Bahá’í World/Volume 17/Verse

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[Page 639]

LINES FROM PERSIAN POETS

BY MARZIEH GAIL

From Náşir-i-Khusraw

The mischief's thine, if I may have my say, And only terror hushes my lament. Thou criest to the hunted deer, 'Away!' Then loosest the swift hound upon his scent.

And why hast Thou-I ask it by Thy leave- A woman's lips and teeth such beauty lent? If Thou, O Lord, hadst nothing up Thy sleeve, By fashioning the Devil what was meant?

I here appeal Against both heart and eyes, For what the eye doth see The heart doth prize. Thus it seems good to me To make a dagger with a tip of steel- And with it blind my eyes, And set my sad heart free.

Náşir was showing Of reason no sign; Straying and drunken (Not like drinkers of wine)- And he came to a graveyard Beside a latrine, And he shouted: 'Ye people Who gaze on this scene, See the feasts of this world, And the people that dine! Here: the feasts of this world, Here: the guests come to dine!'

From Shaykh ‘Abdu’lláh Ansárí

Canst thou on water walk, against the law? So can a straw. Canst rise up in the air so high? So can a fly. If thou wouldst play a real man's part, Subdue thy heart.

From Saná’í

If to the fool my lore you'd bring, Or think my secrets can be told To him who is not wise- Then to the deaf go harp and sing, Or stand before the blind and hold A mirror to his eyes.

How can feeble reason encompass the Qur’án, Or the spider snare a phoenix in his web? Wouldst thou that the mind should not entrap thee? Teach it the science of the love of God!

From Sa’di

It is all one, if it be a throne Or the bare ground under the open sky, Where the pure soul lays him Down to die.

The Gulistán, ‘On the Conduct of Kings’

Let me quit this abode. Let me rise, let me go Past the Antipode, Past Indo-China, where the ways extend; And let me ask the pilgrims on the road: Is my way farther, or is this the end?

I do as bidden, and I bring the message, Whether it give thee counsel or offense. [Page 640]Tell us not the tale of Laylí or of Majnún’s’ woe- Thy love hath made the world forget the loves of long ago. When once Thy name was on the tongue, the lovers caught it And it set the speakers and the hearers dancing to and fro. Since God Himself is never to be seen, These Messengers are but His go-between. Nay-I misspoke. For He Who’s deputized Is one with Him that sent Him, If we be well apprised. The story of Thy beauty reached the hermit’s dell; Crazed, he sought the Tavern where the wine they buy and sell. The love of Thee hath leveled down the fort of patience, The pain of Thee hath firmly barred the gate of hope as well. Our desert has no end, our heart no bed. World within world is with Form’s image sealed; Which of the images to us is wed? If on the road ye see a severed head, Rolling along its way to our wide field, Ask it, O ask it what we never said, And hear from it the secret we concealed.

From Jalálu’d-Dín-i-Rúmí

At one time, Bahá’u’lláh had written down an ode of Rúmí’s for him (Ustád Ismá’íl) and had told him to turn his face toward the Báb and sing the words, set to a melody: (See Memorials of the Faithful, by ‘Abdu’l-Bahá, p. 29)

I am lost, O Love, possessed and dazed, Love’s fool am I, in all the earth. They call me first among the crazed, Though I once came first for wit and worth. O Love, who sellest me this wine,² O Love, for whom I burn and bleed, Love, for whom I cry and pine- Thou the Piper, I the reed. If Thou wishest me to live, Through me blow Thy holy breath. The touch of Jesus Thou wilt give To me, who’ve lain an age in death. Thou, both End and Origin, Thou without and Thou within- From every eye Thou hidest well, And yet in every eye dost dwell.

The flower-faced may sulk or play the flirt, The cruel fair may bridle and coquet; But coyness in the ugly is ill-met, And pain in a blind eye’s a double hurt.

The Mathnaví, I, 1906-7.

Thou, brother, art thy thought alone, The rest is only thew and bone. A garden close, if that thought be a rose But if it be a thorn, then only fit to burn.

The Mathnaví, II, 2:277

The Sage of Ghazna³ told the mystic story To his veiled hearers, in an allegory: If those who err see naught in the Qur’an But only words, it’s not to wonder on; Of all the sun’s fire, lighting up the sky Only the warmth can reach a blind man’s eye.

The Mathnaví, III, 4229-31.

