/Desktop/Omar_Khayyam.html (1 of 12) [5/22/2009 11:00:09 PM]

Rubaiyat of Khayyam
Come, fill the Cup, and in the Fire of Spring

The Winter Garment of Repentance fling:
The Bird of Time has but a little way
To fly---and Lo! the Bird is on the Wing.
And look---a thousand Blossoms with the Day

Woke---and a thousand scatter'd into Clay:
And this first Summer Month that brings the Rose
Shall take Jamshyd and Kaikobad away.
*****
But come with old Khayyam, and leave the Lot

Of Kaikobad and Kaikhosru forgot!
Let Rustum lay about him as he will,
Or Hatim Tai cry Supper---heed them not.
10
With me along some Strip of Herbage strown

That just divides the desert from the sown,
Where name of Slave and Sultan scarce is known,
And pity Sultan Mahmud on his Throne.
11
Here with a Loaf of Bread beneath the Bough,

A Flask of Wine, a Book of Verse---and Thou
Beside me singing in the Wilderness---
And Wilderness is Paradise enow.
12
"How sweet is mortal Sovranty!"---think some:

Others---"How blest the Paradise to come!"
Ah, take the Cash in hand and waive the Rest;
Oh, the brave Music of a distant Drum!
*****
13
Look to the Rose that blows about us---"Lo,

"Laughing," she says, "into the World I blow:
"At once the silken Tassel of my Purse
"Tear, and its Treasure on the Garden throw."
14
The Worldly Hope men set their Hearts upon

Turns Ashes---or it prospers; and anon,
Like Snow upon the Desert's dusty Face
Lighting a little Hour or two---is gone.
15

Rubaiyat of Khayyam
And those who husbanded the Golden Grain,

And those who flung it to the Winds like Rain,
Alike to no such aureate Earth are turn'd
As, buried once, Men want dug up again.
16
Think, in this batter'd Caravanserai

Whose Doorways are alternate Night and Day,
How Sultan after Sultan with his Pomp
Abode his Hour or two, and went his way.
*****
17
They say the Lion and the Lizard keep

The Courts where Jamshyd gloried and drank deep;
And Bahram, that great Hunter---the Wild Ass
Stamps o'er his Head, and he lies fast asleep.
18
I sometimes think that never so red

The Rose as where some buried Caesar bled;
That every Hyacinth the Garden wears
Dropt in its Lap from some once lovely Head.
19
And this delightful Herb whose tender Green

Fledges the River's Lip on which we lean---
Ah, lean upon it lightly! for who knows
From what once lovely Lip it springs unseen!
20
Ah, my Beloved, fill the Cup that clears

TO-DAY of past Regrets and future Fears---
To-morrow?---Why, To-morrow I may be
Myself with Yesterday's Sev'n Thousand Years.
*****
21
Lo! some we loved, the loveliest and best

That Time and Fate of all their Vintage prest,
Have drunk their Cup a Round or two before,
And one by one crept silently to Rest.
22
And we, that now make merry in the Room

They left, and Summer dresses in new Bloom,
Ourselves must we beneath the Couch of Earth
Descend, ourselves to make a Couch---for whom?
23

Rubaiyat of Khayyam
Ah, make the most of what we yet may spend,

Before we too into the Dust descend;
Dust into Dust, and under Dust, to lie,
Sans Wine, sans Song, sans Singer, and---sans End!
24
Alike for those who for TO-DAY prepare,

And those that after a TO-MORROW stare,
A Muezzin from the Tower of Darkness cries
"Fools! your Reward is neither Here nor There!"
*****
25
Why, all the Saints and Sages who discuss'd

Of the Two Worlds so learnedly, are thrust
Like foolish Prophets forth; their Words to Scorn
Are scatter'd, and their Mouths are stopt with Dust.
26
Oh, come with old Khayyam, and leave the Wise

To talk; one thing is certain, that Life flies;
One thing is certain, and the Rest is Lies;
The Flower that once has blown for ever dies.
27
Myself when young did eagerly frequent

Doctor and Saint, and heard great Argument
About it and about: but evermore
Came out by the same Door as in I went.
28
With them the Seed of Wisdom did I sow,

And with my own hand labour'd it to grow:
And this was all the Harvest that I reap'd---
"I came like Water, and like Wind I go."
*****
29
Into this Universe, and why not knowing,

Nor whence, like Water willy-nilly flowing:
And out of it, as Wind along the Waste,
I know not whither, willy-nilly blowing.
30
What, without asking, hither hurried whence?

And, without asking, whither hurried hence!
Another and another Cup to drown
The Memory of this Impertinence!
31

Rubaiyat of Khayyam
Up from Earth's Centre through the Seventh Gate

I rose, and on the Throne of Saturn sate,
And many Knots unravel'd by the Road;
But not the Knot of Human Death and Fate.
32
There was a Door to which I found no Key:

There was a Veil past which I could not see:
Some little Talk awhile of ME and THEE
There seemed---and then no more of THEE and ME.
*****
33
Then to the rolling Heav'n itself I cried,

Asking, "What Lamp had Destiny to guide
"Her little Children stumbling in the Dark?"
And---"A blind Understanding!" Heav'n replied.
34
Then to this earthen Bowl did I adjourn

My Lip the secret Well of Life to learn:
And Lip to Lip it murmur'd---"While you live
"Drink!---for once dead you never shall return."
35
I think the Vessel, that with fugitive

Articulation answer'd, once did live,
And merry-make; and the cold Lip I kiss'd
How many Kisses might it take---and give!
36
For in the Market-place, one Dusk of Day,

I watch'd the Potter thumping his wet Clay:
And with its all obliterated Tongue
It murmur'd---"Gently, Brother, gently, pray!"
*****
37
Ah, fill the Cup:---what boots it to repeat

How Time is slipping underneath our Feet:
Unborn TO-MORROW, and dead YESTERDAY,
Why fret about them if TO-DAY be sweet!
38
One Moment in Annihilation's Waste,

One Moment, of the Well of Life to taste---
The Stars are setting and the Caravan
Starts for the Dawn of Nothing---Oh, make haste!
39

Rubaiyat of Khayyam
How long, how long, in infinite Pursuit

Of This and That endeavour and dispute?
Better be merry with the fruitful Grape
Than sadden after none, or bitter, Fruit.
40
You know, my Friends, how long since in my House

For a new Marriage I did make Carouse:
Divorced old barren Reason from my Bed,
And took the Daughter of the Vine to Spouse.
*****
41
For "IS" and "IS-NOT" though with Rule and Line,

And "UP-AND-DOWN" without, I could define,
I yet in all I only cared to know,
Was never deep in anything but---Wine.
42
And lately, by the Tavern Door agape,

Came stealing through the Dusk an Angel Shape
Bearing a Vessel on his Shoulder; and
He bid me taste of it; and 'twas---the Grape!
43
The Grape that can with Logic absolute

The Two-and-Seventy jarring Sects confute:
The subtle Alchemist that in a Trice
Life's leaden Metal into Gold transmute.
44
The mighty Mahmud, the victorious Lord,

That all the misbelieving and black Horde
Of Fears and Sorrows that infest the Soul
Scatters and slays with his enchanted Sword.
*****
45
But leave the Wise to wrangle, and with me

The Quarrel of the Universe let be:
And, in some corner of the Hubbub coucht,
Make Game of that which makes as much of Thee.
46
For in and out, above, about, below,

'Tis nothing but a Magic Shadow-show,
Play'd in a Box whose Candle is the Sun,
Round which we Phantom Figures come and go.
47

Rubaiyat of Khayyam
And if the Wine you drink, the Lip you press,

End in the Nothing all Things end in ---Yes---
Then fancy while Thou art, Thou art but what
Thou shalt be---Nothing---Thou shalt not be less.
48
While the Rose blows along the River Brink,

With old Khayyam the Ruby Vintage drink:
And when the Angel with his darker Draught
Draws up to Thee---take that, and do not shrink.
*****
49
'Tis all a Chequer-board of Nights and Days

Where Destiny with Men for Pieces plays:
Hither and thither moves, and mates, and slays,
And one by one back in the Closet lays.
50
The Ball no Question makes of Ayes and Noes,

But Right or Left, as strikes the Player goes;
And He that toss'd Thee down into the Field,
*He* knows about it all---He knows---HE knows!
51
The Moving Finger writes; and, having writ,

Moves on: nor all thy Piety nor Wit
Shall lure it back to cancel half a Line,
Nor all thy Tears wash out a Word of it.
52
And that inverted Bowl we call The Sky,

Whereunder crawling coop't we live and die,
Lift not thy hands to *It* for help---for It
Rolls impotently on as Thou or I.
*****
53
With Earth's first Clay They did the Last Man's knead,
And then of the Last Harvest sow'd the Seed:
Yea, the first Morning of Creation wrote
What the Last Dawn of Reckoning shall read.
54
I tell Thee this---When, starting from the Goal,

Over the shoulders of the flaming Foal
Of Heav'n Parvin and Mushtara they flung,
In my predestin'd Plot of Dust and Soul
55

Rubaiyat of Khayyam
The Vine had struck a Fibre; which about

If clings my Being---let the Sufi flout;
Of my Base Metal may be filed a Key,
That shall unlock the Door he howls without
56
And this I know: whether the one True Light,

Kindle to Love, or Wrathconsume me quite,
One Glimpse of It within the Tavern caught
Better than in the Temple lost outright.
*****
57
Oh, Thou, who didst with Pitfall and with Gin

Beset the Road I was to wander in,
Thou wilt not with Predestination round
Enmesh me, and impute my Fall to Sin?
58
Oh, Thou, who Man of baser Earth didst make,

And who with Eden didst devise the Snake;
For all the Sin wherewith the Face of Man
Is blacken'd, Man's Forgiveness give---and take!
KUZA-NAMA ("Book of Pots.")
59
Listen again. One Evening at the Close

Of Ramazan, ere the better Moon arose,
In that old Potter's Shop I stood alone
With the clay Population round in Rows.
60
And, strange to tell, among that Earthen Lot

Some could articulate, while others not:
And suddenly one more impatient cried---
"Who *is* the Potter, pray, and who the Pot?"
*****
61
Then said another---"Surely not in vain

"My Substance from the common Earth was ta'en,
"That He who subtly wrought me into Shape
"Should stamp me back to common Earth again."
62
Another said---"Why, ne'er a peevish Boy,

"Would break the Bowl from which he drank in Joy;
"Shall He that *made* the Vessel in pure Love
"And Fancy, in an after Rage destroy!"

Rubaiyat of Khayyam
63
None answer'd this; but after Silence spake

A Vessel of a more ungainly Make:
"They sneer at me for learning all awry;
"What! did the Hand then of the Potter shake?"
64
Said one---"Folk of a surly Tapster tell

"And daub his Visage with the Smoke of Hell;
"They talk of some strict Testing of us---Pish!
"He's a Good Fellow, and 't will all be well."
*****
65
Then said another with a long-drawn Sigh,

"My Clay with long oblivion is gone dry:
"But, fill me with the old familiar Juice,
"Methinks I might recover by-and-bye!"
66
So while the Vessels one by one were speaking,

One spied the little Crescent all were seeking:
And then they jogg'd each other, "Brother! Brother!
"Hark to the Porter's Shoulder-knot a-creaking!"
67
Ah, with the Grape my fading Life provide,

And wash my Body whence the Life has died,
And in the Windingsheet of Vine-leaf wrapt,
So bury me by some sweet Garden-side.
68
That ev'n my buried Ashes such a Snare

Of Perfume shall fling up into the Air,
As not a True Believer passing by
But shall be overtaken unaware.
*****
69
Indeed the Idols I have loved so long

Have done my Credit in Men's Eye much wrong:
Have drown'd my Honour in a shallow Cup,
And sold my Reputation for a Song.
70
Indeed, indeed, Repentance oft before

I swore---but was I sober when I swore?
And then and then came Spring, and Rose-in-hand

Rubaiyat of Khayyam
My thread-bare Penitence apieces tore.
71
And much as Wine has play'd the Infidel

And robb'd me of my Robe of Honour---well,
I often wonder what the Vintners buy
One half so precious as the Goods they sell.
72
Alas, that Spring should vanish with the Rose!

That Youth's sweet-scented Manuscript should close!
The Nightingale that in the Branches sang,
Ah, whence, and whither flown again, who knows!
*****
73
Ah Love! could thou and I with Fate conspire

To grasp this sorry Scheme of Things entire,
Would not we shatter it to bits---and then
Re-mould it nearer to the Heart's Desire!
74
Ah, Moon of my Delight who Know'st no wane

The Moon of Heav'n is rising once again:
How oft hereafter rising shall she look
Through this same Garden after me---in vain!
75
And when Thyself with shining Foot shall pass

Among the Guests Star-scatter'd on the Grass,
And in thy joyous Errand reach the Spot
Where I made one---turn down an empty Glass!
TAMAM SHUD (It is completed.)
And now the modified and added version which is the Text of
the Fifth Edition (1889).
Wake! For the Sun, who scatter'd into flight

The Stars before him from the Field of Night,
Drives Night along with them from Heav'n, and strikes
The Sultan's Turret with a Shaft of Light.
*****
Edward FitzGerald's Translation.

Modified and added version which is the Text of
the Fifth Edition (1889):

Rubaiyat of Khayyam
Before the phantom of False morning died,

Methought a Voice within the Tavern cried,
"When all the Temple is prepared within,
"Why nods the drowsy Worshiper outside?"
And, as the Cock crew, those who stood before

The Tavern shouted---"Open then the Door!
"You know how little while we have to stay,
"And, once departed, may return no more."
Now the New Year reviving old Desires,

The thoughtful Soul to Solitude retires,
Where the WHITE HAND OF MOSES on the Boug
Puts out, and Jesus from the Ground suspires.
Iram indeed is gone with all his Rose,

And Jamshyd's Sev'n-ring'd Cup where no one knows;
But still a Ruby kindles in the Vine,
And many a Garden by the Water blows.
*****
And David's Lips are lockt; but in divine

High-piping Pehlevi, with "Wine! Wine! Wine!
"Red Wine!"---the Nightingale cries to the Rose
That sallow cheek of hers to incarnadine.
Come, fill the Cup, and in the fire of Spring

Your Winter-garment of Repentance fling:
The Bird of Time has but a little way
To flutter---and the Bird is on the Wing.
Whether at Naishapur or Babylon,

Whether the Cup with sweet or bitter run,
The Wine of Life keeps oozing drop by drop,
The Leaves of Life keeps falling one by one.
Each Morn a thousand Roses brings, you say:

Yes, but where leaves the Rose of Yesterday?
And this first Summer month that brings the Rose
Shall take Jamshyd and Kaikobad away.

Rubaiyat of Khayyam
*****
It is us, the wine, the music, and this run-down corner;

Our flesh and heart, the wine glass, and our cloths,
all filled with the desire for wine;
Free from the hope of forgiveness and free from the

fear of punishment and pain
free from dirty wind, fire, and water.

rumi.org.uk

The Persian Sufism
Home Page
Books on Rumi
The Persian Sufism
Bibliography
by Cyprian Rice, O.P.,
Works of Rumi
George Allen, London, 1964
Rumi's Poetry
INTRODUCTORY
–
Events in UK
The Sufi phenomenon is not easy to sum up or define. The Sufis never set out to found a new religion, a mazhab or
Events List denomination. They were content to live and work within the framework of the Moslem religion, using texts from the
Daily Poem Quran much as Christian mystics have used to Bible to illustrate their tenets. Their aim was to purify and spiritualize
Daily Quotes Islam from within, to give it a deeper, mystical interpretation, and infuse into it a spirit of love and liberty. In the
Discussion Forum broader sense, therefore, in which the word religion is used in our time, their movement could well be called a
Music religious one, one which did not aim at tying men down with a new set of rules but rather at setting them free from
Persian with Rumi external rules and open to the movement of the spirit.
Sufism
This religion was disseminated mainly by poetry, it breathed in an atmosphere of poetry and song. In it the place of
great dogmatic treatises is taken by mystical romances, such as Yusuf and Zuleikha or Leila and Majnun. Its one
– dogma, and interpretation of the Moslem witness: 'There is no god by God', is that the human heart must turn always,
unreservedly, to the one, divine Beloved.
Reflections
Acknowledgements
Who was the first Sufi? Who started this astonishing flowering of spiritual love in Lyrical poetry and dedicated lives?
Search
No one knows.
Contact
Early in the history of Islam, Moslem ascetics appeared who from their habit of wearing coarse garments of wool (suf),
Pick Language became known as Sufis. But what we now know as Sufism dawned unheralded, mysteriously, in the ninth century of
our ear and already in the tenth and eleventh had reached maturity. Among all its exponents there is no single one who
could be claimed as the initiator or founder.
Sufism is like that great oak-tree, standing in the middle of the meadow: no one witnessed its planting, no one beheld
its beginning, but now the flourishing tree speaks for itself, is true to origins which it has forgotten, has taken for
granted.
There is a Sufi way, a Sufi doctrine, a form of spiritual knowledge known as 'irfan or ma'rifat, Arabic words which
correspond to the Greek gnosis.
Sufism has its great names, its poet-preachers, its 'saints', in the broad, irenical sense in which the word can be used.
Names Maulana Rumi, Ibn al 'Arabi, Jami, Mansur al Hallaj are household words in the whole Islamic world and even
beyond it.
Has it a future? Perhaps we may say that if, in the past, its function was to spiritualize Islam, its purpose in the future
will be rather to make possible a welding of religious thought between East and West, a vital, ecumenical
commingling and understanding, which will prove ultimately to be, in the truest sense, on both sides, a return to
origins, to the original unity.
When one speaks of the Sufis as 'mystics', one does not necessarily mean to approve all their teaching or all their
methods, nor indeed, admit the genuineness of the mystical experiences of this or that individual. But whatever one's
preconceptions or reservations, it is difficult, after a careful study of their lives and writings, not to recognize a
kingship between the Sufi spirit and vocabulary and those of the Christian saints and mystics.
This book is concerned mainly with the Persian mystics. Taken all in all, what goes by the name of 'Islamic mysticism'
is a Persian product. The mystical fire, as it spread rapidly over the broad world of Islam, found tinder in the harts of
many who were not Persians: Egyptians like Dhu'l Nun, Andalucians like Ibn'ul Arabi, Arabs like Rabi'a al 'Adawiyya.
But Persia itself is the homeland of mysticism in Islam. It is true that many Islamic mystical writers, whether Persian
or not, wrote in Arabic, but this was because that language was in common use throughout the Moslem world for the
exposition of religious and philosophical teaching. It could, indeed, be said that the Persians themselves took up the
file:///C|/Documents%20and%20Settings/Sonja/Desktop/persian_sufism.htm (1 of 8) [5/22/2009 11:00:15 PM]

The Persian Sufism
Arabic language and forged from it the magnificent instrument of precise philosophical and scientific expression
which it became, after having been used by the Arabs themselves almost exclusively for poetry. This was Persia's
revenge for the humiliating defeat she suffered at the hands of the Arabs and the consequent imposition of the Arabic
language for all religious and juridical purposes. We might go on to say that Persia's revenge for the imposition of
Islam and of the Arabic Qoran was her bid for the utter transformation of the religious outlook of all the Islamic
peoples by the dissemination of the Sufi creed and the creation of a body of mystical poetry which is almost as widely
known as the Qoran itself. The combination in Sufism of mystical love and passion with a daring challenge to all
forms of rigid and hypocritical formalism has had a bewitching and breath-taking effect on successive Moslem
generations in all countries, an effect repeated in all those non-Moslem milieux, European or Asiatic, where these
doctrines, often interpreted by the most ravishingly beautiful poetry, have been discovered. In this way Persia has
conquered a spiritual domain far more extensive than any won by the arms of Cyrus and Darius, and one which is still
far form being a thing of the past. Indeed, one might say that through this mystical lore, expressed in an incomparable
poetical medium, Persia found herself, discovered something like her true spiritual vocation among the peoples of the
world, and that her voice has now only to make itself heard to win the delighted approval of all those seekers and
connoisseurs whose souls are attune to perceive the message of the ustad i azal (the eternal master), to use Khoja
Hafiz's phrase.
In a sense, this bold transformation of Islam from within by the mystical mind of Persia began already in the Prophet's
life-time with the part played in the elaboration and interpretation of Mahomet's message by the strange but historic
figure of Salman Farsi- Salman the Persian - to whom M. Massignon devoted an indispensable monograph. But a
similar influence revealed itself in the rapid spiritualization of the person of 'Ali and the parallel evolution of the
mystical significance of Mahomet, around the notion of the nur muhammadi - the 'Mahomet-light', which seems to
amount to the introduction of a Logos doctrine into the heart of Islam, viewed as an esoteric system. The influences, as
they worked themselves out, led, on the other hand, tot he formation of the Shi'a, involving the spiritual-mystical
significance accorded to the Imam. At the same time, the teaching and outlook of Mahomet himself was progressively
brought into conformity with the Sufi model by the accumulation of a large body of ahadith (traditional sayings)
fathered onto the Prophet by successive generations.
The vigour of the Persian spiritual genius, however, is not a phenomenon which came suddenly to light at the outset of
Islam. It was there all the time, and there are Persians whom I have known who claim that the stream of pure Persian
mysticism has pursued its course, now open, now hidden, right down the ages. This is a claim which springs, maybe,
maybe, more from the Persians' own intuition than form any positive documentation, but the assumption comes out
clearly in the writings of Suhravardi and the Ishraqi school. In any case, one cannot but be struck by the attraction
exerted and the penetration achieved by Persian religious, such as Mithraism and Manichaeism, as far afield as the
farthest frontiers of the Roman Empire, as well as in farthest Asia and who know where else. The Christian Church of
Persia itself, which, as Mgr Duchesne has pointed out, rivalled even the Church of Rome in the number of its martyrs,
sent its missionaries far and wide throughout Asia, into India, China and Japan. As to the exploits of Christian
missionaries from Persia in Japan, facts are only now coming to light through the investigations of Prof. Sakae Ikeda.
Japanese writers have also traced deep influences of Persian Christianity in the emergence of the Mahayana type of
Buddhism in China.
If these facts are recorded here, it si merely in order to make it clear that the universal radiation of the Persian spirit
was not confined to the Islamic world.
Words like ma'rifat or irfan used to designate Sufi teaching might lead one to conclude that theirs was essentially a
speculative movement. But one must always bear in mind that it is fundamentally a practical science, the teaching of a
way of life. This aspect of it was most clearly marked, no doubt, in its earlier period but it has remained as a permanent
feature of the Sufi system and all its professors are agreed that those who enter on the search for perfection must needs
undergo a rigorous course of training under a wise spiritual father (Pir u Murshid). In a great mystical write like Jalal-
edDin Rumi, for instance, the most sublime mystical descriptions are never entirely divorced from moral exhortations.
It is true that for Rumi the moral virtues are never ends in themselves. They are seen as ways and means, creating the
necessary conditions for the attainment of closer union with the divine Beloved. But that does but make his
exhortations more pressing.
Some readers may question the use of the term 'mystical' in this field, or may ask for it to be defined. In brief the rely
shall be that the term is used here to signify doctrines concerning the way to God or to perfection derived from inner
experiences and inspiration rather than from deductive reasoning or positive tradition. Something of what is meant can
be found in Sheikh Attar's words, in his introduction to the Memoirs of the Saints. He recommends the study of the

The Persian Sufism
sayings of the great mystcis because, as he says, 'their utterances are the result of spiritual enterprise and experience,
not of mechanical learning and repetition of what others have said. They spring from direct insight and not from
discursive reasoning, from supernatural sources of knowledge, not from laborious personal acquisition. They gush
forth as from the source and are not painfully conveyed over man-made aqueducts. They come from the sphere of "My
Lord has educated me" and not from the sphere of "my father told me".'
The lesser lights among Sufi poets have only too often repeated the images and allegories used by their greater
predecessors, making of them mere clichés, hackneyed and hollow. Indeed, the bane of Persian mystical poetry is the
incalculable number of its mediocre practitioners.
Leaving them aside, we do well to concentrate on the great masters, such as, among poets, Jala-edDin Rum, Farid
edDin 'Attar, Maghribi, Jami, Hafiz, and among prose-writers, Hujviri, al-Sarraj, Najm-edDin Razi, and, once again,
'Attar, with his indispensable Memoirs of the Saints. Nor should one exclude from any enumeration of Persian mystics
the name of Mansur al-Hallaj, a native of Fars, in the heart of old Iran, even though he wrote in Arabic (and with what
clarity, simplicity and fore!). Without attempting to complete enumeration, one cannot refrain from mentioning names
like Hakim Sanai, Shabistari, author of the Gulshan i Raz, and Abu Said of Mihneh.
For may centuries this abundant store of mystical wisdom book for the West. The medieval schoolmen came to know
Persian philosophers such as Avicenna (Ibn Sina) and el Gazel (Ghazali) through Hebrew and Latin translations but
there is no trace of their having suspected the existence of Persian mystical writings. It is possible, however, that an
indirect influence was exercised by Moslem mystical poems on the Troubadours.
In this country, it was not until 1774 that Sir William Jones' Latin Commentaries on Asiatic Poetry opened the way to
knowledge of the Persian writers but the work, inevitably perhaps, created little stir and bore scarcely any fruit.
It was in Germany, in the Romantic period, that the great éblouissement came. Goethe's West-östlicher Diwan was the
first consequence of it. Rucker, Herder and others set themselves with great zeal and application to study Persian
mystical verse and to make it the leaven of the new poetical and philosophical movement in their country.
During present century German interest in Persian mysticism was revived by Kazimzadeh Iranshahr, a Persian who
settled in Berlin and published a number of religious booklets based upon Sufi teachings.
Meanwhile, in England the study of Persian literature was immensely forwarded by the masterly and abundant work of
Professor E. G. Browne of Cambridge. Browne, moreover, had the good fortune to find in R. A. Nicholson, later to be
his successor in the Chair of Arabic at Cambridge, a scholar in whom the study of Persian poetry kindled and fed an
inborn affinity with mystical learning. The result was his annotated edition of a selection of mystical odes from the
Divan of Shams of Tabriz, by Jalal'ddin Rumi, in 1898.
Later on, Nicholson contributed to the Gibb Series his edition of Hujviri's Kashful Mahjub and then Sarraj's Kitabul
Luma', both of which are key works for the study of Sufi doctrine.
Then came his magnum opus, the great new edition of the text of Rumi's Mathnaviyi Ma'navi, the 'bible of the Sufis',
followed, within the next fifteen years, by a translation of the whole work and finally by a full commentary, in which
Professor Nicholson revealed the full extent of his mastery of the subject.
He had moreover, in 1905, laid students still further under an obligation to him his critical edition, in two volumes, of
Sheikh 'Attar's invaluable Tazkirat ul Awliya, a collection of biographies of a number of well-known and less-known
Sufis and saints of the Moslem world.
For the general public, Professor Nicholson wrote a valuable little book in the 'Quest' series, called The Mystics of
Islam, as well as Studies in Islamic Mysticism and The Idea of Personality in Sufism-in addition to numerous articles in
encyclopaedias and journals, the ransom of his unique reputation: for there is no doubt that, as The Times wrote in the
obituary notice published after his death, on August 27, 1945, 'Nicholson was the greatest authority on Islamic
mysticism this country has produced, and in his own considerable field the supreme authority in the world'.
In any final assessment, however, it would be difficult to give the late Professor Louis Massignon, chiefly noted for his

The Persian Sufism
exposition of the mystic teaching of al-Hallaj, any lower place. Both of them were so deeply penetrated by the Sufi
spirit that they would have shrunk with horror from any such competition.
Professor A. J. Arberry, Nicholson's successor in the Chair of Arabic at Cambridge, has also rendered valuable
services to the study of Islamic mysticism by his edition of Kalabadhi's treatise on Sufism, as well as by other books
intended to make Persian mystics known to a wide public. In 1950 he contributed to the series of 'Ethical and
Religious Classics of East and West' an account of the mystics of Islam, called Sufism. It can be recommended as a
clear, orderly and sympathetic account of the subject which aims at leaving out none of the facts, writings and
personalities that count in a serious study of Islamic mysticism.
Thus helped and stimulated, we have now to take up the legacy bequeathed to us and ensure that these works shall be
pored over as studiously as they deserve, their lessons learnt and their indications followed up. A legacy of this kind is,
at the same time, a challenge, above all to those whose task or vocation it is the bring about a reconciliation of East
and West, or to prepare the ground for religious agreement on a place which transcends the bare statement of
controversial issues, led rather by the spirit of Juan de Segovia, whose motto was Per viam pacis et doctrinae.
Perhaps, too, the study of these mystics, who had to find their way through pathless deserts without the sure guidance
of an unerring authority, and who, nevertheless, reached in the main a surprisingly convincing statement of mystical
truth, may have the further advantage of giving us pause and of inspiring us with humility, when we realize what
mystical treasures we ourselves may have let slip through carelessness or dissipation.
If, in this study, I have, in the main, used the language of Christian mysticism this is partly because it has now become
the custom of Western writers - not least among whom we must count Don Miguel Asin Palacios - to do so. Then I
consider this custom justified by reason of the similar workings of God with souls in every climate and the similar
response human souls make to Him whatever be their form of speech.
At the same time, needless to say, I would not wish it to be thought that I am therefore claiming that Billuart or
Bossuet necessarily attached the same meaning tot he terms here used as would Rumi or Bistami. It is just a matter of
human interpretation, aiming at broad parallels rather than at precise identification. Don Palacios has spoken of certain
Sufi teachings as un Islam cristianizado. By doing so he clearly shows that, in his opinion, the similarities just referred
to go deeper than forms of language as such. Of Ibn Abbad of Ronda Don Palacios says that here is a 'a hispano
Moslem precursor of St John of the Cross'. He finds in him 'a profoundly Christian attitude of abandonment to the
charismatic gifts (karimat)'.
Perhaps I may be allowed to add that in taking this line with the Sufi mystics I conform to the wish expressed so
ardently by the late Pope John XXIII, in an address to a general meeting of Benedictine Abbots in Rome. Setting
before them the ideal of the union of souls, he exhorted them to consider, 'not so much what divided minds and what
brings them together'.
As this modest volume is to appear at the time of an Oecumenical Council in which relations between Church of East
and West are expected to form one of the dominant themes, the writer ventures to express the hope that a study of
some of the aspects of Islamic mysticism may contribute to a better understanding of the inner life of the vast
Mahometan populations of Asia and Africa. Under the ample umbrella of Islam, with its one compendious dogma La
ilaha illa 'llah - 'The is no god by God' - a vast assortment of religious doctrines and devotional practices shelter.
Much of this originated in regions of westerns Asia where Christianity had reached a notable expansion and where
Christian monasticism made a strong appeal to the religious sentiments of the various people who, sooner or later,
yielded to political or military pressure and ranged themselves, willingly or unwillingly under the banner of Mahomet.
The mystical teachings of the early centuries were diffused throughout western Asia, not least in Syria and Persia.
There can be little doubt that much of that teaching was passed on the subsequent generations after the Moslem
conquest. The devout, in their insatiable hunger for religious truth and experience, not only took up the mystical
teachings they found but in many ways made it their own, re-thought it and developed it in original ways.
In the Divine Comedy (Inferno, Canto 28) Dante pictures Mahomet and 'Ali among the authors of schism, alongside a
varied band of Italians. Such a view of the role of Mahomed has its bearing on our theme. In any effort to bring about
an understanding between East and West, ti would be unrealistic, to say the least, to leave out of account the numerous
Mahometan populations among whom Eastern Christians live and move.

The Persian Sufism
In all fairness, too, one must add that Mahomet's dream was not to foster, but rather to heal the schism between minds,
as he looked out upon the dispute of the numerous Christian sects and rites on Arabian and near-Arabian soil. It would
seem that he dreamt of reconciling all by proposing adhesion to a single dogma which all could agree; 'There is no god
but God'. It was of this proclamation or 'gospel' that he was the Prophet.
TWO
THE SUFI MOVEMENT
THOSE then who, in Persia and elsewhere in the world of Islam, devoted themselves tot he practice and dissemination
of ascetical and mystical doctrine soon became known as 'Sufis', a name given them because, as we saw, they chose to
wear a distinguishing dress of coarse, undyed wool (suf), a type of dress already worn by Christian ascetes in teh East.
Later on, this habit was in general replaced by the khirqa, or patched frock, which was given by the Pir or sheikh to the
novie whom he accepted as his disciple (murid).
This Suif movement was not itself an order or a sect. Many confraternities, based on Sufi principles and ideals, did
areise in course of time and, in a number of cases, still survive, although the times are against them. Lacking adquate
religious control, these tariqas, as they are called, have in many cases, lost much of their original fervour and
distinction. They were suppressed by Kemal Ataturk in Turkey and in Persia by Riza Khan followed suit. In Cairo they
are still numerious and active. Beloved by the common people, they are looked down upon by the better educated
classes. It is to be hoped that, when the rage for Western journalism and films has passed, the modern generation in
Persia will return to the treasures of the past and find in them a valid message for our age.
In the early years of the Moslem conquests, the Sufis constituted a powerful reaction against wordliness and
hypoctrisy. Their reaction took the forrm, not so much of sermonizing, as of the example they gave of a life of self-
denial, compunctioin, silence, poverty and detachment.
The leaders of this ascetic campaign were drawn at first chiefly from among the Arabs. But, as time went on and the
reins of power passed more and more into Persian hands after the setting up of the Abbasid Caliphate in A.D. 750, the
Iranian genius for interiorization and abstraction began to prevail over the more external preferences of the Semites.
It was seen that the true cause of repentance lay in the overriding urgency of loving God above all things, that human
works, however good and virtuous, needed to yield pride of place to divine, prevenient grace, that the external (zahir)
must yield to the interior (batin), the matter to the meaning, the outward symbol tto the inner reality, codl reason to
inspired adn fiery love, self to the one Beloved. There were no limits to this way, once it had been entered upon. And it
was entered upon, and run, with immenses and reckless enthusiams, even though it led at times to seeming
antinomianism and unbelief (kufr). All this in the name of and for the glory of the central dogma of Islam, the unity of
Godl, the tawhid which came, for the Sufi, to signify a mystico monistic outlook on the universe. A hard-headed,
matter of fact Westerner si often put off or irritated by the wilfully extravagant shathiyyat (jubilations, exclamations)
of bold spiritis such as al Hallaj or Bayazid Bistami, when they cry: Ana'l Haqq (I am God) or Subbhani (Glory be to
Me alone!). Such things, however, are expalined to us as having their origin in the fact that these men had been led to
transcent their own personalities and to become consicous only of HIM (to pronoun commonly used by such mystics
in referring to God, considered as having, inthe last resort, the exclusive right to declare I AM). But what puzzles even
more, perhaps, the student of the Sufi phenomenon, is the undoubted fact that the great persian ecstatics are manifestly
and overpoweringly mastererd by a a passionate and all-absorbing love for the supreme, divine beloved. It is this
recognition of God as the unique object of love for the supreme, divine beloved. It is this recognition of God as the
unique object of love whcih is constancly born upon current of mystical love doews not seem to have any discernible
human or antural source. ON the face of i, it might almost seem to spring from a new revelation, or, at any rate, from
an ancient revelation, mysteriously and supernaturally renewed. Here one is reminded of Eminle Dermenghem's
remark that 'the original revelation was mystical as well as soteriological'. But the mystery remains as to what or who
was the immediate cause of its re-emergence.
A great deal has been written as to the possible origins of the Sufi movement. Germs of it are, of course, to be found in
the Qoran itself. It has alos to be borne in mind that Islam had by this time spread over populations deeply impregnated
by Christian teaching or Hellenistic (Neo-platonic) speculation. In Eastern Persia Buddhism had penetrated deeply,

The Persian Sufism
and as 'the Persians', according tot he Prophet's well-known (and possibly aporcryphal) saying, 'would journey to the
Peiades afer knowledge', it is only teo be expected that they would have had knowledge also of teh Hindu sacred
books. But when all thsihas been granted as a likelihood, or a quasi-certainly, it remains that the Sufi phenomenon
presents itself as a new, spontaneous and original flowering of religous feeling and intuition, and no one can put his
finger on asingle, incontrovertible author or originator of it. There is no single poet or mytic who can be siad to be the
prime mover in this revolution. The Sufis themselves put it down to Mahomet himslef, the divinely inspired
embodiment of the perfect man. In doing this they probably aim at establishing their teaching in teh heart of
Hamometan orthodoxy. There are a certain number of passages inteh Qoran which are susceptible of a mystcial
interpretation and which are the commonplaces of Islamic spiritual writers. A large number of other Qoranic texts are
given a mystical interpreation by such writers, often in defiance of the plain, literal meaning of the passage quoted. In
this respect, however, the Qoran is treated much in the same way as the Judaeo-Christian scriptures are treated by teh
early fathers and doctors. All take it for granted that the literal meaning contains and unlimited number of spiritual or
mystical meanings, a mine which every spiritual man must penetrate and exploit for himself.
Although Plotinus is never quoted by name by teh Sufi writers, there cannot be the faintest doubt that his doctrines
were known to them and came to be regarded by them as having almost the value of reealed truth. Writers like Sheikh
Najm-edDin Razi (obiit A.D. 1256), in his Mirsad ul 'Ibad, and Sheikh Muhammad Lahji Nurbakhshi (obiit A.D.
1472), in his well-known Commentary on the Gulshan i Raz of Shabistari, devote themselves at great length and with
evident earnestness to expositions of the emanationist theories of the Neo-Platonist philosophers. Wide as was the
difficusion of emanationist doctrines among the Sufis, however, their necessary relation tothe man Sufi theses and
trends is never very clear. the Sufi is, above all, a lover and a spiritual guide. Rumi is the supreme exponent of the Sufi
path, and his writings have only faint traces of emanationist speculation.
It we considered precisely the main trends and preoccupations of teh sufis, we should be justified in concluding that,
among external infuences on their origins and development, Christianity, and especially Eastern Monasticism, was the
chief and the most dynamic. At the time of the Islamic invasion, not only Syria but also Persia proper contained
flourishing Christian communities. In Persia alone, at thsi period, there were as many as ninety monastic institutions.
The persian Church produced a number of remearkable teachers of theology and of the mystical life. One of the
greatest of these was Babai the Great (A.D. 569-628), a wealthy Persian who had studied Persian (Pahlevi) literature
before coming to Nisibis to study medicine. He became third abbot of the monastery of the Mt Izla and was the
foremost divine and theologian of teh Nestorian Church at the crisis of its development. He wrote a commentary on teh
Centuries of Evagrius Ponticus, as well as Rules of Novices and Canons of Monks. Evagrius Ponticus himslef, a pupil
of origen, Basil and Gregory, became a monk in the Scete Desert of Egypt and there composed in lapidary form his
manual and the authoritiaatve exposition of the ascetico-mystical life for Persian monachism. One or two quotations
form his The Centuries will serve to give some indication of the form of teaching which, through Persian monahcism,
may well have exercised a deep inlufence on teh origins of the Sufism.
'A pure soul, next to God is God.'
'The naked mind is one that is perfect in the vision of itself and is held worthy of attaining to comtemplation of the
Holy Trinity.'
'He who has achived pure prayer is God by grace.'
Although there can be no doubt that the loving, adoring, self-sacrificing figure of Jesus made an immeasurable
impression on the peoples of the Near East, it is difficult to trace any scriptural or literary evidence of the propagation
of Christian mystical teachings in Islamic mystical writers. References to the Lat Supper and to the Crucificxion are
not infrequent, but there is sign of any precise or recognizable transmission of texts from, say, the Gospel of St John or
the Epistles of St Paul. Any mystical influence of Chiristian origin seems to have been due to the example of monstic
life and to the impace of Christian preoccupation with the pre-eminence of love in religion.
Buddhism, as mentioned above, had long flourished in Eastern Persia. It is generally assumed, both by European and
Persian authors, that one of the predominatn features of Sufi mystical life, summed up in the word fana (see Chapter
VII) came in through Buddhist influence. This opinion is, no doubt, due to a comparison with the Buddhist doctrine of
nirvana. But, apart from the fact that it is not certain that the concept of nirvana has been properly understood in the
West, one muyst bear in mind that fana - i.e. a passing away or transference of the personality - always aims at a state
in which one lives in and for a higher personality, whether one's spiritual director or God Himself. THis concept of

