Apr 16 2007
Unseen Rain
Recently, I was reading some of the quatrains of Rumi translated by John Moyne and
Coleman Barks. The edition is entitled “Unseen Rain.”
In the introduction, I came upon this line: “Like grief, [these quatrains] flip normal, rational perspective to sudden mystery and clarity.”
Allow me to give you a sample of one of Rumi’s quatrains:
Some nights stay up till dawn,
as the moon sometimes does for the sun.
Be a full bucket pulled up the dark way
of a well, then lifted out into light.
I wrote the following poem as an attempt to break out of the routine –
someone would say the orthodox — approaches to violence we all face in this 21st Century
and to discover a clarity that seems to have eluded us.
“Old Men”
Early morning sun glaring,
Old man sips pensive dark roast,
While scramble light outlines patrons
Bustling in and out – eyes tight.
A second far distant sits in early afternoon
Before blue harbor awaiting tourists,
Gazing in a white cup of thick liquid,
Worry-beads dangle idle from gnarled fingers.
A third further still strokes gray stubble pensive,
Hisses inward steaming sweet strong chai,
Reverencing snow-covered peaks above,
A weapon cradled close in fading light.
All inner peer together now in this instant –
Honor family, children, grandchildren,
Those to follow, as those who’ve past –
A moment anointed in enlightened slumber.
Spirit warriors as one they shatter
Flaunted boundaries of beliefs and differences;
Joined together in soul-touch prayer with confidence,
Dispelling anger, doubt, hopelessness, and despair
Fashionable leaders seem determined to promote
Without the vision, courage, willingness to pursue,
Even hear much less listen to alternatives that
War-weary grandfathers discover deep within.