Literally, Majnún means ‘insane’. This is the title of the celebrated lover of ancient Persian and Arabian lore, whose beloved was Layli, daughter of an Arabian prince. Symbolizing true human love bordering on the divine, the story has been made the theme of many Persian romantic poems. 2 This wine, Rúmí says elsewhere, comes from the jar of ‘Yea verily. That is, it symbolizes the Primal Covenant established between God and man on the day of ‘Am I not your Lord?’ On that day, the Creator summoned posterity out of the loins of Adam and said to the generations unborn, ‘Am I not your Lord?’ Whereupon they answered, “Yea, verily, Thou art.’ Cf. Qur’án 7:171.

In thy soul of love build thou a fire And burn all thoughts and words entire. If I speak forth, many a mind will shatter, And if I write, many a pen will break 3 The poet Saná’í. [Page 641]

From Háfiz

VERSE There’ll be no end to longing till I find my heart’s desire Either I’ll win my own Heart’s Life or lose my life entire. But this I know, though I be dead, my body will burn on: Open my grave when I am gone And see my shroud on fire. To our King though we bow the knee, We are lords of the morning star. No changeable colors have we- Red lions, black dragons we are! Come let us scatter these roses, Let us pour out this wine, Let us split the roof of Heaven And draw a new design. How shall a curtain part the lover and the loved one? Not Alexander’s wall can separate them!

From Táhirih

If mine eyes could ever see Thee, Light on brow and lips and cheek, I would tell Thee of my yearning- Of love’s longing I would speak. From house to house, and door to door Lonely as the wind I go, Past every lane and every turning, Ever do Thy presence seek. Never think it’s tears I’m shedding Since our separation-no, Like a raging river burning, Lifeblood’s slipping down my cheek. Of Thy love my sad heart weaves My soul’s fabric, to and fro. Through the warp and weft returning, Shuttled strands this love bespeak. Within her soul gazed Ṭáhirih, The chambers of her heart to know; Through every membrane Thee discerning, None other in the world could seek.

Náşir-i-Khusraw

Náṣir-i-Khusraw was a celebrated poet, traveller and Ismá’ílí missionary. A native of Khurásán, he was born in 1003-04 and died in 1088. He was called by his fellow-religionists Hujjat (The Proof).

Shaykh ‘Abdu’lláh Ansárí

Shaykh ‘Abdu’lláh Anşárí of Harát was born at Kuhandiz on 4 May 1005 and died on 8 March 1089. His biographers are unanimous in praising his piety and the breadth of his know- ledge in all branches of the religious sciences. He expressed his devotion in the Munáját (prayers or supplications, highly stylized and epigrammatic) and other writings in saj (rhymed prose) as well as in verse which are considered to be among the masterpieces of Persian literature.

Bábá Táhir

Bábá Táhir, called ‘Uryán (The Naked), saintly dialect poet of Hamadán, was a famed writer of quatrains. Little is known of his life but the name ‘Uryán suggests that he was a wandering dervish; he apparently still flourished in 1055-58. He is most famous for his double distichs, exhibiting in melodious and flowing language a sincerity and spirituality with profound philosophical overtones.

Saná’í

Saná’í was the pen name of Abu’l-Majd Majdúd who was born circa 1050 in Ghazní, now a province of Afghanistan; he died in 1131. He is considered by some to be the author of the first great mystical poem in the Persian language and his verse has greatly influenced Persian literature. As a young man [Page 642]he was poet at the court of the Ghaznavid sultans but at some point he underwent a spiritual conversion and, abandoning the court, retired to pursue a contemplative life.

The Enclosed Garden of Truth, one of his best known works, is composed of 10,000 couplets in ten separate sections.

Sa’di

Sa’di, also known as Muslihu’d-Din Sa’di, was born in Shíráz circa 1213 and died in that city on 9 December 1292. Following the Mongol invasion of Persia he wandered abroad through Anatolia, Syria, Egypt and ‘Iraq. One of the greatest figures in classical Persian literature, the peculiar blend of human kindness and cynicism, humour and resignation displayed in his work make him, to many, the most typical and lovable writer in the world of Iranian culture.

Rúmí

Jalálu’d-Dín-i-Rúmí lived much of his life in Rúm (Asia Minor). Persia’s greatest Ṣúfi mystic poet, his Mathnaví (rhymed couplets on spiritual themes) has been called ‘the Persian Qur’an.’ His spiritual director was the poet Shams-i-Tabrízí (d. 1246) in whose memory he wrote some 30,000 verses expressing deep love for his master. Born at Balkh, in the autumn of 1207, Rúmí died in 1273 and was buried at Qonya.