The Persian Sufism
fana conforms more to teh teaching of the mahayan, centred on the person of Amitabha, the saviour of the faithful, the
Isvara who hears and ansers the prayers of the world. Mahometan insistence on the trascendance of God seems to have
duided the main stream of Persian mysticism and persever it from mere subjectivism or Pantheism, Geographically as
well as philosophically, Persia stat in medio.
However, the personalty and example of the Buddha exercised an undoubtd attraction on teh Persian mind, and the
story of one of the earliest Sufis, Ibrahim ibn Adham, described as having been once King of Balkh, an Iranian outpost
far out twoards the borders of India, seems to be a lengend based on the story of the Buddha himself. It is curious, too,
that a very large number of notable Sufi leaders arose in this north-eastern corner of Iran, now known as Khorasan, for
it was in this region that buddhism had flourished - not to speak ofthe great prophet of Ahura Mazda, Zoroaster. The
north-eastern provinces, indeed, were the scene of an intense cosmopolitan life in which Greek or Hellenized elements
mingled with Iranian and partially Iranified Central Asiatice elements. They reprensented, it has been said, a central
crucible between the West and India. Buddhism certainly flourished in these regions, but it was chiefly in its newer
form an mahayana, the 'Great Vehicle', that is spread twoards Iran. Ultimately, however, Iran seta barrier to any
further expansion of Buddhism towards the West. It set out, therefore, towards the East, carrying with it certain notions
borrowed from iran: its Messianic dreams, its paradise, its clut of the sun and of light, it smystical cosmology. The
French excavations carried out in Afghanistan since 1920 have revealed plastic arts betokening Irano-buddhist
inspiration.
All this happened contemporaneously with the religious reform attempted in iran by Mani. Mani, a Persian by race,
was born at Babylon about A.D. 215. His aim was to found a comprehensive religion reconciling the doctrines of
Zoroaster, buddha and Jesus Christ. He inaugurated his public life by a journey in India, at the time whne the
Sassanian Shahpur was conducting a lighting campaing inthe valley of the Indus. Some writers have even stated that
Mani took part in Shahpur's campaign, between A.D. 256 and 260, against Valerian, and that the then met Plotinus,
who was serving as a soldier in the Roman army.
I mention these facts simply to give some idea of the extent to which Persia, inteh period preceding the Islamic
invasion, had been subject to fertilization and cross-fertilization by relgions and philosophies which contained a strong
mystical element. If this was so, the reason is to be found in the attraction which such doctrines possessed for the
Persian mind and their keenness in religious speculation.
One consequence of these cross-fertilizations was that, many centuries later, Indian gurus and swamis recognized inthe
Sufis and dervishes who came from persia in the wake of conquering Islamic armies co-religionists who had the same
mystical preoccupations as themselves. The Persian Pir u Murshid fitted eassily into the spiritual scheme of things in
India and woul often be consulted by Hindu inquirers.
In the years following the Mahometan conquests, the newly-founded city of Kufa, in southern Iraq, became, in its turn,
a nursery-ground of idealist, Neo-Platonist and Christian-Hellenic doctrines and tendencies and, at the same time, a
forcing-ground of the pro-'Al Shi'a, closely allied to a specifically Persian outlook. It is easy to understand, therefore,
that Kufa also gave birth to some of the earlies Sufis.
These early Sufis, as we saw, had litle concern for mystical themes as such. Their dominant aim was to flee the
deceitful and corrupting world and to devote themselves in silence and solitude, to practices of austerity, fasting and
other forms of ascetical discipline. Their outlook was of that simple and elementary sort which accords with the Arabo-
Mahometan religion in which they had been brought up.
The earliest of these aros in the south of Iraq. Such were Hassan of Basrah and Abu Hashim of Kufa, this latter,
apparently the first to whom the soubriquet of Sufi was given. This region had been worked over by Zoroastrian and
then by Christian influences during the epoch of the Sassanian monarchs. Basra also produced the remarkable woman
Saint and mystic, Rabi'a al 'Adawiyya, who died in A.D. 801.
But the diffision of ideas was very rapid in Islam which, in its early and expanding centuries, wsa unhapered by stric
national frontiers and barriers. Thus the Sufi Movement soon spread like wildfire over the whole Islamic scene.
Gradually, too, it began to develop doctrinally and to be transformed from within, by subtle but rapid stages, into a
lofty and coherent mystical system.
When we speak of 'diffusion' here, we must not let ourselves imagine that such things happen automatically. The

The Persian Sufism
diffusion of mystical doctrines in Islam was the work of certain great and influential individuals whose reputation
drew inquirers to them from afar.
These inquirers, formed in the school of a great sheikh, a Pir u Murshid (spiritual father and guide), propagated his
teaching, became spiritual Masters in their turn, formed other disciples, and so collaborated in the formation of a
spiritual chain (silsileh), the personages forming which are often enumerated in detail. This living chain of religious
teachers is an essential feature in the Sufi scheme of things. Surviving links of htese chains must how be exceeding
few, save perhaps where a surviving religious Order has managed to ensure a continuance of doctrine. In the absence
of notabel teachers, however, a far from negligible norm and winess of the traditional teaching in provided by
authoritative books suchas the Masnavi, the Gulshan i Raz and so forth. In many cases, too, witnesses to the continuity
of mystical teaching are to hand in the shape of later Commentators. One such, in the case of Gulshan i Raz, is the
well-known Lahiji Nurbakhshi, who wrote in A.D. 1472.
In this study I wish to concentrate attention on the sounder elements of Persian mystical teachings, but one need not
therefore be blind to other elements which may rightly be regared as divagations and deformations, or, at any rate, as
exaggerations of a disconcerting or ven repulsive nature. Such elements have not been wanting in Sufism. The Sufi
teaching does not, of right, possess within itself guarantee of infallibility. As a manifestation of spiritual life within the
Islamic community, it shares the weakness inherent in Silam itself, a weakness inherited from its Mahometan source
and due also tothe lack of a living infallible authority in teh Islamic body. This lack of an external authority has meant
that the Sufis could look upon themselves as a law unto themselves. Ghazali made a notable effort to establish Sufism
solidly whithin the boundaries of Moslem orthodoxy, whatever that may be. But the Sufi, at heart, doet not condiser
himself bound by the legislation of the ahl i zahir (externalists). It is an accepted principle among them that la
fissufiyya kalamun - 'there is no formal (scholastic) theology in Sufism'.

rumi.org.uk

Forum AMFITEATAR - štampaj stranicu
Forum AMFITEATAR
http://www.amfiteatar.org/cgi-bin/yabb/YaBB.pl
Umetnost >> Književnost i lingvistika >> Poezija raspolozenja
http://www.amfiteatar.org/cgi-bin/yabb/YaBB.pl?num=1054933273
Poruku započeo Mama_KoKo na 06.06.2003 u 23:01:13
Naslov: Poezija raspolozenja

Poruka od Mama_KoKo na 06.06.2003 u 23:01:13
BALADA IZ PREDGRADJA
...I lije na uglu petrolejska lampa

Svjetlost crvenkastozutu
Na debelo blato kraj staroga plota
I dvije, tri cigle na putu.
I uvijek ista sirotinja udje

U njenu svjetlost iz mraka,
I s licem na kojem su obicno brige
Predje je u par koraka.
A jedne veceri nekoga nema,

A moro bi proc;
I lampa gori,
I gori u magli,
I vec je noc.
I nema ga sutra, ni preksutra ne,

I vele da bolestan lezi,
I nema ga mjesec, i nema ga dva,
I zima je vec,
I snijezi...
A prolaze kao i dosada ljudi,

I maj vec mirise -
A njega nema, i nema, i nema,
I nema ga vise...
I lije na uglu petrolejska lampa

Svjetlost crvenkastozutu
Na debelo blato kraj staroga plota
I dvije, tri cigle na putu.
Dobrisha Cesaric
file:///C|/Documents%20and%20Settings/Sonja/Desktop/poezija.htm (1 of 201) [5/22/2009 11:00:34 PM]

Naslov: Re: Poezija raspolozenja

SAKRIVENI BOL
Neko sa svojim bolom ide

Ko s otkritom ranom; svi neka vide.
Drugi ga cvrsto u sebi zgnjeci
I ne da mu prijeci u suze i rijeci.
Rad'je ga skriva i tvrdo ga zgusne

U jednu crtu na kraju usne.
Zadrsce, zadrsce u njoj kadikad,
Ali u rijeci se ne javi nikad.
Dusa ga u se povuce i smjesti

Na svoje dno: ko more kamen
U njega bacen. More ga prima
Dnom, da ga nikad ne izbaci plima.
Dobrisha Cesaric

Poruka od Maha na 06.06.2003 u 23:07:15
A "Slap"?Moze?

SLAP :-*
Tece i tece, tece jedan slap.

Sto u njem znaci moja mala kap?
Gle, jedna duga u vodi se stvara
I sja i drsce u hiljadu sara.
Taj san da bi mogo sjati,
I moja kaplja pomaze ga tkati.
Dobrisha Cesaric


Nemoj da si nestrpljiva :) :-*

'zvini :-[
:-*
:-*
:-*
:-*
:-*

Maha wrote:
'zvini :-[
:-*
:-*
:-* :-* :-*
Nije bilo neophodno ;) :-* tebi umesto izvinjenja :)
U SVJETLOSTI
Vec ocajan i lisen moci,

Ja nisam ocekivo spas.
Tada, u cemernoj samoci,
Tvoj njezni zacuo sam glas.
I on je bio kao zov
Na novi put, na zivot nov.
I ti mi svoju ruku pruzi,
I ljubav nas u jedno zdruzi.
Kako je duga bila noc

U kojoj, draga, tebe snivah!
Vec mislio sam: neces doc.
I rekoh: ona ti je ziva

U tvojoj zelji, tvome snu,

Al odista je nema tu.
Zemaljskim stazama ne kroci
Ta, cije divne cekas oci.
A gledaj: nebo sija plavlje

Otkada ugledah tvoj lik.
Ljepota, snaga, svjetlo, zdravlje
Ugusise u srcu krik.
Ocima tvojim obasjani
Proticu sada moji dani.
Raskosan rujan, vedar, zut.
Otvara jesen za nas put.
Podjimo zagrljeni, draga,

U ovaj zacarani svijet;
U ljubavi je cudna snaga,
Sto korak pretvara u let.
Od poljubaca, zagrljaja
Sve oko nas je puno sjaja.
Duboka sreca svuda zri,
Jer sobom nosimo je mi.
Dobrisha Cesaric
Naslov: Borhes
Poruka od Hanibal na 06.06.2003 u 23:32:26
TI
Samo se jedan covjek rodio,
samo jedan covjek je umro na zemlji.
Tvrditi suprotno cista je statistika,
sabiranje je nemoguce.
Ne manje nemoguce nego sabrati miris
kiše sa snom koji ste sanjali onomad,
Taj covjek je Odisej, Avelj, Kain,
prvi cojvek koji je rasporedio sazvježdja,
covjek koji je podigao prvu piramidu,
covjek koji je napisao heksagrame Knjige mjena,
kovac koji je urezao ruže na
Hengistovom macu, strelac Ejnar Tambarskelver,
Luis de Leon, knjižar koji je rodio
Semjuela Džonsona, Volterov vrtlar, Darvin
na pramcu Bigla, Židov u odaji za mrtvace,
vremenom ti i ja.
Jedan jedini covjek je umro u Ilionu,
kod Metaura, Hestingsa, Austerlica,
Trafalgara, Getisberga.

Jedan jedini covjek je

umro u bolnicama, brodovima,
u teškoj samoci, u ložnici navike i ljubavi.
Jedan jedini covjek je gledao široku zoru.
Jedan jedini covjek je na nepcima
osjetio svježinu vode, ukus plodova i mesa.
Govorim o jedinom, jednom, onom što je uvijek sam.

Jelisavetina lirika napisana u momentima posle ubistva Zorana Djindjica...
ocisti korak i uzdigni dusu

srbija te oplakuje
ona makar ume da zali
uvek kad je kasno
ume da se kaje
samo kad je tesko
a tesko je uvek
ume daa pogleda duboko u sebe

i da vidi ruglo, valjaju se svinje
da se sagne dublje
i pogleda dublje
mozda ce pronaci izgubljenu dusu
odrecenu davno
zarad ko zna cega,
zarad koga boga,
andjela il' blaga...
ocisti korak
i usspravi glavu
budi kao majka

i umili pogled,
pa umeksaj pokret
i zabradi glavu...
crninu ces sama obuci,
ko sto si je oblacila
i do sada bezbroj puta
uvek kad je kasno
samo kad je tesko
a tesko je uvek


Poruka od Maha-sedefasto zrno na 10.06.2003 u 08:47:04
SAN BELUTKA
Ruka se iz zemlje javila

U vazduh hitnula belutak
Gde je belutak
Na zemlju se nije vratio
Na nebo se nije popeo
Sta je s belutkom
Jesu li ga visine pojele
Je li se u pticu pretvorio
Eno belutka
Ostao je tvrdoglav u sebi
Ni na nebu ni na zemlji
Samog sebe slusa

Medju svetovima svet
V.Popa

Poruka od Danny the biser na 10.06.2003 u 09:14:02
JULIE WITH...
I am on an open sea,
Just drifting as the hours go slowly by.
Julie with her open blouse

Is gazing up into the empty sky
Now it seems to be so strange here

Now it's so blue.
The still sea is darker than before...
No wind disturbs our coloured sails.

The radio is silent, so are we.
Julie's head is on her arm;

Her fingers brush the surface of the sea
Now I wonder if we'll be seen here

Or if time has left us all alone.
The still sea is darker than before...
B.Eno

Poruka od Maha-sedefasto zrno na 10.06.2003 u 15:34:38
PUSTOLOVINA BELUTKA
Dosadio mu je krug
Savrsen krug oko njega
Zastao je
Tezak mu je teret
Sopstveni teret u njemu
Ispustio ga
Tvrd mu je kamen
Kamen od koga je sazdan
Napustio ga
Tesno mu je u sebi
U rodjenom telu
Izisao je
Sakrio se od sebe
Sakrio u svoju senku
V.Popa

Poruka od Rakun na 10.06.2003 u 17:01:31
ALL MINE (Beth Gibbons)
All the stars may shine bright

All the clouds may be white
But when you smile
Ohh how I feel so good
That I can hardly wait
To hold you
Enfold you
Never enough

Render your heart to me
All mine.......
You have to be
From that cloud, number nine

Danger starts the sharp incline
And such sad regrets
Ohh as those starry skies
As they swiftly fall
Make no mistake
You shan't escape
Tethered and tied
There's nowhere to hide from me
All mine....
You have to be
Don't resist
We shall exist
Until the day I die
Until the day I die
All mine.......
You have to be

Poruka od 5kopakabana na 11.06.2003 u 16:28:45
Iskrena pesma
O sklopi usne, ne govori, cuti
Ostavi misli nek se burno roje,
I rec nek tvoja nicim ne pomuti
Bezmerno silne osecaje moje.
Cuti i pusti da sad zile moje
Zabrekcu novim, zanosnim zivotom,
Da zaboravim da smo tu nas dvoje
Pred velicanstvom prirode; a potom

Kad prodje sve I malaksalo telo
Ponovo padne u obicnu camu,
I zivot nov I nadahnuce celo
Necujno, tiho potone u tamu.
Ja cu ti draga, opet reci tada
Otuznu pesmu o ljubavi, kako
Ceznem I stradam I ljubim te, mada
U tom trenutku ne osecam tako.
I ti ces, bedna zeno, kao vazda
Slusati rado ove reci lazne,
I zahvalices Bogu sto te sazda,
I oci ce ti biti suzom vlazne.
I gledajuci vrh zaspalih njiva
Kako se spusta nema polutama,
Ti neces znati sta u meni biva-
Da ja u tebi volim sebe sama,
I moju ljubav naspram tebe, kad me
Obuzme celog silom koju ima,
I svaki zivac rastrese i nadme,
I osecaji navale kao plima!
Za taj trenutak zivota I milja,
Kad zatrepti cela moja snaga,

Nek te srce moje blagosilja.
Al' ne volim te, ne volim te, draga.
I zato cu ti uvek reci: cuti
Ostavi dusu nek pokojno sniva,
Dok kraj nas lisce na drvecu zuti
I tama pada vrh zaspalih njiva

Milan Rakic

Poruka od 5kopakabana na 11.06.2003 u 16:41:22
Padni mi samo na pamet
Misli moje obraz da ti izgrebu
Izadji samo preda me
Oci da mi zalaju na tebe
Samo otvori usta
Cutanje moje da ti vilice razbije
Seti me samo na sebe
Secanje moje da ti zemlju pod stopalima raskopa
Dotle je medju nama doslo
I ti hoces da se volimo

Mozes da me pravis od mog pepela
Od krsa moga grohota
Od moje preostale dosade
Mozes lepotice
Mozes da me uhvatis za pramen zaborava
Da mi grlis noc u praznoj kosulji
Da mi ljubis odjek
Pa ti ne umes da se volis
V.Popa

Slusaj ti cudo
Skini tu maramu belu
Znamo se
S tobom se od malih nogu

Iz istog canka srkalo
U istoj postelji spavalo
S tobom zlooki nozu
Po krivom svetu hodalo

S tobom gujo pod kosuljom
Cujes ti pretvornice
Skini tu maramu belu
Sto da se lazemo
V.Popa


Kamena rec se odronila

Na moje grudi, zive, znaj.
O,nista,vec sam spremna bila.
I s tim cu nekako na kraj.
Ja imam danas posla mnogo:
Ubiti treba spomena jad
I treba, srca kamenoga,
Nauciti se na zivot sad.
No neka...Sumi vrelo leto
Ko praznik pod mojim prozorom.
Ja sam odavno slutila sve to:
Svetlucav dan i pusti dom.
A.Ahmatova

ZAJEDNICKA PESMA
Odvec smo mladi pa nam peva znanje

Odvec zaljubljeni da bismo ziveti znali
Odvec mastoviti za svetlosti danje
Jedemo sve sto leti nismo pali
Sve smo bogatiji sto imamo manje
Nepravda ima pesnickoga dara

Istina je lepa al dok ne ostari
Pesme nam nemaju pameti al imaju zara
Ptica ko dosetka nad njima krstari
Pogresno uzeta rec jedna cuda stvara
Necitak svet
Pevamo ne brinuci za smisao i red

Bolest nasu lece poredjenja smela
I tako pobedjujemo gorcinu i jed
Dok smesan cvet i neoprezna pcela
Pretvaraju vreme u opori med
Ne trebaju nam misli da zivot ublaze

Ko plivac niz stravu verni smo neveri
od pravog puta lutanje nam draze
Ne merimo jer noc zakida na meri
I jasnost vise nema sta da kaze
Necitak je svet

Mi pevamo da se postide roboti

Tupoglavci dovrseni za nameru svesnu
Protiv svega smo sto hoce da kroti
I mada vise voli borbu nego pesmu
Nase nas srce jos ne osramoti.
B.Miljkovic

Kao telasce,kad krilcem mase,

U suncu se prevrnu malo -
I zapaljivo staklence nase
Na empiriju se vec dalo.
Ko komaracka sitnica neka

Jecala je po zenitu pravom
I krisom se sred zujanja meka
Mucila trescica u plavom:
O,ne zaboravi me,kazni me,

Ali mi daj ime,ucini.
Pojmi - bice mi lakse sa njime
U bremenoj plavoj dubini.
Osip Mandeljstam

LJUBOMORA
Tada je pevao dan u granama topola.

Setim se tebe i odmah mi gresna miso.
Jutrom reka a ti ludo gola.
Pa misljah da je reka musko,
ja bih od bola vrisko.
I ja sam mogao ribe klati.
Nisam verovao grmu niti zenskoj jovi.
Ti si se mogla i mladom klenu dati.
Iz tvog su cela nicali beli rogovi.

Da bi te videla trska je porasla za dva kolenca.
Dolazile su zveri oba pola.
Iz tvojih grudi htela su poteci

dva bela studenca.

I ja sam samo mogao da padnem na kolena.
Bio sam snazan junac a ti mlada mati.
I gledao sam ta dva oka zamagljena
zbog kojih kljuca krv i snaga ludo pati.

Tvoja sam bedra zvao sapima ,igracice.
Osecao sam:iz mog cela rastu dva roga vola.
Kako da stignem noge takve trkacice.
Bio je to ludi galop od jutra pa do noci.
Povaljali smo trave ,izranoli zita.
I gledali smo se na svetlu,svojoj bledoci,
ja zdepast,debelog vrata,ti bela,tankovita.
I presta da peva dan u granama topola.

Cudno:rasle su sume sa korenjem gore.
U vuka oci pune vucjeg bola.
U vodi ribe vode tajne razgovore.
I bila su dva neba ,jedno je u reci.
I svaka je grana imala toplinu ruke.
Plovili su neki cudni ,crni meseci
s usnama sto ljube,s rukama za kurjake.
I presta da peva dan u granama topola.

Bi vece.Ti si lezala na paprati.
A ja sam bio mladic,slab,bez ona dva roga vola.
I videh:ti bi se mogla i mladom kurjaku dati.
Da sam ti bicje reci riknuo,ti bi znala.
I nikad blize nozu ne bi moja ruka.
Pobegoh,sa mnom su i debla posrtala.
Pratila su me dva grozna oka,tvoja ili tvog vuka.
Branko V.Radicevic
Naslov: Borhes
Poruka od Sorceress - Falcon na 17.06.2003 u 10:47:42
Nepoznata ulica
Golubijom polutamom
nazivali su Jevreji pocetak veceri,
kada senka još ne uspori korake,
a spuštanje noci se opaža
kao prijatna padina.
U tom casu kad svetlost
ima finocu peska,
put me je vodio nepoznatom ulicom
otvorenom u plemenitoj širini terase

ciji su gipsani venci i zidovi imali

nežne boje kao samo nebo
koje je pozadinucinilo uzbudljivom
Sve - osrednjost kuca,
skromnost stubica i zvekira,
možda nada da ce se pojaviti neka devojka na balkonu -
nadimalo mi je željno srce
kao bistra suza.
Možda je ovaj trenutak srebrnog sutona
preneo svoju nežnost na ovu ulicu
ucinivši je stvarnom kao stih
zaboravljen i ponovo nadjen.
Tek kasnije sam shvatio
da je ta ulica tudja,
da je svaka kuca veliki svecnjak
u kome životi ljudi gore
kao usamljne svece,
da svaki naš nepromišljeni korak
prolazi golgotama.

Poruka od 5ko na 17.06.2003 u 16:39:38
Ljudi moji, bio sam dosad totalna truba za poeziju :)otkad sam na ovom forumu, sve mi se vishe... nekako svidja..ne znam ni
ja...hvala vam na divnim pesmama ;) :D :D :D :D :D
Naslov: Re: Jedna od ...

MOZDA SPAVA
Zaboravio sam jutros pesmu jednu ja,

Pesmu jednu u snu sto sam svu noc slusao:
Da je cujem uzalud sam danas kusao,
Kao da je pesma bila sreca moja sva.
Zaboravio sam jutros pesmu jednu ja.
U snu svome nisam znao za budjenja moc,

I da zemlji treba sunca jutra i zore;
Da u danu gube zvezde bele odore;
Bledi mesec da se krece u umrlu noc.
U snu svome nisam znao za budjenja moc.
Ja sad jedva mogu znati da imadoh san.

I u njemu oci neke,nebo necije,
Neko lice,ne znam kakvo,mozda decije,

Staru pesmu,stare zvezde,neki stari dan,

Ja sad jedva mogu znati da imadoh san.
Ne secam se niceg vise ,ni ociju tih:

Kao da je san mi ceo bio od pene,
Il' te oci da su moja dusa van mene,
Ni arije,ni sveg drugog,sto ja nocas snih;
Ne secam se niceg vise ,ni ociju tih.
Ali slutim,a slutiti jos jedino znam.

Ja sad slutim za te oci da su bas one
sto me cudno po zivotu vode i gone:
U snu dodju da me vide sta li radim sam.
Ali slutim ,a slutiti jos jedino znam.
Da me vide,dodju oci,i ja vidim tad

I te oci,i tu ljubav,i taj put srece;
Njene oci ,njeno lice,njeno prolece
U snu vidim,ali ne znam sto ne vidim sad.
Da me vide,dodju oci,i ja vidim tad:
Njenu glavu s krunom kose i u kosi cvet,

I njen pogled sto me gleda kao iz cveca,
Sto me gleda,sto mi kaze da me oseca,
Sto mi brizno pruza odmor i neznosti svet,
Njenu glavu s krunom kose i u kosi cvet.
Ja sad nemam svoju dragu,i njen ne znam glas;

Ne znam mesto na kom zivi ili pociva;
Ne znam zasto nju i san mi java pokriva;
Mozda spava,i grob tuzno neguje joj stas.
Ja sad nemam svoju dragu,i njen ne znam glas.
Mozda spava sa ocima izvan svakog zla,

Izvan stvari,iluzija,izvan zivota,
I s njom spava,nevidjena,njena lepota;
Mozda zivi i doci ce posle ovog sna.
Mozda spava sa ocima izvan svakog zla.
V.Petkovic DIS


Poruka od jelisaveta na 17.06.2003 u 19:14:38
Vrati mi moje krpice
Moje krpice od čistoga sna
Od svilenog osmeha od prugaste slutnje
Od moga čipkastoga tkiva
Moje krpice od tačkaste nade
Od žežene želje od šarenih pogleda
Od kože s moga lica
Vrati mi moje krpice
Vrati kad ti lepo kažem
v.popa

KO SAM , STA SAM
Ko sam? Sta sam ? Samo sanjalica

kojoj oko ispi magle let.
I svoj zivot ,uzgred tuzna lica
ja proziveh uz ostali svet.
I s tobom se ljubim po navici

mnogo puta vec se ljubih s drugom,
ko da kresem vatru po sibici,
nezne reci sapucem ti dugo.
"Draga moja","mila","znaj, doveka",

dusa hladna ostaje u svemu,
kad se darnu strasti kod covjeka
nema vise istine u njemu.
Zato moja dusa i ne preza

od ljubavi ledom zalivene,
ti si moja lutalica breza
sazdana za druge i za mene.
Ali uvek,trazec srodnu sebi,
muceci se bez neznosti pune,

nimalo se ne ljutim na tebe,

nimalo te i nikad ne kunem.
Ko sam?Sta sam?Samo sanjalica

kojoj oko ispi magle let,
i voleh te uzgred,tuzna lica,
isto tako ko ostali svet.
S.Jesenjin

***
Ne pitaj me o Bosforu vise

Ja ti ne znam odgovor da dam.
Tvoje oci mora mi otkrise
Kao plavi razbuktali plam.
Nikad nisam s karavanom svile

Putovao u bagdadski kraj.
Prigni meni svoje grudi mile,
Daj da kleknem,odmora mi daj.
Zalud molbe i zar moj,-pred njima

Tebe uvek svejedno ce biti
Sto Rusija - to daleko ime -
Kaze da sam pesnik znameniti.
Mojoj dusi harmonika guce,

Mesecina sija i psi laju.
Persijanko,zar nista ne vuce
Tebe plavom dalekome kraju?
Ne dodjoh ti zbog came i muke,

Kroz maglu sam tvoj zov cuo ja,
I labudje ti si svila ruke
Oko mene,kao krila dva.
Mir odavno od sudbine trazim,

Ali proslost prokleti ne zelim.
O svojoj mi domovini kazi
Nesto lepo da se razveselim.
Nadjacaj mi harmonike jeku,

Nek' carima novim se omamim,
Da zaleci devojku - severku,
Ne uzdisem,ne snatrim ,ne camim.

Pa nek nisam bio na Bosforu,

Opis njegov mogu da ti dam,
Jer se oci tvoje slicne moru,
Talasaju kao plavi plam.
S.Jesenjin

***
Sagane moja,ti Sagane draga,

Valjda zato sto severnjak ja sam,
Pricacu ti polja puna klasja,
Raznih polja talasanja blaga,
Sagane moja,ti Sagane draga!
Valjda zato sto severnjak ja sam,

U nas luna lepsa je i sira,
I ma kako divan bio Siras,
Za rjzanske ja sirine glasam,
Valjda zato sto severnjak ja sam.
Pricacu ti polja puna klasja.

Od razi su uvojci mi plavi,
Ti ih samo oko prsta savij -
Ne boli me,nit cu pustit glasa.
Pricacu ti polja puna klasja.
Raznih polja talasanja blaga

Ti po mojim vlasima nasluti.
Smej se,draga,al' precuti
Sve gde vidim kako mesec draga
Raznih polja talasanja blaga.
Sagane moja,ti Sagane draga!

Znam devojku u kraju mojemu,
Na te strasno nalik je u svemu,
Mozda mislju sada za mnom traga...
Sagane moja , ti Sagane draga!
S.Jesenjin


NIRVANA
Nocas su me pohodili mrtvi,

Nova groblja i vekovi stari;
Prilazili k meni kao zrtvi,
Kao boji prolaznosti stvari.
Nocas su me pohodila mora,

Sva usahla , bez vala i pene,
Mrtav vetar duvao je s gora,
Trudio se vetar da pokrene.
Nocas me je pohodila sreca

Mrtvih dusa, i san mrtve ruze,
Nocas bila sva mrtva proleca:
I mirisi mrtvi svuda kruze.
Nocas ljubav dolazila k meni,

Mrtva ljubav iz sviju vremena,
Zaljubljeni,smrcu zagrljeni,
Pod poljupcem mrtvih uspomena.
I sve sto je postojalo ikad,

Svoju senku sve sto imadjase,
Sve sto vise javiti se nikad,
Nikad nece - k meni dohodjase.
To su bili umrli oblaci,

Mrtvo vreme s istorijom dana,
To su bili poginuli zraci:
Svu selenu pritisnu nirvana.
I nirvana imala je tada

Pogled koji nema ljudsko oko:
Bez oblika,bez srece,bez jada,
Pogled mrtav i prazan duboko.
I taj pogled, k'o kam je neki,

Padao je na me i snove,
Na buducnost,na prostor daleki,
Na ideje,i sve misli nove.

V.Petkovic DIS


Bosonoga Pesma
Ovo je pesma
za tvoja usta od visanja
i pogled crn.
Zavoli me,
kad jesen duva u pijane mehove.
Ja umem u svakom novembru

da napravim jun.
I nemam obicne srece.
I nemam obicne grehove.
Moja je sreca srneca,

a gresno mi je smesno
Ako me neko cacne
u ove oci placne,
nije to neutesno:
ja umem od suza da pravim

klikere lepe,prozracne.
2.
Podelicu sa tobom
sva moja sasava zdravlja.
Zavoli moju senku
sto se klati niz dan.
Sutra nas mogu sresti

ponori ili uzglavlja.
Ludo moja,zar ne znas:
divno je nemati plan.
Izidji iz tog detinjstva

kao iz starih patika.
Zavoli moj osmeh,dubok
kao jezerske vode.
Evo,i ja sam se izuo.

Pod vrelim tabanima
rastapa mi se asfalt.

Budi uz mene kad odem.

Prvi Tango
Devojcice,
vi, koje ste veceras poslednji put
uspavale svoje lutke
i krisom od njih,
na prstima,
dosle na ovu igranku,
sa zenicama pitomim,
sa zenicama srnecim,
bistrim kao najveci
kao najlepsi cvet,
i vi sa osmehom toplijim
od mesecine na proplanku,
i vi, zaljubljene u prvi uvojak

sto vam pokriva uho,
i zaljubljene u ceo svet...
Decaci,
vi, koji ste veceras
prvi put nekako drukcije,
mangupski zacesljali kosu,
pa vam se odjednom cini
da vam nicu brkovi,
a osmeh vam na licu
slican muskijim ljudima,
i vi, sa klikerima u dzepu

i pegama na nosu,
sto se pravite vazni,
pa ste promenili hod,
a srce i dalje vam drhti
kao preplaseni mis
u zadihanim grudima...
Hajde, zapocnimo ovaj

nas prvi tango u zivotu!

Igrajmo!
Nije strasno
Dva levo - jedan desno.

Jedan levo - dva desno.
Evo, brojimo svi uglas.
Zbogom olovni vojnici!

Zbogom detinjstvo sa kikama
i plavom masnom!
Zbogom sve ono sto je bilo juce!
Dobro nam doslo

sve ovo sto je ispred nas!
Nije ovo cas hemije

niti cas matematike.
Tiho!
Tiho za one
pred kojima se veceras
otvara mladost siroka!
Umesto lutaka
pred svakom devojcicom klanja se
po jedan zivi, pegavi lutak.
Umesto klikera,
u srce svakog decaka
kotrljaju se dva topla
i nasmejana oka.

Poruka od 5ko na 19.06.2003 u 20:16:10
AKO ZNASH BILO SHTO
Ne znam sto da radim sa sobom

Na sto misli da bacim
I da stvaram polako pjesmu o tebi
Gledam tvoje tijelo
Ludujem za njim
I ponavljam u sebi samo jedno
Poljubi me... Poljubi me... Pa mi prste u kosu uvuci i zagrli me
Poljubi me... Poljubi me... Pa se privij ti uz mene i zapjevaj
Ako znas... uuuuu.... bilo sto...

Zelim da se stisnem uz tebe

Da te milujem
Da ti sapucem na uho bisere
Da pricam o slobodi,
Da se glupiram
Da ti kazem oh ti ludo jedina
by Azra

5ko wrote:
AKO ZNASH BILO SHTO
Ne znam sto da radim sa sobom

Na sto misli da bacim
I da stvaram polako pjesmu o tebi
Gledam tvoje tijelo
Ludujem za njim
I ponavljam u sebi samo jedno
Poljubi me... Poljubi me... Pa mi prste u kosu uvuci i zagrli me
Poljubi me... Poljubi me... Pa se privij ti uz mene i zapjevaj
Ako znas... uuuuu.... bilo sto...

Zelim da se stisnem uz tebe
Da te milujem
Da ti sapucem na uho bisere
Da pricam o slobodi,
Da se glupiram
Da ti kazem oh ti ludo jedina
by Azra
100 puta sam htela da je ostavim na poeziji.... ne znam sto nisam.
Ta mi je najdraza.


Poruka od 5ko na 20.06.2003 u 09:02:52
Santa Maria della salute
Oprosti, majko sveta, oprosti,

sto nasih gora pozalih bor,
na kom se, ustuk svakoj zlosti,
blazenoj tebi podize dvor;
prezri, nebesnice, vrelo milosti,
sto ti zemaljski sagresi stvor:
Kajan ti ljubim preciste skute,
Santa Maria della Salute.
Zar nije lepse nosit' lepotu,

svodova tvojih postati stub,
nego grejuci svetsku lepotu
u pep'o spalit' srce i lub;
tonut' o brodu, trunut' u plotu,
djavolu jelu a vragu dub?
Zar nije lepse vekovat' u te,
Santa Maria della Salute?
Oprosti, majko, mnogo sam strad'o,

mnoge sam grehe pokaj'o ja;
sve sto je srce snivalo mlado,
sve je to jave slomio ma',
za cim sam cezn'o, cemu se nad'o,
sve je to davno pep'o i pra',
na ugod zivu pakosti zute,
Trovala me je podmuklo, gnjilo,

al' ipak necu nikoga klet';
stagod je muke na meni bilo,
da nikog za to ne krivi svet:
Jer, sto je dusi lomilo krilo,
te joj u jeku dusilo let,
sve je to s ove glave sa lude,
Santa Maria della Salute!
Tad moja vila preda me granu,

lepse je ovaj ne vide vid;
iz crnog mraka divna mi svanu,
k'o pesma slavlja u zorin svit,
svaku mi mahom zaleci ranu,
al' tezoj rani nastade brid:
Sta cu od milja, od muke ljute,
Santa Maria della Salute?

