(morningtime feat. photo, my cat Peeko 🐱 who helps me at times to complete one thing at a time—here, he’s a teatime supervisor ☕️ (he’s just had his breakfast and his daily brushing), a poetry book 📙, and a music box 🎶; you’ll see.)
Last night, around midnight
Something feels wrong now without a subject, but it may just be my own mood, or a weather season moving from high, heatwave summer toward autumn with extra loud summer nighttime sounds from nature included.
I will have a snack now and some water and wish you well, readers, and after that I will read from newest my poetry book, The Book of Love: translations by Coleman Barks (2002) poems by Rumi.
It’s a very illuminating and well-written (through translation) collection…A wide use of vocabulary and words, and what feels like an ‘authentic voice’ of the poet from what I’ve read, am moving toward the end of the book in no hurry, and I will have more to write of it after. But for now, here’s a favorite poem I took note of to save:
The Music We Are
Did you hear that winter’s over?
The basil and the carnations
cannot control their laughter.
The nightingale, back from his wandering,
has been made singing master over the birds.
The trees reach out their congratulations.
The soul goes dancing through the king’s doorway.
because they have seen the rose naked.
Spring, the only fair judge, walks in the courtroom,
and several December thieves steal away,
Last year’s miracles will soon be forgotten.
New creatures whirl in from non-existence,
galaxies scattered around their feet.
Have you met them?
Do you hear the bud of Jesus crooning in the cradle?
A single narcissus flower has been appointed
Inspector of Kingdoms.
A feast is set.
Listen: the wind is pouring wine!
Love used to hide inside images: no more!
The orchard hangs out its lanterns.
The dead come stumbling by in shrouds.
Nothing can stay bound or be imprisoned.
You say, “End this poem here,
and wait for what’s next.”
Poems are rough notations
for the music we are.
And the poem that follows it I may like even more…
by Rumi Philosophers have said that we love music because it resembles the sphere-sounds of union. We have been part of a harmony before, so these moments of treble and bass keep our remembering fresh. Hearing the sound, we gather strength. Love kindles with melody. Music feeds a lover composure, and provides form for the imagination. Music breathes on personal fire and makes it keener. The waterhole is deep. A thirsty man climbs a walnut tree growing next to the pool and drops walnuts in one by one. He listens carefully to the sound as they hit and watches the bubbles. A more rational man gives advice, You will regret doing this. You are so far from the water that by the time you get down to gather walnuts, the water will have carried them away. He replies, I am not here for walnuts. I want the music they make when they hit.
P.S. a portable fan on low setting calms the night-forest sounds beside the mostly closed window + snack + water + poems = + more relaxation if not complete…sleep with poetry beneath the pillow?
—Just ate some walnuts, even if not the point of Rumi’s poem. 😊
Update: The walnuts were a good midnight snack.
—I finished reading Rumi’s poetry book tonight as I am awake, skipped just a few longer ones I’d like come back to another time. I have 4 of Rumi’s books as I was ‘seeking’ and sifted through the books I’d found; and they’re all different…I plan to show / say a little about each one I have, to come.
I am going to read the fiction fantasy (young adult—and for any age up—these genres are) book, Uprooted by Naomi Novik now with the girl and a soft yellow blossomed rose on the cover along with some other neat, interesting illustrations.
It is a paper-book in a now quiet dimly lit room, with light enough to read.
from today’s “poem of the day,” poets.org:
…a late night and mid-morning of words, and now yoga, body mode…