Háfiz

Muḥammad-Shamsu’d-Dín Háfiz (born 1325–26, died 1389–90), is the most eminent and famous of Persian lyric poets. His principal verse form, one that he brought to a perfection never achieved before, was the ghazal, a lyric poem of six to fifteen couplets linked by unity of subject and symbolism rather than by a logical sequence of ideas. His achievement was to give existing poetic conventions and motifs a freshness and subtlety free from artificial virtuosity. His poetry is above all characterized by love of humanity, contempt for hypocrisy and mediocrity, and an ability to universalise everyday experience and to relate it to the mystic’s unending search for union with God.

Táhirih

Táhirih, impassioned follower of the Báb and Bahá’u’lláh, was the daughter of a leading mujtahid of Qazvín, and was called by her mentor, Siyyid Kázim, ‘Solace of the Eyes’ (Qurratu’l-‘Ayn). She was the only woman among the Báb’s first disciples, the Eighteen Letters of the Living. Famed for her beauty, poetic gifts and scholarship, she attracted many souls to Persia’s new Faith. A fearless advocate of sex equality, she was put to death in Tihrán at the age of thirty-six, and became the first woman suffrage martyr (August 1852).

Roger White

Sources: E. G. Browne, A Literary History of Persia, II, s.v.; Encyclopaedia Britannica; Encyclopaedia of Islám; Nabíl-i-A’zam, The Dawn-Breakers; Shoghi Effendi, God Passes By. [Page 643]

VERSE

Farewell (To ‘Abdu’l-Bahá) by Lua Getsinger

Accompany me in this journey, O my Lord, that my impatient heart may not be shattered by sorrow. I have left the world for the sake of Thy good-pleasure; if Thou accepteth my life as a sacrifice, it will be my honour. I tread this path by myself, yet I yearn to behold Thee at my side. In this world, the realm of sin and the feast of sorrow, I have no refuge save Thee. O faithful Friend, do not forsake me: behold how my days pass in solitude! In leaving Thee, I leave my heart and soul; Thou art my purpose and Thy remembrance is my solace. Thy Word has ever been the living water and the source of all mercy for this bewildered heart of mine. Do not stay afar from this servant of Thy Threshold. This is my plea; fulfil it, O my Lord! I am not deserving of Thy bestowals; nevertheless, I am Thy servant and Thou art my Lord. Look Thou upon me with the eyes of Thy mercy and witness with compassion my waywardness and helplessness. Hear Thou with the ears of Thy favour, O my Lord, this supplication, this imploring of my morns and eves. Thou art my refuge and my succourer wherever I may go In my solitude, in my loneliness, in my distress.

(Translation by Mahnaz Aflátúní)

Re-translated from the Persian of Dr. Yúnis Khán. The original English text is not available. See ‘Abdu’l-Bahá by H. M. Balyuzi, pp. 96-97 (passim); and The Flame-The Story of Lua by William Sears and Robert Quigley; publications of George Ronald (Oxford). [Page 644]

Le Signe de Dieu

Il était un jeune homme Qui parlait d'amour, de justice. Il était beau, et son regard Avait le feu qui brûle l'âme. Le signe de Dieu, disaient les uns, Il faut qu'il meure, disaient les autres. C'était un beau jeune homme. Il aimait tant ses frères Qu'il partit leur donner La parole de Dieu Qui les rendrait heureux. Le Signe de Dieu, disaient les uns, Il faut qu'il meure, disaient les autres. C'était un beau jeune homme. Partout sur son passage Jaillissaient l'amour et la haine Mais Báb était un sage Il connaissait déjà sa peine Le signe de Dieu, disaient les uns. Il faut qu'il meure, disaient les autres. Il accomplissait son destin D'éveiller le coeur des hommes Aux rayons de l'astre divin: C'était un beau jeune homme. Il allait dans la lumière Annoncer le jour nouveau, Il portait haut la bannière Qui le conduisait au tombeau. Le signe de Dieu, disaient les uns, Il faut qu'il meure, disaient les autres Et les autres furent les plus forts, Mais les uns surent qu'à jamais Il vivait pour l'éternité Dans le coeur de tous les hommes. C'était un beau jeune homme.