Ona me glednu. U dusu svesnu

nikad jos takav ne sinu gled;
tim bi, sto iz tog pogleda kresnu,
svih vasiona stopila led,
sve mi to nudi za cim god ceznu',
jade pa slade, cemer pa med,
svu svoju dusu, sve svoje zude,
-svu vecnost za te, divni trenute!-
Zar meni jadnom sva ta divota?

Zar meni blago toliko sve?
Zar meni starom, na dnu zivota,
ta zlatna vocka sto sad tek zre?
Oh, slatka vocko, tantalskog roda,
sto nisi meni sazrela pre?
Oprosti meni gresne zalute,
Dve u meni pobise sile,

mozak i srce, pamet i slast.
Dugo su bojak strahovit bile,
k'o besni oluj i stari hrast:
Napokon sile sustase mile,
vijugav mozak odrza vlast,
razlog i zapon pameti hude,
Pamet me stegnu, ja srce stisnu',

utekoh mudro od srece, lud,
utekoh od nje - a ona svisnu.
Pomrca sunce, vecita stud,
gasnuse zvevde, raj u plac briznu,
smak sveta nasta i strasni sud. -
O, svetski slome, o strasni sude,
Santa Maria della Salute!
U srcu slomljen, zbunjen u glavi,

spomen je njezim sveti mi hram.
Tad mi se ona od onud javi,
k'o da se Bog mi pojavi sam:
U dusi bola led mi se kravi,
kroz nju sad vidim, od nje sve znam,
za sto se mudracki mozgovi mute,
Dodje mi u snu. Ne kad je zove

silnih mi zelja navreli roj,
ona mi dodje kad njojzi gove,
tajne su sile sluskinje njoj.

Navek su sa njom pojave nove,

zemnih milina nebeski kroj.
Tako mi do nje prostire pute,
U nas je sve k'o u muza i zene,

samo sto nije briga i rad,
sve su miline, al' nezezene,
strast nam se blazi u rajski hlad;
starija ona sad je od mene,
tamo cu biti dosta joj mlad,
gde svih vremena razlike cute,
A nasa deca pesme su moje,

tih sastanaka veciti trag;
to se ne pise, to se ne poje,
samo sto dusom probije zrak.
To razumemo samo nas dvoje,
to je i raju prinovak drag,
to tek u zanosu proroci slute,
A kad mi dodje da prsne glava

o mog zivota hridovit kraj,
najlepsi san mi postace java,
moj ropac njeno: "Evo me, naj!"
Iz nistavila u slavu slava,
iz beznjenice u raj, u raj!
U raj, u raj, u njezin zagrljaj!
Sve ce se zelje tu da probude,
dusine zice sve da progude,
zadivicemo svetske kolute,
zvezdama cemo pomerit' pute,
suncima zasut' seljanske stude,
da u sve kute zore zarude,
da od miline dusi polude,
L.Kostic


Mesecina, - al' meseca nema:

Moja mila zelen venac svila,
Pa se malo u snu nasmijala -
Od toga se ponoc zasijala.
J.J. Zmaj

Kazi mi, kazi

Kako da te zovem,
Kazi mi kakvo
Ime da ti dam-
Hocu li reci:
Diko,ili:snago,
Ili cu: lane,
Ili : moje blago,
Hocu li : duso
Ili : moje drago-
Kazi mi kakvo
Ime da ti dam!
Sve su to mila
Imena , i lepa,
Kojima Srbin
Svome zlatu tepa.
Al' ja bih proveo
Citav jedan vek
Trazeci lepse,
Milije i sladje-
Dicnije ime,
Sto jos ne cu svet,
Da njim nazovem
moj rumeni cvet.
J.J.Zmaj


Tijo noci,
Moje sunce spava;
Za glavom joj
Od bisera grana
A na grani
Ko da nesto bruji,
To su pali
Sicani slavuji:
Zice predu
Od svilena glasa,
Otkali joj
Duvak do pojasa,
Pokrili joj
I lice i grudi,
Da se moje
Sunce ne probudi.
J.J.Zmaj

***
Nespokojan sam.Zudim za dalekim stvarima.

Dusa moja bludi u ceznji da dodirne rube tamne pucine.
O veliki drugi svete,o plahoviti doziv tvoje frule!
Zaboravljam ,zaboravljam uvek da nemam krila za letenje,

da sam prikovan za ovo parce zemlje za vecita vremena.
Budan sam i pun zudnje;tudjinac sam u tudjoj zemlji.

Tvoj dah dopire do mene i dosaptava mi nemoguce nade.
Tvoje su reci prisne mome srcu,kao njegove.

O meto u daljini,o plahoviti doziv tvoje frule!
Zaboravljam ,zaboravljam uvek da ne poznajem puta,

da nemam krilatoga hata.
nespokojan sam ,putnik sam u svom srcu.
U suncanoj magli oklevajucih casova,kakvo

je silno tvoje prividjenje u plavetnilu nebesnom!
O najdalji kraju,o plahoviti doziv tvoje frule!

Zaboravljam ,zaboravljam uvek da su sva

vrata zatvorena u kuci u kojoj boravim sam.
R.Tagore

Mini Karadzic
u spomencu
Pevam danju ,pevam nocu,

pevam,sele stogod hocu:
I sto hocu,to i mogu,
Samo jedno jos ne mogu:
Da zapevam glasovito,
Glasovito ,silovito
Da te dignem sa zemljice,
Da te metnem medj zvezdice.
Kad si zvezda , sele moja,
Da si medju zvezdicama,
Medju svojim , sele moja ,
Malim sestricama.
B.Radicevic

Poruka od Danny na 22.06.2003 u 06:20:39
Maha wrote:
NIRVANA

Nocas su me pohodila mora,

Sva usahla , bez vala i pene,
Mrtav vetar duvao je s gora,
Trudio se vetar da pokrene.
Nocas me je pohodila sreca

Mrtvih dusa, i san mrtve ruze,
Nocas bila sva mrtva proleca:
I mirisi mrtvi svuda kruze.

Nocas ljubav dolazila k meni,

Mrtva ljubav iz sviju vremena,
Zaljubljeni,smrcu zagrljeni,
Pod poljupcem mrtvih uspomena.
I sve sto je postojalo ikad,

Svoju senku sve sto imadjase,
Sve sto vise javiti se nikad,
Nikad nece - k meni dohodjase.
To su bili umrli oblaci,

Mrtvo vreme s istorijom dana,
To su bili poginuli zraci:
Svu selenu pritisnu nirvana.

Pogled koji ima ljudsko oko:
Bez oblika,bez srece,bez jad,
I taj pogled, k'o kam je neki,

Padao je na me i snove,
Na buducnost,na prostor daleki,
Na ideje,i sve misli nove.

V.Petkovic DIS
Ovu pesmu sam najvise voleo kao gimnazijalac... reci*:

Pogled kakav nema ljudsko oko:
Bez oblika, bez srece, bez jada,
Odjekivale su u meni slicno kao muzika Joy Division koja se bas nekako tada pojavila.
E sad, da li vi verujete da je, krajem sedamdesetih, ovakvu jednu pesmu na nastavi srpskohrvatskog, bilo obavezno
tumaciti u klasnom svetlu?! Da, da, pesnik jeste duboko nesrecan, a to je, ne zbog vecne i opste patnje usled ljudske
prolaznosti, nikako to, pesnik je, zna se (i tako biti mora!), nesrecan zbog drustvene nepravde, zbog potrebe za klasnom
borbom! I imao si tako da odgovoris za dobru ocenu, i tacka. U mom slucaju, tacka... ::)
---
* Izvini Maha, ali koliko se ja secam, ova strofa ide ovako, a ne kako si ti napisala...


U pravu si ... Tako je nekako izrecitovah sebi toga jutra...

a fali mi i po koje slovo...
Mozda je najtuznije sto je tada mnogo ucenika imalo dobru ocjenu i sto su bili ponosni na nju tada , a i mnogo kasnije ...
To je i meni bila jedna od "omiljenih" pjesama ,pored "Mozda spava", i "Santa Maria..."

SUMATRA
Sad smo bezbrizni , laki i nezni.

Pomislimo : kako su tihi , snezni
vrhovi Urala.
Rastuzi li nas kakav bledi lik,

sto ga izgubismo jedno vece,
znamo da ,negde,neki potok,
mesto njega ,rumeno tece!
Po jedna ljubav,jutro ,u tudjini,

dusu nam uvija , sve tesnje,
beskrajnim mirom plavih mora,
iz kojih crvene zrna korala,
kao,iz zavicaja , tresnje.
Probudimo se nocu i smesimo , drago,

na Mesec sa zapetim lukom.
I milujemo daleka brda
i ledene gore,blago ,rukom.
M.Crnjanski


Poruka od 5ko na 23.06.2003 u 18:38:21
Cekaj me, i ja cu sigurno doci

samo me cekaj dugo
cekaj me i kada zute kise noci ispune tugom
cekaj i kada vrucine zapeku
i kada mecava brise,
cekaj i kada druge nitko nebude cekao vise
Cekaj i kada pisma prestanu stizati iz daleka
cekaj me i kada cekanje dojadi
svakome koji ceka,
cekaj me i ja cu sigurno doci
Ne slusaj kad ti kazu kako je vrjeme
da zaboravis, i da te nade lazu, nek povjeruju i sin i mati da vise ne postoje, neka se tako
umore cekati i svi drugovi moji i gorko vino za moju dusu nek piju
kod ognjista, cekaj i nemoj sjesti s njima, nemoj piti nista...cekaj me i ja cu sigurno doci
Sve smrti me ubiti nece, nek rekne tko me cekao nije,taj je imao srece.Tko cekati ne zna,taj
nece shvatiti niti ce znati drugi da si me spasila ti jedina cekanjem svojim dugim.Nas dvoje
samo znacemo kako prezivjeh vatru kletu ,naprosto ti si cekati znala kao niko na svijetu
naprosto ti si cekati znala kao nitko na svjetu...
Konstantin Simonov

Jao kako ovo Serbedzija lepo govori :D

Poruka od 5ko na 23.06.2003 u 21:50:09
I ovo:
Mozat da se razdvojat bregovite,

Mozat da se razurnat gradovite,
Mozat da se razdelat vljubenite,
I kako zvezdi okolu zemljata da kruzime,
A zosto nie da ne se druzime,
A zosto nie da ne se druzime!
Mozat da se rastopat snegovite,

Mozat da se ispraznat parkovite,
Mozat da ni presusat izvorite,
I kako ptici bez cel da kruzime,

Mozat da se napolnat kasarnite,

Mozat da me odnesat viorite,
Mozat da se izgradat zidovite,
Okolu niv kako liljaci da kruzime,


Kuca nam je nasred druma

Sto prvo sunce sa poslednjim spaja
Crna nasa sreca zlatnih ruku

Neimar nam sama bila
Smisljala izgleda nebesku cupriju

Izgleda sunceve terazije
A ispala kuca
V.Popa

OBLAK
U predvecerje , iznenada
Ni od kog iz dubine gledan
Pojavio se iznad grada
Oblak jedan.
Vjetar visine ga je njiho

I on je stao da zari ,
Al' oci svih ljudi bjehu
Uprte u zemne stvari.
I svak je iso za svojim putem.

ZA vlascu,zlatom,il' za hljebom.
A on -krvareci ljepotu-

Svojim nebom.
I plovio je sve to vise,

Kao da se kani dic' do boga.
Vjetar visine ga je njiho,
Vjetar visine raznio ga.
D.Cesaric

NESANICA
Negde macke zavijaju slepo,

Bat koraka lovim izdaleka...
Tvoje oci uljuljkuju lepo:
Treci mesec zbog njih san ne cekam.
Ti si sa mnom opet , opet , nesanice!

Ukoceni lik ti prepoznajem.
Lepotice , sta je , otpadnice?
Zar ti lose pesme pevam , dajem?
Prozori su belo zastrveni,

Plavetnilo struji polumrakom ...
Jesmo l' udaljenim glasom uteseni?
Sto je meni s tobom tako lako?
A.Ahmatova

***
Sve sto zivi oziljak ima,

jos iz detinjstva ,poseban ran.
Da nisam pesnik,ja medj svima
bio bih hulja i lopov znan.
Mrsav i rasta odvec malena,

medj decom bio sam uvek heroj,
cesto,cesto nosa razbijena,
vraco sam se i ja pod krov svoj.
Uplasenoj majci,kad pred nju banem,

rec cedjahu usne krvavo-tmaste:

Nista ,de ! Spotakoh se o kamen ,

A vec sutra sve ce da zaraste.
Pa i sada ,kada se bez traga

onih dana krv vrela smirila,
nespokojna neka drska snaga
na poeme moje se izlila,
na vec zlatne literarne hrpe;

i u svakom retku sto se vije
ogledaju se nekadanje crte
kavgadzije,nemirka,delije.
Ko i nekad imam hrabrost musku,

al' nov korak moj se drukce slusa...
Dok mi nekad razbijahu njusku,
sada mi je sva u krvi dusa.
Ne velim vise majci okrvavljen,

vec tom sljamu sto cerec se raste:
Nista,de! Spotakoh se o kamen,
a vec sutra sve ce da zaraste!
S.Jesenjin

Poruka od 5ko na 06.07.2003 u 14:27:37
Epitaf za suze boje runolista
Jos mi ponekad
dodje u snove
u istom haljetku
duginih boja
iste mi rijeci
njoj mrakom zaplove:
"Laka ti noc malena moja."
Udje u oci,
u srce u pore
korakom vojnika
pred sudnji boj
njene mi usne
sapatom zbore:
"Laku ti noc maleni moj."
Negde jos ima

u ovom gradu

ulica ljubavi
klupa bez broja
jedno palidrvce
za jednu baladu:
Imas suzu
boje runolista
kosulju,
neki smijesan kroj. . .
ti isti, ja,
sebi ni slicna:
da li cu te
jos jednom sresti
ili ces zauvijek
nestati k'o Troja. . .
jos jedna sjen'a

na srebrnoj niti:
Na po' si puta
a vec na dnu
sa glavom u pijesku
kao noj . . . ?!
u svakom osmijehu
jos trazis Nju?
M.B.Romanov

Poruka od falcon na 06.07.2003 u 15:40:33
Quote:
Negde jos ima
u ovom gradu
ulica ljubavi
klupa bez broja
mora da ima :)


Poruka od 5ko na 07.07.2003 u 20:43:47
"Slucajno idu na iste rodjendane,

slucajno pomisle jedno cim svane,
slucajno on na nju, i slucajno na njega ona,
slucajno slusaju muziku sa istog gramofona.
I kada odgovaraju na casu,

jedno za drugo slucajno strepe,
slucajno im neko srebro treperi u glasu
kada jedno drugom poklanjaju reci lepe.
Slucajno se nadju na istoj stazi, na istoj strani,

slucajno ih zanimaju bas isti romani.
Slucajno se u istoj poslasticarnici nadju,

slucajno idu u bioskop u iste dane,
slucajno bi seli u istu ladju
i da putuju na razlicite strane."
Vaska Jukic-Marjanovic

MEDJU JAVOM I MED SNOM
Srce moje samohrano,

ko te dozva u moj dom?
Neumorna pletisanko,
sto pletivo pletes tanko
medju javom i med snom.
Srce moje , srce ludo ,

sta ti mislis sa pletivom?
K'o pletilja ona stara
dan sto plete ,noc opara,
medju javom i med snom.
Srce moje,srce kivno,

ubio te zivi grom!
Sto se ne das meni zivu
razabrati u pletivu
medju javom i med snom!
L.Kostic


LAZNO OGLEDALO
Zelena grana
bez ritma i ptice.
Odjek jecanja
bez bola i usana.
Covek i gora:
placem
kraj gorkog mora.
Dva mi mora
u zenicama krvare!
Lorka

E crni Frederiko Garsija, bolje da si svirao flamenko i manuo tuznu poeziju i revoluciju... :-X :-/

jeste..... :-/ :-X
ili da je ostao s Dalijem i Galom i druzio se zauvek....

Poruka od 5ko na 11.07.2003 u 10:16:15
Neverna žena
I povedoh nju do reke,

devojkom je smatrajuci,
no, udata ona beše.
Zbilo se na Svetog Jaga,
u podesno nocno vreme,
kad pogase fenjeri se
i zrikavci kad zasvetle.

Na izmaku krajnjih kuca

dodirnuh joj grudi snene,
što se odmah rascvetaše
ko zumbula kite jedre.
I šumeli nabori su
uštirkane suknje njene
kao komad svile što,
od oštrica deset secen.
S krunama bez srebra sjajnog
naraslo je sve drvece,
dok lajaše vidik pasa
u daljini, preko reke.
Kad predosmo glog i trske
i kupina oštre vreže,
od njezine punde osta
na tlu blatnom udubljenje.
I ja na to mašnu skidoh,
ona haljinu sa sebe,
ja - opasac s revolverom,
ona - prslnik sav izvezen.
Ni smilje ni školjke morske
nisu takve puti nežne,
ni kristali na mesecu
takvim sjajem ne trepere.
Bedra njena bežahu mi
kao ribe uplašene,
do pola hladnoce pune
a od pola osvetljene.
I po putu najboljemu
jezdio sam noci cele,
bez stremena i bez uzde,
vrh omice te sedefne.
Ne želim, jer covek jesam,
da pomenem šta mi rece,
pamet zadrava nalaže mi
da se time ne razmecem.
Prljavu od poljubaca
i peska, nju ponesoh s reke;
do se s vetrom macevahu
ljiljanove sablje bele.
Pokazah se kao pravi
Ciganin što zna ko jeste.
Ja poklonih kotaricu
Njoj od trske ispletene,
Al u nju se ne zaljubih,
jer udata mada beše,
kaza mi da devojka je
kad povedoh nju do reke.


Odvescu te u Sukotaj-praskozorje srece
do Zlatnog trougla
Onde Buburjanka pociva
Videces izmaglicu iznad obala
I mora pene
I kule od opala
...sa asfahanskog saga
grunuce svetla nebeska
i krenuce vojska nizmijska
i arabejska
I sure kad se cuju iz Dzeneta
mladih meleka
U sabah neman nema snage
jaci je hazreti uleima
u svoj toj distorziji
vecno gaseci upaljene lampe
dolazi Du-ul(!)
.....................
okrecem ledja i poljupcem brisem
daljinu.
danas je dosao drugi put,krisom,
i ne znaci nista sto me nema,
kumrije ce ti reci,
bicu tu sa tobom i kada svetlo sidje, tiho

pokriti decicu zvezdanom prasinom
i veselo plakati u bdenju
do naseg sretenja
.............................
Pricaju Dante, Ekhart, Svedemborg, Simon madjionicar i Nik

O , da sam znao da je tako,

Jos na pocetku svome ranije:
Da stih se krvlju gusi lako,
Navre na grlo i - ubije.
Ja bih se sala tih odreko-

S tom pozadinom- istog maha.
Pocetak bese jos daleko,
A radoznalost puna straha.
Ali ta starost , poput Rima,

U zamenu za laz vodviljsku,
Nece od glumca tekst sto ima,
No pogibiju punu , zbiljsku.
Kad osecanje pesmu daje

Ono na scenu roba salje.
I sva umetnost tu tad staje.
A tle, sudbina - disu dalje.
B.Pasternak


Prijatelji! Bratstveni zbore!

Vi,cijim je zamahom razoren
Zemnih uvreda roj.
Sumo! - Elizijume moj!
U bucnom taboru ,pijuc na dusek,

Pajtasica srodnih dusa,
trezvenost izbravsi, zavrsavam
Dan - medj najtisim od bratstva.
Ah, iz ulica , iz bucnih,

U zrtveni oganj svemogucih
Lugova! U golem spokoj bez sporova,
U mir mahovina! U sum borova...
Drvece je mudra vrsta!

Suma je prorocka i cvrsta:
Tu,nad zbrkom linija krivih,
Savrsen se zivot zivi;
Gde izopacenosti, ni ropstva nema,

Tamo,gde sve je rast i mena,
Tamo,gde istina jasno je dana:
Sa ove strane dana...
M.Cvetajeva

Crvenim plodom
oskorusa sja.
Pade list pod svodom.
Rodila se ja.
Svadjao se sila
Zvona reski kov.
Subota je bila:
Jovan Bogoslov.

Jos i danas meni
Dodje zelja ta:
Da grizem rumeni
Gorki plod sto sja .
M.Cvetajeva

Poruka od 5ko na 20.07.2003 u 12:10:25
Mi nismo rodjeni da se volimo

ljubavi moja lose glumimo
neznamo da prastamo
samo svoje tjeramo i sve gubimo
Nisam nija covjek iz tvoga sna

ti neces nikad biti kraljica
negdje medju zvjezdama ljubav nam se sakrila
gdje si ti, gdje sam ja
I bog je odnas digao ruke

moje je srce ko tvoje ponosno
i ja bi prije umro od muke
nego ko prosjak za ljubav molio
Nisam nija covjek iz tvoga sna

ti neces nikad biti kraljica
negdje medju zvjezdama ljubav nam se sakrila
gdje si ti, gdje sam ja
I bog je odnas digao ruke

moje je srce ko tvoje ponosno
i ja bi prije umro od muke
nego ko prosjak za ljubav molio

Naslov: Poezija raspolozenja

Ocaj
Dan osvanu a ja - Skadar,

Zle me sile
pretvorile
u gomile,
do temelja porusile.
Tri godime tako one

mene lome,
a ja vise nisam kadar
da se zidam
i survavam
niz litice.
Gojkovice,
mlada Gojkovice...
V.Nikolic

DRUMOVANJA
Pjevaju u meni drumovi snazni,

drumovi dobri ko dlan ocin.
Moram danas otic nekud da potrazim
malo odmora za umorne oci.
Idem bez pozdrava,bez poruka,

ovako lijepo pomucenog uma,
da trazim okuka,okuka, okuka,
i iza svake samo parce druma.
Pustite me, pustite da odem,

bez pitanja kako i zasto i dokle,
drumovi uvijek nekud vode,
a ja sam nomadskom gladju proklet.
V.Nikolic


Dva sunca se gase(gospode blag budi!):

Nebesko - i drugo usred mojih grudi.
Da oprostim sebi dal' cu smeti-

Sto su me dva sunca skretala s pameti?
I oba se hlade - njihov zrak ne bije !

Ugasice prvo ono plamenije.
M.Cvetajeva

- Tebi ljubav dati?

- Daj ...
- Ona je zaprljana ...
- Daj je zaprljanu.
- Hocu da pogatam ...
- Gataj.
- Jos hocu da pitam...
- Pitaj.
- Recimo, zakucacu ...
- Pusticu te.
- Recimo, pozvacu te ...
- Poci cu.
- Ako je tamo nevolja?
- I u nevolju.
- Ako te prevarim?
- Oprosticu.
- "Otpevaj" - naredicu ti ...
- Otpevacu.
- Zatvori drugome vrata ...
- Zatvoricu.
- Reci cu ti: ubij!
- Ubicu.
- Reci cu ti: umri!
- Umrecu.
- Ako se zagrcnem?
- Spasicu te.
- Ako se bol pojavi?
- Pretrpecu.
- Ako se zid ispreci?

- Srusicu.
- Ako se cvor zamrsi?
- Preseci cu.
- Ako ima sto cvorova?
- I sto.
- Tebi ljubav dati?
- Ljubav.
- Toga nece biti!
- Zasto?!
- Zato sto
ne volim
robove.
Robert Rozdestvenski

Ljubav znajte da postujete,

vremenom se udvostrucuju njene cini.
Ljubav - to nisu uzdasi na klupi,
niti setnje pri mesecini.
Bice svega: lapavice i snega.
Proziveti zivot udvoje treba znati.
Ljubav je dobroj pesmi slicna,
a pesmu nije lako ispevati.
Stepan Scipacov

Drzim joj ruke i stezem je na svoje grudi.

Pokusavam da ispunim svoje narucje njenom
ljupkoscu, da poljupcima opljackam njen sladak
osmeh, da ocima svojim ispijem njene tamne poglede.
Ali, avaj, gde je to sve? Ko moze lisiti nebo njegova plavetnila?

Pokusavam da shvatim lepotu, ali mi ona izmice
i ostavlja mi na rukama samo telo.
Prevaren i umoran, vracam se.
Kako moze telo dotaci cvet koji sme da dodirne jedino dusa?

Tagore

LJUBAVNA
Ona je prisutna na mojim trepavicama

I njene kose su u mojoj kosi,
Ona oblike mojih ruku nosi
I ima mojih ociju boju i plamen,
Ona uranja u moju senku
Kao u nebo kamen.
Njene su oci uvek otvorene

Pa zbog toga ne mogu da zaspim.
Jarka svetlost njenih snova cini
Da se isparavaju sunca u visini,
Da se smejem i placem dok je smeh sve veci,
I da govorim a nemam sta reci.
Pol Elijar

RASIPACICA ZVEZDA
Nisi uvek tako gorda i daleka ,

Ipak me ponekad bar pozelis.
Tiho , tiho ,nezno ko da sanjam,

Dolazis do mene ,cesto ,sama.
Prekriva ti celo gusti pramen

Sto pod zabranom jos osta za me .
Tvoje krupne oci zrace sjajem.

Tajnih zraka koje luna daje.
Mila ,okrutni rivalu, vraze,

Svaki korak tvoj je tako blazen,
Ko po srcu da se mirno seces.

Rasipajuc zvezde kao cvece.
Uze ih da ne znam ni odakle,

samo zasto ti se oci cakle.
I zar taj sto s tobom bese skupa ,

nema kom da da na zemlji ljubav.
Nikolaj Gumiljov

"(...) Halo!
Ko je ?
Mama?
Vaseg sina nesto divno boli!
Zapaljeno mu je srce i vene.
recite sestrama ,Ljudi i Olji ,
on nema kuda da se dene.
Svaka rec ,
cak i sala stura,
koju izbljuju njegove usne goruce,
izlecu kao gola kurva
iz zapaljene javne kuce.
Ljudi mirisu -
pecenja ima !
Stigli su nekakve.
Blistavi!
Pod slemovima eno!
Ne moze se u cizmama!
recite vatrogascima:
da se neznije veru po srcu zapaljenom.
Sam cu , znajte!
Izbecicu suzne kao burad oci>
o rebra mi da se oprem ,dajte.
Iskocicu , iskocicu! Iskocicu ! Iskocicu!
Survava se i puca .
Iskociti neces iz srca!
Iz pukotine usana
na spaljenom licu oguljenom
izraste parce poljupca izgorela (...) "
"Oblak u pantalonama" , V. Majakovski


GOVOR
Smatram velikom slaboscu i stvarno bih bio

potisten kada bih sve ovo sto osecam,
morao da ti objasnjavam hudim jezikom
coveka: recima sumnjivim, rovitim, razjedenim
i nekorisnim.
Postoje svakodnevne, sasvim obicne stvari,
koje su mnogima tajna.
"Najcvrsca vrata su ona koja su sirom otvorena,

kaze jedan prastari zapis sa Tibeta.
Postoji govor koji ce neko otkriti sutra, a

mozda niko nece ni pokusavati da ga
otkrije. Ali ti ga vec sada moras obuhvatiti
mislima.
Jer to je jezik znacenja, a ne dijalekt naziva.
Postoje kulture gestova, disanja ili vida.

Postoji vreme vremena i prostiranje prostora.
Postoji lepota lepote. Postoji istina istine,
stvarnost stvarnog, volja volje i moc moci.
Postoji kretanje kretanja, razmisljanje razmisljanja,
... postoji i ljubav ljubavi, sine moj.
Sve se redje usudjujem da izgovaram reci, jer

uvek znace drugo nego sto ja to zelim.
Sve dalje su od govora i tesko ih razabirem
u sumovima beskraja.
Tkivo tetovira na tkivo otiske nasleda. Takvo

je moje cutanje s tobom ove noci. Opnu po
opnu, ljisku po ljusku, sluz po sluz, zamor
medju nama civilizacije protozoa, epohe
virusa, celije stena i vazduha, i ustavljena
koza vode i vecnosti.
To je kao da se sporazumevamo u svim
vremenima, sada iz ovog trenutka, u kojem
smo se zadesili.

Pisem umesto tebe Snezani i Alisi. Saljem

telegrame Pinokiju i Malom Princu. Javljam
se bar jednom dnevno telefonom
Galebu Dzonatanu Livingstonu i Pepeljugi.
Ali ni reci odgovora. Znaci da misle
na nas.
Ko zna glasove misli, retko kada se oglasi
glasom govora.
Ljudi se postuju recima, a vole cutanjem.
M. Antic

2.
Svasta nepoznato u snu se ljudskom ovdje

javlja. A i budan vidjet ces dok ides,
sve ovo sto malo koja dusa iz doline
ikad sanja .
Vrhovi planinski oko tebe ,stijene.

Ne vidis put kojim si dolazio vjekovima.
Sunce na nebu se uvijek penje.
Kako je pala noc , to se nikad ne zna.
Mislis , sam si i spavas u kuli bez prozora.

Sanjas u tami svoj ljudski lik.
Probudis se . Sad si vilenjak,
sav proziran i plav.
Ne znas kako se ovdje mijenja

sudbina svacija iz casa u cas.
Ti u tami stojis,opet mislis,
sve je san i proci ce kad se probudis.
Iz poeme "Tigar" - Marija Cudina


10.
Odavno si poznavao,ali zar nisi vec jednom

zaboravio tu zvijer neobicno blisku tvome srcu?
U snu govorio si o Tigru,kraljevske misli mislio.
Nitko ne zna vjerujes li jos
u onoga od kojega druge sjene bjeze.

Srce tvoje mozda je jos uvijek nepromijenjeno.
Ovdje gdje se svatko svakog boji,
ti se uzdas u ljubav neprolaznu.
I ne vidis , ruzne zabe stalno se mnoze i dijele,

a onaj jedini koji te s blagoscu gledase
sad okrece svoje oci od tebe.
Nisi ni stigao da ga zapazis,
a on je vec daleko.Ruzne zabe i dalje

bacaju sjene svoje goleme na tvoju sitnu sjenku.
Ti se nadas,nitko vise ne zna ,cemu.
Ovdje se zivi bez nade.
M.Cudina

24.
I zar nam se sad ne cini da svaka sudbina ima

svoj kraj.Svacije vrijeme prodje.I udes jedan zao
smijenit ce drugi,jos gori, kao sto se u nekom
manje zlokobnom kraju smjenjuju doba godisnja.
Odjednom ces i ti zaboraviti svoga velikog Tigra.

A ni ja se vise prisjecati necu glave tvoje
srcolike ,iako sam te volio previse i zelio sam uvijek
da prvi budes, i da se ne predas nikad.
U snu cu samo jos jednom vidjeti tvoj magleni vrt.

Truplo uvijek ti vjernog psa visjet ce ozalosceno
neko vrijeme na drvetu.Zatim ce se samo u rijeku
baciti , otplovit ce daleko,pa cu i to zaboraviti.
I tako se nikad nece saznati kakav je bio tvoj

poslednji cas.Jesi li se predao?Sam si rekao da se

i onaj koji se ne bori mora predati jednom.

Pa mozda odlucis da se ne predas . A i nemas kome!
"Tigar",M.C.

OCI
U svakom septembru ima necega nalik na tihe rastanke. Primetis to po igrama koje polako
pocinju da se saplicu. Primetis to po iskracalom odelu, koje ostavljas mladjem bratu.
Primetis i po bajkama, koje smo dosad tako lepo izmisljali. Primetis kako nam i bajke sve
manje veruju.
Ustvari, velika je to varka. Bas kao sto je i svet sa one strane svoga oka.
Onome koga posmatras u ogledalu s nadom. Ti si nada koju on gleda iz svog sveta. Ne veruj
nicemu sto se moze primetiti samo sa jedne strane vida.
Trci i sastani se sam sa sobom. I izgubi se u daljinama sebe kao kap ciste svetlosti.
Retki su oni koji shvataju granicu slobode. Jos redji oni koji shvataju slobodu granice. »Ne
zidaj vrata veca od kuce «, kazu Eskimi. To isto znaci sto i zidati prozore manje od ociju.
Stvarno videti, znaci: umeti videti kisu kako pada uvis. Videti kako padaju uvis krovovi kuca i
reke u kojima se taloze vrhovi planina.
Ovako sam to cuo: »Ko nije nebo ugledao u vodi, taj nema pojma sta su ribe na drvecu"
Pa ako se i okliznes, nekada, u zivotu, ne gledaj to kao pad u sunovrat nego kao pad uvis.
I uvek, uvek se seti Aleksandra Makedonskog: »Niko me na svetu nije pokori sem mene «.
Treba umeti videti nebo, puno zrnevlja svetlosti kako se uspravlja nad zemljom i razgranava u
svome padu. Cveta.
I videti pad vetra kako raste duboko u doline, u ponornice blagosti, sine moj.
I snove valja videti kako rastu dok tones polagano u njih i paras se, bas kao sto i ove reci
cutanja, tude i moje, tonu nocas, a nadvisuju krov i oblake, i nadvisuju nebo i rastu u jednu
predivnu vasionu koju smo izmislili sebi u visovima opalog septembra.
M. Antic


Poruka od 5ko na 24.09.2003 u 13:54:22
Mnogo li sam strado kad se srce seti:

Nikad dobro jutro! Nikad dobro vece!
Meni nocca lako nikad ne protece...
U mislima tako uzd'no sam jako,
A suze su tekle niz obraz polako.
Od grudi se mojih vecan oganj stvori,
Da u njima dusa pre roka izgori!
Po golemu svetu mladjan se potucam-
Sto gromovnik nisam da na sudbu pucam?...
Sve sto mi je bilo nedrago i drago,
Ostavljat sam moro ravno, podjednako!
Pa gde sad pocivam... o da divna mesta!
Lepsa nikad nije s uresom nevesta!
Izvezeno cvecem, okiceno goram'-
Ja i ovo mesto ostaviti moram!
- Eno vec se kriju sjajnog sunca zraci,
Ka zapadu zlatni putuju oblaci:
Torbicu sam svezo, opanak pritego,
I ja bih sa sunce nekud dalje bego:
Ali jedno srce, drugo sudba zeli:
Ja po sudbi moram sto ona prideli;
Vidim ono stenje sto se nebu penje-
To je volja sudbe... gorko prideljenje!...
Put u Gornjak...Djura Jaksic

Poruka od dobro_drvo na 28.09.2003 u 03:38:36
Pohvala svetu
Ne napustaj me svete
Ne idi naivna lasto
Ne povredite zemlju
Ne dirajte vazduh
Ne ucinite nikakvo zlo vodi

Ne posvadjajte me sa vatrom
Pustite me da koracam
Prema sebi kao prema svome cilju
Pustite me da govorim vodi
Da govorim zemlji
I ptici koja zivi od vazduha
Glas moj ispruzen kao zivac
Pustite me da govorim
Dok ima vatre u meni
Mozda cemo jednom moci
Da to sto kazemo dodirnemo rukama
Ne napustaj me svete
Ne idi naivna lasto

***
Zbog drugova , zbog veselih,

Zbog posrebrenih dolina
rastuzi se ko golub
Radost dalekih godina.
Pa secanje kuca kljunom

Prvi sneg sa staze uske.
Nad jezerom i nad sumom
Kasni krici divlje guske.
Pod oknom od skliskih jela

Pruza sena tamne ruke
Tihih voda ladja bela
Pusi lulu ispred luke.
Dim taj - to dan polju mase,

Dan miloste i visanja.

Miris trave s tela snasa
Dopire mi do usana.
Mir lipama , lugovima,

Mir tamjanu svetilista!
Sa osmehom ko sve prima
Ne treba mu od vas nista.
S.Jesenjin

***

jos iz detinjstva ,poseban ,ran.
Da nisam pesnik ,ja medj svima
bio bih hulja i lopov znan.

medj decom bio sam uvek heroj,
cesto ,cesto nosa razbijena,
vraco sam se ja i pod krov svoj.
uplasenoj majci,kad pred nju banem,

rec cedjahu usne krvavo-tmaste:
-Nista , de! Spotakoh se o kamen,
a vec sutra sve ce da zaraste.-
Pa i sada,kada se bez traga

na poeme moje se izlila,
na vec zlatne literarne hrpe;

ogledaju se nekadasnje crte
kavgadzije ,nemirka ,delije.
Ko i nekad imam hrabrost musku,

al' nov korak moj se drukce slusa...
Dok mi nekad razbijahu njusku,

-Nista , de! spotakoh se o kamen,
a vec sutra sve ce da zaraste!-

S.Jesenjin

Poruka od the sushi club na 07.10.2003 u 19:21:25
On the way home
Cut off - no news

from home beyond the hill,
Winter has passed,
and spring again is near.
So close my village now,
my heart so heavy still:
Those on the way
I dare not ask, for fear...
Li Pin
(prom. 854 A.D.)
(tr. A. W. Tüting)

***
Pevaj , Pevaj ! na kletoj gitari
prsti tvoji igraju i kruze.
Zagrcnuo bih se u dimu i jari ,
moj poslednji i jedini druze.
Nek ti oci na grivnu ne slecu ,
nit na svilu sto blista beskrajno.
Trazio sam u toj zeni srecu ,
a propast sam nasao slucajno.
Nisam znao da ljubav duboka -

zaraza je , da je kuga ... strela.
Prisla je i zaklopljena oka
banditu je pamet oduzela.
Pevaj ,druze ,nek se vrate dani
i nekadasnje nase zore plam ,
Nek poljupcem ona druge hrani ,
prezivelo djubre , divni sljam.
Ah , zastani ! necu da je diram .
Ah , zastani ! ne kunem je ja .
Daj mi da ti o sebi zasviram
na debeloj zici koja sja ...
Blista mojih dana kube jasno ,
u dusi je jos zlato starinsko.
Mnoge cure istipo sam strasno ,
mnoge zene u uglu sam stisko .
Na zemlji je jos istina ziva ,
opazih je i ja detinjskim okom :
lizu kucku dok joj se sok sliva
svi psi redom , na juris i skokom .
Zar da budem ljubomoran na nju ?
Zar ovakvog da me snadje jad ?
Nas je zivot - postelja i gunj .
Nas je zivot - poljubac i pad .
Pevaj , pevaj ! Ruke naka masu :
kobni zamah - kobi ce doneti ...

