Sweetly Had You Come to Meet Me in the Night?

May 31, 2021

Last night I read the many handwritten poems I’d translated, and then again, the latest poem of my own that I had written during My Full Moon Party for the Flower Moon and had not remembered ’til then how I’d concluded it, these days of having been pulled into a poetry cove awhile and then coming back up onto the slightly wet stone ledge in the daytime sun.

I had written a new poem a few days before that last one. I thought today that my current poetry book in progress might contain two parts and that the first poem will fit well in the first part, and the most recent poem would be so nicely in place in the second, but I will see how the poems feel, and land.


[ felt like may ziadeh 🙂 ]

A little while after I’d gone to sleep last night, there was a feeling as if being held from behind and a gentle sway so very subtle a little while and then to face me, but I didn’t know that yet, ’til there was a kiss high upon my forehead, then at the center, and then a pause…and a kiss upon my face, and a kiss on the other cheek and then the first one again, and then again swaying me softly and so very subtly, close and with care and a little amusement, swaying me a little more, and then stepping away before I fell asleep.


I hadn’t yet gotten up to this poem in Flowers in a Dream, but I read it today until I get to read more new poems next time, and I’ll share my translation of it; it is an Ode:

Slowly bend low over that soft shadow
Who with a silent bouquet goes up to your eyes
So beautiful; just like a star lost in heaven
at the edges of the horizon tilts…
Bend low! and you’ll feel 
a sister’s voice—Discreet—
and yet, a vibrant 
voice of tenderness
gently wrapping you,
and a caress…
Sincere wishes 
for your happiness.

May Ziadeh

Flowers in a Dream  
pub. under penname I. Copia

One response to “Sweetly Had You Come to Meet Me in the Night?”

  1. […] A few weeks later after I’d begun reading her book, I’d read of the dream she’d written about in a prose poem in which a Greek god had rocked her in her sleep and then dropped her, and I felt like she’d rocked me some night after I’d found first poetry book, Fleurs de Reve and hadn’t yet gotten to the part about that dream of hers. It felt like she had been swaying me affectionately and amusedly and as if a funny thing to her. I’d written of that here. […]


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