Issue Four

• Ghazal 1, Farshid Kazemi
• Ghazal 2, Farshid Kazemi
• Cloud Ghazal, Mike Farman
• Stardrift ... for Mahmud Kianush ..., Erin Thomas
• Editor's Comments

Ghazal 1

by Farshid Kazemi

The Splendour of Ridwan¹ has appeared again in our midst.
Two Suns arose and a new Dawn appeared in our midst.

The Songsters of love have raised their mournful songs,
For that Crimson Rose² has bloomed in our midst.

The Jacob of the heart has at last become seeing,
For the Joseph of the soul appeared in our midst.

The Moses of being burned the sandals of self and passion,
Once the Glory in the Sianitic Flame appeared in our midst.

The Day of Resurrection and renewal appeared,
Once the Messianic breath wafted in our midst.

The Cup-bearer with cup, the Minstrel with lute;
The festival of drunks appeared in our midst.

The black-eyed Damsel, the Huri of paradise,
The Celestial Garden appeared in our midst.

The bread from heaven, the wine and the feast,
Once again the heavenly table is spread in our midst.

The old whirling passed away, replaced by a new Sama,³
Now that the Glory of God appeared in our midst.

With a glance from you, O Beloved!
Heart and soul escaped from our midst.

All things perished, all things passed away;
Now naught save your Face remains in our midst.⁴

1. Literally "Paradise", the festival of Ridvan is the occasion of the declaration of Baha'u'llah within a garden in Baghdad which was named Rizwan; it is also known as the "Day of supreme felicity."
2. This is a reference to a Prophetic saying wherein it is said, "The red rose is of the Glory (Baha) of God Most High."
3. Literally audition. The practice of zikr, meaning remembrance of God, through music and dance. It is famously practiced by the Mawlavi order.
4. See Quran 55:27.

Back to the top

Ghazal 2

by Farshid Kazemi

I would turn to reason, but all reason has left me.
I would turn to sense, but all sense has left me.

I am reduced to naught, for that Beauteous Countenance,
Spellbound and entranced has left me.

Senseless I wander about in bewilderment,
For in Love's path both faith and infidelity have left me.

To her curl's coil I bequeathed my heart and soul,
O how in this entanglement, both heart and soul have left me.

I exchanged my will for the will of that Beauty,
O how in this exchange, all comforts and joy have left me.

O Beloved, you are the physician of this broken heart,
How is it that in a pool of blood you have left me.

In Love's religion it is not customary to moan and complain,
But what do rivals know in what ruin you have left me.

At the gambling house of her love I spent my being,
Ah, how in this lane all the coin of life has left me.

"Shahid, open your eyes, for the hour of union is at hand,"
But alas, too late, for now the breath of life has left me.

Back to the top

Cloud Ghazal

by Michael Farman

Down here all is earthiness, while up there drift the clouds;
short-sightedly, as I confess, it's hard to fathom clouds.

All fragile wispiness; but then, potential energy unleashed,
standing below, you'll have a different take on clouds.

Artists paint them with finesse, but where's the common thread
between the Rubens, Douanier and Turner clouds?

Trapped in a jumbo jet, waiting for the stewardess
to dose us up with booze or coffee, who cares to look at clouds?

Turkey-buzzards soaring, may impress, but see them on the ground,
devouring roadside carrion, you'll wish them back in clouds.

Symbols of entropy, I guess, time's triumph over permanence:
when Chinese poets say goodbye, it's under drifting clouds.

Here in this office, feeling stress, scratching for metaphors
like some earth-bound crow, Mike's formed his own brain-clouds.

Back to the top

Stardrift ... for Mahmud Kianush ...

by Erin Thomas

the heart sends many questions to the stars on sullen wings
sometimes a subtle answer pulses back on silent wings

i've heard that when you stretch your naked arms in quiet prayer
your flesh is turned to whispers sent to god on silken wings

benevolence has painted vivid portraits full of life
a father's love is color for the brush's swirling wings

your words will leave an imprint that will echo in the halls
where freedom dances tongue to tongue on bright desultory wings

the poet shares the human fate of joining dust and ash
yet phoenix-like his legacy may fan with solar wings

although the dreamer feels estranged among the world of men
you never were a stranger to the ones with silver wings

like you zahhar has longed to touch what language can't define
a place beyond the shadow-fall of dark and solemn wings

"Stardrift" first appeared online in Art Arena.

Back to the top

Editor's Comments

Farshid Kazemi's first ghazal is an example of something I'd like to see more of: ghazals appropriate to the holy days of the various faiths of the poets and even to other, nonreligious holidays. Such ghazals provide us with personal insight into the faiths of others or help us celebrate our own if we share the poet's faith. The Baha'i World Faith is the most recent growth from the ancient prophetic root going back, at least, to Abraham. Since Farshid's notes illuminate the more unfamiliar terms, I'll not comment further on this ghazal.

Compare, however, the radifs of each of these ghazals: "in our midst" and "have left me." These experiences—of the divine in our midst and of our abandoment by the divine—are the poles of spiritual experience. Being abandoned by the divine in the midst of being ravished must be a mercy: how much can one soul endure?

Farshid Kazemi's book of poetry, Paradise within the Flames, will be published soon by Ridvan publishing. It will include the two poems appearing here.

There's a duality also in Michael Farman's clouds. Clouds are associated with transcendence, with extraordinary powers (like Taoist saints riding the clouds), and with veiling and concealment. Mike's ghazal, like any good ghazal, rings changes on the radif's various contexts and meanings. We look up; the sun's unveiled light is blindig, but the clouds take on shifting forms of their own. (Not to mention the "brain-clouds," with which I am all too familiar.

This ghazal lacks a regular qafiya, but rhymes on "-ess" drift through its lines like the clouds, wispy and elusive.

It's been a while since Erin Thomas's carefully crafted ghazals appeared here, so I'm delighted to share this one with you. Note how the qafiya uses a series of adjectives beginning with "s" and containing an "l" and often an "n." (Okay, line 8's qafiya begins with a "d."). This type of repetition is a sound way to keep the effect of qafiya in a rhyme-poor language like English.

"Stardrift" is also a meditation on transcendence, on the anguished longings that lead us to find our path to "a place beyond the shadow-fall of dark and solemn wings."

Back to the top