Topic: Coleman Barks and Rumi

[nichi]

Coleman Barks

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“Love Dogs” by Rumi

One night a man was crying Allah! Allah!
His lips grew sweet with praising,
until a cynic said, “So!
I’ve heard you calling our, but have you ever
gotten any response?”

The man had no answer to that.
He quit praying and fell into a confused sleep.
He dreamed he saw Khidr, the guide of souls,
in a thick, green foliage.

“Why did you stop praising?” “Because
I’ve never heard anything back.”

“This longing you express
is the return message.”

The grief you cry out from
draws you toward union.

Your pure sadness
that wants help
is the secret cup.

Listen to the moan of a dog for its master.
That whining is the connection.

There are love dogs
no one knows the names of.

Give your life
to be one of them.


(Translated by Coleman Barks, from The Essential Rumi, edited by Coleman Barks.)

[nichi]

Coleman Barks

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Who Says Words With My Mouth?
 

All day I think about it,
then at night I say it.

Where did I come from,
and what am I supposed to be doing?

I have no idea.

My soul is from elsewhere,
I'm sure of that,
and I intend to end up there.

This drunkenness
began in some other tavern.

When I get back around
to that place,
I'll be completely sober.

Meanwhile, I'm like a bird
from another continent,
sitting in this aviary.

The day is coming when I fly off,
but who is it now in my ear
who hears my voice?

Who says words with my mouth?

Who looks out with my eyes?

What is the soul?


I cannot stop asking.


If I could taste
one sip of an answer,
I could break out
of this prison for drunks.

I didn't come here of my own accord,
and I can't leave that way.

Whoever brought me here
will have to take me home.

This poetry,

I never know
what I'm going to say.

I don't plan it.

When I'm outside the saying of it,
I get very quiet
and rarely speak at all.         


From The Essential Rumi, translated by Coleman Barks.

[nichi]

Coleman Barks

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If anyone asks you
how the perfect satisfaction
of all our sexual wanting
will look, lift your face
and say,

Like this.

When someone mentions the gracefulness
of the nightsky, climb up on the roof
and dance and say,

Like this.

If anyone wants to know what "spirit" is,
or what "God’s fragrance" means,
lean your head toward him or her.
Keep your face there close.

Like this.

When someone quotes the old poetic image
about clouds gradually uncovering the moon,
slowly loosen knot by knot the strings
of your robe.

Like this.

If anyone wonders how Jesus raised the dead,
don’t try to explain the miracle.
Kiss me on the lips.

Like this. Like this.

When someone asks what it means
to "die for love," point
here.

If someone asks how tall I am, frown
and measure with your fingers the space
between the creases on your forehead.

This tall.

The soul sometimes leaves the body, the returns.
When someone doesn’t believe that,
walk back into my house.

Like this.

When lovers moan,
they’re telling our story.

Like this.

I am a sky where spirits live.
Stare into this deepening blue,
while the breeze says a secret.

Like this.

When someone asks what there is to do,
light the candle in his hand.

Like this.

How did Joseph’s scent come to Jacob?


Huuuuu.

How did Jacob’s sight return?

Huuuu.

A little wind cleans the eyes.

Like this.

When Shams comes back from Tabriz,
he’ll put just his head around the edge
of the door to surprise us

Like this.

[nichi]

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Video strange .. the audio is the thing.
Coleman Barks.

[nichi]

Coleman Barks tells the story of how he came to translate Rumi's poetry with his own versions.
The first minute or so is advertisement for the production company -- the story begins by 3:06.  It's a good story. 

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[nichi]

Coleman Barks
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COLEMAN BARKS is clearly responsible for much of Rumi's current impact. An internationally renowned poet, translator and bestselling author of The Essential Rumi, The Soul of Rumi, Rumi: The Book of Love, and The Drowned Book. He was prominently featured in Bill Moyers's PBS television series on poetry, The Language of Life and Fooling With Words. Barks taught English and poetry at the University of Georgia for thirty years, and now focuses on writing, readings, and performances.

[nichi]

Coleman Barks
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[Nichi]

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[Nichi]

Coleman Barks
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Only Breath


Only Breath


Not Christian or Jew or Muslim, not Hindu
Buddhist, sufi, or zen. Not any religion

or cultural system. I am not from the East
or the West, not out of the ocean or up

from the ground, not natural or ethereal, not
composed of elements at all. I do not exist,

am not an entity in this world or in the next,
did not descend from Adam and Eve or any

origin story. My place is placeless, a trace
of the traceless. Neither body or soul.

I belong to the beloved, have seen the two
worlds as one and that one call to and know,

first, last, outer, inner, only that
breath breathing human being.


Rumi

[TIOTIT]

 

[Nichi]

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These Spiritual Window Shoppers

These spiritual window-shoppers,
who idly ask, 'How much is that?' Oh, I'm just looking.
They handle a hundred items and put them down,
shadows with no capital.

What is spent is love and two eyes wet with weeping.
But these walk into a shop,
and their whole lives pass suddenly in that moment,
in that shop.

Where did you go? "Nowhere."
What did you have to eat? "Nothing much."

Even if you don't know what you want,
buy _something,_ to be part of the exchanging flow.

Start a huge, foolish project,
like Noah.

It makes absolutely no difference
what people think of you.



Rumi, 'We Are Three', Mathnawi VI, 831-845
Version by Coleman Barks

[Nichi]

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http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Y5xNStofPQ0

Larry, who knows nothing of Rumi or the things we discuss here, was passing by my room as this was playing, and stuck his head in, disturbed. He said, "I don't know what that is, but it sounds like propaganda." Propaganda for what, I asked him? He couldn't say -- he didn't know what was being said -- it was in the overall soundtrack.  I'm giving it all some thought.


The City of Saba

There is a glut of wealth in the City of Saba. Everyone has more than enough. Even
the bath stokers wear gold belts. Huge grape clusters hang down on every street and
brush the faces of the citizens. No one has to do anything. You can balance
a basket on your head and walk through an orchard, and it will fill by itself with
overripe fruit dropping into it. Stray dogs stray in lanes full of thrown-out
scraps with barely a notice. The lean desert wolf gets indigestion from the rich
food. Everyone is fat and satiated with all the extra. There are no
robbers. There is no energy for crime, or for gratitude, and no one wonders about
the unseen world. The people of Saba feel bored with just the mention of prophecy.
They have no desire of any kind.  Maybe some idle curiosity about miracles, but that’s
it. This overrichness is a subtle disease. Those who have it are blind
to what’s wrong and deaf to anyone who points it out. The City of Saba cannot be
understood from within itself: But there is a cure, an individual medicine, not
a social remedy: sit quietly, and listen for a voice within that will say, *Be
more silent*. As that happens, your soul starts to revive Give up talking and
your positions of power. Give up the excessive money. Turn toward teachers and
prophets who don't live in Saba. They can help you grow sweet again and fragrant
and wild and fresh and thankful for any small event.



(From Coleman Barks, “The Soul of Rumi”)