First Set of Ghazals for 2003
I've added some ghazals to this page. I think you will enjoy them; both Chris Mooney Singh's and Jean Hallingstad's ghazals deal movingly with loss.
There will be some more changes in the format and structure of The Ghazal Page. I want to make it accessible, flexible, and easier to update. Any suggestions you have will be welcome.
I still have a few ghazals on hand. I plan to work with them over the next few weeks. If you've not submitted ghazals yet, or if you have, more submissions will be welcome around May 1.
I have revised the splash page and navigation bar. I plan to give the New Ghazal Page its own navigation table soon. I've also added a ghazal by R. L. Kennedy, another example of pretty traditional format. I still have several ghazals filed and hope to add several more soon. (I'm also going to revise submission instructions to fit the new format and open schedule.
You may expect the format of The New Ghazal Page to be relatively fluid, at least for awhile, but I don't plan any major changes from what I've done so far.
After nearly a year, I am starting up The Ghazal Page again, this time with a different design concept. Perhaps the "issue"../ format, derived from print journals, really isn't necessary for the Web. I am going to experiment with this simple two-column format. As I add poems, I will add links and archive the ghazals in bundles of five or ten.
This approach will make updating The Ghazal Page less demanding for me and will allow more frequent updates, as well as having a simpler layout. I will retain the past issues and archives as long as feasible. As always, I appreciate feedback. You may email me at gino@ghazalpage.net.
The first ghazal in the new format is by Erin Thomas. I believe I have had his work longer than that of any of the long-suffering poets whose ghazals have languished on my hard-drive for months. I hope to be adding more ghazals soon, one at a time.
Manifestation (ghazal #104)
by Erin Thomas
A small parrot shares affection in the mirror,Yet it never finds refection in the mirror.
Can a sightless man see flaws in
pigmentation
Without seeing his complexion in the mirror?
Reaching out
to feel the likeness of perception
Has no way to make connection in the
mirror.
It is often said that seek and you shall find it,
But seek not
and find perfection in the mirror.
Darkness passes through the clearness
of a window;
Light refracts a sharp deflection in the mirror.
Why say "Speak!" before the words can find their balance?
Thought can only show defection in the mirror.
Can you touch, Zahhar, the figment of your image
That is but a dim reflection in the mirror?
Octaves
by R. L. Kennedy
Reach gingerly for life's rare octaves.Avoid the braggarts's thread-bare octaves.
Cloistered monks have solitare moods.
Glowing couples find love's fair octaves.
Stubborn loners despair the dawn,
Whilst learned men compare octaves.
Deaf and dumb quite mutely square roots
While blind men count in flight-stair octaves
Bold brass liars loudly swear truths.
Humble men whisper prayer octaves.
Ghazal after the death of a son
by Jean Hallingstad
Crossing this endless tundra, wanting you,And my poor heart stumbles, wanting you.
The last moon of summer holds its face
Between still hands, penumbral, wanting you.
Wolves with their hungry kinship follow near,
Nights without voice, unnumbered, wanting you.
Four chambers within the heart lie hidden
Filled with ashes and wonder, wanting you.
We pitch our tent in the blind of night
And wake by fear encumbered, wanting you.
So this my name foretold, God's bitter gift
Of sharpest love all sundered, wanting you.
Trading Places at the Wildlife Rescue Center,
Key
West, FL
by Francis Masat
Volunteers and staff quickly trade places;injured and treated weekly trade places.
Pen after pen of wild birds and reptiles;
green iguanas, backs prickly, trade places.
Brown pelicans swallow whole fish;
gopher turtles stoically trade places.
All the hawks stay out of each other's way;
pigeons and doves, well and sickly, trade places.
Woodpeckers flutter in their small cages;
red feral chickens loudly trade places.
Cormorants and laughing gulls mill about;
tiny burrowing owls meekly trade places.
Crowding in to see orphaned wild babies,
visitors hush and slowly trade places.
Ghazals After Her Passing
by Chris Mooney Singh
1Her small steel wristwatch keeps ticking on the table.
The heartless clock denies her heart has stopped.
The keys to the house lie heaped inside a drawer.
She lived here before the power stopped.
Her passport-photo pouch, I flipped from bed to floor,
her several faces stared before they stopped.
Her visa bill is back, it snooped here late last month.
Unplug the cruel computers - they should be stopped.
A ghazal is that page ripped from a secret book,
but where to send it now her breath has stopped?
2
Grief leads to faith beside the lake again.
Make plunging in your saving art again.
Prize an empty house, despite the pain.
Let numbness be a wound to smart again.
The frangipani flowers had to fall.
How mad to think wed never part again.
Beware the gang of sorrows in the dark.
You need not pull her rose apart again.
Why hunt for her among the silent trees?
Her heart stopped. Yours must start again.