Cuj ... nek ide sve u ... pivsku flasu ...
Nikad , druze , ja necu umreti .
S.Jesenjin

Rabindranath Tagore
Begunica
Dodji, prolece,
smeh ljubavnice zemljin,
neka zakuca srece suma,
nestrpljivo da se izrazi!
Dodji u naletima nemira usred lisca
i cveca koje hita da se razvije.
Kao sjajna pobuna, baci se u noc,
u tamu vode, iznad zemlje,
oglasi slobodu zarobljnih klica!
Kao smeh munje, urlik oluje,
odjekni u bucnom gradu,
oslobodi rec ugusenu,
napor koji je pao u letargiju,
osnazi nasu borbu malaksalu,
budi pobednik smrti!
Secam se toga dana.

Pljusak je besneo, pa se smirio,
i ponovo poceo, cudljiv, s duvanjem vetra.
Uzeh svoju spravu za sviranje.
Nemarno sam dodirivao zice;
nehotice muzika je pratila
ritam naleta vetra i kise.
Ona je bila krisom ostavila svoj posao,
zastala kod mojih vrata,
pobegla, dvoumeci se.
Vratila se, ostala trenutak naslonjena na zid;
najzad je tiho usla u sobu i sela.
Pognute glave hitro okrece iglu u tisini.
Uskoro zaostaje, i ide da pogleda kroz prozor
drvored taman od kise.

Jedan cas kisnog popodneva,

punog senki, pesme i tisine.
Nista drugo.
Te noci ispevao sam

jednu pesmu,
ali ti nisi bila tu.
Pronasao sam reci
koje sam uzalud trazio vazdan.
Jest, iz nedara nocne tisine
one su se slile u svirku,
dok su se zvezde palile
jedna za drugom
Ali ti nisi bila tu.
Hteo sam jutros
da ti pevam pesmu svoju:
ali iako nisam zaboravio melodiju,
buntovne reci mi izmicu
sada kraj si kad mene.
Zadrhtacu bez sumnje

ako se ikad budemo sreli
u drugome zivotu,
u svetlosti udaljenog sveta.
Zaustavljajuci se,
prepoznacu tvoje oci,
tamne kao jutarnje zvezde,
i znacu da su pripadale
zaboravljenom sumraku
predjasnjeg zivota.
Reci cu:
car tvoj lica nije samo u njemu,
u nju se utkala zarka svetlost
moga pogleda pri susretu
koji se ne pamti,
i moja ljubav joj je dala
tajnu koja se izgubila.
Uvecala si me
svojom ljubavlju,
mene koji sam samo
jedan covek izmedju drugih,
koji plovi obicnim tokom,
pokretan voljom
promenljive milosti sveta.
Dala si mi mesto
tamo gde pesnici svih vremena
donose svoje darove,
gde ljubavnici u ime vecnog
pozdravljaju jedan drugoga kroz stoleca.
Ljudi zurno prolaze ispred mene na trgu -

ne opazajuci kako je moje telo postalo

dragoceno od tvog milovanja,
ne znajuci da u sebi nosimtvoj poljubac
kao sto sunce nosi u svojoj lopti
vatru bozanskog dodira,
kojom sija vecito.
Gazeci travu na stazi,zacuh:

''Poznajes li me?''
Osvrnuh se, pogledah je i rekoh:
''Ne mogu vezati ni jedno ime za tvoje lice''
Ona odgovori:
''Ja sam prva velika tuga tvoje mladosti''.
Njene oci su blistale kao rosno jutro.
Pocutah trenutak, a zatim zapitah:
''Jesi li iscrpla sav teret suza?''
Osmehnu se i ne odgovori.
Razumeh da je njen plac
imao vremena da nauci govor osmeha.
''Nekada'',
prosapta ona,
''govorio si da ces uvek voleti svoju tugu''.
Zbunjen, rekoh:
''Istina je, ali prosle su godine, i dosao je zaborav''.
I uzimajuci njenu ruku u svoju,
dodadoh:
'' I ti si se promenila.
Nekadasnji bol postao je vedrina''.
Srecan sam sto me ne gledas

vise sazaljivo.
Zlokobna car noci
i odjek mojih reci
koje kazuju zbogom,
prestrasene od ocajnog naglaska,
dovele su me do ivice placa.
Ali dan ce se roditi,
moje srce ce biti opet tvrdo,
i nece biti vise vremena za suze.
Ko kaze da je zaborav nemoguc?
Samilosna smrt buja
u samom srcu zivota,
obuzdavajuci njegovu ludu
zelju za trajanjem.
Burno more na kraju otpocine
u svojoj pokretnoj kolevci;
sumski pozar zaspi
u postelji od pepela.
Ti i ja se rastajemo,
i raskid ce pokriti
ziva trava i cvece nasmejano

na suncu.

PRVI SNIJEG
Sonja,izadji da skitamo,
imam ludu zelju veceras da lutam.
Sonja,izadji i iznesi samo

malo njeznosti ispod kaputa.
Malo njeznosti ,malo samo,

zalogaj jedan za ogromnu glad.
Sonja , izadji da skitamo ,

nocas je nestvarno lijep grad.
V.Nikolic

Lijepa pjesma ;D Posebno ono "ispod kaputa" ::)
Kad ces da me ucis o onome "jot" 8) A Maho vilina kosico ;)

::)
mora nesto i da se obuce ... ;D
evo jos jedna njegova pjesma ( i prim(j)eri za jat :P ...)
__________________________________________
ODMETANJE
Nije ovo ljubav , to se ja spasavam,

to ja bjezim, zeno, tebi u hajduke,

romanijo moja ,puna dobrih trava

za krvave rane i zestoke muke.
To ja bjezim,bjezim , iako znam ,zeno,

da vec nigdje nema djula i zumbula,
da me ipak ceka prokleto lijevno
dje u njemu bijeli se kula.

Dan
Ni u kakav dnevnik ovaj dan ne moze,

ovo ruglo danje ,malodusno , sivo ,
ni kise da se pokisne do koze,
ni vjetra , ni sunca - niceg zivog.
I to tako tinja - izvan ljudi , mlako ,

niko tim ne zivi . Vicem srdit vani:
Dane ,djubre jedno , ne svice se tako ,
gubi se natrag pa pristojno svani...
V.N

POVRATAK
Ko zna (ah, niko, niko nista ne zna.

Krhko je znanje!)
Mozda je pao trak istine u me,
A mozda su sanje.
Jos bi nam mogla desiti se ljubav,
Desiti - velim,
Ali ja ne znam da li da je zelim,
Ili ne zelim.
U moru zivota sto vjecito kipi,

Sto vjecito hlapi,
Stvaraju se opet, sastaju se opet
Mozda iste kapi -
I kad prodje vjecnost zvjezdanijim putem,
Jedna vjecnost pusta,
Mogla bi se opet u poljupcu naci
Neka ista usta.

Mozda ces se jednom uvece pojavit

Prekrasna, u plavom,
Ne sluteci da si svoju svjetlost lila
Mojom davnom javom,
I ja, koji pisem srcem punim tebe
Ove cudne rime,
Oh, ja necu znati, ceznjo moje biti,
Niti tvoje ime.
Pa ako i dusa u tome trenutku

Svoje uho napne,
Sigurnim ce glasom zglusiti razum
Sve sto slutnja sapne;
Kod vecernjih lampa mi cemo se kradom
Pogledati ko stranci,
Bez imalo svijesti koliko nas vezu
Neki stari lanci.
No vrijeme se krece, no vrijeme se krece

Ko sunce u krugu,
I nosi nam opet ono sto je bilo:
I radost, i tugu.
I sinut ce oci, naci ce se ruke,
A srca se dici -
I slijepi za stope bivsega zivota
Njima cemo ici.
Ko zna (ah, niko, niko nista ne zna.

Krhko je znanje!)
Mozda je pao trak istine u me,
A mozda su sanje.
Jos bi nam mogla desiti se ljubav,
Desiti - velim,
Ili ne zelim.
D.Cesaric


...Jos bi nam mogla desiti se ljubav,

Desiti - velim,
Ili ne zelim....
vecita dilema :) ;)

nece (valjda ??? :P :-*) biti bas tako :)
ZVIJEZDE U VISINI
Ne ljubi manje koji mnogo cuti,

on mnogo trazi,i on mnogo sluti,
i svoju ljubav(kao parce kruva
za gladne zube) on brizljivo cuva
za zvijezde u visini,
za srca u daljini.
Cutanje kaze:u tudjemu svijetu

ja sanjam jos o cvijetu i sonetu
i o pitaru povrh trosne grede,
i o ljepoti nase svijetle bijede,
i u zar dana i u plavet noci
snim:ja cu doci,ja cu doci.
Tin Ujevic


PESMA ZA NAS DVOJE
Znam, mora biti da je tako:

nikad se nismo sreli nas dvoje,
mada se tražimo podjednako
zbog srece njene
i srece moje.
Po obrazima vetar me mlati.

Cupa drvecu žutu kosu.
U koji deo grada da svratim?
Dan je niz mutne ulice prosut.
Vucaram okolo dva prazna oka,

gledam u lica prolaznika.
Koga da pitam,
smešan i mokar,
zašto je nisam sreo nikad?
Il' je vec bilo?

Trebalo korak?
Možda je sasvim do mene došla,

al' ja: za ugao skrenuo,
gorak,
a ona: ne znajuci prošla.
Možda smo celu jesen obišli

u žudnji ludoj, podjednakoj,
a za korak se mimoišli?
Da. Mora biti da je tako.
Miroslav Antic


***
Haljina bela , purpurna traka ,

Latice kidam dozrelog maka.
Slavlje u selu poput oluje,
U kolu njena pesma se cuje.
Secam se ,minu uz podsmeh blagi :

"Lep si ,al' nisi mog srca dragi .
Plam tvoje kose nek vetar gasi,
A moje drugi miluje vlasi."
Znam da joj nisam blizak i mio:

Malo sam plesao ,premalo pio.
Bio sam tuzan ,uvek u seni ,
Dok pesma jeci i vino peni.
Srecnik ,jer on je bestidnik mali,

Njegova brada prsi joj pali.
I dok u plesu vatra je greje,
Ona se meni u lice smeje.
Haljina bela , purpurna traka,

Latice kidam dozrelog maka.
Tu poput maka srce mi vene,
Zalud jer ona nije za mene.
S.J.

***
Nije zalud duvo vetar,

Nije zalud oluj vio,
neko tihim , tajnim svetlom
Moje oci napojio.
Zbog prolecnih milovanja

Tugovah u magli sivoj.
O nestvarnoj zemlji sanjah,
Nedokucnoj ali divnoj.

Ne palsi me nema mlecnost,

Tihi sjaj zvezda nebeskih.
Ja zavoleh svet i vecnost
Ko prag kuce roditeljske.
Sveta blagost dusi laska ,

Neka strepnja srcem vlada!
Zarudeli mak zalaska
Na jezero stalno pada.
Na vetru se zito njise,

U glavi se slike roje:
Oteljeno nebo lize
Crveno telasce svoje .
S.J.

BEZ NASLOVA
Razdrazljiva a tako tiha,

sva si od vatre koja gori.
Daj mi, u tamno zdanje stiha
ljepotu tvoju da zatvorim.
Gle kako su preobrazene

u zaru kucice abazura,
kraj zida, kraj okna, nase sjene
i obrisi nasih figura.
S nogama sjedis na divanu,

po turski ih pod sobom splete,
svejedno- na svjetlu i u tami
ti vazda sudis kao dijete.
Pricajuci na konac nizes

zrnca sto ti padose s vrata.
Pogled je tvoj i odvec tuzan,

a rijec naivna, umiljata.
Rijec "ljubav" prosla, ti si prava;

drugo cu ime naci lako,
za te cu sav svijet preimenovat,
samo ako ti zelis tako.
Mozda ce cujstva blago tajno

tvoj tamni pogled da istoci
i tvog srca bogatstvo sjajno?!
Zasto li tugom mutis oci?
B . Pasternak

MOZDA
Mozda tu ljepotu
kojom zivim sada
u nekom zivotu
prosanjah
nekada
i ona me stize
sad
u mimogredu
u ovom zivotu
ko zna kom po redu.
Mozda bas ovako

i bas ovoliko
stajao sam davno
pred tom istom slikom
ne sluteci da ce
ona
jednog dana
izaci da zivi
izvan svoga rama .

V.Nikolic

Bez naslova
Bijelim drumom ocajno proboden

drumujem ,skitac , bez lijeka.
Idem kuda me oci vode.
U san , u pjesmu , u rijec , u covjeka...
Jednom cu tako i u smrt da odem,
pa ako slucajno umrem - neka .
V.N.


Mizera
Kao oko mrtvaca jednog
sjaje oko naseg vrta bednog,
fenjeri.
Da l noc na tebe svile prospe?
Jesi li se digla medju gospe?
Gde si sad Ti?
Volis li jos nocu ulice,
kad bludnice i fenjeri stoje
pokisli?
A rage mokre parove vuku,
u kolima , ko u mrtvackom sanduku,
sto skripi.
Da nisi sad negde nasmejana ,
bogata i rasejana,
gde smeh vri?
O , nemoj da si topla , cvetna ,
O , ne budi , ne budi sretna ,
bar ti mi ,ti.
O , ne voli , ne voli nista ,
ni knjige , ni pozorista ,
ko uceni.
Kazes li nakada ,iznenada ,
u dobrom drustvu,jos i sada,
na cijoj strani si?
O .da l se secas kako smo isli ,
sve ulice nocu obisli ,
po kisi ?
secas li se , nocne su nam tice
i lopovi , i bludnice ,
bili nevini.
Stid nas je bese domova cvetnih,
zarekli smo se ostat nesretni,
bar ja i Ti.
U srcu cujem grizu misa ,
a pada hladna sitna kisa.
Gde si sad Ti ?
M.Crnjanski


JA , TI I SVI SAVREMENI PAROVI

Ceo nam je dan dug , i dosadan .
Do veceri ,kad se krisom , sastajemo.
Poljubac jedan , brz , i negledan,
dosta nam je .Da se svetu nasmejemo.
Da odemo u noc ,kao da smo krivi .
Lako ,kao tica , koja kratko zivi.
Nas viti korak ne vezuje brak,
ni nevini zanos zagrljaja prvih.
Nego osmeh lak ,sto cveta u mrak,
na usnicama sa dve-tri kapi krvi.
Ruke nam ne drhte ,od stara prstenja ,
nego od zudi ,straha i sazaljenja!
Ah, nije taj strah samo nas uzdah,
kad vidimo sumu ,kako lako cveta.
Nego je plah , isprekidan dah,
kojim bi nekud dalje ,sa ovoga sveta.
U Slobodu ,kud nad nama ,grane jezde.
U prah mirisan ,kud lipe raspu zvezde!
Uzese nam cast ,ali svetli slast ,
nebesna ,kao ponos ,na nasem licu!
Nasa je strast gurnula u propast:
lazi ,zakone ,novac, i porodicu.
Od ponizenja nam je klonula glava,
al nam se , u telu,prolece spasava!
Nas tuzan osmeh blagosilja greh;
zig onih koji ljube,na svetu celom.
Ceo nam je dan dug , i dosadan,
i prolazi u cutanju neveselom.
Tek uvece ,slobodan ko u travi cvet,
ja te cekam . Na jednoj klupi . Razapet .
M.Crnjanski


...U snu se trzam:

Pesmo,sta ti treba?
Vidik na reku?
Ptica?Komad neba?
-Nista mi ne treba-
kazes - ja sam gola.
Sumim kao zivot,
vetar , smrt ,topola...
S.Raickovic

Ne kao ljudi , ne bogovetno.

Ne uvek - dvaput za jedan vek
ja sam te molio:razgovetno
Ponovi tvorackih reci jek.
I tebi smesa ta vec ne prija

Otkrica i ljudskih beda sto.
Pa kako ces da sam srecan i ja ,
S cim bi jeo ti zemaljsku so?
B.Pasternak


U sumi
Livade jare ljubicaste pletu.
Skupljo se sumom katedralni mrak.
Sta im to osta da ljube u svetu?
On sav bi- vosak,mek pod prstom , lak .
Postoji takav san: ne spavas ,ali
Tek zudis za snom - covekom od sna ,
Kome kroz san jos trepavicu pali
Po crno sunce ispod kapka dva.
Plovi zrak.Leti gundelj svetlucavi.
Kraj lica minu staklast vilin at.
Sumom se puno svetlucanja javi:
Ko pod pincetom satara uz sat.
On, kao zaspa ,zvuk sata ga svlada,
Dok gore ,gde je opor cilibar-
Sat najtacniji navijaju sada
Proverivsi i vreme uz svoj zar.
I pronosi ga,igle drmajuci,
I seju sen i muce ,buse mrak
Jarbolni-sto ce uzdignuto uci
U plav brojcanik,u dan vec nejak.
Ko da oblece sreca, drevna sto je,
A suma boji suncev zalazak.
Srecni ne motre na sat,al to dvoje
Izgledalo je tonu u san lak.
B.Pasternak

LIPA NASRED SRCA
Lipa cvetna nasred srca

Pod lipom kotao zakopan
U kotlu dvanaest oblaka
U oblacima mlado sunce

Kopali smo za kotlom po srcu

Iskopali dvanaest oblaka
Kotao je bezao sa suncem
iz jedne u drugu dubinu
Buljili smo u poslednju dubinu

Dublju od rodjenog zivota
Digli smo ruke od kopanja
Posekli smo lipu da se ogrejemo

Hladno nam bilo oko srca
V.Popa

SVE STO ZIVI OZILJAK IMA

jos iz detinjstva, poseban, ran.
Da nisam pesnik, ja medj' svima
bio bih hulja i lopov znam.

medj' decom bio sam uvek heroj,
cesto, cesto nosa razbijena,
vrac'o sam se ja i pod krov svoj.
Uplasenoj majci, kad pred nju banem,

rec cedahu usne krvavo-tmaste:
- Nista, de! Spotakoh se o kamen,
a vec sutra sve ce da zaraste -
Pa i sada, kada se bez traga


na poeme moje se izlila.
Na vec zlatne literarne hrpe;

ogledaju se nekadasnje crte
kavgadzije, nemirka, delije.
Kao nekad imam hrabrost musku,

al' nov korak moj se drukce slusa…
Dok mi nekad razbijaše njusku,

- Nista, de! Spotakoh se o kamen,
A vec sutra sve ce da zaraste

SEPTEMBAR
Stanimo malo, pesmo!
Jesmo li ziveli , jesmo?
Ti si najlepse sate
-Jablani kad se zlate
U lakoj magli , peni -
Odnela tuzno meni.
S.Raickovic


ZAPISI O GROBU NA LOVCENU

Iskopase ti oci lepa sliko...
M.Rakic
*
Vladiko, u magli mog sjecanja stoji
Dan, tako cudan, kao da ne postoji:
U kisi, pod niskim nebom smo se peli
Na Lovcen, tvom grobu, ko na oblak beli...
*
Jos na vrhu (ko u magli moje glave)
Stoji tvoj oblacni kamen usred jave.
Al vele da ce ga uskoro, Vladiko,
Nestati s lovcenskog kama gdje je sviko.
*
Zbilja , zar dolazi taj dan, kad ce draga
Slika da iscili iz oka , bez traga?
I u suru javu lovcenskog rama
Stati neka druga, nepoznata nama?
*
Vladiko, u nasoj glavi, ispod kosti,
Tinja mala urna tvog duha, oprosti.
I ima u nama mesta gde bi stalo
I sve sto ce pasti da bi iz nas sjalo.
Kad s vrha, tvog groba prvi kamen sruse,
On ce u dubinu sici nase duse.
S.Raickovic


U MOJOJ GLAVI STANUJES
U mojoj glavi stanujes: tu ti je

Soba i mali balkon s kog puca
Vidik na moje misli najtananije.
Ponekad slusas kako mi zakuca

Srce ko zivi leptir iz kutije.
Ja ti odskrinem vrata: niz basamke

Silazis u vrt za koga niko ne zna.
Na povetarcu lebdis poput slamke.
(Dok za to vreme, mozda: neoprezna

Stojis na nekom rubu, ispred zamke...)
Nekad (u mojoj glavi dok bas skaces

U morsku penu, ispod sunca, gola)
Spazim te kako po kisi preskaces
Barice i sva u blatu do pola
Zuris na poso s licem ko da places.
Prolazi dan za danom i sva svota

Vremena tvog se po dva puta zbira:
Po pola oko moga klupka mota.
Vidim sa tvoga lica puno mira

Da ne znas kako zivis dva zivota.
U mojoj glavi stanujes i dubis

Crne i bele hodnike za moje
Misli: kako mi bezis il me ljubis?
Van tebe druge misli ne postoje.
Samo dok spavam ti se nekud gubis...
S.Raickovic


Nepovratna pesma
Nikad nemoj da se vracas

kad vec jednom u svet krenes
Nemoj da mi nesto petljas
Nemoj da mi hoces-neces.
I ja bezim bez povratka.

Nikad necu unatrag.
Sta ti znaci staro sunce,

stare staze,
stari prag?
Tu je ono za cim moze da se pati

Tu je ono cemu mozes srce dati.
Al' ako se ikad vratis
moras znati
tu ces stati
I ostati.
Ocima se u svet trci

Glavom rije mlako vece
Od reke se dete uci
ka morima da potece.
Od zvezda se dete uci

da zapara nebo sjajem.
I od druma da se muci
i vijuga za beskrajem.
Opasno je kao zmija

opasno je kao metak
da u tebi vecno klija
i carlija tvoj pocetak.
Ti za koren
nisi stvoren
Ceo svet ti je otvoren.
Ako ti se nekud zuri,

stisni srce i zazmuri.
Al' kad podjes - nemoj stati
Mahni rukom.
I odjuri.
Ko zna kud ces.
Ko zna zasto.
Ko zna sta te tamo ceka.

Ove su zelje uvek belje

kad namignu iz daleka.
Opasno je kao munja

opasno je kao metak
da u tebi vecno kunja
i muci se tvoj pocetak.
Ti si uvek krilat bio
samo si zaboravio.
Zato leti.
Sanjaj.
Trci.
Stvaraj zoru kad je vece.
Nek' od tebe zivot uci
da se peni i da tece.
Budi takvo neko cudo
sto ne ume nista malo,
pa kad krenes - kreni ludo,
ustreptalo,
radoznalo.
Ko zna sta te tamo ceka

u maglama iz daleka.
Al' ako se i pozlatis,

il' sve tesko,
gorko platis,
uvek idi samo napred.
Nemoj nikad da se vratis.
Miroslav Antic

Nocna mesta
Najtamnije od nocnih
Mesta: most. - Ustima u usta!
Zar cemo svoj krst
Nositi na mesta ruzna i pusta.
Tamo: u uveseljavajucu plimu plina
U ocima, u plinu...U Sodomu gde sve se placa?
Na postelju, gde toliko nas ima.
Na postelju, gde nismo samo par.

Ni mi, ni iko...Gasi se svetiljka.

Savest ce usnuti-mozda!
(Od svih mesta nocnih je najsigurnija
-Smrt!) Od placenih teskoba
Nocnih- blaza je voda!
Voda-glatka,bez neravnine!
Voleti-o, kakav hir i beda!
Onamo- put hladne modrine!
Da nam je da u veri veka
Ustanemo! Ruke sklopimo!
(Telu je laka-reka,
I bolje da spavamo-no da zivimo!)
Ljubav: groznica uz hrbat goli!
Ljubav: usijanja bela!
Voda- svrsetke voli.
Reka-voli tela.
M.Cvetajeva

Carobna frula
Javi se u meni rijec

I brizne kao voda ziva.
O uzak mi je ovaj svijet

Za oganj sto ga celo skriva.
Ne znam mu izvor. Ne znan zvuk

Zvjezdano u meni zvoni.
O uzak li je neba luk

za krilo sto ga nemir goni.
J.Kastelan


Poruka od gepard na 25.01.2005 u 11:50:10
Ljudi super ste! Nisam uspeo sve da procitam ali obecavam uskoro :-*

Poruka od neon na 29.01.2005 u 14:30:59
kad sam vec tu da dam doprinos. postoje neke pjesme koje samo zelim vikati da ih svi cuju. ovo je jedna od njih..
KAVANA
Otvaraš vrata kavane

ulaziš,
već je pola osam,
imaš kosu, haljinu i vlažne oči,
na zidovima plakati, nož i zrcalo,
ne vidiš me,
stojim umoran
između danas i sutra.
Kraj stolova ponovo raste bor,
djevojka za šankom izlazi iz mora
i šeta između stolova,
ljeto je napolju i pada snijeg.
ne vidiš me ako ti domahujem
ljubeći te,
slika u zrcalu okreće mi leđa,
prepoznaj me,
moram ti reći da sam usamljen
i da ću sjesti na klupu
naslonjen ramenom na ono rame
koje si imala
jedne večeri
uz vatru na Otoku.
Okrenula si se i više si napolju
nego unutra,
uzalud vjerujem da sam ja ovdje,
djevojka za šankom promatra me
i ne govori ništa,
već je pola osam,
naručio sam tvoje srce,

ali ga ne donosi.
Sutra ću ponovo doći u isto vrijeme.
Zvonimir Golob

Poruka od mrezica na 14.03.2005 u 15:46:18
PTICA
Bila je ptica na ruci

Bila je ljubav
I jedna slika….
Bili su oni,
A sada nema niceg….
Prazan grad I zeleni granit

Pepeo rasut , pa skupljen
Dise…, malo tesko, malo lako
Dise….
Znam,
Hoce da se vrati
Znam
Da nikad nece
Znam
Da me voli
Zauvek….
:-[ mrezica :)

Poruka od Karadaglija na 01.11.2005 u 20:39:33
Moze li jos neka pjesma od Vite Nikolica.

Unapred hvala!


Ima ovdje desetak Vitovih pjesama,
sve procitao?
sam' da vidim koje sam do sad recitovala , pa nastavljam ovih dana ;)

Ovu nisam godinama recitovala ...
doslo vrijeme ...
Ahilejevi konji
Kad vidjese da Patroklo pogin’o je,

Snazni i hrabri mladic,
Ahilejevi konji pocese plakati.
Besmrtnu prirodu njegovu povrijedi taj prizor
Smrti koju morahu gledati.
Tresli su glavama I dugim grivama svojim,
Kopitama udarali u tle
I plakali za Patroklom videci da unisten je,
Da sada je bijedno tijelo samo, I da dusa ostavi ga,
Da je bespomocan, da ni daha nema vise
I da vratio se iz zivota u veliko nista.
Opazivsi besmrtnih konja suye,

Zeus se razalosti. “Na svadbi Pelejevoj”
Rece “tako nesmotreno postupiti nisam smio;
Bolje da vas nikad, o nesrecni moji konji,
Na dar nismo dali.Sto radite dolje,
Med’ jadnim tim ljudima, sto igracke sudbine su?
Smrt ne ceka na vas, ostariti necete,
A muce vas prolazni udesi. U nevolje svoje
I vas su upleli ljudi.” – Ipak,

Zbog vjecne nesrece smrti

I dalje su suze lila dva plemenita konja.
Konstantin Kavafi

Poruka od Allegra na 15.12.2005 u 18:07:50
Kad te boli
i meni nije blistavo
i meni se oči zamute
pa kad tvoje usne šute
i meni preko usan riječi neće
pa je ovo puno sreće
zakopano u naša lica
kad te boli
zaboli me i ova ulica
i koraci me zabole
a to je valjda tako
kad se ljudi vole
kao ti i ja
ali i kad te boli
osjećam da me ipak
tvoje srce voli.
http://img277.imageshack.us/img277/874/nightwish9vy.gif

Pjesma Rista Ratkovića
(čini mi se da sam je već negdje pisala (nemoguće da nisam ) ali... neka )
Bivši anđeli
Bogojavljenski su hujala nebesa, ogromna,

Zvezdana, hladna.

Silazili ste na reku smrznutu.

Visoki,vitki,lepi.
Anđeli bivši,znam:
Krotili ste mrak u vodama.
U moje srce-zvon zvonili ste

krinom,
Da ne svisnem od života.
Ko vas to otera sa izvora

oka moga...
Ne vidim vas.
Još samo u snežnom cveću prozorskom

tražim krila i kolena vaša predivna.
Uzalud.

Iz " Tri pisma"
Sinoć sam, Gospo, pio razna vina,

A sve u čast i slatko ime vaše.
No svuda beše takva mesečina
Da mišljah: pijem nju iz svake čaše.
A kad nad lipama što mračno stoje

Krajičkom izbi mesec, pa se širi
Pun sjajan, mekan, ko koleno tvoje
Iz crne čarape kad proviri,

Ja sklopim oči i zadrhtim tada,

I sve što beše sa mnom i kraj mene,
Redovi lipa, i ljudi i žene,
I ta starinska osvetljena zgrada,
I mesečina, i priroda cela,

Stopi se namah, za minutu jednu,
U jednostavnu, nepreglednu, čednu,
Belinu slatku još slađeg ti tela...
.............................................................................
Prosto volim ovu Rakićevu pjesmu ,
narativne strukture ... jedanaesterac

Intimno ljubavno pismo ...skoro ... da nije ovih majstorskih opkoračenja, slikova, cezura ...

HALJINA MODRA I PLAVE OČI
Haljina modra i plave oči.

Lagao sam dragoj jedne noći.
Draga pitala:"Mećava vije?

Spremit ću postelju, peć se grije."
Odgovorih dragoj:"Netko sa visine

cvjetovima bijelim pokriva daljine.
Postelju spremi peć se grije,

bez tebe u srcu mećava vije."

Sašenjka Jesenjin

Izmirenje
I kada te život bolno razočara,

I kada prestanu i želje, i snovi;
Ono što nam vrati jedna suza stara,
Vredi jedan život neznani i novi.
Pamti što je prošlo, s puno vere neme,

Kroz sve dane drugih stradanja i mena:
Čuvaj svoju prošlost za sumorno vreme
Kad se živi samo još od uspomena.
Pa ćeš da zapitaš jednom, i nenadno -

Našto samo suze, našto boli samo?
I šta da ikad žali srce jadno,
Kada je sve naše, sve što osećamo!
J.Ducic

Poruka od LjPP na 27.12.2005 u 09:27:13
Igračka vjetrova
Živi bez suze.

pati bez psovke
i budi mirno nesretan
tašte su suze,
a jadikovke,
ublažit neće gorki san.
Podaj se pijanom vjetru života,

pa nek' te vije bilo kud.
Pusti k'o listak neka te mota
u ludi polet , vihor lud.
Leti ko lišće što vir ga vije,

za let si dušo stvorena.

Za zemlju nije, za pokrov nije,
cvijet što nema ni korijena.
Tin Ujević

ŽEDAN
Tražeći se, Poezijo,

u tebi sam se tražio:
razbita zvijezda vode
utopila se u mom biću.
Tražeći te, Poezijo,
u sebi doživjeli brodolom.
Potom sam samo tebe tražio
da bih od sebe pobjegao:
šikara odraza
u kojoj se izgubih!
Ali onda, nakon mnogih vrludanja,
ponovno spazih sebe:
isto lice potopljeno
u istu golotu;
iste vode ogledala
u kojima ne smijem piti;
a na rubu ogledala
isti mrtav od žeđi.
Oktavio Paz


PONOĆ MENE
Zaspati ili umreti…
Ili se pretvoriti u suncokret…
Da li je ona ikada i bila…
Ali otkud njen lik naslućen u vazduhu čim pogledam…
Njeni prsti živeli su u mojoj ruci i posle njene smrti.
Ja sam ih pokretao i nisam razlikovao
Da li imaju vezu kakvu još sa kosom njenom,
Ili sa očima,
Ili sa haljinom novom što joj kupih.
Tako sam retko uzimao i za nju i za se.
Tako često smo se svlačili kao vedar dan.
I čini mi se da nema mesta na svetu
Gde nismo zajedno bili.
Mrtva si, a tebe nema.
Zašto mi ne dođes…
Ta znaš li kako si obećala
Češće da ćeš se meni javljati…

Možda ti i kucaš uporno na vid mi,
Možda su oči moje nesposobne da te vide.
Osećam lobanja cela tobom da mi je ispunjena.
Voskresni!
Voskresni ili sebe ili barem oči moje…
Sluh mi je već malo savršeniji:
Zovneš li me
Osetim i dah tvoj i miris predsmrtni,
Tamo gde se nadao ne bih,
I srce mi je još sposobnije
Za otkucavanje tajnih znakova duha,
Duha ili druge materije.
Ovo čini da noću kadkad moram zatvoriti vrata od sobe,
I osećam da ležiš povrh zelenih suncokreta,
U zelenoj košulji
Prevrnutim očima.
Al mi još došla nisi,
I beše kao ravnodušna
Prema strahu mom što svaka stvar beše zagrobno živa.
Mučiš se dugio u toj noći,
Jedan mi čovek, seljački odeven, ispriča,
U gužvi dima i ljudi po jednom nepoznatom podrumu,
Da ima neko što dodir naš sprečava,

I što do mene nisi doputovala.
Poverih tome sumnjivom prijatelju zaveru svoju
Da tog ću duha polako ubiti iz puske,
Što smeta našem sporazumevanju.
Pobediću ga, mislim, grobom tvojim,
likom i kosom crnom tvojom,
I cvetom sasušenim koji beše oko tvoje glave
na odru kad u nedra ti priložih sliku svoju,
A cvet se prihvati rukava mog:
To ti mi kao uzdarje vrati.
Pomozi mi, pomozi:
Vidnija budi kad u ma koju sobu uđeš.
Bar sad ne brinem brige sirotinjske,
Jadnice moja!
Celog dana onog dana uzalud tražih pare,
I kad ti dođoh - mrtvoj ti dođoh…
Velika patnice moja,
Krvavo te pozdravljam.
R.Ratković


OGLEDALO
Srebrno sam i egzaktno.Nemam predrasuda.

Što god gledam smjesta progutam
Takvo kakvo jest, nezamagljeno ljubavlju ili nesklonošću.
Nisam okrutno, samo istinoljubivo -
Oko malenoga boga, četvorokutno.
Većinu vremena provodim mozgajući o suprotnom zidu.
Ružičastom, s mrljicama.Toliko već dugo gledam u njega
da pomišljam da je dio mog srca.No on ne treperi.
Lica i tama razdvajaju nas uvijek iznova.
Sada sam jezero.Jedna se žena prigiba nada mnom

Tragajući u mojim daljinama za onim što zaista jest.
Potom se okreće onim lažljivcima, svijećama i mjesecu.
Vidim joj leđa i vjerno ih odražavam.
Nagrađuje me suzama i mahanjem ruku.
Mnogo joj značim.Dolazi i odlazi.
Svakoga jutra baš njeno lice zamjenjuje tamu.
U meni je utopila mladu djevojku
I u meni se dan za danom stara žena
Uzdiže prema njoj, poput strašne ribe.
Silvija Plat

Poruka od macanski na 14.01.2006 u 17:56:40
hteo sam nocas da ti pesmu pisem

bas jednu od onih koje vecno traju
kako kada slovom ne mogu da disem
a um mi je prosut po tvome beskraju
pozdrav svima vama od mene


Hvala, macanski.
Dobro došao :)

Jedna se odroni zvezda
Jedna se odroni zvezda

sa svoje visine jasne!
Ono je ljubavi zvezda
Što tamo pada i gasne.
Sa jabukova stabla
padaju hrpe cveta,
Vetri stižu i tim se
Igraju, vesela leta.
Labud ribnjakom kruži
I peva, i pesma zvoni
Sve tiše, i pevac beli,
U grob vodeni roni.
Sve je nemo i mracno!
Cvet je razduvan ceo,
Zgasla je zvezda i s pesmom
Poton'o labud beo.
Heinrich Heine
Naslov: Pristao sam bicu sve sto hoce

Pristao sam biću sve što hoćeEvo prodajem dušu vragu svomeI ostaću samo crna
tačkaPoslije ove igre kad me slomeKad me mirno slomePristao sa biću sve što hoćeLa la la la,
la la la la la la.
Mislio sam da se zvijeri bojeOve vatre koja trag mi pratiI to sam mislioA sad nosim kako mi ga
skrojePo meni se ništa neće zvatiPo meni se ništa neće zvatiLa la la la, la la la la la la.
Zablude sam, evo, prestao da brojimNemam kome da se vratim kućiNemam komeDokle
pjevam, dotle i postojimPrijatelji bivši, prijatelji budućiPrijatelji bivšiPamtite me po pjesmama
mojimLa la la la, la la la la la la.

Naslov: Meni se ne spava

Šiznuću
Evo svisnuću
Eksplodiraću
Što te nema
Duga noć
Hladna zima
Depresivna
Što te nema
Miriše snijeg, miriše
Noćas umriječu
Evo vrištaću
Noćas abortiraću
Što te nema
Javi se
Teško mi je
Loše mi je
Što te nema
Miriše snijeg, o, o miriše
Meni se ne spava
Ne budi blesava
Daj dođi mi doveče
Ne budi mi goveče
Doj doveče, doveče
Naslov: Te noci kad umrem, kad odem, kad me ne bude...

TE NOĆI KAD UMREM, KAD ODEM, KAD ME NE BUDE
Te noći kad me stignu potjere,Kurve sudbine.I kada uđem. Iza OvogaKao kod rodbine.Kao zvijezda padalica,K'o neki lijepi
kaput,Sa dva lica.
Te noći zebšćeš na tvom prozoru,Umornih očiju.Teško je čekati na vozoveKoji tumaraju.To je teško, a lako jeŽivjeti i
umrijetiPile moje.
Te noći, te noći kad umrem,Kada odem, kad me ne budeSamo će dvije žene da se probude.Jedna je moja mati, ona će
plakati,Druga si ti, ti, ti ćeš me kleti.

