Back to 2006 Ghazals
Issue Three
- Three Ghazals, Aazam Abidov
- Almost Every Day Now, Taylor Graham
- Morning Song, Taylor Graham
- Editor's Comments
Three Ghazals
by Aazam Abidov
Gabriel, Touch Me Gently
In Your Soul
Writer angels
Gabriel, touch me gently with your wings,
Oh, my gracious—from the backstage—woe stings.
Graves are either gardens of endless delight
Or deep holes of the hell, where Evil flings.
I want to be a spot in hairs of the camel,
Like a leaf my life in windy weather swings.
The task of time is killing of all lavish gifts,
It never comes anew "life's chimes," it never rings.
Among the dead, be the most attractive, Azam,
As Solomon is the best of all earthy kings!
Tell me, o devoted, who else in your soul?
Do you really like me to go hence in your soul?
I wear my sun glasses to hide myself from rival,
It seems there isn't any contact lens in your soul.
You hurt my pride; however, I'm not domineering,
I found the face of shame is too dense in your soul.
It's my fault—to ring aloud—before you fell in love,
I could not hang acoustic strong bells in your soul.
Belief's in blood, no mercy, again to whom I cry,
Azam, poor and naive, is "on sale" in your soul.
Day is breaking in despair thinking of you, writer angels,
I am praying, slowly crying, crowned with rue, writer angels.
Every movement, every motion we consider right for us,
Though in practice what you've written will become true, writer angels.
I'm a sinner holding heavy loads on my filthy arms,
It wishes to be so open-hearted, pure like dew, writer angels.
The book of our deeds in whole weep or dance in old pages,
I forgot my past betrayal; give to look through, writer angels.
Haven't you tired yet to seat on creature's shoulders all long life?
Let us change the place for one day, it's Azam's queue, writer angels.
Almost Every Day Now
by Taylor Graham
You find your wallet (it wasn't really lost)
in a bottom drawer, misplaced, not lost.
That freezer bag of shrimp you meant to thaw—
look, in the laundry! though a waste, not lost.
A bill that's overdue: see here, it's filed
with papers red-lined and erased—not lost.
And here's a box of chocolates left—by whom?
It doesn't matter, oh just taste! Not lost.
You find so much slips by you, week by week,
a little dim but not effaced, not lost.
Now, walk out in the meadow wet with rain,
a place of memory, silver-laced, not lost.
Morning Song
by Taylor Graham
I offer you this poem instead of stars,
this morning when the sky is bled of stars.
The sun brings his own light of love
which you might say is likewise bred of stars.
No matter how beautiful the night,
remember what the wise man said of stars.
Praise must gently tend its flame
lest it combust the very bed of stars.
Burning too bright and fast, a singer's left
with nothing but spent lead of stars.
A rhymer sparks small verses, dawn to dark
and then beyond, till the heaven's fled of stars.
Editor's Comments
Aazam Abidov's translation of a ghazal by Karim Bahriev appeared in The Ghazal Page for 2005. This set of three of his original ghazals makes a fine follow up to that appearance. These ghazals are traditional in form and theme--the variability, uncertainty, duality of life chimes from sher to sher in them. The voice in these ghazals is both concerned and reticent. His concern shows in wrestling with Gabriel in the first, with an unresponsive love in the second, the despair that often accompanies creativity in the third. Try reading these three poems as a dialectic movement of thesis, synthesis, and antithesis, of different topics working with and against each other.
Ghazals by Taylor Graham have also appeared in The Ghazal Page before, most recently in the second issue for 2005. Her two ghazals and Aazam's three complement each other well in style, tone, and theme. "Almost Every Day Now" also deals with the experiences of loss and frustration that are part of our daily lives. "Morning Song" includes the "rhymer" among the many contexts of stars. Both of these ghazals, of course, use both qafiya and radif.