M. Lafaille (Belgium)

Toi qui attends qu'Il te fasse signe, Regarde où le Soleil se lève Il te fera le rencontrer Celui qui dit la Vérité. Aux portes de la liberté C'est Lui qui brisera les chaînes Qui te retiennent prisonnier De ton enfance, de ton passé. Tourne les yeux vers le Soleil C'est à l'est qu'Il se lève, En Elam, comme il est dit Dans les Livres du Paradis.

M. Lafaille (Belgium)

1 De gens de toutes humeurs Se retrouvent dans la noirceur du contact et de la connaissance. Chacun venant du droit chemin, leur but devient la bienfaisance.

2 Cherchant à trouver la Vérité ils font recours à leur parole puis, harmonisant leurs destins ils développent enfin l'amitié.

3 La nuit devient jour, la joie circule autour. Chacun tend la main remplie de Bonheur puis le porte à un autre coeur. Le soleil se lève

4 en ces nouveaux visages puis, en ce nouvel instant l'hiver cède place au printemps.

Patrick Gorman (Canada)

Tourne les yeux vers le Soleil

O toi qui cherches et qui appelles Toi qui as soif de Vérité, Tourne les yeux vers le Soleil Et va sans te retourner. Laisse la poussière de ton vêtement Loin derrière toi, aux ignorants, Tourne les yeux vers le Soleil Sans te lasser va de l'avant.

1 Devant moi repose ce visage jouissant de toutes joies formant ce fameux paysage.

2 L'harmonie de sa voix balladant au gré du vent éclaire mon chez-moi en cette approche du printemps. [Page 645]L'amitié par sa présence le sourire de son apparence stimule mes pensées en ces moments si gais.

VERSE

Le chagrin en mes soupirs lors de ses adieux l'éclat de ses yeux en formera mon souvenir. Patrick Gorman (Canada)

-La personne humaine veut s'épanouir et épanouir les autres, il faut en prendre soin et bien la traiter.

-L'amitié des humains en forme leurs épanouissements. Aidons ceux dans la misère et dans la pauvreté. Bâtissons un nouveau monde.

-Une personne humaine est cent mille fois plus belle qu'une rose. Si nous adorons les roses, pourquoi détruisons-nous la personne. Patrick Gorman (Canada)

Bjælker I Brødres Øjne

Der findes venskaber i verden, og hvilke venskaber! De bygger på hjerternes fælles rytme. Kommer der kludder i rytmen, såh-!

Der findes venskaber i partier, og hvilke venskaber! De har samklang i et mål. Vi skal vinde vor kamp! Men når kampen er vundet eller måske-tabt, såh-!

Der findes venskaber i familier, og hvilke venskaber! De bygger på kærlighed, men dens væsen er flygtigt og behøver en omsorgsfuld pleje. Hvis plejen også er flygtig, -! såh-

Der findes venskaber i verden, og hvilke venskaber!

Reprinted from Bahá’í Nyhedsbrev, No. 12, Nov. 1978.

De er det pureste som findes, fordi- De bygger på hjerternes fælles rytme! De har samklang i et altomfattende mål! De bygger på kærligheden! Men størst af alt- sammen renses og vederkvæges vi i Bahá’u’lláhs Ords Ocean.

Men, besmittes dette vand af stolthedens, selvretfærdighedens og egoets gift, såh- -så smertes Den Velsignede Skønne og Hans Sag forbløder mens vi med balsam i hånd uvirksomme ser på.

Der findes et venskab i verdnerne, og hvilket venskab! ‘Abdu’l-Bahá’s! Er du svigtet, forrådt og såret? Hans eksempel er Guds helbredende kraft.

Steffen Rasmussen, Denmark [Page 646]Einer kan den eure Blicke nicht sahen in der Dämmerung des ersten Tages ER kam von nirgendwo und immer und gab euch seine Worte in die Hand Später ging er wissend um Verstandnis mancher I hr mußt jetzt erheben eure Stimmen und öffnen die Fäuste eurer Herzen

e il mare danza di ora in ora. E l'uomo? L'uomo ti ignora! Maria Cervani (Italy) Gerald Jatzek, Germany