Naslov: Sanjao sam nocas da te nemam

SANJAO SAM NOĆAS DA TE NEMAM
Sanjao sam noćas da te nemam,Da ležim budan na postelji od snijega.I tiho, tihoNeka druga ženaMoje ime doziva kroz
noćRužan san.
Vidio sam u snu ljiljan bijeli,Crne konje i svatove bez pjesme.I tiho, bez glasaOdlaze nekudNeki dragi ljudiGdje, a gdje?
Ružan san.
Hej, noći, staniZora nek svane.
Neka zora svane.
Naslov: Re: Meni se ne spava

Poruka od Vucica-bg na 04.02.2006 u 01:00:33
falcon wrote:
Šiznuću
Evo svisnuću
Eksplodiraću
Što te nema
Duga noć
Hladna zima
Depresivna
Što te nema
Miriše snijeg, miriše
Noćas umriječu
Evo vrištaću
Noćas abortiraću
Što te nema
Javi se
Teško mi je
Loše mi je
Što te nema
Miriše snijeg, o, o miriše
Meni se ne spava
Ne budi blesava
Daj dođi mi doveče
Ne budi mi goveče
Doj doveče, doveče
HVALA ZA OVU PESMU! :-*


to ja slusala sinoc :)
a opet cu, cim deca legnu
nema danasnja mladez uopste sluha za tu nasu muziku :P

Poruka od TaNaNa na 11.02.2006 u 17:47:28
ZABORAVI
Ako me sretneš negdje u gradovima stranim,
Po kojima se muvam u posljednje vrijeme,
Sretni me,
Kao da me srećes prvi put.
Nismo li se mi već negdje vidjeli,
Kaži ... i zaboravi.
Zaboravi dane koje smo nekada zajedno ...,

I noći zaboravi ...
Gradove kojima smo mijenjali imena,
I ucrtavali u karte samo nama dostupne ...
Onaj hlad pod maslinama u našoj uvali,
uvali mirnih voda.
Otok naš i ime broda pjesnika
koji nas je tamo nosio ...
Zaboravi da si ikada rekla da me voliš,

I kako se nikada, nikada, nećemo rastati.
Treba zaboraviti naslove knjiga

Koje smo zajedno čitali,
Filmove koje smo gledali,
Hemfri Bogarta i Kazablanku,
Naročito zaboravi.
Ulicu divljih kestenova s početka Tuškanca,

I onaj naš poljubac na kiši
Za koga bi znala reći:
"Nikada neću zaboraviti".
Molim te zaboravi ...
I kada ti kažem da zaboraviš,

Kažem ti to zato što te volim
Kažem ti to bez gorčine,
Otvori oči ljubavi,

Našim gradom prošli su tenkovi.

Odnijeli su sobom sve sto smo bili,
Znali ..., imali ...
Zato ... Zaboravi.
Čemu sjećanja ...?

Pogledaj kako trešnja u tvome vrtu,
Iznova cvjeta svakoga proljeća.
Nasmiješi se jutru koje dolazi,
Zagrli bjelinu novih dana
i zaboravi.
Kasno je već dragana, hoću da kažem,

zreli smo ljudi,
To jest, nismo više djeca
I znam da nije lako,
I znam da možda i boli, ... ali pokušaj,

Molim te, .... pokušaj ... zaboravi!
I ako me sretneš negdje u gradovima stranim,

Po kojima se muvam u posljednje vrijeme,
Sretni me, kao da me srećeš prvi put;
Nismo li se mi već negdje vidjeli,
Kaži ... i zaboravi ...iii
Šerbedžija

***
[ch1044][ch1074][ch1072] [ch1089][ch1086][ch1083][ch1085][ch1094][ch1072] [ch1089][ch1090][ch1099][ch1085][ch1091]

[ch1090] — [ch1086] [ch1043][ch1086][ch1089][ch1087][ch1086][ch1076][ch1080], [ch1087][ch1086][ch1097][ch1072]
[ch1076][ch1080]!
[ch1054][ch1076][ch1085][ch1086]—[ch1085][ch1072] [ch1085][ch1077][ch1073][ch1077], [ch1076][ch1088][ch1091]

[ch1075][ch1086][ch1077] — [ch1074] [ch1084][ch1086][ch1077][ch1081] [ch1075][ch1088][ch1091][ch1076][ch1080].
[ch1050][ch1072][ch1082] [ch1101][ch1090][ch1080] [ch1089][ch1086][ch1083][ch1085][ch1094][ch1072] — [ch1087]

[ch1088][ch1086][ch1097][ch1091] [ch1083][ch1080] [ch1089][ch1077][ch1073][ch1077] [ch1089][ch1072][ch1084]
[ch1072]? —
[ch1050][ch1072][ch1082] [ch1101][ch1090][ch1080] [ch1089][ch1086][ch1083][ch1085][ch1094][ch1072] [ch1089][ch1074]

[ch1086][ch1076][ch1080][ch1083][ch1080] [ch1084][ch1077][ch1085][ch1103] [ch1089] [ch1091][ch1084][ch1072]!

[ch1048] [ch1086][ch1073][ch1072] [ch1089][ch1090][ch1099][ch1085][ch1091][ch1090] — [ch1085][ch1077] [ch1073]

[ch1086][ch1083][ch1100][ch1085][ch1086] [ch1086][ch1090] [ch1080][ch1093] [ch1083][ch1091][ch1095][ch1077][ch1081]!
[ch1048] [ch1090][ch1086] [ch1086][ch1089][ch1090][ch1099][ch1085][ch1077][ch1090] [ch1087][ch1077][ch1088][ch1074]

[ch1099][ch1084], [ch1095][ch1090][ch1086] [ch1075][ch1086][ch1088][ch1103][ch1095][ch1077][ch1081].
6 [ch1086][ch1082][ch1090][ch1103][ch1073][ch1088][ch1103] 1915
***
Dva sunca se gase(gospode blag budi!):

Nebesko - i drugo usred mojih grudi.
Da oprostim sebi da l ću smeti -

Što su me dva sunca skretala s pameti?
I oba se hlade - njihov zrak ne bije!

Ugasnuće prvo ono plamenije.
(iz knjige Šest ruskih pesnika , S.Raičković)
Za one koji vole njene stihove : http://www.crea.ru/cvetaeva/main.html

Smrt popa Mila Jovovica
U danima kad na Niksic

Crnogorci udarise
kad bijahu dosli dani
da ne bude Turski vise
U logoru Crnogorskom
pokraj kule Lekovica
neko knjazu okleveta
popa Mila Jovovica
A knjaz Mila dozivase

uz prisustvo svih vojvoda
pa mu rece pope Milo
nit' si vino, nit ' si voda
Kad to cuse pope Milo

polece mu sablji ruka

a dva oka k'o strijele
sijevnuse u hajduka
Vojvode se uplasise
od izgleda vuka gorskog
da oruzje ne potegne
da vladara crnogorskog
Kao da mu ostrim macem

srce musko rasijece
pa zavika, gospodaru
Bog sa tobom, sta to rece
Te ljutito napustio
gospodara i vojvode
i pod sator svoj svileni
sa mislima teskim ode
Pa u ljutnji gusle zgrabi

odjeknuse tanke strune
kliknu Milo kao soko
te se majkom Djetnom kune
Da ce poci u grad Niksic

sam bez ikog istog dana
i na megdan pozvat' silnog
Musovica kapetana
Baci gusle, uzja' vranca

preko Zete predje vode
i na hatu pomamnome
preko polja gradu ode
Leti vranac niz rastoke

kao da ga nose krila
no s' bedema turska straza
opazila popa Mila
A pop Milo sve je blize

do Turaka i sanaca
pod sobom je zamorio
bijesnoga svoga vranca
Kao sto mu dolikuje

bira turske porodice
na najtvrdje ide sance
na najljuce gradske zlice
Pa ako bi poginuo
da pogine od junaka
od cuvenih i priznatih

Idrizovih potomaka
Ustavi ga turska straza

na kapiju kod Niksica
kaza im se i naredi
zovite mi Musovica
Kada cuse Turci ko je

potrcase kapetanu
malo zatim i Musovic
na kapiju gradsku stanu
Pa kad vidje popa Mila

na bijesnom vrancu svome
dolazku se iznenadnom
obradova njegovome
Odkud jutros Jovovicu

veselijem glasom rece
zar od knjaza crnogorskog
u moj tvrdi grad utece
Primamo te objerucke
sve cemo ti oprostiti
zivotu ti, harambaso
vjeruj nece nista biti
Planu Milo, dosta vise

ne budali bez potrebe
ja sam dosa kapetane
da na megdan zovem tebe
No se spremi i izadji
biraj mjesto za megdana
te rijeci kao munja
pogodise kapetana
Preblijedje pred hajdukom

iz junacke Markovine
jer je znao da od sablje
njegove se lako gine
Ne smije megdan da prihvati

prepade se svojoj glavi
a na slavu i na proslost
kuce svoje zaboravi
Vec u strahu kukavicki

znak na kulu strazi dade
jeknu plotun sa glavice
pop pogodjen s' konja pade

Vranac pregnu i pobjeze

natrag preko vode Zete
a na Mila sa sabljama
niz glavicu Turci lete
Pa se grabe ko ce prije
manut sabljom po sokolu
za cije je ime cuo
i car Hamid u Stambolu
Na mrtvoga popa stize

Ferizovic Hasan prvi
zviznu sablja, glava pade
uz tocenu lokvu krvi
Na najvecu gradsku kulu

na vrh hana Musovica
istaknuse Turci glavu
popa Mila Jovovica
Sa strzovog, ostrog kolca

gleda Milo sa visine
kako mu se Turci zore
i po gradu senluk cine
A gavran se, crna ptica

obradova iznenada
kad krvavu vidje glavu
pa se vije iznad grada
Primice se iznad cabre

da na bedem padne prvi
po starijem navikama
musku glavu da nagrdi
A krijuci iz harema
kroz pendzere vire bule
da cuvenu vide glavu
srpskog popa na vrh kule

Naslov: Iz Gorskog Vijenca

Sestra Batrićeva
Kuda si mi uletio,
moj sokole,
od divnoga jata tvoga,
brate rano?
Da l' nevjerne ne zna Turke,
Bog ih kleo!
e će tebe prevariti?
divna glavo!
Moj svijete izgubljeni,
sunce brate!
moje rane bez prebola,
rano ljuta!
moje oči izvađene,
očni vide!
Kome braću ti ostavi,
bratska hvalo,
i staroga baba Pera,
kuku, Pero!
i tri mlade sestre tvoje,
kukavice?
Sedam snahah što ošiša?
njima prazno
Što ne čuva mladu glavu,
ljudska vilo;
što krvnika njom nasladi,
bratska diko?
Na vjeru te posjekoše,
nevjernici!
Divno l' Travnik okitiše,
to platili!
sa lijepom glavom tvojom,
kuku, lele!
Ko će čete sakupljati,
četovođa,
ko l' krajini branit krilo,
bratsko krilo,
ko će turske glave seći,
ostra sabljo?
Da pogibe u boj ljuti,
ubojniče,
đe se srpski momci grabe,
mlado momče,
oko glavah i oružjah,
proste rane;
no na vjeru u nevjere,

vjerna glavo!
Da mi se je pomamiti,
sestri crnoj,
da te kako zaboravim,
kukavica,
e prezgodna glava bješe,
mladi brate!
Da uz cara sjedijaše,
mudra glavo,
šćaše carev vezir biti,
sestri tužnoj;
da kod kralja sjedijaše,
moj mladiko,
đeneral mu šćaše biti,
moja ružo!
Da se mogu razgovorit,
srce moje,
a sa mrtvom tvojom glavom,
kam da mi je!
da ti crne oči viđu,
oči moje,
da poljubim mrtvu glavu,
mjesto brata,
da očešljam dugi perčin,
jaoh meni!
i junačku čalmu svežem,
sestra grdna!
U krvničke sad si ruke,
platili te!
nagrdiće krasnu glavu,
prekrvnici!
Ti ćeš mnogo braće naći,
kuku nama!
biranijeh sokolovah,
kuku, braćo!
po bedemu od Travnika,
Bog ga kleo!
Glave bratske poznat nećeš,
nama prazno!
jere su ih nagrdili,
nevjernici!
Kud će tvoja mlada ljuba,
kuku njojzi!
dvoje đece tvoje ludo,
siročadi?
Što će jadni đed ti Bajko,
moj Batriću,
koji te je odnjivio?
teško njemu!
Proste tvoje ljute rane,

moj Batriću,
al' neprosti grdni jadi,
kuku rode!
e se zemlja sva isturči,
Bog je kleo!
Glavari se skamenili!
kam im u dom!

e, tico :)
Naslov: A ovo mi je najdrazi deo

Vuk Mandušić
Al' je đavo, ali su mađije,

ali nešto teže od oboje?
Kad je viđu da se smije mlada,
svijet mi se oko glave vrti.
Pa sve mogah s jadom pregoreti,
no me đavo jednu večer nagna,
u kolibu noćih Milonjića.
Kad pred zoru, i noć je mjesečna,
vatra gori nasred sjenokosa,
a ona ti od nekuda dođe;
ukraj vatre sjede da se grije.
Čuje da svak spava u kolibe.
Tada ona vijenac rasplete,
pade kosa do niže pojasa;
poče kosu niz prsa češljati,
a tankijem glasom naricati,
kako slavlja sa dubove grane.
Tuži mlada đevera Andriju,
mila sina Milonjića Bana,
koji mu je lanih poginuo
od Turakah u Dugu krvavu.
Pa se snahi ne dao ostrići:
žalije mu snahin v'jenac bilo
nego glavu svog sina Andrije.
Tuži mlada, za srce ujeda,
oči gore živje od plamena,
čelo joj je ljepše od mjeseca,-

i ja plačem ka malo dijete.

Blago Andri đe je poginuo-
divne ga li oči oplakaše,
divna li ga usta ožališe...

Maha wrote:
e, tico :)
:)

Poruka od elle na 28.02.2006 u 18:37:21
u slici i rechi
Mahu da se lechi
:)

Poruka od MaMa KoKo na 09.03.2006 u 09:46:01
ČEGA SMO ZBIR
Ja nisam ovako, u noćima, bdijuć, zamišljao

Ovu zimu. Duša se gradom spremala koračati
Sama. Sad nas je dvoje! Biva ovo blago
Neko godišnje doba, ruka tek meko drhturi
Dok, kao starci, koračamo, toplinu noseć,
Pomalo bivšu.
Otuda, možda i nešto jeze u glasu mujezina:

Koliko da posjeti nas: traje neimaština,

I mrtvo među nas pada srce ptice koje nas
Spaja. Ljubav? Zapravo to je samo staza,
Kojom koračajući, s pogledom što svijetli,
Bližimo tek se putu na čijem kraju gori:
Ljubav. Samo trpnjom obdareni znaju
Tu tačku, taj u nebu ponor: kad put, i cilj
Mu, bivaju jedno i isto. Koračajmo, koračajmo
Zato dalje, drugo nenadana.
Našem hodu baščaršijska kao da podsmijeva

Se rulja! Tvoja je ruka, međutim, hladna,
I moje je da je grijem, ne osvrćuć se:
Naprijed, gdje se komeša svijet, sita i
Troma tijela, trgovine puneć i prazneć,
Natrag, gdje - pogledaj! - stopio se led,
Na žutoj cigli, pod našom stopom! Moje je,
Ruku da ti grijem.
Prospimo, kažeš, ovoga časa, žutoga zrna
Dvije šake, poštujuć smjerno običaj našega
Grada. Dajem ti za pravo, po stoti put, dok
Prh i leprš u ušima šumi. - Golubica ona
Tamo, sitna, šćućurena, iz tvoje ruke kao
Da puštena je, moju ne taknuvš. Zbilja - ti
I ja - čega smo zbir? Združene, dvije samoće - šta čine?
Treba maštati, kažeš. Maštati, ne znači li

To: o budućim danima po sjećanju govoriti?
O šetnjama drugim i davnim, kad ruka se
Drukčije bližila ruci, s nešto više strepnje
Čula u provjeri. Sve o tome može grad ovaj
Da nam kaže, jer zacijelo: on pripada nama,
I njegova zima naših je duša godišnje doba.
Ne raduje njega to što sve na licima našim
Piše. Ali - kuda se jaki od zime sklanjaju,
Kad dođe? Ljubav kad sine - kamo okreću lica?
Otkako u danima tvojim boravim, sve manje znam
Šta snivam, a šta se zapravo na javi zbiva…
Pored tebe ja sam naložio vatru, da ti je

Hladno znajuć. Na prstima se tako, strpljiva
I blaga, prikrada ljubav, lukavo i čedno u
Isti mah. Kako da, nazebla, odoli duša?
Snivajmo zato, iskusni a čisti, duše
Protivrječne! Iz sjećanja neka kose nam
Zasipa budući snijeg! Ljubljene nekoć,
Od nas se odmiču stvari. Snivajmo zato,
Tako sami i tako slični. Mnoge se još
Samoće bliže, I isti dani, gusti, hermetični.

Abdulah Sidran

ODLOMAK IZ "SJECAS LI SE DOLLY BELL"
Prekriven srećnim talasom spokoja Sabahudin potonu u nježno more sna cijelim svojim
ustreptalim pubertetskim bićem, svakom mišlju i svakim drhtavim damarom: ostade za njim, u
svijetu bivše jave, gusti faktički dan propalog izleta, mučna noćna konferencija s borbenom
pjesmom i očev svirepi nauk: "Nema ničeg izvan materijalnog svijeta!" Sada je pred njegovim
svevidećim okom sna lelujalo vlažno lice Doli Bel, njena rumena napukla gornja usna, bijela i
meka nagota ramene jabuke i tu, iznad nje, modra vratna žila što se penje sitnoj školjci uha.
Dok mu milina sanovnih slika širi usnule usne Sabahudin je, vječito budnim zrnom moždanog
svjetla, svjestan postelje u kojoj leži, sobe u kojoj spava zajedno sa braćom, niskog prozora i
tankog zida što ga dijeli od dvorišta u kome, istinski, počiva ovo isto lice što leluja njegovim
snom: sanja — i zna da sanja! — kako polaže poljubac u kut njene vlažne usne.
Ono se vazda budno zrnce moždanog svjetla ne opire snu koji traje i Sabahudin putuje svojim
usnama po njenom licu, svilenim pokrovom poljubaca prekrivajući svaki njegov djelić. Ona
miruje, široko otvorenih ogromnih očiju u čijim konveksnim ogledalima Sabahudin vidi svoje
iskrivljeno lice. Zrnce mu moždanog svjetla kazuje, u istome času, kako je to prvi put da u snu
vidi samoga sebe, i kako to mora biti upamćeno, i, ujutru, upisano u Dnevnik pod šifrom SS.
Osjeća kako mu se, kao vučeno magnetom usnenih dodira, bliži njeno tijelo i odasvuda prži
oganj donjega trbuha. Sanovna misao njegova govori mu kako je sve to što se zbiva jednako
javi, kao da se u stvarnoj stvarnosti, a ne u stvarnosti sna zbiva.
,,A otkuda ti znaš kako se to u stvarnoj stvarnosti zbiva?" — javnu se budno moždano zrno
kojemu, učas, odgovor stiže iz donjih predjela plamena i uznesenja: "Tako se upravo na javi
zbiva! Zar može biti bolje, zar može biti drukčije i ljepše?" Ne budi Sabahudina vrelina gustog
mlaza prosutog po trbuhu, on se, vruće kičme, okreće na bok i kuša u novom položaju tijela,
produžiti i obnoviti san. I ranije je on znao, onim budnim zrnom svjetla, prekinuti mučan san i
noćnu grlenu moru, u kojoj uzalud kuša izgovoriti "mama" — kao što je jednako znao na
prekinutom mjestu nastaviti san u kome mu se nudi ljepota leta, moć ljubavi... Sada mu se,
evo, ukazuje njeno tijelo, odjeveno u nevidljivi kupaći kostim boje kože, i vidi kako Doli
bojažljivo zamače stopalo u bistru ledenu vodu mošćaničkog benta, on je doziva, mašući iz
vode objema rukama dok po njemu sipa bujica slapa: "Doli, Doli!" Ona se, otamo, smije široko
i bezglasno, cakli se dvoredna niska njenih sitnih zuba i u vidiku njegovog sna ta bjelina
narasta ispunjujući cijeli horizont. Prolaze neki beskrajni trenuci hladnoće i bjelila u kome se
— protiv želje i volje snivača — počinje razaznavati drugo, neželjeno ljudsko lice: nasapunjano
očevo lice na kome se ne vidi osmijeh. U umnoženoj metalnoj akustici Sabahudin čuje njegov
ironični glas:
— Žene su ti kao so! Može i bez — ali je bljutavo!
U prejakom sluhu sna stostruko odjekuje dvoglasna rječca SO, i u njoj Sabahudin čuje kako
ga neko doziva: "ssssssss-ooooooo", glasom koji kao da je prošao kroz beskrajnu cijev nekog

kosmičkog megafona, i prestao biti ljudski: "Sssooooooooo!" Sabahudin u snu odgovara ocu:
— Ja to znam, tata. Žene su kao so!
— Ne znaš ti ništa. Ništa!
— Znam, tata. Ja sam to sve doživio u pređašnjem životu. Ja sam i prije živio.
— Normalno da si živio. Nisi, valjda, mislio da čovjek samo jednom živi?
— Pa, nisam. Znao sam sve. Glavna je ljubav. Ostalo onda samo dođe.
Vazduhom kojim putuju sanovne rečenice počeše prolijetati golubovi i Sabahudin u snu vidje
svoju bijelu tavansku miljenicu, somborsku pertlu, kako, u letu, krilom skida strogu ozbiljnost
s očevog lica. "Otkuda otac u golubani?" upita se budno zrno njegove svijesti.
— Glavna je materijalna baza — nastavljao je otac.
— Ljubav je pičkin dim. To moraš upamtiti. Onda dođe duhovna nadgradnja. Nema ničeg izvan
materijalnog svijeta. To ti ja kažem. Inter nos. Nemoj da ne bi upamtio.
— Ja sve pamtim kad sanjam. Pa ujutru zapišem u Dnevnik. To će mi trebati kad budem opet
živio.
— To ti je pametno. Tako je Mića — jesi pročitao "Pesmu"?
— Imali smo za lektiru.
— Imao teku... Svesne pripreme. Za revoluciju. Moraš na sve biti spreman. Svijet je ovaj tirjan
tirjaninu — tragovi mu smrde nečovještvom. Shvataš?
— Shvatam. Moram biti spreman.
— Žene vole flegmane. Moraš biti flegman. Ako nisi — onda glumi da jesi. Moraš biti flegman.
— A koga onda ona voli, ako ja glumim?
— Nije važno. Važno je da zavoli. Poslije možeš biti svakakav. Važno je da te zavoli. Onda je
ona i slijepa i gluha.
— Ljubav je slijepa. Tako sama i tako puna sveta. To je isto napisao Davičo. Hana.
Jutro je banulo u Sabahudinov san brundanjem teškog kamiona kaldrmom iznad barake i on u
snu vidje, po stoti put, kako taj kamion, natovaren drvenom građom, zamiče za okuku pored
Zinhasovića kuće, odlazi ka stolariji iz čijeg je velikog dvorišta kušao krasti daske, dok je
gradio svoj tavanski raj. Pogled Sabahudinovih naglo otvorenih očiju ispuni se jarkom
svjetlošću poodmaklog ljetnjeg jutra i u toj svjetlosti vidje prazna posteljna mjesta na kojima
su ležala tijela njegove braće. "Pa koliko je ovo sati?" upita se automatskim pokretom
zavlačeći ruku pod krevetski strožak, gdje je počivala, u svom naivnom skrovištu, njegova
žuta teka s naslovom Dnevnik. Cio košmarni tok minulog sna bio mu jasan i on utrnulom
rukom poče ispisivati svoj redovni jutarnji raport pod šifrom SS. Sve su mu slike i rečenice,
viđene i izgovorene u noćašnjem snu, bile poznate i bliske, svakoj je znao uzrok i porijeklo —
samo je njegovom znanju i sjećanju izmicala istorija misli sažete u kratkoj rečenici koju sad

zapisuje s osjećanjem srama i negodovanja: "Ljubav je pičkin dim!"
Ne sjećajući se da je ikada i od koga čuo takvu rečenicu i misao, Sabahudin zapisa da ona
mora biti u vezi sa teferičkom tetkovom tvrdnjom: "Ljubav je izmislila fukara. Da lakše dođe do
pičke!" Narastajuće osjećanje srama i negodovanja nagna ga da masnim plavilom hemijske
olovke prekriži dva slova u problematičnoj rečenici. "Treba ovdje napraviti malu rokadu",
pomisli i zamijeni im mjesta, pročitavši poluglasno novodobijeni, šifriran a besmislen iskaz:
"LJUBAV JE DIČKIN PIM!"
Ušavši u pustu kuhinju osjeti strahovitu glad i rukama prepolovi načetu štrucu vrućeg hljeba.
Dok je ulagao u nju debele komade guste marmelade ponovo mu pred oči dođe noćas
ljubljeno lice Doli Bel i, spravivši i za nju, hitrim pokretima, isti doručak, neumiven i krmeljiv
istrča iz kuće.
Abdulah Sidran

Nisu Prustove , al' jesu IPG madlenice :)
i ne treba mi čaj,
kliknem na Poeziju raspoloženja i vrati se osjećaj ...
dnevnik raspoloženja IPG forumaša :)
PROLOG
Ja videh Troju, i videh sve.

More, i obale gde lotos zre,
I vratih se, bled, i sam.
Na Itaki i ja bih da ubijam,
al kad se ne sme,
bar da zapevam
malo nove pesme.
U kući mi je pijanka i blud,

a tužan je život na svetu,svud-
izuzev optimiste!
Ja nisam pevač prodanih prava,
ni laskalo otmenih krava.
Ja pevam tužnima:da tuga od svega oslobadja.

Nisam patriotska tribina.

Nit marim za slavu Poetika.
Neću da preskočim Krležu,ni Ćurčina,
niti da budem narodni dika.
Sudbina mi je malo stara,
a stihovi novi.
Ali: ili nam život nešto novo nosi,

a duša nam znači jedan stepen više,
nebu,što visoko, zvezdano, miriše,
il nek i nas, i pesme, i Itaku, i sve,
đavo nosi.
M.Crnjanski
[timestamp=1141905789]*
Naslov: Za vilu
Vesela pesma
Ne verovati i dalje osta greh

još nam crtaju šibom po leđima raj
najzad je vreme da prasnemo u smeh
mokreći na svoje rane i njihov sjaj
Od srebroljublja ko je postao srebren

Onaj sam što oluje boluje uspešno
još nije noć još vidim sebe
a sve što peva mora da je grešno
Voli iz mržnje dok pesma nas spasava

plašljivih reči i šturoga klasja
sunce je mrak koji nas osvetljava
obasjaj oh obasjaj.
B.Miljković


JUTARNJA KIŠA
Kiša sitno sipi, sipi i rominja,

Pa nam priča sne i bajke djetinjaste
Spavaju još tvrdo gospojice laste;
Sitna kiša sipi, svijeća mre i tinja:
Sve još mirno leži, nema žamora,
Tek se čuju krila - krila Amora.
Sad i ti već spavaš, moja suđenice,

Dobra moja Psiho, palmo moga mira!
Čuješ li kroz kišu, kako uz harfu svira
Anđeo il vila, što ima tvoje lice,
A na harfi tužnih zvijezda padanje,
Mrtvih, kao naše pusto nadanje.
Kiša priča i priča: to je priča stara,

Dosadna i teška pričica o kesi.
Ja sam mator, ubog, bogata ti nijesi,
Partija sam gora od svakoga mesara:
Spavaj, snivaj, dušo, i gledaj hramove,
A pred hramom svate i zlatne hamove...
Kiša suzi i suzi, a zora zla i žuta

Ulicom i krovom ko mamurluk zijeva,
Pored mene, mjesto moje drage, snijeva
Bolno bijelo mače, spaseno sa puta,
Pa sa oštrim, morskim, groznim očima
Grede kao maska mojim noćima.
Kiša sjetno sipi, sipi i rominja,

Šapćući mi sne i bajke djetinajste,
Već su budne moje komšinice laste,
Sjetna kiša sipi, srce mre i tinja,

Stanovi se bude i usred žamora

Pekar nosi u kujnu koš, pun Amora.
Matoš

The Gardener
by Rabindranath Tagore
If you would have it so,

I will end my singing.
If it sets your heart aflutter,

I will take away my eyes from your face.
If it suddenly startles you in your walk,

I will step aside and take another path.
If it confuses you in your flower-weaving,

I will shun your lonely garden.
If it makes the water wanton and wild,

I will not row my boat by your bank.

http://img93.imageshack.us/img93/1199/tagore2ms.jpg


Uzalud je budim
Branko Miljkovic
Budim je zbog sunca koje objasnjava sebe biljkama

zbog neba razapetog izmedju prstiju
budim je zbog reci koje peku grlo
volim je usima
treba ici do kraja sveta i naci rosu na travi
budim je zbog dalekih stvari koje lice na ove ovde
zbog ljudi koji bez cela i imena prolaze ulicom
zbog anonimnih reci trgova budim je
zbog manufakturnih pejzaza javnih parkova
budim je zbog ove nase planete koja ce mozda
biti mina u raskrvavljenom nebu
zbog osmeha u kamenu drugova zaspalih izmedju dve bitke
kada nebo nije bilo vise veliki kavez za ptice nego aerodrom
moja ljubav puna drugih je deo zore
budim je zbog zore zbog ljubavi zbog sebe zbog drugih
budim je mada je to uzaludnije negoli dozivati pticu zauvek sletelu
sigurno je rekla: neka me trazi i vidi da me nema
ta zena sa rukama deteta koju volim
to dete zaspalo ne obrisavsi suze koje budim
uzalud uzalud uzalud
uzalud je budim
jer ce se probuditi drukcija i nova
uzalud je budim
jer njena usta nece moci da joj kazu
uzalud je budim
ti znas voda protice ali ne kaze nista
uzalud je budim
treba obecati izgubljenom imenu necije lice u pesku


Poruka od Falcon na 09.04.2006 u 21:05:00
Freidrich Nietzsche
Jedino luda jedino pesnik
Iz bistrog zraka
kada utesna rosa
na zemlju vec pada,
nevidljivo i necujno,
- laku obucu jer nosi
ta rosa, tesiteljska, poput blagih uteha-
secas li se onda, secas, plameno srce,
kako si negda zedno bilo
nebesnih suza i rosnih kapi,
kako si zedjalo, umorno i sprzeno,
dok su po zutim stazama travnim
opaki zraci sunca u sutonu
vitlali oko tebe kroz crno drvece,
jarki zraci, zaslepljujuci, zlokobni.
- Ti zenik istine? - rugali su se.
Ne! Ti si samo pesnik,
zverka, lukava, grabljiva, pritvorna,
osudjena da vara,
da vara uceno i hotice,
pohlepna plena,
maskirana razlicno,
u sebe samu,
maskirana u vlastiti plen.
To da je - zenik istine?...
Luda jedino! Pesnik!
Samo sareno pricalo,
pod maskama lude o svemu i svacemu,
leprsajuci po varljivim parovima reci,
po dugama-varkama
izmedju laznih nebesa,
sunjajuci se i svrljajuci naokolo -
jedino luda! pesnik jedino!
I to je - zenik istine?...
Ne miran, ukocen, gladak, hladan,
u kip pretvoren,
u sveti stub,
ne smesten pred hramove,
vrata nekog boga:
ne! nego dusman takvih kipova vrline,
divljini, zavicaju, blizi nego hramovima,
pun macje obesti

kroz svaki prozor iskacuci

hop! u svakakvi udes;
svaku prasumu nanjusivsi
da bi u prasumama
medju sarolikum zverima grabljivim
ti poput greha zdrav, lep i saren vitlao,
sladostrasnih usana,
opijen rugom, paklom krvozedno,
loveci plen, krisom, trcao obmanjujuci...
Ili orlu slican koji dugo
dugo nepomicno u bezdane gleda,
u svoje bezdane...
- Oh, kako se oni sunovracuju tu,
nanize, sve dublje,
u sve dublje dubine obrusavaju! -
I zatim se,
naglo,
okomito strmoglavi,
strelovito sjuri medju jagnjad,
svirepo ih zeljan,
sav obuzet gladju
I mahnit za dusana jagnjecimm,
srdit i jarostan prema svemu
sto izgleda samo dobrostivo,
poput ovce kudravo,
blesasto, blagonaklono od jagnjeceg mleka...
Eto takve su,
orlovske, panterske,
pesnikove ceznje, takve su
tvoje ceznje ispod hiljadu maski,
ti ludo! Pesnice!...
Ti koji si coveka gledao
kao boga i kao jagnje, -
rastrgnut boga u coveku,
kao i ovce u coveku
i smejati se raztrzuci -
to je, to je tvoja blazenost,
blazenost orla i pantera,
blazenost pesnika i lude!...
U bistrom zraku
kada se srp mesecev
zelen medju purpurnom rumeni
i zavidan vec prikrada -
i, dusmanin danu,
svakim svojim korakom potajno
kosi vreze ruza,
sve dok ne padnu nazad,
blede, u senu noci:
tako padoh i ja sam negde,
iz ludila moga za istinom,

iz bezumnih mojih ceznji za velikim danom,

umoran od dana, bolan od svetla,
- padoh dole, u suton, u senku,
istinom Jednom
spaljen i zedan nje
- secas li se jos, secas, plameno srce,
kako si nekad zedno bilo? -
Bas ja izgnan da budem
od svake istine!
Luda sam i nista drugo!
PESNIK jedino!

odlicno....
:)
jesi li citala o filosofiranju cekicem?

nisam :-[
ovo iz nekih novina, juce
ako imas daj :)

nemam, ali volim Nitsche-a,a ta i Osvit su mi medju drazim, kratke i jezgrovite.

tu se malcice ispljuvao po neki svojim suvremenicima, dok je tako lijepo pisao o Geteu ...
ako naletis procitaj, dobra je..


potrazicu je sigurno :)
Neces jos dugo biti zedno, plameno srce!

Obecanje je u zraku,
sapucu mi ga nepoznata usta:
- velika svezini dolazi ...
U podne je moje sunce peklo nada mnom:
pozdravljam vas sto dolazite,
vi - iznenadni vetrovi, vi - svezi duhovi popodneva!
Nailazi zrak tudj i cist.
Ne merka li me, zavodnicki, preteci pogled noci?
Ostani jako, srce moje neustrasivo!
I ne pitaj: zasto?

Poruka od Coccinella na 10.04.2006 u 12:47:19
Ti i Vi
Isprazno Vi srdacnim Ti
Ona zabunom zameni
I odmah u mojoj masti
Uzrhta dusa u meni.
Pred njom snovi mi se snili

Ne mogu da joj odolim.
Kazem: "Kako ste mili"
A mislim: "Kako te volim!"
Puskin


Zar nisi ti i onog trena,

O priviđenje moje drago,
Promako kroz noć kao sena,
Nad uzglavlje se moje sago
I sapnuo mi reči nade
Ljubavi pune i iskrene?
Ko si ti?Čuvar duše mlade
Il´kobni duh što kuša mene?
Utišaj sumnje što me guše,
Možda su sve to sanje moje,
Zablude jedne mlade duše,
A sasvim drugo suđeno je...
Nek bude tako!Sto da krijem?
Milosti tvojoj dajem sebe,
Pred tobom suze bola lijem
I molim zaštitu od tebe...
Voleo sam vas
Voleo sam vas; moja ljubav stara

Još uvek, možda, spi u srcu mome.
Al' zašto ona nemir da vam stvara?
Ja nisam rad žalostiti vas njome.
Voleo sam vas nemo, beznadežno,
Pun strepnje i pun ljubomore boli,
Voleo sam vas iskreno i nežno;
- Nek Bog da, tako drugi da vas voli.
Puskin


Poseta muzeju
U muzeju voštanih Uspomena

prođite glaerijom Promašenih namera
hodnikom Neiskrenih želja
stepenicama Bezvoljnih žudnji
i upašćete u klopku Kajanja
i tu
moći ćete da urežete po zidovima
sa malim nožem-uspomenom kupljenim na ulazu
zareze Nesporazuma
Ali
iznad sale Izgubljenih dobročinstava
vezanih očiju akrobata Ljubav
igraće na žici ukočen od sreće jedva nazrene
od sreće nikad ne zaboravljane
I muzika njegovog cirkusa
okretaće svoju izlizanu ploču
islabljenu ali oduševljenu
i ploča će se okretati
kao mesec krvavi i ožalošćeni
očarani oživljeni nasmejani obasjani
zadivljeni i zadivljujući
I biće to
muzika naroda ptica
muzika ptica naroda
Posetioci
slušajte tu muziku i dobro je čujte
i ne da samo obraćate pažnju na tu muziku
na taj šum
već predajte joj se sasvim
Ona će vam se spokojno isplatiti
jednog lepog dana
ili nekog drugog dana
ta muzika naroda ptica ljubavi.
Prever


Poruka od bull_23 na 13.04.2006 u 13:13:56
Mehmed Begić
Balada
Prvi decembarski utorak

nije otvorio sezonu neceg novog
Jos uvijek cujem kako sapuces
da sam ja kriv za romantiku
Iako je prekasno
ne prestajem se sjecati
Nocas cu
naoruzan crnim kratkim kaputom
putovati
i takav dovrsiti ovu pjesmu
Sjecacu se Hamburga
i Anne
Bice to pjesma za suncokrete
a ne kletva zbog lose trgovine
kada sam nepovratno zamijenio
prezaljenu prvu ljubav
za mnogo kojekakvih emocija
Lose rijeci
nikad nisu birale prave momente
To mi je rekao vjetar
I jos je svojom jezom odbrojao
koliko njih ceka
da me osjete
savrsenog
dok
flertujem sa sestrama sudbine
otvaram njihova vrata od ilovace
ljubim prelijepe skrivene vratove
smisljam dosadne ponocne rituale
Poslije
nekog iskrenog razmisljanja
pitam se postoje li pravi
momenti
za lose rijeci
Dok
vodim ljubav sa pisacom masinom
plivam sa elektricnom jeguljom
plesem sa zlatnim saksofonom
ja
samo zelim
dovrsiti ovu pjesmu najbolje
sto mogu
i zelim se vratiti

iako znam da si otisla bez pozdrava

sa predumisljajem
sad
kad mi se pomalo trijeznom
uloga pravog muskarca
pocinje svidjati.

