Publisher: Mazda Publishers
Price: $16.95
Format: Paper
ISBN: 1−56859−163−2
Contact me with questions about A Bird In The Garden Of Angels.
Published in 2007, A Bird in the Garden of Angels, the poetry in which I co-translated with Professor John A. Moyne, is a Rumi reader for the general public. It contains a brief chapter on the history and doctrine of Sufism and mysticism, and a second chapter on the life and times of Rumi and his close associates. The rest of the book is divided into sections, each one containing an introduction and selections from Rumi’s work. Professor Moyne is the book’s primary author; he wrote the essays that introduce the text, translated all the prose selections and did the first renderings of the poetry. My contribution was to take his initial versions of the poems, including those that are quoted in the essays, and make them work as poetry in English. A few of the pieces in this volume were previously translated by John Moyne and published jointly with Coleman Barks, but they are presented here in revised versions. Some of the prose and poetry in this book has not been previously translated into English.
Sample Poems
That Which Cannot Be Found Is What I Desire
Show me your face: a flower-filled garden is what I desire.
Give me your lips: overflowing sweetness is what I desire.
“Go away!” you cried out, faking it. “Leave me alone!”
The sound of your voice is what I desire.
A voice stands guard, “Leave now! She’s not at home.”
The doorkeeper’s rude pretense is what I desire.
We’re each unique in our way of being sweet.
That mine of sweetness in you is what I desire.
To settle for fate is to trifle with bread and water.
I am a fish. To battle a crocodile is what I desire.
Without you, this city is a prison; to be left
on a mountain, or in a desert, is what I desire.
I am tired of my feeble companions.
The lion of God, the heroic Rustam, is what I desire.
Bankrupt as I am, I still won’t accept cheap flowers.
A mine of precious stones is what I desire.
Weary of these weary people, I am weeping.
The shouting and jumping of drunkards is what I desire.
Pharaoh in his tyranny fatigues my soul.
The light of Moses of Imran is what I desire.
“We have searched,” they said.” It cannot be found.”
That which cannot be found is what I desire.
All things come from Him, yet He remains hidden.
The hidden whose works are manifest is what I desire.
News Of A New World
A sweet voice brought the news, “A caravan
has come from Egypt! A hundred camels laden
with sugar and sweets! O God, what a great gift!”
A candle carried to the midnight dark
threw life into a dead body.
I said, “Tell me the news.”
It said, “He is coming!”
My heart leaped from my body, made
with its beating a ladder and climbed to the roof,
seeking a sign, searching for love. It saw
suddenly a new world beyond our own
and above it: An ocean held in a jug;
a heaven on earth, with a king
sitting on the roof,
wearing the robes of a guard.
Within the breast of the gardener,
the infinite Garden of Paradise;
thoughts turning within his chest,
addressed to the King of hearts.
Don’t let these thoughts escape me!
Let my heart rejoice for one moment!
Shams of Tabriz saw the Placeless,
and in the Placeless he found a place.
This Year In Last Year
Last year I drank wine;
I’m still intoxicated.
Last year I touched fire;
my flesh is still burning!
Thirst drove me to water.
In it, I saw the moon.
I am a lion loving the moon,
seeking moonlight.
Don’t ask about my pain,
the color of my face is your answer.
My soul is drunk.
My body is in ruin,
is a drunkard sitting in a rack.
My heart is an ass mired in mud.
Just this once, don’t despair! Listen!
Hear God’s blessings calling.
I Come From Nowhere
From the moment you became my world, oh world
of water and mud, my life has been a world
of suffering and affliction. This donkey’s pasture
is not a home for Jesus. Why should I live
where donkeys feed? You’ve bound my hands and feet
with which I once roamed freely in the cradle of truth.
I will free them. I know
how escape artists escape.
I will push my arms like a tree up from under the ground,
reaching for the one who taught me to reach;
like a blossoming infant, I will grow and say,
“I have left my childishness behind.
A branch growing upward, for it came from above,
I will go to the source that I know.”
But why this pointless talk of above and below?
I am from nowhere; my place is placeless.
And if I come from no place,
how can I know a place?
Be silent! Go nowhere and become nothing.
Look how much I have learned from nothing!