So rinnt die Zeit den Strom hinab. Der Quell ist weit und nah das Grab, doch näher Er, der alles lenkt und in uns lebt und liebt und denkt. Das ist der Sinn der Erdenzeit: von Traumbeginn zu Ewigkeit. Ein Atemzug voll Leid und Glück -und so durch Ihn zu Ihm zurück. Ein Atemzug allhier zu zwein zugleich der Flug zu neuem Sein. Was hier sich eint in Geist und Tat, bleibt ewig eins, mein Kamerad. Adelbert Mühlschlegel, Greece

Il canto degli inconsapevoli

La terra dice della tua esistenza il sole splende la tua luce d'oro le stelle cantan tutte in armonia

Le héraut

Gloire et majesté, Grandeur et Sainteté, Tel est le Héraut de l'Ere Nouvelle, Tel est notre Héraut solennel. Grandeur incomparable, Courage inlassable, Tel est le Héraut de l'Ere Nouvelle. Tel est notre Héraut solennel. Où est sa grandeur? Où est sa gloire? Parmi nous pour voir Et dans un coin du coeur. Précurseur de la Foi Bahá’íe, Martyre désiré pour le Promis, Porte de la Bonne Nouvelle, Votre Grandeur est immortelle. Chiráz, ville Bénie par Sa naissance, Tabríz, ville Bénie par Son martyre, Tout l'Írán en souffrance Fut sauvé quand il vint dire: Je suis le Précurseur, écoutez-moi, Priez Dieu et ayez foi. Que de souffrance après Sa déclaration, Et tout l'Írán fut en révolution. Ses pas ont béni l'Írán, Que de baisers donnèrent, Que de pleurs versèrent Les Lettres du Vivant. Quel martyre! Quel malheur ! Quelle action sans honneur ! Arrêtez malheureux, arrêtez, Ne tirez pas sans penser. Le peuple parlait avec emphase. Qui osait prononcer cette phrase? Qui pouvait murmurer cette pensée? Aucun n'avait de liberté, Personne ne pouvait arrêter Les balles de Tabriz Sans être prise. Personne ne pouvait gémir Devant un disciple martyrisé. Tous allaient mourir. Mahboubeh Hielscher-Maher (Switzerland) [Page 647]

Epopée tragique du XIXe siècle (extrait)

Il quitta Baghdad, la ville merveille qui vit l'aurore du numen célestial s'ouvrir sur le Temps des temps, de nouveau l'exil du Rossignol en flammes à peine avait-il commencé à entonner oh! l'extraordinaire Mélodie Divine, (pardonne Parole enchanteresse que Son nom musical tu ne peux transcrire, aucune cithare ni de Rúmí) ni de Háfiz jamais ne réussiront la note inconcevable!)))) et le Centre du monde se mit en marche de par le désert, la caravane, sur le Cheval blanc, de par les montagnes turquoises... que de pleurs derrière quelle douleur le monde le Tigre enfanta ce désastre et le cri les roses fanèrent parfum déchu pour toujours (Hommes hommes vous comprendrez plus tard, retenez: la Sainte Beauté Bénie Universelle passa si près, sur ces rives, si près et parla!) Parmi les dunes dorées se parsemèrent les pas de Gloire d'où révolutionnaient les siècles des siècles terre consacrée espace éternisé temps immortalisé!

Jean-Christophe Casu (Zaire)

Vision

Are you then one to whom I dare relate The great white dreams that beat upon my sight? Have you been lifted high above the night With its dim stars, to the fair shining gate Of dawn; beheld the sombre face of Fate In its eternal beauty; and been free From the world's long heartache and its misery Of fear, despair, of weariness, and hate? You answer not, and all unheeding go Along the highway. I may never know If you have ridden on the wings of light- But as you pass, your face is very bright, As if, in the clear mirrors of your eyes Were caught some straying gleams of paradise.

Garreta H. Busey (U.S.A.)

African Temple

Set high upon Kikaaya Hill You'll find a queen; Her skirts adorned with diverse flowers, Her crown of green Is visible for many miles around. The beauty of her grace and form, The luminous sheen Of moonlight shining on her head Is like a dream- A sacred vision hallowing the ground.

Reprinted from Star of the West, vol. 13, No. 7, Oct. 1922.

This stately temple, rightly held In high esteem By all of those who come to view The tranquil scene- Untouched by cares with which the earth abounds-- Is dedicated to a Cause, A heavenly scheme To bring mankind into one Faith, Where reigns supreme The Lord of all, and King of worlds renowned.