Poruka od bull_23 na 13.04.2006 u 13:17:23
POSTOJI MESTO GDE LJUBAV POČINJE Karl Sandberg
Postoji mesto gde ljubav počinje

i mesto gde ljubav prestaje.
Postoji dodir dve ruke

koji se opire svim rečnicima.
Postoji pogled što bukti ko veliko vitlejemsko ognjište

il` mala acetilenska lampa zelenog sjaja.
Postoje jednostavna i bezbrižna tepanja

čudesna ko velika okuka Misisipija.
Ruke, oči, tepanja -

pomoću njih se ljubav bori i gradi.
Postoje cipele koje ljubav nosi

i njen je dolazak tajna.
Postoji upozorenje koje ljubav šalje

i cena njegova zna se mnogo docnije.
Postoje tumačenja ljubavi na svim jezicima

i nije nađeno nijedno mudrije od ovog:
Postoji mesto gde ljubav počinje i mesto

gde ljubav prestaje - a ljubav ne traži ništa.


Poruka od friedrich na 13.04.2006 u 16:01:13
beer
I don't know how many bottles of beer

I have consumed while waiting for things
to get better
I dont know how much wine and whisky
and beer
mostly beer
I have consumed after
splits with women-
waiting for the phone to ring
waiting for the sound of footsteps,
and the phone to ring
waiting for the sounds of footsteps,
and the phone never rings
until much later
and the footsteps never arrive
until much later
when my stomach is coming up
out of my mouth
they arrive as fresh as spring flowers:
"what the hell have you done to yourself?
it will be 3 days before you can crappity smack
me!"
the female is durable

she lives seven and one half years longer
than the male, and she drinks very little beer
because she knows its bad for the figure.
while we are going mad

they are out
dancing and laughing
with horney cowboys.
well, there's beer

sacks and sacks of empty beer bottles
and when you pick one up
the bottle fall through the wet bottom
of the paper sack
rolling
clanking
spilling gray wet ash
and stale beer,
or the sacks fall over at 4 a.m.
in the morning
making the only sound in your life.

beer
rivers and seas of beer
the radio singing love songs
as the phone remains silent
and the walls stand
straight up and down
and beer is all there is.
Charles Bukowski[b]

Quote:
crappity smack
i forum ima autocenzuru ;D

Možda je u snu
Možda je u snu, ruka

sijača zvijezda
probudila zaboravljenu muziku
kao zvuk beskrajne lire,
i do naših usana dopro je ubogi val
malobrojnih istinskih riječi.
Antonio Maćado


Posete
Kroz gradsku noć od kamena i suše

ulazi polje u moju sobu.
Pruža zelene ruke sa ptičjim narukvicama,
sa narukvicama od lišća.
Nosi reku u ruci.
Nebo iz polja takođe ulazi
sa svojom košarom tek isečenog dragog kamenja.
i more seda pored mene,
polažući svoj beli rep na tlo.
iz tišine izbija drvo muzike.
Sa drveta vise sve lepe reči,
koje sjaje, zru, padaju.
Na mom čelu pećina u kojoj prebiva munja...
Ali sve se naselilo krilima.
Oktavio Paz


bull_23 wrote:
Mehmed Begić
Balada
Prvi decembarski utorak

nije otvorio sezonu neceg novog
Jos uvijek cujem kako sapuces
da sam ja kriv za romantiku
Iako je prekasno
ne prestajem se sjecati
Nocas cu
naoruzan crnim kratkim kaputom
putovati
i takav dovrsiti ovu pjesmu
Sjecacu se Hamburga
i Anne
Bice to pjesma za suncokrete
a ne kletva zbog lose trgovine
kada sam nepovratno zamijenio
prezaljenu prvu ljubav
za mnogo kojekakvih emocija
Lose rijeci
nikad nisu birale prave momente
To mi je rekao vjetar
I jos je svojom jezom odbrojao
koliko njih ceka
da me osjete
savrsenog
dok
flertujem sa sestrama sudbine
otvaram njihova vrata od ilovace
ljubim prelijepe skrivene vratove
smisljam dosadne ponocne rituale
Poslije
nekog iskrenog razmisljanja
pitam se postoje li pravi
momenti
za lose rijeci
Dok
vodim ljubav sa pisacom masinom
plivam sa elektricnom jeguljom
plesem sa zlatnim saksofonom
ja
samo zelim
dovrsiti ovu pjesmu najbolje
sto mogu
i zelim se vratiti
iako znam da si otisla bez pozdrava
sa predumisljajem
sad

kad mi se pomalo trijeznom

uloga pravog muskarca
pocinje svidjati.
Gdje si našao ovu Mešinu pjesmu?

Poruka od Torkvemada na 13.05.2006 u 19:24:13
J. J. Zmaj
Misao
Jedna mis'o kao munja,

Tako brza, tako sjajna,
Otkide mi s' ispred duse,
i postade dusi tajna.
Kada ode uvis gore,

Ne da s' videt oku mome,
Ja osecam bol otkida,
I zalim za njome -
- Hoces li se ikad vratit,

Da te bolje cuvam tade,
Moja zeljo, ili misli,
Il spomene, sta l' bijade?
A ona mi kanda sapce,

Kroz tisinu blage noci -
Necu ti se nikad vratit,
- Ti ces meni doci!

Poruka od greys na 14.05.2006 u 13:00:20
Na šta je nalik
život?
Na belu brazdu za čunom
što odmiče
u zoru!
Mansei


Mika Antic
Snovi
Velike reke imaju usce

koje ih pretvara u okean.
Veliki vetar prozracne

puteve prema ravnici.
Ja imam samo san,

obican malecki san
u kome sam za pedalj blizi
ponekoj zvezdi
i ptici.
U zoru, od svega toga

citavo nebo izraste
na mojim rukama toplim
i obrazima snenim.
I dan je nalik na jedne zenice graoraste

oivicene zelenim.
I uopste,
zvezdo,
i ptico,
uopste,
celi svete,
divno je kad se unama
neko cekanje javi.
Pa se od toga na usni
nesto rumeno isplete.
I nesto graorasto
i zeleno u glavi.
:)


Pitanje
Boli li vise
da gledam te ovako
izdaleka
kao gladno dete secerleme sa kredenca
Il' mozda ipak -

biti grljen tom rukom
na kojoj ce ostati tudj prsten
i koja ce mi mirno sklopiti oci

jednom kad slatke igre minu
i ludost se preobrati u nista?

Torkvemada wrote:
Pitanje
Boli li vise
da gledam te ovako
izdaleka
kao gladno dete secerleme sa kredenca
Il' mozda ipak -

biti grljen tom rukom
na kojoj ce ostati tudj prsten
i koja ce mi mirno sklopiti oci

jednom kad slatke igre minu
i ludost se preobrati u nista?
bi li meni neko rekao, ko napisa ovu pesmu? :)


Covek se zove Ivan Jankovic.

Ovde
Koraci moji iz ove ulice

Odzvanjaju
U drugoj
U kojoj
Korake svoje čujem
Kako prolaze ulicom
U kojoj
Jedino stvarno je magla
Oktavio Paz

Ovog jutra ogrnut sam vetrom
Ovog jutr ogrnut sam vetrom

Nebo reče: "zatvori oči i nosi to srećno lice ka suncu",
Šuma reče:
"stara sam i zelena kao smaragd, ušetaj u mene ćaskajući".
Moja draga reče:

"Perem kosu vodom koju smo uhvatili lani,
Ima ukus kamena".
Ovog jutra ogrnuit sam vetrom,

Sredina je septembra 1965.
Leonard Cohen


Pesma slepca
Ne hvataj sebe za ruku...

Ne vodi sebe na reku...
Na sebe prstom ne pokazuj...
O sebi priču nikom ne kazuj...
Ideš, ideš – i spotakneš se.
Ana Ahmatova

Poruka od Norman na 20.06.2006 u 04:38:38
nešto tu ne razumem, šta i ako se sapleteš o sebe ili nešto, i ako samo stojiš u mestu ipak ćeš se saplesti jer se sve oko
tebe kreće.
stajanje ne postoji, nemoguće je.
o sebi kazuješ i kad ćutiš.priča o tebi, svakom, sama se priča.
na reku ideš ako te ona pozove i gotovo.
ne hvataj sebe za ruku mi se dopalo, pretpostavljam da je to hrabrost.
da, Ana je fino ispričala o sebi (mada, savetuje suprotno) daj još neku pesmu od nje, ako može. :)
ima još jednu šansu...


Pjesma je slijepca a ne pjesma slijepcu.
(pomjeranje tačke gledišta)
Možda bi trebalo od ovoga nastaviti ... ili početi?

lepo,može i početak
ali opet, opet
daj mi još jednu njenu pesmu, neku u kojoj neću da je žalim, jer je ova trenutak njene slabosti
i kako je slepa kad gleda stihovima?
što je njen vid
takodje mislim da reči pesme pripadaju svakome ko ih gleda i čita ili mu čitaju
svejedno
opet joj ne vredi da se ne pomera sa mesta niti je to moguće
neću da je žalim
pokaži je još.

Opet nesporazum.
Možda otud što je meni stran pozitivistički ( i psihologizam kao jedna njegova karakteristika) metod tumačenja umjetničkih
djela. Uvijek je nekako ... proizvoljan i nenaučan.
ali, da probam i tako:
Ana je toga dana baš mogla sresti svog prijatelja koji je slijep ... nije ga dugo vidjela... pričali... rastali se... ona ostala
razmišljajući o njemu ... „ drugačiji je... promijenio se... otkud ova tuga ... šta li misli ... „ i pokušala da napiše njegovu
pjesmu. Napisala i produžila ... vesela.
ili ...
ili...
ili...

i dođosmo do "Zašto Strahinja prašta?" -Zato što prašta. I tačka.

ili "Zašto Hamlet oklijeva?" - Zato što oklijeva. Ostalo su naklapanja.
u ovom prevodu (ili prepjevu, ne znam, žao mi je što nemam pjesmu u originalu, mogli bismo onda da pokušamo da
uradimo analizu pjesme), jasno je da je ovo pjesma slijepca. „Ana“ mu je „pozajmila“ glas.

nije nesporazum :)
mislimo, čitamo različito
siguran sam da je sve što ja kažem nenaučno i proizvcljno.
ali
tek mi se sad ne svidja njena pesma o slepcu.
kako može to da napiše, da ga ograniči zato što je slep, u njegovo ime?
i kako da posle odšeta veselo?
nije istina.
ne misli on tako, evo kako bi ti napisala pesmu o slepcu?
ja se ne usudjujem
ali ne bih tako siguran sam.
zamišljam svet zvukova i dubokih tužnih teških tajni
mislim da jedan neki nama nevidljivi pogled mora da ima
meni je njega žao i zato ne bih mogao da pišem pesmu o njemu
mora on sam da je napiše.
a to isto važi i za pesnikinju.
tagore?
zašto prašta Strahinja jeste fenomen

dosta redak
hrabriji od taštine i instikta
reci ti meni...
zanima me..zašto prašta?
lako je boriti se , kako se prašta?

Ana to ne bi znala, siguran sam da ti mogla.
možda je stvar što je sebi sve oprostio

prvo
onda je dobio mogućnost izbora, snagu za promenu.
a to, mogućnost izbora

jeste najlepše.


Quote:
siguran sam da je sve što ja kažem nenaučno i proizvcljno
takođe
Quote:
kako može to da napiše, da ga ograniči zato što je slep, u njegovo ime?
i kako da posle odšeta veselo?
izgleda da mi nije uspjela upotreba jednog stilskog izražajnog sredstva.

A može. Može i u vrapčevo ime „- Ćiju ći“ na Liparu u Na Liparu.
Quote:
nije istina.
ne misli on tako, evo kako bi ti napisala pesmu o slepcu?
ja se ne usudjujem
ali ne bih tako siguran sam.
zamišljam svet zvukova i dubokih tužnih teških tajni
mislim da jedan neki nama nevidljivi pogled mora da ima
meni je njega žao i zato ne bih mogao da pišem pesmu o njemu
mora on sam da je napiše.
a to isto važi i za pesnikinju.
Da, ovako napisano i ne izgleda strašno biti slijep. Čak naprotiv, božemeoprosti.
Što li se mnogi kunu : „ Očinjeg mi vida?“
Šta ako ga je malo (ili mnogo) stid da moli da ga neko povede do toaleta i pokaže mu gdje je tačno ta WC šolja? Ili...
bezbroj „ili“ .
Nije za pjesmu?
„Ne misli on tako“?

Žao vam ga je? U tom slučaju izbjegavati društvo slijepe osobe - može se desiti obrnuto.
Zašto tražiti van pjesme? (Napišite onda svoju.)
Pjesma nudi mnogo. Ako je pjesma napisana, tu je pred vama, pogledajte je malo duže, više ...bolje....
Čak i nešto što se može lako zapaziti - raspored rime (aabbc) nudi mnogo „tajni“. Potonji stih je očekivano neočekivan? Fali

li još jedan, šesti (još jedno c) ili je i on (peti) suvišan ?
Neko se spotakne. Znači da nije pao – samo se spotakao. Obično se poslije spoticanja nastavi kamo se krene...
Pročitajte je naglas. Slijedite uputstva pisca (u ovom slučaj moram reći prevodioca, jer...već napisah ::)) Otćutite one tri
tačke. Zar mislite da su i one tu slučajno?
I onda potonji stih - ključ. Bez tog stiha mogli bismo svašta da pomislimo...
a sa još jednim, šestim, razbila bi se pjesma ... u paramparčad.
Pogledajte imperative u prvom i drugom stiha... pa zatim imperative trećeg i četvrtog stiha.
Pa onda ih vidite u petom...
I nije mi ovo pjesma - savjet.

Zar vam ne liče na zapovijesti? Amanet onoga koji je mnogo prošao, mnogo „vidio“, mnogo naučio?
Pa zatim..a, pa zatim....
.....
odavde ćutim. :)

zašto bi?
evo, polako sa tačkicama čitam

ma tuga jedna životna
eto
i opet i sve je tužnije i ... tužnije...
meni dodje da se ubijem
kako li je tek nekom slepom?
snimi sa strane
dvoje s vidom prepiru se oko pesme treće takodje zdrave osobe.
ali dobro, sve jeste dozvoljeno pa i tralala i ćiju ćiju ali to mene ne obavezuje da prihvatim to kao vrednost.
pojma nemam o matematici stihova i uživam dok čitam izlaganje, ali ni tako ne stiže se dalje od sažaljenja i teškog jalovog
bedaka .Izvlačenja na površinu očiglednog, možda neka varijanta angažovane poezije koju, jasno, ne volim.
kao,yeess
život je pun crnila i nesreće
aha!

eno je tamo jedna

i jos jedna
sakrila se...
od čega?
od sebe?
paravan.
uopšteno,naravno.
tako ja pričam sa tobom, ne koristim stilske figure

jer ih i ne znam
ha
takodje
znam već :)
ne mislim da je loše brinuti o svetu nesrećnih

naprotiv
podrazumevam to.
kao i savest.instistirao bih na njoj.
ne volim zapovesti, nikakve.

organski ih ne podnosim i protiv njih se borim
sa lakoćom, spontano.
priručnik?
suštinski, cenim one ljude koji o sebi , kroz sebe, ne zato što biraju
nego što moraju pišu.
jer sam totalni , ne znam šta...

da!
svet sam ja
egoista
ili nešto tako
smejem se ovde upravo sad setih se koliko često sam čuo
"SLEP KOD OČIJU!!!"
;D
od strane mnogih meni dragih

veoma ili prilično ili pomalo
ljudi sa
ogoomnim nevidljivim dioptrijama.

nego, lepo je stvarno

samopouzdanje, kao teret neki kad se zbaci sa ramena
...
.
.
ali ništa o banu.

ne čuh
ne videh.
možda ima ali ja ne vidim?
eto
frekvencije , talasi
recimo, to slepilo je univerzalno i neistraženo
Anu nije previše zanimalo da se bavi humanitarnim akcijama u tom pravcu.
ili nije za pesmu?

Pokušala sam u prethodnih porukama da napišem zašto je meni ova pjesma lijepa.
Pjesma je mogla biti napisana (prevedena) u dugom stihu, sporom ritmu koji je zgodan za plačljive ispovjesti, recimo ovako:
nikad nisam sebe vodio ne rijeku...

nikad nisam sebe hvatao za ruku...
...
išao sam, išao sam - spoticao se.
ovakvu ili sličnu pjesmu ne bih čitala više puta i ne bih je ovdje „postavila“.
Ovu rado čitam:

Pesma slepca
Ne hvataj sebe za ruku...

Ne vodi sebe na reku...
Na sebe prstom ne pokazuj...
O sebi priču nikom ne kazuj...
Ideš, ideš – i spotakneš se.
Napisana kao zapovjest nekoga ko prihvata svoj usud ljudski i ide, ide, spotakne se...
Vi ne pišete o pjesmi.
Vaše tumačenje mi liči na gledanje u plećku. Mogla je tu biti bilo koja pjesma. Svejedno je. Pjesmu Pesma slepca
koristite kao medijum da bi meni i drugima (nismo sami ovdje) pričali o .... (Oprostite mi ako griješim)
Čitač plećki obično tada najviše govori o sebi.
A ja nisam voljna da slušam.

:-? :(
ne ljuti se
kako nisi voljna da slušaš?
ja hoću da čitam još.
molim te, ne persiraj mi, čudno se osećam.

rasprava pa šta?
saznajem po nešto u svakom novom postu.
naravno da ne pričam samo o pesmi

o svemu pričam
o celom životu
o prizmi kroz koju se lome svetlosti

o lovu na nevidljivo
o koracima
o zvuku
o mirisu
o naslućivanju
o ničemu
provuče se ispod tastature

ispod prsta
pobegne poneka mala
istina

nestane istog trena

i samo joj tragovi ostanu utisnuti
u reč.
eto, to ti kažem
tako ja vidim pesme.
i ok. i tačno je sve što kažeš ,tehnički to jeste pesma, jeste komunikacija.naravno, stilski savršeno.
za pojašnjenje plačljivih ispovesti

nemam komentar.
gledam sve
ali ovo za plećke ne razumem.
ok, izvini nisam želeo da te povredim na bilo koji način.

umesto buketa
topik poezija raspoloženja...

trebala mi je neka dobra kratka ,tako sam mislio ali
samo jedna ,baš duga.
ima da kucam...
grrr.
ne,neuu sad tu
nego ovu
.....
Ruka se iz zemlje javila

U vazduh hitnula belutak
Gde je belutak
Na zemlju se nije vratio
Na nebo se nije popeo
Šta je s belutkom
Jesu li ga visine pojele
Je li se u pticu pretvorio
Eno belutka
Ostao je tvrdoglav u sebi
Ni na nebu ni na zemlji
Samog sebe sluša

Medju svetovima svet
V.P.
ali nije samo to

ima još
trenutka

......
Sedoh na dušmanskoga konja,sedlo dragulji rese;

konj moj nek sada natrag kući krene!
Od lomatanja koplja i graktanja počiva zrak.
Zazuji strela ponekad kao komarac.
Po bledu pesku mirno hladni mesec ide.
A nešto mrmlja tvrdjava,na juriš koju zauzesmo;
ko mukli bubanj i pijani gong.

U žutoj svili
devojke igraju.
U jezeru je danas mnogo riba pomrlo.
Mač zlatni u koricama mojim
tamno je crven od krvi.
li-tai-pe.
reci.
zašto ovo, šta misliš?
ako te ne mrzi...
gruva u mojim slušalicama

napolju je dan
zvuke sam svoje izabrao
vreme sam svoje
uhvatio.
nekako ,dobro se osećam, baš sad ovog trenutka

kao recimo, možda...ovaj ludi Rus
......
Slikarčić jadni crno boji

Sliku,što naslika je genij,
I besmisao boja svojih
Preko lepota slaže njenih.
No s vremenom te boje strane

Baš kao krljušt padnu stara
I snova se pomaljat stane
Genija delo,puno čara.
Tako iz moje duše setne

Nestaje zabluda i rana

I javljaju se opet sretne

Vizije prvih,čistih dana.
a.puškin.
eto, Maho.
pa ti vidi.

šta , ništa?
ma da.. previše teško

jebiga
ako ima nešto lakše
e pa nema.
ima samo ta mala nit

zbog koje uopšte nešto pišem ovuda
čekaj malo...
pa nisu pesnici tu zbog vas i malih raspoloženja
šta ste mislili da je to zajebancija?
jednostavno je
ukoliko vidite bilo šta
ili se ne pravite da niste videli
ili
šta god
ko će vas pohvatati i zašto bi?
kukavice.
jedna.
nema

više pesme
kad
ne čuješ
čuješ li?
ne
reklo bi se.
ako
i
to je
sreća.
kad biraš da si slepogluv.
kad ste govorili istinu poslednji put?
sebi
ne sećate se?
ne,naravno.
ima vremena
u drugom životu
samo lagano
tejk jor tajm.
kukavice
svima vam kažem.
ne samo njoj.


totalni blues
ove večeri
jutra
sva poezija raspoloženja

skrivena ,sigurna
duboko
neće da izadje
neće da vam kaže
i svi pesnici
pesnikinje
ćute na sav glas
smeju se.
takva je noć.
a kod vas
ima li nečega?
ah !
da
osim ćutanja
nema?

Pesma sutonskog boga
I volim mrtvu jesen, niz reku kad tutnji u noći,

I teškim maglama obavija dane smrtnika, glupavo željnih sunca,
Ja sam žrec mokre jeseni, sutonski hodač, bog kišne truleži,
Što pliva kao duh kroz tišine, među crnim kišobranima,
na tihoj lapavici,
Kad ulice i bregovi pod mojom čizmom postanu mokre pustare vetra,
I svojim bednim toplim pećinama hitaju strašljive zveri,
Ja vladam predelima. Sa najcrnjim oblacima, tmurnim
ćutanjem stvari, u mojoj duši raste najuzvišenija vedrina.

I što begunci više stežu svoje plašljive duše u zagušljivoj toploti,

Moji su putevi širi. I lepšim zadovoljstvima me uzdižu
Crne magle i gole grane pod teškim kapima. I luđe moje nerve opija
Kiseli miris jesenje zemlje, blaženstvo truleži.
Sigurnim korakom krstarim nad zavičajem obranog blaga,
Nekad mirisnim bagremovima, žutim vinogradom pod sipljivom kišom.
Neizdrživa lepota mi razdire život, ovde u ciklonskim središtima,
I luđe radosti i samoće, dublje, pakosnije, veće – ima li gde bogovi?
Ivan Jankovic

Norman, zahvalila bih se ja na poklonu, ali 25. i veći dio 26. juna nisam bila na forumu (niti na internetu uopšte) - taman
toliko da buket svene...
Poklon i za Vas:
Filozofija kompozicije (http://www.grupa.org.yu/cgi-bin/yabb/YaBB.pl?num=1147817064)
Da, to jeste objašnjenje onog udjela truda. (Da iskoristim opet čudesnu formulu M. Cvetajeve o „udjelu truda i čuda“.)
O čudima (osobito tuđim) nisam kompetentna da govorim.
Pozdrav :)

da,video sam taj topik o Edgaru.

sve to može da bude u redu,matematika jeste i poezija,
E.A. Po jeste matematičar.
moj utisak je da se dobro zajebavao tj. da ga je smorio neki kritičar i on je uzeo da matematički prikaže pesmu isto kao što bi
bilo šta drugo moglo da se izrazi kroz jednačinu.
da li samo ja osećam sarkazam u objašnjenju?
kažem, može i matematičar da bude pesnik ,i to dobar, ali može i neko ko nema pojma sa jednačinama.
meni je Gordon Pim najbolji

eto.
nisam našao tamo na topiku prikaz njegovog života, bio je pustolov i ratnik, belosvetska lutalica.
nije ga držalo mesto, ne verujem da ga je okolina kapirala.

uživam u teoriji književnosti i predavanjima by you, sve čitam i poredim.

s
osećajem svojim.
ali,ništa o onim tamo pesmama nisi rekla, može i tvojim rečima, može i knjiški.
zanima me.
naročito prvo.
ne treba poseban topik o Puškinu ili Popi ili Liju, reci ovde.
slušam.
čuješ li?
ih.
a.
:)
iha!

ma ne čuje se jebiga...
treba to pojačavati kume ! ...kumeee... pojačaj muziku
jaoooojoooo tooooo!
tako.
šta ,još se ne čuje?
da niste ogluveli narode?

od silnijeh eksplozija, poznat je taj efekat.
i ne može jače,probija zvučnik

da predjete na klasiku?
akustika, fino lagano a burno unutra
ili ne volite više poeziju? ;D

evo, neću više da vas gasim.
pevajte sami.
a el mogu da slušam * čitam?
ne?
ugledajte se na Ivana Jankovića, borac u srži.

i o sebi otvoreno peva.
lepo.
i kako je moguće prestati voleti poeziju?

no,evo sad ja škrabam ovuda pa se lepo odjavim, pa za neko vreme... ...
...
pišite vi slobodno
pesme.
a ja ako izdržim
neću da se igram
s
kravatom.
ni ne volim.
koju sad???
neku od J. Casha sa poslednjeg albuma.
čujete?
ne?
:(
ako,možda je i bolje tako.
poz. sa ostrva na kome rastu slušalice umesto jabuka.
8-)
pssstt!
i tišina je pesma
po sebi.
ja se naslušah... ;D tišina rečitih.

bez da
bezda
n

peva.
ili neku od Bukovskog, kafansku, uličnu,mračnosvetlu?

ili neku svoju pa nek ide sve...u
;D
osmeh
da, naravno.
sve je samo....?
ha!
zna neko?
ne ,naravno.ima sad da se ćuti , rečito još mesec dva. ;D

Ja sam carstvo na samom rubu propasti.

Vidim kako prolaze plavi varvari
Dok sastavljam nesuvisle akrostihove
U stilu nalik zlatu nad kojim umorno sunce igra.
Sve je popijeno, sve je pojedeno,

ništa ne ostaje da kažemo sem pesme
s lakim stihovima koja se u vatru baca.
Tu je još jedan rob, lutalica,

Koji se o nama više ne brine.
Tu je i dosada– ja ne znam otkud–
Koja nas pritiska.
Paul Verlaine
OČEKUJUĆI VARVARE
Šta ćemo ovde na agori okupljeni?
Treba danas varvari da stignu.

-Zašto u senatu vlada takav nered?

Što senatori većaju a ne donose zakone?
Zato što će varvari danas stići.

Kakve još zakone da donesu senatori?
Varvari će ih načiniti čim stignu.
-Zašto nam je car tako poranio,

i na glavnoj kapiji grada zaseo
na presto, sav svečan, sa krunom na glavi?
Zato što će danas varvari stići.

Pa car čeka da primi
njihovog vođu. Pripremio je
specijalno za njega povelju na pergamentu
sa silnim titulama i počastima.
-Zašto su se naša dva konzula i pretori

pojavili u svojim crvenim togama sa vezom;
zašto su stavili narukvice s toliko ametista,
i sjajno prstenje s divnim smaragdima;
zašto su im danas u rukama skupoceni štapovi
sa čudesnim inkrustacijama u zlatu i srebru?
Zato što će danas varvari stići;

a takve stvari zasenjuju varvare.
-Zašto naših valjanih retora nema da kao uvek

saopšte svoje besede, da kažu svoju reč?
Zato što će danas varvari stići;

a njima su govori i svečane besede dosadni.
-Zašto odjednom nastade toliki nemir

i zbrka. (Kako su im lica postala ozbiljna).
Zašto se tako brzo prazne ulice i trgovi
i svi se vraćaju kućama jako zabrinuti?
Zato što se već smrklo a varvari nisu došli.

A neki ljudi su stigli sa granice
i rekli da varvara više nema.
Pa sad, šta ćemo bez varvara?

Oni su ipak bili neko rešenje.
Kavafis


Poruka od Podlaktica na 19.08.2006 u 23:45:56
NA MANSARDI
... a naročito je ponavljao, u sebi, iz te knjige, naslov jedne pesme,

koju je Jelisaveti Prvoj, poslao njen dvorjanin, admiral,
koji je kraljicu zvao: Cynthia.
Naslov pesme bio je: The Lost Booke of the Ocean to Scinthia
Miloš Crnjanski, Roman o Londonu
Feniks iscrtan na šlemu planine,

trag mamuza na maski meseca:
zakleti ekspresionista.
Lice kao na Šileovom Duplom portretu
u dubokom postepileptičnom snu
A onda na plafonu:
čovečanstvo što se smeška
pred fair playom,
upravo isceniranim.
Bilans:
nekoliko registrovanih smrti.
Omče zvučnih linija
u predgrađu pitanja:
Da li si sigurna?
Sažvakani Dnevnik vraćaš

na bent raščerečenog prozorskog rama
pogled napolje, gradilište ideja.
Nahrupela kiša unutra.
Pre nego se okreneš ka sobi

seti se:
da se baš sada
negde na obali Ganga,
zrnevlje pirinča
pred prepelice,
baca.
Dragoslava Barzut


Reci, kad bi moj osmah bled,

rastopio se kao cvet
pola san a pola led.
Kad bih jos jednom

mogao da volim...
Da li bi mi tad bilo dobro svud,

i zivot bio manje lud?
Ili bih i tad kao sad

mogao da se smesim i razbolim,
i da umrem?
Kad bih jos jednom

osetio da volim, volim?
M. Crnjanski

Pedro Salinas
(Španija, 1892-1950)
IMALA SI DUŠU
Imala si dušu
svetlu, otvorenu,
tako da ne mogah
nikad u nju ući.
Pođoh prekim putem,
uskim bogazima
strmim i opasnim.
A duši je tvojoj
put vodio širok.
Spremih lestve vitke
- zidovi visoki,
mnih, prilaz joj brane -
ali duša tvoja
beše bez čuvara,
zida i ograda.
I potražih uska
vrata tvoje duše,
al' ih ne imaše,
budući da beše

sasvim otvorena.
Gde je počinjala?
Gde joj ishod beše?
I ostah zauvek
sedeć na nejasnom
pragu tvoje duše.

Poruka od Vucica-bg na 03.09.2006 u 19:25:49
RIJEKA I MORE
On je rijeka a ja sam more.
Njegov je nemir naglost voda
koje raspasuju travu. Ja ih slušam
kako huče u tijesnom koritu
probijajuć se kroz duboki kanjon
snagom od koje sustaje moja blagost.
Ja sam nestrpljivo more. On je rijeka.
Njegove lađe nisu moje lađe.
Njegove ptice nisu moje ptice.
Ali njegovim lađama ja sam sidrište
gdje je dopušteno sjesti uz vatru
i smiješiti se jednoj priči.
Zbog koje se zaboravlja smionost.
Njegovim pticama ja sam klisura
koja ih sakriva u svoje stijene
misleći da ih otimlje oceanu.
On je prispjela rijeka. Ja sam more.
Moje obale postaju njegove obale.

Moje oluje postaju njegovo uzglavlje.
Moja beskrajnost postaje njegov mir
Vesna Parun

PEŠČANIK
"...i ako ga oko sve dosad nije primećivalo,

to je bilo samo stoga što se duh opirao toj varci,
što duh nije hteo da prihvati privid..."
Danilo Kiš, Peščanik
I čedan ti dah prstima zagospodari...

na njima tražih britki odjek krika,
po olupanoj i obijenoj posudi vremena
na njima tražih dva jednaka lika.
Dospeh na:
bespočetno polje tmine
po kom svetleše svud
bela, moja plastična krila
Gde huktaše objašnjenja....
To je bio najduži dan u mom životu
Čuh kako ulaziš, vrata zaplakaše,

A šta si drugo do privid?
Ti, koji stvaraš a nestvoren si.
(ili želiš da ti dodelim ženski rod?)
Dobro:
Ti, koja stvaraš a nestvorena si...
Obećanja u peščani sat zatvorena

Moj uskogrli prijatelju:
svi bi talasi, u Tebi da se zapene.
D.B.


Poruka od Zulejka na 09.11.2006 u 14:12:40
[ch1032].[ch1042]. [ch1043][ch1077][ch1090][ch1077]
[ch1052][ch1048][ch1034][ch1054][ch1053] II
[ch1050][ch1086] [ch1095][ch1077][ch1078][ch1114][ch1091] [ch1079][ch1085][ch1072], [ch1090][ch1072][ch1112] [ch1079]

[ch1085][ch1072]
[ch1112][ch1072][ch1076] [ch1112][ch1072][ch1076][ch1072] [ch1084][ch1086][ch1075][ch1072]!
[ch1055][ch1077][ch1095][ch1072][ch1083][ch1085][ch1072] [ch1089] [ch1076][ch1091][ch1096][ch1077] [ch1076][ch1085]
[ch1072],
[ch1073][ch1077][ch1079] [ch1080][ch1082][ch1086][ch1075] [ch1089][ch1074][ch1086][ch1075][ch1072],
[ch1086][ch1085][ch1072][ch1084][ch1086] [ch1075][ch1083][ch1077][ch1076][ch1072][ch1084] [ch1112][ch1072]
[ch1091] [ch1085][ch1077][ch1073][ch1086] [ch1084][ch1077][ch1082][ch1086].
[ch1040][ch1093], [ch1082][ch1086] [ch1084][ch1077] [ch1074][ch1086][ch1083][ch1080], [ch1079][ch1085][ch1072],
[ch1090][ch1072][ch1112] [ch1112][ch1077] [ch1076][ch1072][ch1083][ch1077][ch1082][ch1086].
[ch1057][ch1074][ch1077][ch1089][ch1090] [ch1084][ch1088][ch1082][ch1085][ch1077], [ch1075][ch1086][ch1088][ch1080]
[ch1084] [ch1089][ch1074][ch1072]
[ch1089] [ch1076][ch1085][ch1072] [ch1089][ch1088][ch1094][ch1072] [ch1089][ch1074][ch1086][ch1075][ch1072].
[ch1050][ch1086] [ch1095][ch1077][ch1078][ch1114][ch1091] [ch1079][ch1085][ch1072], [ch1090][ch1072][ch1112] [ch1079]
[ch1085][ch1072]
[ch1112][ch1072][ch1076] [ch1112][ch1072][ch1076][ch1072] [ch1084][ch1086][ch1075][ch1072].

Poruka od Horus na 22.12.2006 u 14:34:51
U prolaznosti
Hvatao sam oznake

posejane po nebu.
Slušao beskrajne priče
o postanju i kraju.
Rukom lupih po namreškanim oblacima
dok su me nemirne misli bacale
svuda po prostoru.
Dok lutao sam po nevidljivim

i bekrajnim divljinama,
trgla me tvoja reč i pitanje.
Gde smo to mi ?
Draga,gledao sam te kao da si providna
prekrivena prozirnim belim velom,
mila i tiha ali...pomalo zbunjena
delovala si mi kao i ove moje misli
daleka...i nepoznata.

Ćutao sam,peleći još jednu,a

tvoj pogled me terao na odgovor
ali...nisam ga imao.
Gde smo to mi ?
Ponavljao sam kao u transu
gledajući iza sbe
mereći svoja osećanja
koja su bila razbacana po
uglovima ove sobe sećanja.
Ostali su samo tragovi
u vidu treperavih uzdaha
koji su se gubili i gušili
u našim izgubljenim srcima.
(Autor nepoznat)

Pjesma je takođe u prolaznosti ili ćemo da je prenosimo s koljena na koljeno?

Ipak je samo u prolaznosti ;)

Poruka od plava laguna na 07.03.2007 u 23:39:20
Meni se čini da je ovo prigodan početak, u pitanju je jedno potpuno autentično raspoloženje. Mladi hrvatski pesnik koji nije
hteo da se potpiše.
No. 1
volim svoje stihove ponekad volim i tuđe

ali moji stihovi se ne vole
možda volim svoju kivu percepciju strofe
volim ponekad staviti zarez
mada mi nitko ne može objasniti što je to zarez
ne volim zareze u svom životu

mada mi kažu da sam poseban zbog toga

volim u stihu ponekad staviti upitnk
tek onda kada ne pita mene
mrzim točku mada neprestano mislim o njoj
kada popijem pet šest pivi volim ih u trotočki
jednom me doktorica pitala u centru za prevenciju ovisnosti
zašto volim tu i tu kombinaciju
rekao sam joj da sam tada najbolje namješten
tada volim sve

ZVEZDOZNANČEVA OSTAVŠTINA
Ostale su za njim njegove reči
Lepše nego svet
Niko ne sme u njih da se zagleda
Čekaju na okukama vremena

Veće nego ljudi
Ko može da ih izgovori
Leže na mutavoj zemlji

Teže nego kosti života
Smrti nije pošlo za rukom
U miraz da ih odnese
Niko ne može da ih podigne

Niko da ih obori
Zvezde padalice glave sklanjaju

U senke njegovih reči
Vasko Popa
.


Zapis na pragu
Ove pjesme, to nisam ja, iako sam ih ja napisao.

Ovi jauci, to nisam ja, premda sam ih zbilja uzdisao.
Moj pravi život, ja sam samo disao.
Jer ja živim i kad pjesma umre. Ja živim i kad patnja

mine.
Ima u meni nemira dragog, a ima i moje širine.

Ja puštam i drugog da govori za me.
A i sam govorim druge same.
Ja ne marim čovjek biti ako sam umio ljude bogovski

reći.
O ja! o ja! ja sam od sebe i manji i veći.

O ja! o ja! moj drugi i moj treći.
Ja ne sanjam o sreći. No ne sumnjam o sreći.

Gle ovog dvojstva i trojstva moga: ima u meni i tmine,
no ima u meni vedrine,
i moja divna sloga.
Tin Ujević

Poruka od ivica321 na 06.04.2007 u 15:42:12
Sreća
Hoćeš da napišem pesmu o sreći?

