Don't worry about saving these songs!
And if one of our instruments breaks,
it doesn't matter.
We have fallen into the place
where everything is music.
The strumming and the flute notes
rise into the atmosphere,
and even if the whole world's harp
should burn up, there will still be
hidden instruments playing.
So the candle flickers and goes out.
We have a piece of flint, and a spark.
This singing art is sea foam.
The graceful movements come from a pearl
somewhere on the ocean floor.
Poems reach up like spindrift and the edge
of driftwood along the beach, wanting.
They derive
from a slow and powerful root
that we can't see.
Stop the words now.
Open the window in the center of your chest,
and let the spirits fly in and out.
(Jaluddin Rumi, 1250s; translated by Coleman Barks)
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
2 comments:
I love this poem. Beautiful! Beautiful! -- and so fitting for the day. I've seen many different translations, so it's kind of neat to see how each person visualizes the scene.
I love the idea that music pulses in the universe whether we are playing or not.
I have a deep attachment to Rumi through my Iranian and Turkish friends. It's humorous; each claims Rumi as its own son.
Kris Delmhorst has an album where she either sets poetry verbatim to music or reinterprets poetry in a song. She did this poem as a kind of Dixieland jazz number; it's so joyful.
And yes, this seemed perfect for the day.
Post a Comment