Adrienne Morgan (Chad)

The Siyah-Chál

O dreaded place! Shame and ignominy be thy lot! The cries of anguished men have filled thine ears; Their curses burned thy name in dying tears On History's shield-a blood-scarred spot! Thy filthy walls and fetid breath, Knew not the Glory in their midst; Thou didst not see the heavenly gleam Shine through thy stygian mist; Nor did the chain and collar rude Restrain His glory midst thy brood.

Those chains stayed not the mighty flood Of truth which filled that dungeon hold, As men heard not from Calvary's Cross The sacred love foretold! But by His Self and by His Pen Has He regained the hearts of men.

O hateful place! Shame and defeat shall be thy lot! While joyous sounds shall Carmel raise! Kings bow down and chant Her Praise, And Victory wipe away thy blot.

Eric S. C Bowes (Australia)

I saw ideal beauty once. You didn't have to paste it together From gnarled trees and nimbus skies Forged out of image and mood. Nature is wild and untutored And delivers secrets of the divine In variant degrees of perfection Only this was perfect. As blue as you could have wished, As many coloured and irridescent As you had a right to expect. Ideal because the Spirit of God Breathed into the mind Of one who knew the beauty of the Ages, And he bodied beauty forth, Pure and restrained, Calm and at peace, balm to the eye And bounteous help to the half-believing heart, [Page 648]Saying: 'You asked for a proof: Here is Beauty, around it The still great ocean Truth- Blessed are those who never come But still believe." Geoffrey P. Nash (United Kingdom)

That groaning. Man with his belly slashed, two-timing lover. Dying? The nightnurse rustles by. Struggles in the pit. I have come back to tell thee of struggles in the pit. Perhaps is dying. Free of pain, my own death still a theorem to be proved. Alláh’u’Abhá. O Healing Spirit, Thy nearness our forgiving cure. Robert Hayden (U.S.A.)

Too long have I asked The merchant of rubies About the price of straw, With my eyes about my feet so long And the stubble breaking my sandal. There is no law Against waiting at the blue archway And asking all I wish. I will price the pale ruby And the red, and more-for He who knows This subtle stone will know The leap of light in others, Their sizes, settings, circlets, New-fashioned and old; Their studded Mali faces, Yemenite-gold; Cold-ivoried inlay; tusked ebony, Sandal-sweet linings for the senses; Diamond-brow for testing true detachment; Vein-pearled purity. He knows it. Such a merchant knows well The price of straw, feathers, Things that fall easily to earth, All births, the costs of living, The taste of the sweet cup taken from our lips, The cost of giving of a ruby, And the cost of giving a Book of Law. Audrie Reynolds (Unalakleet, Alaska)

The Broken Dark

Sleepless, I stare from the dark hospital room at shadows of a flower and its leaves the nightlight fixes like a blotto on the corridor wall. Shadow-plays of Bali-demons move to the left, gods, in their frangipani crowns and gold, to the right. Ah and my life in the shadow of God's laser light- shadow of deformed homunculus? A fool's errand given by fools. Son, go fetch a pint of pigeon's milk from the drugstore and be quick. Demons on the left. Death on either side, the Rabbi said, the way of life between.

The Broken Dark’ is reprinted from Angle of Ascent, New and Selected Poems, by Robert Hayden, with the permission of Liveright Publishing Corporation. Copyright © 1975, 1972, 1970, 1966, by Robert Hayden.

The Year of the Child

(for my grandson)

And you have come, Michael Ahmán, to share your life with us. We have given you an archangel's name- and a great poet's; we honor too Abyssinian Ahmán, hero of peace.

May these names be talismans; May they invoke divine magic to protect you, as we cannot, in a world that is no place for a child- that had no shelter for the children in Guyana slain by hands they trusted; no succor for the Biafran child with swollen belly and empty begging-bowl; no refuge for the child of the Warsaw ghetto.

What we yearned but were powerless to do for them, oh we will dare, Michael, for you, knowing our need of unearned increments of grace.

I look into your brilliant eyes, whose gaze renews, transforms each common thing, and hope that inner vision will intensify their seeing. I am

Reprinted from World Order, Vol. 13, No. 4, Spring 1979. Copyright ©1980 by the National Spiritual Assembly of the Bahá’ís of the United States. [Page 649]content meanwhile to have you glance at me sometimes, as though, if you could talk, you'd let us in on a subtle joke. May Huck and Jim attend you. May you walk with beauty before you, beauty behind you, all around you and The Most Great Beauty keep you His concern.

