Saturday, July 15, 2006
Thoughts on Poetry
The poems which I posted yesterday were inspired by opening a book of love poems by Rumi in a bookstore. I actually wrote the poems while I was riding the bus home, and still in the spell of the master's words.
Interestingly, I had written this little reflection on Rumi and the nature of poetry just the night before. It seems that I was, indeed, quite "open to Rumi."
(And once more I broke my vow and bought the book, only to discover when I got home that I already owned it. I now have about 30 books of Rumi, and they add immensely to my life.)
Some Thoughts on Poetry
The poetry of Rumi is very transparent. It is couched in language that anyone can understand—simple statement, clear metaphor. Yet even in translation it carries an impact, wields an inner power, not entirely accounted for by the words themselves.
For Rumi (like other mystics, such as Hafiz, Kabir, St. John, or Mirabai ) deals with fundamentals. His verses speak to the soul in its many stages—sometimes in yearning, sometimes immersed in its pilgrim journey including its recurrent moments of struggle and despair, sometimes in celebration of discovery, sometimes involved with consequences or aftermath of illumination. So when we read such verses, something resonates deep within even when we are not fully conscious of what it is.
In a real sense, these familiar stages of the mystic path are also the categories of the human spirit. Together they constitute a psychological spectrum or wheel, and wherever we are in our lives can be located at one or another of its stations. Thus, whether or not we name ourselves mystics or spiritual seekers, this is our own inner cycle which we act out according to our own natures and commitments. All of us yearn for valid connection to that which is larger than ourselves, whether we give it the name of a god or goddess, or cast it simply as a divine presence or give it the name of our chosen vocation or rebel against it in angry or resigned disillusionment And of course the dark night of the soul comes upon us all at times. The stalwart spirit hangs on until the wheel carries her once more into light. Those who renounce belief entirely console themselves with other pursuits, maybe becoming aliens or outlaws, or fleeing to the safe enclaves of intellect where those gather who have looked within and discovered nothing, and thereafter proclaim to one another and the world that nothing exists.
The post-modern spirit has difficulty with Rumi and his ilk. What is too simple, too evident, that which speaks too directly to the inner core of desire and feeling, is rejected in favor of that which can be more easily controlled and manipulated, dissected, regressed to its component parts. It is as if the human witness is afraid of being tricked or overwhelmed by knowledge too profound for the psyche to sustain amidst all the confusion of the current scene. Artistic creation itself becomes the mirror of chaos, and poetry the emblem of despair.
Chaos and despair are real, and must be confronted and acknowledged as part of the journey. But there must also be a tolerance for other possibility, a willingness to break through when the moment comes. We must be open to Rumi, let his words (and those of other poets of transcendence) transmute us at the deep levels. We must be willing to move into the next stage.
Interestingly, I had written this little reflection on Rumi and the nature of poetry just the night before. It seems that I was, indeed, quite "open to Rumi."
(And once more I broke my vow and bought the book, only to discover when I got home that I already owned it. I now have about 30 books of Rumi, and they add immensely to my life.)
Some Thoughts on Poetry
The poetry of Rumi is very transparent. It is couched in language that anyone can understand—simple statement, clear metaphor. Yet even in translation it carries an impact, wields an inner power, not entirely accounted for by the words themselves.
For Rumi (like other mystics, such as Hafiz, Kabir, St. John, or Mirabai ) deals with fundamentals. His verses speak to the soul in its many stages—sometimes in yearning, sometimes immersed in its pilgrim journey including its recurrent moments of struggle and despair, sometimes in celebration of discovery, sometimes involved with consequences or aftermath of illumination. So when we read such verses, something resonates deep within even when we are not fully conscious of what it is.
In a real sense, these familiar stages of the mystic path are also the categories of the human spirit. Together they constitute a psychological spectrum or wheel, and wherever we are in our lives can be located at one or another of its stations. Thus, whether or not we name ourselves mystics or spiritual seekers, this is our own inner cycle which we act out according to our own natures and commitments. All of us yearn for valid connection to that which is larger than ourselves, whether we give it the name of a god or goddess, or cast it simply as a divine presence or give it the name of our chosen vocation or rebel against it in angry or resigned disillusionment And of course the dark night of the soul comes upon us all at times. The stalwart spirit hangs on until the wheel carries her once more into light. Those who renounce belief entirely console themselves with other pursuits, maybe becoming aliens or outlaws, or fleeing to the safe enclaves of intellect where those gather who have looked within and discovered nothing, and thereafter proclaim to one another and the world that nothing exists.
The post-modern spirit has difficulty with Rumi and his ilk. What is too simple, too evident, that which speaks too directly to the inner core of desire and feeling, is rejected in favor of that which can be more easily controlled and manipulated, dissected, regressed to its component parts. It is as if the human witness is afraid of being tricked or overwhelmed by knowledge too profound for the psyche to sustain amidst all the confusion of the current scene. Artistic creation itself becomes the mirror of chaos, and poetry the emblem of despair.
Chaos and despair are real, and must be confronted and acknowledged as part of the journey. But there must also be a tolerance for other possibility, a willingness to break through when the moment comes. We must be open to Rumi, let his words (and those of other poets of transcendence) transmute us at the deep levels. We must be willing to move into the next stage.
