the scent of a rose
promise of summer gardens
among desert sands
Kim M. Russell, 2017
Image found on Pinterest -Musée du Louvre
My response to Carpe Diem #1165 roses
We are visiting Persia, nowadays Iran, to explore its relationship with poetry. Chèvrefeuille reminds us of great Persian poets, for example Rumi and Hafez (or Hafiz) and says that the people of Iran live with poetry every day, reciting the works of their poets).
The first poem Chèvrefeuille has chosen to share was written by Rumi and has given us the theme for the month, ‘praise the emptiness’, taken from the following poem:
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.
Chèvrefeuille tells us that Jalāl ad-Dīn Muhammad Rūmī, aka Jalāl ad-Dīn Muhammad Balkhī, Mevlânâ/Mawlānā (‘our master’), Mevlevî/Mawlawī ‘my master’), was known simply as Rumi, He was a 13th-century Persian Sunni Muslim poet, jurist, Islamic scholar, theologian and Sufi mystic. Rumi’s influence transcends national borders and ethnic divisions; his poems have been widely translated and transposed into various formats.
Today’s episode is called ‘roses’, a theme taken from another poem by Rumi:
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!