Robert Hayden (U.S.A.)

The Covenant-Keepers (A Vesper Song)

When all is gone but an awesome light That shows the sun was here. Who lights the lanterns in the night To ward away the fear? Who chased the fire while the timid hid And wished the warmth was gone? To eyes accursed with heavy lids The embers tell of dawn.

Ninth Morning

It was the ninth morning since he'd left the city, each day realizing there was something more than gentle in the splendorous beauty of a dying autumn, dying so peacefully, so gracefully in a natural way, decaying and restoring what was taken from the earth- for autumn seldom came to city slums. Woke then to the cold clean morning with frost among the seeding grasses, lit no fire, having fasted all the previous day, left his pack against the logs walking uphill all the way along the rising gorge to greet the looming sun. There was a time when he was young his father's father stood upon the rocks above the plunging falls, called to the Spirit God for help. His people, travelling far had always known this place as one of peace and named it in their Cree, 'The point of dawn'.

Now he, returning after many years stands on the massive stones with pale mist swirling and sounds of the northern river continuously falling in the pure air, cries out the Name he'd newly learned, Bahá’u’lláh! Bahá’u’lláh! hearing his echoing voice repeated in the deep ravine, Bahá’u’lláh― Bahá’u’lláh...

Larry Rowdon (Canada) No. 5 in the series, 'Other Faces.'

SONG CYCLE

i

By our very living, we praise Your handiwork, and circle In Your dance, For at Your behest buds part Their infant fists, trees surge through The fountaining earth and rest; Doves nest close And fledglings gape with confidence; Skin slides, fur hackling Over shoulder-blade, Muscles contract and stretch, Unthinking skill places each step; As blood or dust we chant a descant To Your song, and with every caress of created things Prayer touches prayer, by blessing, blessed. In spite of evidence In creation manifest

ii

I have forgotten Your remembrance And have no remedy. Becalmed, how can I move, And seek a wind to save me? Then I must Risk a tempest Which would whip the sea Until, enraged, rending my sails, it swallows Me, and spues me from its mouth. More tongueless Than stones, my throat so thirsty I cannot ask for drink, I am a wilderness And need Your cry in me, lest I perish In the midst of prayer, unblest!

R. Gregory Shaw (Puerto Rico) [Page 650]So, beat against faithlessness, Die in a tantrum As a fly against a windowpane Beats without perceiving. A foetus, folded Pink and private in the womb Dares more upheaval, Breaks forth like Jonah To embrace the sea- I’ll sunder fears Spread sails, quickening. To grasp the hem of Your robe- Your power’s manifest, so’s my deserving. I’ll trust Your mercy, then, And, as I trust, be blessed.

Shirin Podger (Australia)

Thoughts on seeing a vision of ‘Abdu’l-Bahá

Beyond the consciousness of dreams, I slept, A human body, coffined by fatigue, Away from heartbeat, and the circling blood, Deeply alone with myself, and yet I went beyond The touch of friendly hands, And saw no mortal face. But as I stretched to wake it was as though My whole self breathed celestial verities. I found no depth that was not deeper still, No height that could be called the peak of time, No width that was not wider than the wide. Where had I drifted in the where of space? Whose love had brought me certainty again? Through the tight wrappings of the days’ swift pass- Then crystal clear-I knew! My Lord had seen my need-no chiding word! The total love of Bahá’u’lláh for all the world! He took-and shared with me. For one bright flash, unknowingly, yet known I had ascended with Him into Light.

Florence Altass (United Kingdom)

Best Provision

I will take the Master with me where I go, Robed and sweet and shining. I will go where He bids me go And wear a silver lining. I will take the Master with me where I go And love where hatred’s burning. I will let His loving flow And kindle holy yearning. I will take the Master with me where I go And go where He bids me go. I will take the Master with me where I go And go with armies marching To where the blood runs thick and slow, And kindle holy searching. I will take the Master with me where I go, Stern and sweet and daring, And learn what He bids me know Of my brothers’ saddened faring. I will take the Master with me where I go And go where He bids me go. I will take the Master with me where I go For I have no way of seeing And I have no way to know Without my Master’s Being. I will take the Master with me where I go And go where He bids me go. To His love I am fleeing.