Kako lako je to reći.
Pisati o sreći, a biti nesrećan.
Isto je biti među ljudima, a biti sam.
Jednom neko reče,
u vezi te sreće.
Onaj ko stalno govori o sreći,
na kraju ostane nesrećan.
Kao sada ispisana ova hartija,

ispisana srećom, ali ne i ja,
a zasto, to me nepitaj.
Vec se u ogledalo pogledaj
da vidis svoj očaj,

zbog svih tih reči, sreća...sreća...sreća.
Ivica

Poruka od ivica321 na 06.04.2007 u 15:58:11
NAPON
Zavapi klica: želim nići

Iz mraka, do vrhunca!
Iz prslih grudi ja ću dići
Najlepšu himnu sunca.
Zavapi krilo: da se rodim,

Iz strašnog mučenja krvi!
Zvezdama mirnim da zabrodim,
Na sunce da stignem prvi.
Zavapi suza: vaj, da kanem

Iz bola koji grca!
Doneću na svet, kada panem,
Prvu vest ljudskog srca.
Jovan Dučić

Poruka od the highest na 07.04.2007 u 23:31:51
Dobra ti je pesma.

PRE IGRE
Zažmuri se na jedno oko

Zaviri se u svaki ugao
Pogleda se da nema eksera da nema lopova
Da nema kukavičjih jaja
Zažmuri se na drugo oko

Čučne se pa se skoči
Skoči se visoko visoko visoko
Do na vrh samog sebe

Odatle se padne svom težinom

Danima se pada duboko duboko duboko
Na dno svog ponora
Ko se ne razbije u paramparčad
Ko ostane čitav i čitav ustane
Taj igra
Vasko Popa

Poruka od MMJ na 06.05.2007 u 04:04:42
GENIJALNO
sve je stalno
genijalno
duž ozonskih
padavica
spasite me
iz sveg glasa
zapovedam
tužnu moru
dok zagledam
sam i jedan
preskačući
zelenkaste procesore
šljapkajući -
- divno more;
zapovedam
svi idite
dok ja stojim /
spust se plavi
mojoj glavi
u bleskastoj
topovnjači
sve se cepka
pecka recka...
; a ti njači.
plaču deca.....
++++++++++++++++++
+++++++++++++++++++
zveri trče
, krokodili.
svi su sa mnom
stoj

ne idi
i vraćaj se! / -
- / jer crvena daska
u mrkom prelivu
sjaji se od sreće
-----------------------------
Dionisije Dejan Nikolić

Poruka od spigo na 22.05.2007 u 21:51:58
JAGNJE
Presvetli,
ja vjekovžja u pamjat
i hristijanijah
i duče
imah
i tela
robskogja,
i opipah dno
svejedno lice sudbine
i gledah
duše na dlanu
obesti i pravednosti
u loncu krvi ključale
pomahnitale
i pevah:
,, Gospode,
sviraju noćas tako moćno
trube gneva malo je,
za ovu noć
i moć dželata
i nesan''.
A, onaj koji se ne uplaši,

biće veliki u veličini svojoj,
i blažen i prezren.


Balada o Stojkovićima
Bije batinaš, bogme svojski raspalio,

puca nam koža, lete mrvice mesa;
bije sat, bije dva, bije tri, -
otkud mu toliko štapova i besa?
Udara bogato, udara od sveg srca,
već mu se lice od napora krivi,
gubi dah, zastaje, prediše; više ne može,
i pada mrtav umoran a mi - živi.
Poređaju nas vezane uza zid.

pucaju u nas, - prska lobanja,
prska cevanica, podlaktica;
otežasmo od olova u telu.
Dođe veče. Umorili se strelci.
Odvezuju nas, psuju nam boga i majku.
Sa streljanja se vraćamo kući k'o s posla,
i dok se u kujni podgreva večera,
žene nam krpe rupe u odelu.
Posle večere pregledam domazluk:

zakrpim krov, poduprem ogradu,
nakupim kišnicu u kace i aranije.
Uto i spavanju vreme. Pre no što zaspim,
kažem ženi: Vešaće me u pet,
gledaj da me probudiš nešto ranije.
Ujutru: vešala nova novcata, čvrsta,

užad jaka dželati obučeni;
ruku na srce, ničemu zamerke nema.
Vešaju nas brzo vešto i lako.
Visimo tako obešeni do mraka.
Vreme je večeri: skidaju nas, a mi - živi
Svi nas tuku i psuju, ali ako.

Sutradan zorom dovuku granja i drva,

naslažu lomaču, za nju nas gole vežu,
prinesu šibicu, potpale,
i gori tako, gori nedelju dana,
cela varoš od pepela posivi.
Kad sve dogori, mi izađemo iz dima.
Kraljica pada u nesvest, a kralj
trlja oči i gleda nas zaprepašten:
,, Sunce vam vaše pa vi opet živi! ''
Rastržu nas konjima za repove,

raspinju nas na točku,
seku nam glave, ruke, i noge. Strašno!
Streljane nas vešaju, poklane nas guše,
ne znamo zašto, a nije ni važno.
Sudijama je već svega dosta!

Smenjuju strelce, otpuštaju vojnike,
vešaju dželate: oni im kao krivi.
Pa opet na nas: te topuzinom, te topom,
te vešaj, te seci, te kolji! A mi - živi.
,, Tu nešto nije u redu '' - šapše narod -

,, to neko sudije štiti od greha !''
A i nas kadkad hvata zebnja pred san:
nismo besmrtni, neće to dugo ovako,
doći će jednom i nama kraj,
nećemo izdržati, i umrećemo - od smeha.
Ljubomir Simović


TEKU REKE
Nek teku reke nek teku reke nek teku reke

nek nose što nose
nisam ovde da prodajem zjala da plačem nad
izgubljenim iluzijama
nad otvorenim provalijama
nisam ruka koja piše zadatke koji se dopadadaju
svima
nek teku reke nek teku reke nek teku reke
nek nose mulj
ruža svesti na stolu nek mirno počiva za to
vreme
u kosi svakoj zvezda će kasno da se javi
dok stope se dečije tope kroz polja široka kao
prvi sneg
i stonoga lovi senke pale preko zida
i trava raste do iznad njenog čela
trava zaborava ili trava uspomena nije važno
nek spiraju krv
trava zaborava il trava uspomena to je sve što
još ostaje
nek teku reke nek nose ljubav
nek sanjaju reke sve dok dođem kraju
nek teku oko statue lepše od mesa jorgovana
lepše od nemog začina trule mesečine
lepše od nemog šapata jezive mesečine
nek lutaju makaze bola po tim proplancima
mesečine
gole mesečine jalove mesečine
bolje da tu lutaju gde greje ledena mesečina
nego u sobama gde spavaju tek usnuli ljubavnici
nek teku reke nek teku reke nek teku reke pune
mesečine
nek lutaju makaze bola i turpije bola
da otupe oštre i opore reči što se dižu kao
optužbe sa ovih postelja vatre i izvrnutih
nebesa


nek nose što nose
nek se došaptavaju sa usamljenicima duž ivica
gradova nek idu ruku pod ruku nek im
presecaju dah nek im podmeću nogu
šta mari
nek nose blato i bol
ko si ti što dižeš ruku iza ruke svesti na stolu
ko si ti što turobno vičeš a glave niko da
okrene
nek nose zlato i bol
ko si ti što pleteš zamke oko zamaka gde umiru
golubovi
nežni i nepoznati
ko si ti što si se toliko zagledala u statuu
ubistveniju od mirisa zumbula
svu od igala iščupanih iz bolnog mesa što nije
dočekalo svoje nade na raskršću gde tako
pozno vetar duva i gde nema nijednog znaka
uđi u prvu kuću skreni levo pođi uz basamke
tu desno odškrini
prva vrata
nek teku reči nek teku reči nek teku reči
iz jedne u drugu u treću i tako redom u zadnjoj
gde je širom otvoren prozor naći ćeš gong
i lupi što igda možeš
čuj
ništa
lupi opet u gong lupaj lupaj
samo ne na prozor na prozoru nemoj da igraš
žmurke
glavu ne osvrni
na prozoru samo nemoj da igraš žmurke
samo gledaj: nešto se tu snuje
koliko je to smrti ispisano i čije to smrti u slepim
očima statue
ne ne igraj žmurke na ivici prozora

vrtoglavice su lake kao reči

šta je to jedna noć u praznoj sobi kraj gonga u
kojoj lupaš bez prestanka
nek teku reke nek teku reke nek teku reke u
kojima sve noći i ona čak NOĆ
koja ih sve obuhvata
bez senke bez šminke u krošnji jutra zapevaće
PTICA
nek nose ljubav
šta je to jedna noć čekanja 60x60x12 još
jedanput toliko još jedanput čekanje je
brže od brojanja
nek ponesu nebesa sa sobom nek ponesu i svoja
korita
tj. nas
ti slušaj samo pticu i smeh ovaj crveni i
iznenadni
smeh sa usana statue koju su propustili
da pogledaju pre nego što su napustili trg oko
ponoći
smeh dobri i tebi namenjeni
propustili topli i jednostavni smisao reči koje će
danas mahinalno da ponavljaju
topli smisao koji će samo deca pred izlozima
zagledana danas pre odlaska u školu da
razumeju
u kosi svakoj zvezda će kasno da se javi
i kasna zvezda u svakoj reči da se javi.
Dušan Matić


Most ranjiv od rana sveta…

pruža se preko tih urvina…
preko tog užasa i blata...
gde se lomi navika svetlosti ...
Dušan Matić

METASTROFE
Ono što bismo da kažemo dovoljno je za slavu ili zaborav.
Bilo bi kasno da sada ponavljamo sve što smo čuli.
Poznate su nam posledice svega što je bilo.
Ali,
da bismo bili učesnici moramo s vodičem,
u onom što se desilo,
dinamičku sliku svojih pretpostavki da proverimo.
Bilo bi isuviše razumno biti žrtva predviđenog odvijanja.
Ovaj dan, bez svetla i van događanja, još neobeležen,

prazno mesto u našim životima, nije sreća.
I u propasti, pred nemuštom silom koja sve ruši,

postoji potaknuto tkivo gde nož ubice zauvek
podignut ostaje.
Na mrtvim telesima koje niko ne oplakuje

tišina sagorela u sebi samoj, sasušena i zablistala kao staklo.
Igra je završena. Sve je razoreno.
Igrači, igračke i njihovo vreme.

Gledaoci nemoćni da pomognu ili upozore.
Jadna stihijo!
Što se povlačiš u reči, što se povlačiš za rep i nestaješ u ništa!
Nedvosmisleno je jasno da su zablude, uvek, dobar razlog onome što opstaje.
A u praznoj sali lokalnog kinematografa,

svetlost sa ekrana na licu sagovornika
otkriva poslednje pitanje
i mi
prepuštajući se potvrdnim rečenicama,
približavamo se nehotice sopstvenoj opredeljenosti.
Nepravda javne smrti opet ne mimoilazi prolaznika,

koji neodložnost svojih namera zamenjuje prigodnim krikom.
Odbraniti se nećemo moći. Lutaćemo.
Vatru toliku, sakrivenu, još dublje spustićemo.
Konačno smo sami među preostalim zidovima,

s planom porušenog grada,
između žbunova nenacrtanih ruža,
pred vidikom davno istrošenim,
mi zamišljamo jutro
kad pesnik je dolazeći u grad zastao.
Njegove reči pronađene.

Trudimo se da ispunimo.
Zar nećemo moći pevati

Nećemo se kretati i gledati?
Al' glas izveštačen pružiti, tome nećemo moći da odolimo.
Svuda, baš svuda strpljiva je prisutnost naše smrti.
A šta se dešava da verujemo?
U koje ćemo verovati, nepoznato je.
I mi, radi sebe, ponavljamo:

Istina je tužna, kao i ljubav,

a rod ovaj ne može da izumre,

u poslovima sejanja, žetve, melioracije i vegetacije.
Glas, jezik, ime,

uvek ponovljeni u novom naporu što je jednostavan,
kao glas u nama zaustavljen.
Poznate su nam posledice svega što je bilo,

opstanak i naknadna istorija već su ovde,
u nepripremljenoj povoljnosti,
da istini, kojoj nisu dovoljni materjalni dokazi ,
pribave svedočanstvo koje vodi.
Što danas stoji spremni smo da učinimo,

dok ruku podižemo.
Da izvršimo propisano,
da dovršimo ili otpočnemo izmenjeni projekt.
Slika je pomerena, a mi bismo ipak najradije da govorimo,

da objasnimo, da damo svoje razloge, da se opravdamo, da budemo izuzeti,
jer pravde nema ni u najpravednijoj smrti.
Sve nepokretno teži da ostane tu neizmenjeno,

a sve što nas mimoilazi nije davno ovde.
Samo ono što ne znamo ostaje neizmenjeno.
Bilo bi isuviše razumno biti žrtva predviđenog odvijanja, jer prošlost je nagomilana,
počev od spomen trga pa nadalje ka reci i mostovima,
sve preko i niže do blatnih udžerica i tržnica udno zidina,
gde u rano jutro i kasnije bednici izvikuju cene,
a starci bolesni prebiraju sasušeno bilje.
Ipak, ovaj grad je mali za sve što će doći!
nepoznati autor
p. s.
…kada svi govore, reči su samo kamenje koje se kotrlja, pomislio sam, šljunak u vodi…

’’ Snežni čovek. ’’ D.A.

Volim
Brodovi i -
oni u luke se sliše.
Vozovi - na stanicu teraju i oni.
A mene ka tebi nešto tim više -
jer volim -
vuče i goni.
Puškinov vitez u podrum se skriva,
cicija u svome novcu da uživa.
Tako ti se vraćam
ja, draga, predano
Moje je to srce,
s divljenjem ga gledam.
i gar
sa sebe spira, brije se i mije.
Tako i ja,
tebi vraćajuci se,
zar
ne odlazim kući,
zar nije?!
Konačnoj se vraćamo meti.
Smrtne zemaljsko naručju veže
Tako
tek što rastanemo se
ja i ti,
nepokolebljivo ti
težim.
Vladimir Majakovski


OPERETA
Ispovesti su kao ispovesti a krv kao krv
U čijem telu bez snova gori ovaj tuđi život

U čijoj noći bež žeđi tinja ovo staro možda
Čekaću na dnu ove šume dok prošlost tutnji

nad strvinama dana
Čekaću da mi sve gladi pođu u susret hodom
od neba nečujnijim
Čekaću, ali je samo u mome mesu škrgut pobedničkiji
Nikada
Nisam ni putnik ni davno ni odlazak dragih

Tromije otiče moja krv od svake zaspale
tišine
Nikada nisam bio tajna

Čovek, čovek samo
Dodirnula je i mene ta neizbežna voda
Dodirnula je i mene ova tuđa jesen
Ali ću voleti ovo što volim,

Ali ću sanjati ovo što sanjam
Ali ću čekati ovo što čekam
Čekam dok se prikrada pamćenje sa osečenim

rukama
Čekam dok ipak nečiji koraci zvne radi mene
Čekam dok se sva jutra kao noževi zarivaju
U iznemogle noći
Eto
Govorim svoju prošlost čupanu iz mojih
bezbrojnih tela
Eto
Sva crna proleća zrače oko mene
Proleća ili zanos, ili nedovršeni zagrljaj

Besa
Idi
Krvi su podmuklije od svake odsanjane noći
Nad ovim raspadanjem lutaju sanjiva zverstva
Uglavnom ništa
Ločemo, ločemo, kaže ona

A ova jesen vlaži njene nage grudi
Ovo je davno, kaže ona
A ja je ostavljam da spava ili teče kroz sva
moja tela
A ja je čekam da se budi kao seks, uspomena
ili vetar
Ja se pritajen uvlačim u svako disanje njeno
Uglavnom ništa
Ti nisi smrvljen pod gromadama svetlosti

Ti nisi ni požar u ognjevima noći
Ništa, ništa
Škrgut je ipak moj iskreniji od svakog priznanja
Moja reč je zanemela u odjecima mesa
Moja je reč teška u odjecima smrti
Ali su tela moja u sećanju rečitija
Spavati, spavati samo
Zaspati kameno, vlažno kao zemlja

Kao pustoš, odlazak, zgarište ili nekad
Zaspati, pritajen
Da bih blesnuo u groznom smehu ispovesti i
Tišine
Zaspati, gušeći se
Da bih briznuo mesto svoje krvi
Nikada, nikada
Postoji jedan čovek jedak i opor kao ova pesma

Njegove ogorčene krvi govore o jednom divljem
telu
On je možda prevara, pokošena svetlost ili
samo vreme

Ali ja samo znam da su njegove ruke svirepije od sećanja svakog,
Postoji jedan čovek kao zaseda, iznemoglost

ili rana
Kao najezda svih truljenja
Najezda mrtvila, isparenja, žeđi
Ali on nije od moje krvi unakaženiji
Od ove krvi unakaženiji

I vi nikada nećete dodirnuti slabine ove dece
Slabine ove dece sa tako glatkim čelom
Napustiću vas ( već jesam) kao nekada zamagljene
Obale jednog ostrva na kome sam voleo
suzno i jetko napustiću vas kao neki
nedovršeni san iz koga me kida sunce koje
mi na lice bljuje; ostavljav vas kao ovu lepljivu noć
punu znoja, upljuvaka, zadaha na vino i smrada.
Dosta
To sam ja što kao krtica rijem kroz svoje

gnjile gladi
To sam ja što kidam ove krte dane
Ove krte dane sa gorućim očima
Ove besomučne, lažne i gnojave dane o samome sebi
To sam ja što kao ogledalo pružam vam vaš
lik
To sam ja što kao ćutanje padam na ova mesa
To sam ja kao ćutanje
Kao dlakavo čudovište ljubavi
Kao doziv koji nisam čuo
Dosta
Pocepao sam sve reči koje su trebale da znače

moj škrgut
Prošlost je moja iskrenija od pepela svakog
Hiljade slučajnosti na koju zaustavljam svoju

Između nežnosti i besa
Hiljade slučajnosti na koje zaustavljam svoju
tromost ili suzdržanost
Hiljadu puta zastajem i ločem.

To je detinjstvo kada u praznično jutro, u gnusnoj čistoti novog odela i istresenih soba čekam da čestitam
svojoj majci
( svojoj majci sada zabranjenoj ženi);
To je na kuplerajskoj postelji dok čekam kurvu koja toči u dvorištu vodu za lavore;
To je onoga dana kada sam bezrazložno zasuzio u nekom tramvaju;
To je u bljutavoj srdačnosti pijanstva kada ljubim svoje prijatelje ili mošda nekad plačem;
To je dok tučem jednu ženu da joj ne bih priznao da je možda volim.
To je dok svakodnevno, potajno, ali neumitno očekujem nešto.
Očekujem-sanjam
Bunim se-čekam
Živeti, živeti od neiscrpnih čekanja
Pustiti da se sve svertlosti zariju u tela

Pustiti sve svetlosti iznemogle, teške ili gorde
Svetlosti iscrpljenja, sitosti, gorkog
Svetlosti žeđi, sećanja besa
Svetlosti gladi, mrtvila zanosa
Svetlosti zagrljaja, škrguta, tišina
Ali su sve svetlosti u sećanju rečitije.
Ne znam zašto ali me ovo proleće podseća na gnoj

Zaspaću
Kraj mene je njeno telo pokriveno bezbrojnim ranama
i u svakoj od njih pare se neki mali ljudi
njeni su nokti okna malih soba i u svakoj vidim sebe
kako držim jedno rasplakano dete.
Zaspaću
Neka krvi i dalje mrse moja bekstva
Čekaću
Neka krv i dalje valja moju prošlost
To dišem, varim, sanjam.
Đorđe Jovanović


RAZLIKA U MIŠLJENJU SA LIGDAMOM
2.
A vi me pitate koji povodom tolike ljubavne pesme

napisah
I kako mi ova medena knjiga u usta dođe.
Ni Kaliopa ni Apolon te stvari mi ne optpevaše
na uho,
U jednoj je curi vaskoliki moj dar.
Ako prstima od slonovače po liri prebira,

Pratimo postupak.
Kako su neusiljeni pokreti prstiju; a kako su joj po
čelu
vlasi rasute,
I u odsjaju koškom nastupa, dok drhturi na njoj
tkanina,
Tu ima građe za čitav tom; u san ako joj
očni kapci potonu
To je već novi izazov za pisca;
Ako se, košulju odbaciv, sa mnom poigra,
Tu bi se dalo sročiti poviše Ilijada.
I ma šta da učini ili da kaže
Mi ćemo iz tog ništa predeuge ispresti priče.
To mi je sudba zaveštala, i ako bih, o Meceno,
I bio kadar da predvodim ljute oklopnike, ne bih
na to pristao,
Niti bih bigalisao o Titanima, ni o Osi
za Olimp prikovanoj,
Nit stazama preko Peliona,
Niti o Tebi, drevnoj njezinoj slavi,
Ni o Homerovom ugledu u Pergamu,
Nit o Kseroksovom kraljevstvu dvomorskom, ni o
Remu i njegovoj krunskoj kući,
Niti o Kartaginskim muževima,
O velškim rudnicima i o vajdi što je Mar otud izvuče.
Podsetiću na Cezarove podvige...
kao na pozadinu zbivanja

Iako ih Kalimah prećuta,

njih a i Tezeja,
Prećuta ad, Ahila kom bogovi pomažu,
Pa Iksiona, i Menecijeve sinove, i Arga i
Grob Jupiterov i Titane prećuta.
Komore srca moga ne šire se na cezarsko ore

rotundos,
Niti na melodije otaca iz Frigije.
Mornar, o vetrovima; orač, što se tiče volova;
Vojnik, da broji rane; ovčar, koze i ovce;
Mi, u našoj tesnoj postelji, (daj da) od bitaka odvraćamo glave:

Svako gde hoće i kako može, nek trči dane kako ume...
Ezra Paund

REDA RADI
(…)
Recite
Dragi gospodine ja sam ti si on je mi smo vi ste
Samo što samoljublje ne sme da sazna kako svirepo

biju knute pokajanja
Postojati nije silogizam - dugme nije simbol – znak

jednakosti
Postojati je devojka (22 god.) što juri Cvetnim trgom

Odviše kosom nagnuta napred
Posrnuli osmeh njen
,, …ostaću kod kuće neću na kaleidoskopski

maskembal
šta me se tiče šimi – kvadrat vi ste mi dosadni

život samoubistvo sve mi je dosadno spas je tabakera

spas je brauning spas je spas je spas je spas je sveska
čekova u džepovu gospodina s kamašnama
ja hoću ja hoću ja hoću
polupce pesnice modrice na svakom pršljenu kičme
po jednu
ja hoću ja hoću ja hoću
vi dobro znate šta ja hoću…’’
Ali mi nemamo vremena da mrzimo…

Mi moramo da sejemo konfete u pukotine azurnih ….
(…)
Moni de Buli

NEMENIKUĆE
4.
Ovo su Nemenikuće u magli prljavog dana prokleto

mesto rođenja
Varoš kao svako đubre
Ona me na prozoru čeka i maše mi rukom da priđem

Ona mi klima glavom i tako mi divno šapuće tako me
divno moli
Ona me zove da dođem
Ja prolazim kao da sanjam i ne znam za bezbrojna

vrata
Ne znam za ključeve od krvi i teške svirepe šipke
Ne znam da stepeni vode do nekih čudnih kvaka
Na kojima se ruke smrznu kao grkljani malih reka
Ona me zove da dođem a nikako neću da shvatim

Da se baš tu gde stojim ivicom trotoara

Uzdiže zid od voska od meke providne gume i bujne

klizave trave
Nikako neću da čujem da se baš tu gde pada
Ogromna staklena stena po kojoj se gušteri ližu
Da se baš tu gde se lome rumene veštaške alge
I lažno grumenje soli
Spuštensa gvozdena ploča pred kojom stoji senka
Pred kojom leži blato pred kojom skičim pseto
Gde je nestala ona?
Ona me čeka u sobi gde su sve slike na zidu

Duge grabulje od kreča
Gde su sve stvari na podu trošne peščane lađe
Beli sunđeri od krede i mrtve smrznute mačke
Ona mi klima glvom i tako mi divno šapuće tako me
divno moli
Ona me zove da dođem

Ja prolazim kao da padam u duboki ponor od lišća
I čudim se zašto mi ruke ne gore haljinu njenu
Zašto na ovom telu niču te rogate magle
Mreže od smrvljene kiše i nasipi gnjile zemlje
Ona me zove da dođem a nikako neću da shvatim

Da se baš tu gde plamte krvavi plastovi mesa
Proganjaju vetrovi pusti i crne bezdušne vode
Prostiru muljave zamke i mokri čaršavi polja
Pred kojima ležim slama pred kojima gazim pena
Gde je nestala ona?
Ona me na uilici čeka gde prolaze koprive noći

Gde se četkama od pruća otvaraju alke bunara
Gde leže kraj kuća od laka tamni pampuri od kose
Sasušeni jarboli šuma i mrtvi kreveti vulkana
Ona mi klima glavom ona me zove da dođem
Ja prolazim kao da padam kroz redove od mekog

stakla
Kroz pamučne izloge od inja i čudne zidove od maka

A nikako neću da shvatim nikako neću da čujem
Da se baš tu gde se tope plameni mačevi šina
Pečati poraznih snova i besni zaleti hajke
Sustižu bivolska stada i trula kosmata jata

Pred kojima visim kao lika pred kojima stojim kao

sveća
Pred kojima pijem sve kade

Gde je nestala ona
Svakog se dana grozno zalepe za moje telo

Zalepe za moja usta puna plesnjive čađi
Zalepe za moje čelo puno plesnjive čađi
Zalepa za moja pluća puna plesnjive čađi
Zalepe za moju gušu punu plesnjive čađi
Zalepe za moje čelo
Zalepe za moja bedra
Zalepe za moje ruke
Zalepe za moje uši
Zalepe za moje sise
Zalepe za moja bedra
Zalepa za moje noge
Zalepe za moje oči
Zalepe za moja usta
Leševi prastare zemlje
Aleksandar Vučo

INISFIRI, OSTRVO NA JEZERU
Ustaću i otići, otići na Inisfiri,

I kolibu ću podići, od blata, s prućem u krug,
Imaću devet leja, košnicu meda, i
Samovaću, a okolo će brujati pčelinji lug.
Imaću onog mira što pada, kap po kap,

Od jutra do časa kad popci počnu da slave svet,

Ponoć svu od bleskanja, podne – zapaljen slap,

A veče šumno i gusto ko konopljarkin let.
Ustaću i otići, jer danonoćno, na žal

Pristiže talas, i pljuska, s maha na mah;
Svejedno stojim li na stazi, il na pločniku, taj val
Iz dubine grudi diže se, kao dah.
V. B. JEJTS
p.s. Inisfiri, - Malo ostrvo na Lak Gilu, u Slajgou ( Irska); Ustaću i otići, otići na Inisfiri, - Odjek novozavetnog Ustaću i idem
idem ocu svojem, Jevanđelje po Luci, XV, 18.

MOJA TUGA, TVOJA
Tekla voda rečicom

Rasla moma djevicom ...
Oh vodice ladjahna
Ao momo mladjahna!
Tek u gušti slavujak

Svoj razdaje glasuljak:
Kad se hoće ne mož s

A kad može odlaže s –
Srnče puške s uklanja

Al orlica g uganja
Da l mi nije odsudno
Plivat vavek uzvodno?

S. M. Sarajlija

SPAVAŠ LI U TELU
Lišće u smrti
Četvrtast prozor urezan urezan u crnom oklopu noći
O noćna! Svojim snom spuštenim na talase
Mezimče noći u bespredmetnom plaštu zvezdanog dna
Padaš, lelujav ladolež ljubavi
U strmoj niziji snevanja
Lice bez reči spušteno na belo ćutanje

Samo čistim bisernim darom obuhvaćena, i nema
Usne sklopljene, jedva drhtava senka obmane
Darivana, robinja, carska slobodna kći
Lanenim lakim mostom ljuljana u dobrom lovu
O noćna, bez samog blagodarnog neba kao sprud

Na toploj ruci bespredmetnog mora
Žeđ, izabrana za sestru u dubokom hodniku žeđi
Vodim te kuda bilo, nesvesna ptica sam bdenja
Prohladne senke beže, vidim te ma gde bilo
Ja sam samo taj veo na gorkom pragu doma

Gde zid sve dalje vodi u šumsku paniku stubova
Tiho za noćas prođi kraj ovih vrata
Za noćas će svako veče kriti taj pod od lišća
Nisam ja jedini saznao za razastrutu maglu
Marko Ristić


Ne daj se Ines
Ne daj se Ines
Ne daj se godinama moja Ines
drukčijim pokretima i navikama
Jer još ti je soba topla
prijatan raspored i rijetki predmeti
Imala si vise ukusa od mene
Tvoja soba divota
Gazdarica ti je u bolnici
Uvijek si se razlikovala
po boji papira svojih pisama, po poklonima
Pratila me sljednjeg jutra oko devet do stanice
I ruši se zeleni autobus tjeran jesenjim vjetrom
kao list niz jednu beogradsku padinu
U večernjem sam odijelu i opkoljen pogledima
Ne daj se mladosti moja, ne daj se Ines
Dugo je pripremano naše poznanstvo
I onda slucajno uz vruću rakiju
i sa svega nekoliko rečenica, loše prikrivena želja
tvoj je način gospođe i obrazi seljanke
prostakušo i plemkinjo moja
Pa tvoje grudi, krevet
i moja soba objesena u zraku kao narandza
kao narancdzasta svjetiljka nad zelenom i modrom vodom Zagreba
Proleterskih brigada 39 kod Prkovic
Pokisla ulica od prozora dalje i šum predvečernjih tramvaja
Lijepi trenuci nostalgije, ljubavi i siromaštva
Upotreba zajednicke kupaonice
I "Molim Vas, ako netko traži"
Ne daj se Ines
Evo me ustajem tek da okrenem ploču
Da li je to nepristojno u ovakvom času
Mozart Requiem Agnus Dei
Meni je ipak najdraži početak
Raspolazem s još milion nježnih
i bezobraznih podataka naše mladosti
koja nas pred vlastitim očima vara, i krade, i napušta
Ne daj se Ines

Poderi pozivnicu, otkaži večeru, prevari muža

odlazeci da se počešljaš u nekom boljem hotelu
Dodirni me ispod stola koljenom
Generacijo moja, ljubavnice
Znam da će još biti mladosti,
ali ne više ovakve - u prosjeku 1938
Ja neću imati s kim ostati mlad ako svi ostarite
I ta ce mi mladost teško pasti
A bit ce ipak da ste vi u pravu
Jer sam sam na ovoj obali
Koju ste napustili i predali bezvoljno
A ponovo počinje kiša,
kao što već kiši u listopadu na otocima
More od olova i nebo od borova
Udaljeni glasovi koji se miješaju
Glas majke prijatelja, kćeri, ljubavnice, broda, brata
Na brzinu pokupljeno rublje pred kišu
I nestalo je svjetla s tom bjelinom
Još malo šetnje uz more i gotovo.
Ne daj se Ines
Arsen Dedić

KAD SAM JE PRVI PUT VIDEO
Radnici koji nikada nisu videli more

Kad je sretnu misle da je dan lepši no inače
Ta žena taj gigant, ta država u državi
Kad sam je prvi put video rekao sam:
"Eto kako treba da izgleda prestonica jedne zemlje
Koja ostaje bez svetla kad ona sklopi oči."
Ta djevuška visoka kao podzemna železnica
I lepa kao da uopšte ne postoji.
Njenu sobu su razneli mirisi.
Ona se šminkala i češljala
I to je sve što je uradila za poeziju.
Zakleo sam se da ću prećutati njenu prošlost

Jer ja sam rodjen sa mnogo više prljavština

No što ih je ona imala u životu.
Već nema u srpskom jeziku reči na koje se mogu osloniti
Sa kojima bih poredio njene oči i onda mirno spavao
Ima jedna zemlja velika kao njena trepavica
Ta neosvojiva Rusija koju je ipak lakše osvojiti.
Od njenog poljupca koji mi je poslala telefonom
Zapalilo mi se uvo na pošti jednoga drugoga grada
To famozno to zeleno to gorko uvo
Koje je dugo stajalo kao antena na jednoj radio-stanici.
Otkidao sam ga i duboko u zemlju zakopavao
Ali nije prestalo da me poziva na telefon
Svojom telepatskom azbukom svojim visećim mostovima.
Na mome srcu kao na gramofonskoj ploči
Snimila je sve što je rekla u životu
Njene korake, njen smeh i njen kašalj
Njena duga šaputanja sa ljudima koje ne poznajem.
Gradove u kojima živimo vezuju naša pisma.
Ja ne znam za drugo nebo sem njenog kišobrana.
Kad me ona voli ne znam od čega živim
Ne jedem, zaboravljam da dišem i vrlo često umirem.
Visoko u nebu setim se da ne umem leteti
Prodjem glavom kroz zid i vidim da sam pogrešio
Tad zviznem nogom mesec iznad grada
I trčeći obilazim mesto gde ćemo imati sastanak
Njen najgori djak gutač ljubavnog plamena
sa injem u ustima
Tumačim svojoj krvi njeno preteško gradivo.
Pun otpadaka kao golfska struja
Silazim niz stepenice u zemlju
I jedini ne znam za svoju tragediju
Taj svirepi podtekst naše ljubavi.
O suzo na jastuku
Uspomeno na pilota koji nikada nije sleteo
Izgubljen u vazduhu.
Matija Bećković


POČETAK I KRAJ
zna se kada počinje početak

a ne zna se kad počinje kraj
kraj je na kraju
a početak malo napred
kraj je napred
a početak je pre napred
početak je kad počneš
a kraj je kad si gotov
ima kad je neki početak
odmah kraj
a ima kad je neki
kraj početak
ima opet kad neko ima
i kraj i početak
a ima kada nema
ni kraj ni početak
početak je kad sam se ja rodio
a kraja nema
iz ,,Olovka piše srcem’’

A,
koji uplakan,
roždenijem nije bio?
Neko i nije.

I,
koji:
u samrt
u čerez
u ostrah
sebe ne usnio?
Nekoji nije.
I,
nikoji
i
ničiji
grej,
doli
uzdah.

Turpituda
1.
Rugam se njenom preopterećenom sanjarstvu

o zlatnom izvajanom dobu
Slatkom sanjivom praznoverstvu osenčenih i blistavih
rubova
Na setnom porubu nemara njena ruka drhti još
poslednji put
Trpljenje se preliva u plen osakaćene mnemotehničke
vizije i ni u šta
Tragovi zvonke pesme odudaraju od zaostanka
neobuzdanog drhtanja
Ništavna rogozina tetura se i žtvuje svoju
jedinosušnu prašinu belim gljivama

Kao da sunce upražnjava jedno zakovitlano besčaće

oko koga se skupljaju popci
Nesvesno iverje dnevnog prethodnog bivanja u oku
dimljive lokomotive
Srce u pretposlednjim večernjim papučama i pepeo
iz svih diplomatskih pepeonica
Nestvarna jedra razapeta preko uzdrmane plazme u
ćorsokacima strasti
U mekim budžacima zdgrudvanog seksualnog nagona
i na stenama kršne obale
More ustalasano more utvarno jednoliko pogano
isceđeno preprano pokošeno
Sablast velikog mlecnog puta u recitom sjaju
nelogičnosti i užasa i užasa
(...)
M.R.

JEDINO LUDA JEDINO PESNIK
Iz bistrog zraka
kada utesna rosa
na zemlju vec pada,
nevidljivo i necujno,
- laku obucu jer nosi
ta rosa, tesiteljska, poput blagih uteha-
secas li se onda, secas, plameno srce,
kako si negda zedno bilo
nebesnih suza i rosnih kapi,
kako si zedjalo, umorno i sprzeno,
dok su po zutim stazama travnim
opaki zraci sunca u sutonu
vitlali oko tebe kroz crno drvece,
jarki zraci, zaslepljujuci, zlokobni.
- Ti zenik istine? - rugali su se.
Ne! Ti si samo pesnik,
zverka, lukava, grabljiva, pritvorna,
osudjena da vara,

da vara uceno i hotice,

pohlepna plena,
maskirana razlicno,
u sebe samu,
maskirana u vlastiti plen.
To da je - zenik istine?...
Luda jedino! Pesnik!
Samo sareno pricalo,
pod maskama lude o svemu i svacemu,
leprsajuci po varljivim parovima reci,
po dugama-varkama
izmedju laznih nebesa,
sunjajuci se i svrljajuci naokolo -
jedino luda! pesnik jedino!
I to je - zenik istine?...
Ne miran, ukocen, gladak, hladan,
u kip pretvoren,
u sveti stub,
ne smesten pred hramove,
vrata nekog boga:
ne! nego dusman takvih kipova vrline,
divljini, zavicaju, blizi nego hramovima,
pun macje obesti
kroz svaki prozor iskacuci
hop! u svakakvi udes;
svaku prasumu nanjusivsi
da bi u prasumama
medju sarolikum zverima grabljivim
ti poput greha zdrav, lep i saren vitlao,
sladostrasnih usana,
opijen rugom, paklom krvozedno,
loveci plen, krisom, trcao obmanjujuci...
Ili orlu slican koji dugo
dugo nepomicno u bezdane gleda,
u svoje bezdane...
- Oh, kako se oni sunovracuju tu,
nanize, sve dublje,
u sve dublje dubine obrusavaju! -
I zatim se,
naglo,
okomito strmoglavi,
strelovito sjuri medju jagnjad,
svirepo ih zeljan,

sav obuzet gladju

I mahnit za dusana jagnjecimm,
srdit i jarostan prema svemu
sto izgleda samo dobrostivo,
poput ovce kudravo,
blesasto, blagonaklono od jagnjeceg mleka...
Eto takve su,
orlovske, panterske,
pesnikove ceznje, takve su
tvoje ceznje ispod hiljadu maski,
ti ludo! Pesnice!...
Ti koji si coveka gledao
kao boga i kao jagnje, -
rastrgnut boga u coveku,
kao i ovce u coveku
i smejati se raztrzuci -
to je, to je tvoja blazenost,
blazenost orla i pantera,
blazenost pesnika i lude!...
U bistrom zraku
kada se srp mesecev
zelen medju purpurnom rumeni
i zavidan vec prikrada -
i, dusmanin danu,
svakim svojim korakom potajno
kosi vreze ruza,
sve dok ne padnu nazad,
blede, u senu noci:
tako padoh i ja sam negde,
iz ludila moga za istinom,
iz bezumnih mojih ceznji za velikim danom,
umoran od dana, bolan od svetla,
- padoh dole, u suton, u senku,
istinom Jednom
spaljen i zedan nje
- secas li se jos, secas, plameno srce,
kako si nekad zedno bilo? -
Bas ja izgnan da budem
od svake istine!
Luda sam i nista drugo!
PESNIK jedino!