Bret Breneman (Japan)

Divine Alchemy

May we be willing to receive His Spirit’s chastening fire, Exalting, quickening all within To spiritual desire. The mind’s great wealth of attributes In His alembic cast That they, refined and pure, may know True lowliness at last. The heart’s emotions must pass through God’s crucible within Till they emerge as burnished gold Through love’s own discipline. Yet such distilled quintessence needs Re-transmutation still That we, thus willing and empowered May do His holy will.

Florence Altass (United Kingdom)

Miss Altass met ‘Abdu’l-Bahá in Edinburgh in 1913. Writing of this in 1978 she said, ‘I felt so unworthy and could never reach the heights expected of me as a Bahá’í. The gentle voice of ‘Abdu’l-Bahá still rings in my ears and His lovely blues eyes have followed me all my long life-now in my 95th year. Pardon this reference to myself-it is not to my credit!’ [Page 651]

VERSE

La Huerta, Cochimi Indian Village¹ with the gentle face of love your land receives us, lays a path beneath its tender skin to catch our steps in, draws our breath into its cool sweet air and washes out the syllables of self then gives it back into our mouths to utter marvels: you are the orchard of the joy of God, your blossoms are the fragrant signs and your fruit is filled with the treasured wine, the praise of ancient psalms springs from your crystal tongue fresh and bold as the kiss of dawn.

Ken Haley (Mexico)

Prayer is a globe of light in the night. Praise be to God! He is my moment, and my love.

Daniel Augur Reed (aged 5) St. John's, Antigua

An Irish Air² 'Twas not some woman's yellow hair Did carefree hearts of lads impair As she might ease were they to kiss. A Beauty passed exceeding this. 'Twas not the envy of a lass Which drew each woman from her glass To test her worth by suitor's whim. A Lover passed. They followed Him. 'Twas not a young girl's laughing air Which stopped the husband on the stair To curse time's theft and death's rank haste. A Cup was passed. He paused to taste. 'Twas not swords glinting in the sun Which maddened every mother's son To prove the valorous blood engaged. They looked within where Battle raged. 'Twas not a minstrel's tinkling air Which called the children from the fair To caper gleefully in the street That Life and Song should be so sweet. 'Twas not spring's leaf-scent on the breeze Which drew the old priest from his knees To wonder whose light footfall brings Such glad renewal to all things. Through the half-light, towards the Dawn, Whose gleaming sandal leads us on? 'Twas not some woman's yellow hair Did lilting Irish hearts ensnare!

Pilgrim Song Swift would I be, Lord, swift; on dancing feet Hastening would come, if called, nor brook delay, Gleefully come—though lone the perilous way And stern and starless—still would my step be fleet; And singing would come and, with song, entreat Angels to chart my path. Though Thou might slay Me, still would I come and rejoicing stay Quick or faint or slain at Thy welcoming feet. Gifts would I bring—choice, my gifts, and many— Laden with gifts, and laughing, would I come; Or pauperized come—hands cupped, bereft of any But hoarded hot tears—to stand before Thee, dumb. Swift would I be, Lord, if Thou wouldst but call— My aim, my hope, my home, my love, my all.

Roger White

¹ One of the indigenous Local Spiritual Assemblies in Mexico, located forty-five miles northeast of Ensenada. The name means 'orchard'. ² The poem pays tribute to the Hand of the Cause George Townshend who at the invitation of Shoghi Effendi gave God Passes By its title. Some will recognize the salute to two lines from 'September 1913' by W. B. Yeats. [Page 652]

No

The incident described occurred in 1979 when a hostile mob entered the home of an old shepherd and his wife, Bahá’ís of a small village in Irán, demanding under threat of death by fire that they recant their faith. The poem is based on the husband's reply which turned the mob away. On 19 May 1980 the old shepherd was found dead, having been stoned to death while tending his flock. To reveal the names at this time might further endanger lives.

I

You may have our lives. It is no great feat To slay us, we are simply flesh and bone. Here is my wife, my children, our home; Here too the kindling, there the ready flame. With your contempt to feed and fan the heat We will quickly fall to ash and our name Soon vanish from the village. But to buy breath With denial would be shabbier death. Strike the match, then, if that is your desire. What shall we fear who know Undying Fire?

II

Make room in some slim volume for his rustic words which unlike the politician's pious exhortations did not grace the headlines of our tabloid day. No: it is little enough to say but literature and legends will grow from this and our true, our other history give it place. Salute the mystery: his No-empowered to dismay- dissolves our reservations to reserve us heaven, survives to erase the impudent smirk from Death's irrelevant face.

Roger White