???
Neces jos dugo biti zedno, plameno srce!

Obecanje je u zraku, sapucu mi ga nepoznata usta:
- velika svezini dolazi ...
U podne je moje sunce peklo nada mnom:
pozdravljam vas sto dolazite,
vi - iznenadni vetrovi,
vi - svezi duhovi popodneva!
Nailazi zrak tudj i cist.
Ne merka li me,
zavodnicki,
preteci pogled noci?
Ostani jako, srce moje neustrasivo!
I ne pitaj: zasto?
Friedrich Nietzche

More će ti govoriti o beskrajnosti, nebo o čistoti, a mračni čempresi o tuzi. A ti

ćeš reći moru i nebu i čempresima: ,, Moja ljubav ima u sebi vašu beskrajnost, i
vašu čistotu, i vašu tugu. Jer, zato što vas je moja duša obožavala, ona se
sazdala od onog što je obožavala.''
Zvezde će ti govoriti o večnosti, a zore o svetlosti. A ti ćeš odgovoriti i
zvezdama i zorama: ,, Iz moje ljubavi se rađaju mlečni putevi i nebeska kola, i
mirna svitanja na planini. Jar vaša večnost i vaša svetlost nisu drugo nego
atributi ljubavi.''
Večernji sutoni govoriće ti o smrti, a tišine o zaboravu, a ti ćeš odgovoriti i
sutonima i tišinama: ,, Ima nešto što ne umire za ljudsko srce, a to je nerasudna
ali nenadmašna vera u nerealno i nemogućno. I ima nešto što stoji iznad sudbine
čoveka, a to je ljubav koja je, kao i smrt, uvek slepa moć prirode, a ne cilj
čovekove sreće ili nesreće''.
J. Dučić
p.s. doduše, odlomak iz eseja, ali, po mom skromnom mišljenju, mnogo više od toga, te ga ovde postujem…


HIMNA VEKOVA
Ne znam da l' na snu samo,

il' zbilja, odlazim često
u čudan predeo neki.
Tu svako kazuje trag razočarenja.
Kiparis, zeleno tavni,

i korov širi se samo,
i, vlažni, grobovski vetar,
u ropce talasa tamo.
I ja, umoran, težak od puta,

na pustu obalu sedam.
I, tada, pored mene

mrtvački prolazi sprovod
u nekom svečanom hodu.
A maske na licu nose

i ljudi i deca i žene.
Kuda odlaze oni?
I kuda taj mimohod

s horom groznim?
I koga u krilo večnosti sede

u večerima poznim?
Čuteći prolaze, budeći tamom

od vremena davnih beskrajni okean,
šumeći sumornu, hladnu, pesmu.
Neumornu.
prep.spigo


ŠTA SANJAM I ŠTA MI SE DOGAĐA
Ko će znati vremenu kraj,

vetru put, tišini ime,
i što je to
što meni podgriza misli i razara san?
Svake noći podmukli gosti dođu
nevidljivi, nečujni,
i ognjenim peskom mi zaspu usta i oči.
I dok se uporno hvatam za sjećanja

svetla neba, muškoga hoda,
plodne samoće, i dela, -
oni stoje više moje glave, nevidljivi, nečujni;
čekaju da bude
mrtvo telo u mrtvom mraku.
Al' mene jutro izbavlja i diže

nebeskim suncem, vodom, mladim lišćem;
muzika me vida;
i pramen nestalna dima u daljini;
krepi nadu;
seća na dane kad sam znao za radost
II
Još kasno u noći

neće da s smiri grad.
Iz prvog sna ne trza divlji krik,
u noć se rasipa. Jauk ili smeh?
Da l' ljubav kriju pusti parkovi

il' vino piju dvojca, -
gorko vino u zdravlje iste žene?
O, znam ja zemlju i njene darove.
Ja tražim san,
svet dubok i nepoznat.

III
Na tuđem moru. Ne prate mene

senke dobrog voćnjaka
ni Višegradska staza, uvek tužna
Blede blagoslavi.
Tonu darovi u danima i moru;
Ginu ožiljci rana i milovanja
za uvek!
A iznad mene i neba i mora
jedino ime, cilj i znak i snaga:
žeđ moja beskrajna i sveta.
IV
Zaboravljene radosti meseca Jula!

Sad tamo u toploj tišini šljivik zašumi.
Veče se sluti.
Stazama koje kući vode poneku hiti.
Zelen val, riba il' tica
prelomi tišina.
Daljina, majko svih želja!
Zaspo je vozar
na skeli koju ljulja
val rodne reke.
Svu noć je kisa padala.
Da li znate kako je
svu noć slušati romor o prozore
i ne moći usniti?
Kiša, ko mati, tiho pjeva

a sna nema tek misli kišne noći.
Zašto na svaki dodir života

ostaje dušom kao jeka - bol?
Ivo Andrić


STIHIRE ONOJ KOJA DALEKO SEJE
Prostranstvo Hodatajice pređoh u mojim

Skrbima
I nigde, pribegnuti strastan da imam,
Pokrova ne stežah
Teško je biti sam
Među tvojim među Srbima
Prsten što peva ti doneh
No oči ti na me ne razmekšah
Tvom pesnoslovcu mladost
Ni poznoletnijem ne zasija
Iz sna me strašni strašnog san tvoj doziva
I razve ja videh svoje srce
Gde izgreva u noć jazve
I zalazi sa zvukom varvarskih katavasija.
Odeveno u moju kosu

Ko zvono u pesme sedalne
Molim te od sagrešenja u snu
Srce ovo odvrzi
Dojahao je nebeski konjanik
S hramom na dlanu brzi
Čeka naše venčanje da se vrati zamotan
U senke svoje pashalne.
U košulji tihoj sutrašnjih pokreta nedvižim
Priključičih se očima sisa tvojih
Da srce mi okrme
Htedoh umiti život na kladencima najbližim
Kad u me tama veliku velika preli tamu
Iz mošti tvoje srme
U snovima ti ručak postavih

A ti me ne darstvova
U tuzi me sušta i jadima
Poseštenija svog ne spodobi
Gde mi je kurtizana s dvobojnim usnama
Da ti se upodobi

Gde mi je ličina skromraha kad me ne poznaje

Ona koja carstvova?
Skačući po senkama zvezdanim

Iz jezika tvog nesažegajema
U neozidana otisnuh se prostranstva
Da zaboravim tvoje u meni veličje
Gde nebeska senka reke Strimona nije ribna
Ni nebo ptičje
Metro metropola gradim
Leteća ostrva zidam i voće
Na brodovima vazdušnim sadim gde te nema.
I pojmih jedanaestog prsta

Putokazanje u mojim mislima
Jer proneh ti daleku ti svetlost
Na drugu stranu noći
Prognan i prezren az
Na mazgi u hodu jahačice menjah
I prstenova me horda neizčislima
I mlazom tvog iz mene mleka
Poteče od meni pre nemlekotočive mlaz.
I tako u poslanju mom

Što daljinama semenom govori reči svečane
Na dostojanje opet se svoje
Prepojasuješ u novim plotima
U pristanu tuđem međuoblačnom zidam
Novi Ras Deževo Jelenor i Dečane
Ona Koja Daleko Seje
Bačenoga me natrag otima.
Milorad Pavić
(1971)


...
na nebu jahača odjahalo nebo

na moru plivača odplivalo more
THE END

Poruka od greys na 13.10.2007 u 00:35:08
CRNO SUNCE I OKO NjEGA KRUG
SAN PRVI
Lebdim
Grumen magle
Nad mutnom rekom
Ako je dotaknem
Izgubiću belinu
Ako uzletim
Rastopiću se u atome
Bivstvujem u nedoumici
Vazduh ili voda?
Izmaglica sam
Svetlost me
Razotkriva bolno
Tama lažljivo krije
Ako ostanem siva

Prevariću stražare
(ali…
ni tvoje me videti
neće oko)
Kotrljam se
Busen magle
Pod spuštenim nebom

Ulećem u zasedu vetra

Vraća me u prvobitno
Mirujem
Između vazduha i vode
Čekam
Ponovno stvaranje
PRVA MEĐUIGRA
U mirovanju
Sanjam
Prošlost
Mrvim u zaborav
Dao si boju
Bezimenoj tvari
Izvukavši je iz
Bezdana.
Postajem lakša
Od vazduha.
Pročišćeno vatrom
Raznosi vetar.
Dodao si zvuk
Tišini
Uobličivši ga
Iz ništavila.
Uzdignuto
Lebdi nad vodama
Pročišćeno vodom
Upija zemlja.
U mirovanju
Čekam promenu.
SAN DRUGI
Toplota me osvešćuje
Izvlačim se

Iz sažetka sebe
Opijam se
Do ushićenosti rasta
Bacam se
U beskraj svetlosti
Bivam razapeta
U deliću večnosti
Vezana sopstvenim početkom
Urušavam se
U hladni mrak
Zatvorena tamom
Mirujem (zaključana)
Čekam
Ponovno stvaranje.
DRUGA MEĐUIGRA
Rasecam mrak
U njemu čaura
Odvajam niti
Začete svetlosti
Pletem mrežu
Potapam je
U dubinu tame
Lovim strpljivo
Nove iskre nižem
Kao mamce
U tišini
Čekam sivu
Promena
U večnosti kruga.
SAN TREĆI
Budi me ritam
Nečiji život
Pulsira oko mene
Hrani me
Zgužvana
Oko sopstvenog početka
Plutam u snovima
Iz zgusnute toplote

Prigušenog zvuka
Vrišteći
Izranjam
U nepostojanu hladnoću buke
Slutnjom privučena izvoru
Očekujem saznanje
Izrastajući
Čeznem za uzdizanjem
Povratak zatvara krug
U samoći zaborava
Čekam
Ponovno stvaranje
S.Stefanović

Kad čovek umre (pogine) zemlja postane nekako teža i

ljudskija za jedan život
za jedan cvet...
Jova Ilić

KAMENA USPAVANKA
Uspavajte se gde god ste zatečeni

po svetu dobri, gorki, zaneseni,
vi ruke po travi, vi usta u seni,
vi zakrvavljeni i vi zaljubljeni,
zarastite u plav san kameni

vi živi, vi sutra ubijeni,
vi crne vode u beličastoj peni
i vi mostovi nad prazno izvijeni,
zaustavi se, biljko, i ne veni,

uspavajte se, ko kamen, neveni,

uspavajte se tužni, umoreni,
poslednja ptico: mom liku se

okreni
izgovori tiho ovo ime
i onda se u vazduhu skameni.
Stevan Raičković

NEKOGA MORAŠ VOLETI
Nekoga moraš voljeti,

makar i trave, rijeku, stablo ili kamen,
nekome moraš ruku nasloniti na rame
da se gladna nasiti blizine,
nekome moraš, moraš,
to je kao kruh, kao gutljaj vode,
moraš dati svoje bijele oblake,
svoje smjele ptice snova,
svoje plahe ptice nemoći
- negdje mora biti za njih
gnijezdo spokojstva i nježnosti -
nekoga moraš voljeti,
makar i travu, rijeku, stablo ili kamen -
jer stabla i trave znadu za samoću
- kad koraci svagda odu dalje
premda se trenutak zaustave -
jer rijeka zna za tugu
- samo da se nagne nad svoju dubinu -
jer kamen pozna bol
- koliko je već teških nogu
išlo preko njegova nijemog srca -
s nekim moraš ukorak,

istim tragom -
ah, trave, rijeka, kamen, stablo,
šutljiva pratnja osamljenika i čudaka,
velika, dobra bića
što progovore
samo kad zašute ljudi.
Ivan Minatti


Poruka od amfiteatreina na 02.01.2008 u 16:00:13
stojan simic krpica

(vvv.mikadeak)
Novogodisnja
molitva
Molim
Te,
Gospode,
Svemoguci
Boze,
koji sve
znas,
sve
mozes,
daj
svakom
ljudskom
bicu
sta
mu
treba,
kad
i
gdje
mu

treba.

Palimpest
Jesam li kao ptica

imao mesto imena senku da me potpiše
Mrak kao epitaf i noć ne iz noći
no iz egejskih voda što se rodi?
Potpišite me svici na vetru
i masline senkom na vodi
Jer ja sam onaj sa mnogo vihora na šeširu,
onaj sa kašikom kiše
Na kažiprstu svećnjak,
na malom zvekir što nosim!
Ko bezgramotni psalt u atoske sam zvuke,
u senku zazidan svoju, u ime,
Što stari sa mnom da bi me s Dunava zveri
poznale pod njime
I onda kada u snu na nogama osetim bosim
da stvari presvlače senke.
To im vremena zidar imena proždire

i mene u njima kao u mreži
To predaka mojih sunca u senci zalaze mojoj,
to ko Alaha dozivaju mene
Iz duša rusalija,
što posekoše sa stablima sene,
zasužnjenja imena moja.
I moje drevne smrti u meni to se mole

ko slepi hajduci porad lekovitih boja
Tarući freskama oči.
No ništa se otrlo nije
i kad god u meni sene

Uzlista zvezdani vihor, novo ime se prene

pod hladom na kojem ležim
U zazidane senke crkve mi vrate i česme

u meni da opet životom obole.
M. P.
Podržavamo softver otvorenog koda (open source).

Forum AMFITEATAR » je baziran na YaBB 2.1 softveru otvorenog koda.
© 2000-2008. Sva prava zadržana.

Rabia Basri
Home Page Rabi'a Basri

Books on Rumi
Bibliography Rabi'a Basri: The Mystic and Her Fellow-Saints,
Works of Rumi by Margaret Smith
Rumi's Poetry
I have loved Thee with two loves, a selfish love and a love that is worthy (of Thee).
– As for the love which is selfish, I occupy myself therein with remembrance of Thee to the exclusion of all others,
Events in UK As for that which is worthy of Thee, therien Thou raisest the veil that I may see Thee.
Events List Yet is there no praise to me in this or that,
Daily Poem But the praise is to Thee, whether in that or this.
Daily Quotes
Discussion Forum In the history of Islam, the woman saint made her appearance at a very early period, and in the evolution of the cult
of saints by Muslims, the dignity of saintship was conferred on women as much as on men. As far as rank among
Music
the 'friends of God' was concerned, there was complete equality between the sexes.
Persian with Rumi
Sufism
It was the development of mysticism (Sufism) within Islam, which gave women their great opportunity to attain the
rank of sainthood. The goal of the Sufi quest was union with the Divine, and the Sufi seeker after God, having
– renounced this world and its attraction being purged of Self and its desires, inflamed with a passion of love of God,
journeyed ever onward, looking toward the final purpose, through the life of illumination, with its ecstasies and
Reflections raptures, and the higher life of contemplation, until at last he achieved the heavenly gnosis and attained to the
Acknowledgements Vision of God, in which the lover might become one with the Beloved, and abide in Him for ever.
Search
Contact Such a conception of the relations between the saint and his Lord left no room for the distinction of sex. In the
spiritual life there could be 'neither male nor female'. All whom God had called to be saints could attain, by
following the Path, to union with Himself, and all who attained, would have their royal rank, as spiritual beings, in
Pick Language the world to come.
Attar, to prove that saintship may be found in woman as naturally as in a man, says:
The holy prophets have laid it down that 'God does not look upon your outward forms'. It is not the outward form
that matters, but the inner purpose of the heart, as the Prophet said, 'The people are assembled (on the day of
Judgement) according to the purposes of their hearts' … So also Abbas of Tus said that when on the Day of
Resurrection the summons goes forth, 'O men', the first person to set foot in that class of men (i.e. those who are the
enter Paradise) will be Mary, upon whom be peace… The true explanation of this fact (that women count for as
much as men among the saints) is that wherever these people, the Sufis, are, they have no separate existence in the
Unity of God. In the Unity, what remains of the existence of 'I' or 'thou'? So how can 'man' or 'women' continue to
be? So too, Abu Ali Farmadhi said, 'Prophecy is the essence, the very being of power and sublimity. Superiority and
inferiority do not exist in it. Undoubtedly saintship is of the same type'.
So the title of saint was bestowed upon women equally with men, and since Islam has no order of priesthood and no
priestly caste, there was nothing to prevent a woman from reaching the highest religious rank in the hierarchy of
Muslim saints. Some theologians even name the Lady Fatima daughter of the Prophet, as the first Qutb or spiritual
head of the Sufi fellowship. Below the Qutb were four 'Awtad', from whose ranks his success was chosen, and
below them, in the next rank of the hierarchy, were forty 'Abdal' or Substitutes, who are described as being the pivot
of the world and the foundation and support of the affairs of men. Jami relates how someone was asked, 'How may
are the Abdal'? and he answered, 'Forty souls', and when asked why he did not say 'Forty men', his reply was, 'There
have been women among them'. The biographies of the Muslim saints, such as tose compiled by Abu Nu'aym, Farid
al-Din Attar, Ibn al-Jawzi, Jami and Ibn Khallikan and many others, are full of the mention of women Sufis, their
saintly lives, their good deeds, and their miracles. The influence which these women saints exercised both during
their lives and after their deaths, is perhaps best proved by the fact that Muslim theologians, opposed to the Sufi
movement, denounce also these women saints and the worship known to be given to them.
The high position attained by the women Sufis is attested further by the fact that the Sufis themselves give to a
woman the first place among the earliest Muhammadan mystics and have chosen her to be the representative of the
first development of mysticism in Islam.
file:///C|/Documents%20and%20Settings/Sonja/Desktop/rabia.htm (1 of 4) [5/22/2009 11:00:38 PM]

Rabia Basri
This was the saintly Rabi'a, a freedwoman of the Al-Atik, a tribe of Qays b. Adi, from which she was known as al-
Adawiyya or al-Qaysiyya, and also as al-Basriyya, from her birth-place: of whom a modern writer says 'Rabi'a is
the saint par excellence of Sunnite hagiography'. Her biographer Attar speaks of her as
That one set apart in the seclusion of holiness, that woman veiled with the veil of religious sincerity, that one on fire
with love and longing, that one enamoured of the desire to approach her Lord and be consumed in His glory, that
woman who lost herself in union with the Divine, that one accepted by men as a second spotless Mary - Rabi'a al-
Adawiyya, may God have mercy upon her. If anyone were to say, 'Why have you made mention of her in the class
of men?', I should say … God does not look upon the outward forms… if it is allowable to accept two thirds of our
faith form Aisha the trustworthy, it is also allowable to accept religious benefit from one of her handmaids (i.e.
Rabi'a). when a woman walks in the way of God like a man, she cannot be called a woman'.
A later biographer, al-Munawi, says of her:
Rabi'a al-Adawiyya al Qaysiyya of Basra, was at the head of the women disciples and the chief of the women
ascetics, of those who observed the sacred law, who were God-fearing and zealous… and she was one of those who
were pre-eminent and experience in grace and goodness.
He gives the names of several well-known women saints and goes onto say, 'She was the most famous among them,
of great devotion and conspicuous in worship, and perfect in purity and asceticism'.
Unfortunately there is no writer very near her own time to give us her biography, and of an account of her early life
we can find material only in the Memoir of the Saints of Attar, already mentioned, who lived more than four
hundred years after Rabi'a. Much of what he tells of her must be regarded as purely legendary. Yet though the
legends which surrounds Rabi'a's name may not, and in many cases certainly do not, correspond to historic facts, at
least they give some idea of her personality and shew the estimation in which she was held by those who lived after
her and had heard of her fame.
She was born probably about A.H. 95 or 99 (=A.D. 717) in Basra, where she spent the greater part of her life.
Born in the poorest of homes, according to Attar (though a modern writer says she belonged to one of the noble
families of Basra), miraculous events were reputed to have taken place even at the time of her birth. Attar tells us
that on that on the night of her birth there was no oil on the house, no lamp nor swaddling clothes in which to rap
the newborn child. Her father already had three daughters, and so she was called Rabi'a (= the fourth). The mother
asked her husband to go and ask for oil for the lamp from a neighbour, but he had made a vow that he would never
ask anything of a creature (i.e. as a true Sufi he would depend only upon God to supply his needs), and so he came
back without it. Having fallen asleep in great distress at the lack of provision for the child, he dreamt that the
Prophet Muhammad appeared to him in his sleep and said, 'Do not be sorrowful, for this daughter who is born is a
great saint, whose intercession will be desired by seventy thousand of my community'. The Prophet said further:
To-morrow send a letter to Isa Zadhan, Amir of Basra, reminding him that every night he is wont to pray one
hundred prayers to me and on Friday night four hundred, but this Friday night he has neglected me, and as a
penance (tell him) that he must give you four hundred dinars, lawfully acquired.
Rabi'a's father awoke, weeping: he rose up, wrote the letter as directed and sent it to the Amir through the latter's
chamberlain. The Amir, when he had read the letter said:
"Give two thousand dinars to the poor as a thank-offering, because the prophet had me in mi, and four hundred
dinars to that Shaykh and say to him that I desire that he should come before me that I may see him, but it is not
fitting that such a person as he is should come to me, but I will come and rub my beard on his threshold".
But in spite of this event of good augury, Attar elated that misfortunes fell upon the family, and when Rabi'a was a
little older her mother and father died and she was left an orphan. A famine occurred in Basra and the sisters were
scattered. One day when Rabi'a was walking abroad, and evil-minded man saw her and seized upon her and sold her
as a slave for six dirhams and the man ho bought her made her work hard. One day a stranger (one who might not
look at her unveiled) approached her. Rabi'a fled to avoid him and slipped on the road and dislocated her writs. She

Rabia Basri
bowed her faced in the dust, and said, 'O Lord, I am a stranger an without mother or father, an orphan and a slave
and I have fallen into bondage and my writs is injured, (yet) I am not grieved by this, only (I desire) to satisfy Thee.
I would fain know if Thou art satisfied (with me) or not'. She heard of voice saying, 'Be not sorrowful, fir on the day
of Resurrection they rank shall be such that those who are nearest to God in Heaven shall envy thee'.
After this Rabi'a returned to her master's house and continually fasted in the daytime and carried out her appointed
tasks and in the service of God she was standing on her feet till the day. One night her master awoke from sleep and
looked down through a window of the house and saw Rabi'a, whose head was bowed in worship, and she was
saying, 'O my Lord, Thou knowest that the desire of my heart is to obey Thee, and that ht e light of my eye is in the
service of Thy court. If the matter rested with me, I should not cease for one hour from Thy service, but Thou hast
made me subject to a creature'. While she was still praying, he saw a lap above her had, suspended without a chain,
and the whole house was illuminated by the rays from that light. This enveloping radiance or sakina (derived from
the Hebrew Shekina = the cloud of glory indicating the presence of God) of the Muslim saint, corresponding to the
halo of the Christian saint, it frequently mentioned in the biographies of the Sufis.
Rabi'a's master, when he saw that strange sight, was afraid and rose up and returned to his own place and sat
pondering until day came. When the day dawned, he called Rabi'a and spoke kindly to her and set her free. Rabi'a
asked for leave to go away; so he gave her leave, and she left that place and journeyed into the desert. Afterwards
she let the desert and obtained for herself a cell and for a time was engaged in devotional worship there. According
to one account, Rabi'a at first followed the calling of a flute player, which would be consistent with a state of
slavery. Then she became concerted and built a place of retreat, where she occupied herself with works of piety.
Among other stories related of this period of her life is one telling how she purposed performing the pilgrimage to
Mekkah and set her face towards the desert; she had an ass with her to carry her baggage', and in the heart of the
desert the ass died. Some people (in the caravan) said to her, 'Let us carry thy baggage'. She said,' Go on your way,
for I am not dependent upon you for (for help)', i.e. she placed her trust in God and not in His creatures.
So the people went on and Rabi'a remained alone, and bowing her had, she said, 'O my God, do kings deal thus with
a woman, a stranger and weak? Thou art calling me to Thine own house (the Ka'ba), but in the midst of the way
Thou hast suffered mine ass to die and Thou hast left me alone in the desert'.
She had hardly completed her prayer, when the ass stirred got up. Rabi'a put her baggage on it and went on her way.
The narrator of this story said that some time afterwards he saw that same little ass being sold in the bazaar.
Another story tells us how she want into the desert for a few days and prayed, 'O my Lord, my heart is perpelexed,
whither shall I go? I am not but a clod or earth and that house (the Ka'ba) in only a stone to me. Shew Thyself (to
me) in this very place'. So she prayed until God Most High, without any medium, spoke directly within her heart,
saying 'O Rabi'a… when Moses desired to see My Face, I cast a few particles of My Glory upon the mountain
(Sinai) and it was rent into forty pieces. Be content here with My Name'.
It is told how another time she was on her way to Makkah, and when half-way there she saw the Ka'ba coming to
meet her and she said, 'It is the Lord of the house whom I need, what have I to do with the house? I need to meet
with Him Who said, 'Whose approaches Me by a span's length I will approach him by the length of a cubit.' The
Ka'ba which I see has no power over me; what joy does the beauty of the Ka'ba bring to me?'
In connection with this legend, which indicates how highly favoured by God Rabi'a was, in the eyese o her
biographers, it is related that Ibrahim b. Adham spent fourteen yars making his way to the Ka'ba, because in every
place of prayer her performed two raka's, and at last when he arrived at the Ka'ba, he did not see it.
He said, 'Alas, what has happened? It maybe that some injure has overtaken my eyes'. An unseen voice said, 'No
harm has befallen your eyes, but the Ka'ba has gone to meet a woman, who is approaching this place'. Ibrahim was
seized with jealousy, and said, 'O indeed, who is this?' He ran saw Rabi'a arriving and the Ka'ba was back in its own
place when Ibrahim saw that, he said, 'O Rabi'a, what is this disturbance and trouble and burden which thou hast
brought into the world?' She said, 'I have not brought disturbance intot he world, it is you who have disturbed the
world, because you delayed fourtenen years in arriving at the Ka'ba'. He said, 'Yes I have spent fourteen years in
crossing the desert (because I was engaged) in prayer'. Rabi'a said, 'You traversed it in ritual prayer (namaz) but

Rabia Basri
with personal supplication (niyaz). Then, having performed the pilgrimage, she returned to Basra and occupied
herself with works of devotion.
For these early years only legends are available, but they give us a clear idea of a woman renouncing this world and
it attractions and giving up her life to the service of God, the first step on the mystic Way to be trodden by the Sufi
saint.

rumi.org.uk

Rubaiyat of Rumi
Home Page
Books on Rumi
Rubaiyat of Rumi
Bibliography
Works of Rumi
The Rubaiyat of Jalal Al-Din Rumi
Rumi's Poetry
Select translations into English Verse' by A.J. Arberry, 1949.
–
Events in UK
™
Events List
Daily Poem Time bringeth swift to end
Daily Quotes The rout men keep;
Discussion Forum Death's wolf is nigh to rend
Music These silly sheep.
Persian with Rumi See, how in pride they go
Sufism With lifted head,
Till Fate with a sudden blow
– Smiteth them dead.
Reflections ™
Acknowledgements
Thou who lovest, life a crow,
Search Winter's chill and winter's snow,
Contact Ever exiled from the vale's
Roses red, and nightingales:
Pick Language Take this moment to thy heart!
When the moment shall depart,
Long thou 'lt seek it as it flies
With a hundred lamps and eyes.
The heavenly rider passed;

The dust rose in the air;
He sped; but the dust he cast
Yet hangeth there.
Straight forward thy vision be,

And gaze not left or night;
His dust is here, and he
In the Infinite.
Who was he that said

The immortal spirit is dead,
Or how dared he say
Hope's sun hath passed away?
An enemy of the sun,

Standing his roof upon,
Bound up both his eyes
And cried: 'Lo, the sun dies!'
'Who lifteth up the spirit,

Say, who is he?'
'Who gave in the beginning
This life to me.
file:///C|/Documents%20and%20Settings/Sonja/Desktop/rubaiyat.htm (1 of 5) [5/22/2009 11:00:39 PM]

Rubaiyat of Rumi
Who hoodeth, life a falcon's,

Awhile mine eyes,
But presently shall loose me
To hunt my prize.'
As salt resolved in the ocean

I was swallowed in God's sea,
Past faith, past unbelieving,
Past doubt, past certainty.
Suddenly in my bosom
A star shone clear and bright;
All the suns of heaven
Vanished in that star's light.
Flowers every night

Blossom in the sky;
Peace in the Infinite;
At peace am I.
Sighs a hundredfold
From my heart arise;
My heart, dark and cold,
Flames with my sighs.
He that is my souls' repose

Round my heart encircling goes,
Round my heart and soul of bliss
He encircling is.
Laughing from my earthy bed

Like a tree I lift my head,
For the Fount of Living mirth
Washes round my earth.
The breeze of the morn

Scatters musk in its train,
Fragrance borne
From my fair love's lane.
Ere the world wastes,

Sleep no more: arise!
The caravan hastes,
The sweet scent dies.
If life be gone, fresh life to you

God offereth,
A life eternal to renew
This life of death.
The Fount of Immorality

In Love is found;
The come, and in this boundless sea
Of Love be drowned.

Rubaiyat of Rumi
Happy was I
In the pearl's heart to lie;
Till, lashed by life's hurricane,
Life a tossed wave I ran.
The secret of the sea

I uttered thunderously;
Like a spent cloud on the shore
I slept, and stirred no more.
He set the world aflame,

And laid me on the same;
A hundred tongues of fire
Lapped round my pyre.
And when the blazing tide

Engulfed me, and I sighed,
Upon my mouth in haste
His hand He placed.
Though every way I try

His whim to satisfy,
His every answering word
Is a pointed sword.
See how the blood drips

From His finger-tips;
Why does He find it good
To wash in my blood?
Remembering Thy lip,

The ruby red I kiss;
Having not that to sip,
My lips press this.
Not to Thy far sky

Reaches my stretched hand,
Wherefore kneeling, I
Embrace the land.
™
I sought a soul in the sea

And found a coral there;
Beneath the foam for me
An ocean was all laid bare.
Into my heart's night

Along a narrow way
I groped; and lo! the light,
An infinite land of day.
'Persian Poems', an Anthology of verse translations edited

by A.J.Arberry, Everyman's Library, 1972

Rubaiyat of Rumi
For years, copying other people, I tried to know myself.

From within, I couldn't decide what to do.
Unable to see, I heard my name being called.
Then I walked outside.
FURUZANFAR #77
Take someone who doesn't keep score,

who's not looking to be richer, or afraid of losing,
who has not the slightest interest even
is his own personality: he's free.
FURUZANFAR #116
Stay in the company of lovers.

Those other kinds of people, they each
want to show you something.
A crow will lead you to an empty barn,
A parrot to sugar.
FURUZANFAR #630
™
The sufi opens his hands to the universe
and gives away each instant, free.
Unlike someone who begs on the street for money to survive,
a dervish begss to give you his life.
FURUZANFAR #686
For a while we lived with people,

but we saw no sign in them of the faithfullness we wanted.
It's better to hide completely within
as water hides in metal, as fire hides in a rock.
FURUZANFAR #1082

Rubaiyat of Rumi
Inside the Great Mystery that is,

we don't really own anything.
What is this competition we feel then,
before we go, one at a time, through the same gate?
FURUZANFAR #1616 The Rumi Collection, Quatrain from Open Secret

(Translated by John Moyne and Coleman Barks)

rumi.org.uk

- Yunus Emre -
Home Page Yunus Emre

Books on Rumi
Bibliography The Drop That Became The Sea,
Works of Rumi Lyric Poems of Yunus Emre
Rumi's Poetry
–
Events in UK Yunus Emre (d. 1320?), called "the greatest folk poet in Islam" (Talat Sait Halman), was an unlettered Turkish
Events List shepherd who sang mystical songs which are still popular today. He was the first of a whole tradition of Turkish Sufi
Daily Poem troubadors who sang of the Divine Presence, the Beloved, the Friend. His songs/poems convey a profound yet earthy
Daily Quotes spirituality. His subject is the Heart, the point of awareness where God is realized in us. "I've come to build some
Discussion Forum hearts," Yunus sings.
Music
Persian with Rumi
Sufism
—
–
To be in love with love with love is to gain a soul,
Reflections to sit on the throne of hearts.
Acknowledgements
Search To love the world is to be afflicted.
Contact Later the secrets start to make sense.
Pick Language Don't be bramble,

become the rose. Let your maturity unfold.
The brambles will only burn.
Prayer was created by God so man could ask for help.

It's too bad if you haven't learned to ask.
Accept the breath of those who are mature-

let it become your divining rod.
If you obey your self, things turn our wrong.
Renouncing the world is the beginning of worship.

If you are a believer, believe this.
Respect your parents and ancestry,

and you will have fine green clothes of your own.
If you earn the complaints of neighbors,

You'll stay in Hell forever.
Yunus heard these words from the masters.

If you need this advice, take it.
They say one who is received by heart

becomes more beautiful.
file:///C|/Documents%20and%20Settings/Sonja/Desktop/yunus_emre.htm (1 of 3) [5/22/2009 11:00:40 PM]

- Yunus Emre -
Soul of my soul,
Without You I have no work to do.
If You are absent from Paradise,
I don't need to go there.
If I look, all I see is You.
If I speak, I speak of You.
Three is no better prey
than You whom I secretly watch.
Because I forgot myself,
because I went to You,
in any conversation, in every state,
I haven't got a moment's rest.
You can kill me seventy times,
and like St. George, I'll resurrect,
and crawl back unashamed.
Show Your face to Yunus.

He loves You and has no other.
I am a fatherless pearl unrecognized by the sea.

I am the drop that contains the ocean.
Its waves are amazing. It's beautiful to be a sea

hidden within an infinity drop.
When Majnun spoke Layla's name,

he broke the meter of his poem.
I was both Layla and Majnun who adored her.
1
Mansur did not speak idly of Unity.
He was not kidding when he said, "I am Truth."
In this world of many,

You are Joseph and I am Jacob.
In the universe of Unity,
there is neither Joseph nor Canaan.
That my name is Yunus

is a problem in this material world.
But if you ask my real name
it is the Power behind all powers.

- Yunus Emre -

rumi.org.uk

Persijska Knjiz

Hochgeladen von

Dokumentinformationen

Originalbeschreibung:

Originaltitel

Copyright

Verfügbare Formate

Dieses Dokument teilen

Dokument teilen oder einbetten

Freigabeoptionen

Stufen Sie dieses Dokument als nützlich ein?

Sind diese Inhalte unangemessen?

Copyright:

Verfügbare Formate

Persijska Knjiz

Hochgeladen von

Copyright:

Verfügbare Formate

Love Poems of Rumi

Home Page Love Poems of Rumi

If anyone asks you

When someone mentions the gracefulness

If anyone wants to know what "spirit" is,

When someone quotes the old poetic image

file:///C|/Documents%20and%20Settings/Sonja/Desktop/love_poems.html (1 of 15) [5/22/2009 10:59:16 PM]

If anyone wonders how Jesus raised the dead,

Like this. Like this.

When someone asks what it means

If someone asks how tall I am, frown

The soul sometimes leaves the body, the returns.

When lovers moan,

I am a sky where spirits live.

When someone asks what there is to do,

How did Joseph’s scent come to Jacob?

How did Jacob’s sight return?

A little wind cleans the eyes.

When Shams comes back from Tabriz,

file:///C|/Documents%20and%20Settings/Sonja/Desktop/love_poems.html (2 of 15) [5/22/2009 10:59:16 PM]

From ‘The Essential Rumi’, Translations

Love is the Water of Life

Everything other than love for the most beautiful God

though it be sugar- eating.

What is agony of the spirit?

To advance toward death without seizing

hold of the Water of Life.

file:///C|/Documents%20and%20Settings/Sonja/Desktop/love_poems.html (3 of 15) [5/22/2009 10:59:16 PM]

Kulliyat-e Shams, 2114

O lovers, lovers it is time

Our camel driver is at work;

Everywhere the murmur of departure;

The Divani Shamsi Tabriz, XXXVI

All through eternity

His every quality finds an expression:

file:///C|/Documents%20and%20Settings/Sonja/Desktop/love_poems.html (4 of 15) [5/22/2009 10:59:16 PM]

Every branch and leaf and fruit

Whenever Beauty looks,

They have together

I swear, since seeing Your face,

A house of love with no limits,

The Divani Shamsi Tabriz XV

Let go of your worries

file:///C|/Documents%20and%20Settings/Sonja/Desktop/love_poems.html (5 of 15) [5/22/2009 10:59:16 PM]

and see the shameless truth,

The Divani Shamsi Tabriz, XIII

This is love: to fly toward a secret sky,

Heart, I said, what a gift it has been

The Divani Shamsi Tabriz, XIII

Love is reckless; not reason.

Yet, in the midst of suffering,

file:///C|/Documents%20and%20Settings/Sonja/Desktop/love_poems.html (6 of 15) [5/22/2009 10:59:16 PM]

hard surfaced and straightforward.

Having died of self-interest,

Without cause God gave us Being;

Mathnawi VI, 1967-1974

I am a sculptor, a molder of form.

The Divani Shamsi Tabriz, XXXIV

Passion makes the old medicine new:

file:///C|/Documents%20and%20Settings/Sonja/Desktop/love_poems.html (7 of 15) [5/22/2009 10:59:16 PM]

Passion is the elixir that renews:

Mathnawi VI, 4302-4304