We present this work in honor of National Senior Citizens’ Day.
Old man pushing seventy,
in truth he acts like a little boy,
whooping with delight when he spies some mountain fruits,
laughing with joy, tagging after village mummers;
with the others having fun stacking tiles to make a pagoda,
standing alone staring at his image in the jardiniere pool.
Tucked under his arm, a battered book to read,
just like the time he first set off for school.
Lady Iseut, if he showed some contrition
he might be able to erase
the effects of his disgrace
and I might grant him some remission;
but I think I’d be unwise,
since by his silence he denies
the wrong he’s done, to in any way relieve
a man who was so eager to deceive.
Still, if you can get him to repent his perfidy
you’ll have no trouble in converting me.
Lady Almucs, with your permission
let me request that in place
of anger and bad grace
you show a kinder disposition
toward him who slowly dying lies
lamenting amidst moans and sighs
and humbly begs reprieve;
but if you want him dead let him receive
the sacraments, to guarantee
that he’ll refrain from doing further injury.
We present this work in honor of Muharram.
When I saw Dawn come
shaking dew from her clear brow
I said to my love:
“I’m afraid the sun will discover
our secret,” but she said,
“Please God that my brother
not discover me!”
Translation by Cola Franzen
His manifold movements
toy with hearts.
He removes his garments
and is clothed in enchantment.
Supple as a branch
playful as a gazelle
his undulating motions
dally with the intelligence
of onlookers
as fate makes playthings of men.
And when he presses down on his head
with his feet
he is like a well-tempered sword
bent double
tip touching the pommel.
We present this work in honor of Eid al-Adha.
The garden of green hillocks
dresses up for visitors
in the most beautiful colors
as if a young woman’s dowry
were spread out
glittering with gold necklaces
or as if someone had poured out
censers of mush powder
mixed with the purest aromatic oils.
Birds trill on the branches
like singing girls
bending over their lutes
and water falls continuously
like neckchains
of silver and pearls.
These are splendors of such perfection
they call to mind
the beauty of absolute certainty
the radiance of faith.
We present this work in honor of Eid-al-Fitr.
Look at the ripe wheat
Bending before the wind
Like squadrons of horsemen
Fleeing in defeat, bleeding
From the wounds of the poppies
Translation by Cola Franzen
We present this work in honor of the first day of Ramadan.
Don’t cross me off as fickle
because a singing voice
has captured my heart.
One must be serious sometimes
and lighthearted at other times:
like wood from which come
both the singer’s lute
and the warrior’s bow.
We present this work in honor of Isra and Mi’raj.
Pale as the morning star
in the hour of sunrise
he advances proudly,
caparisoned with a saddle of gold.
One who saw him going with me
into battle, envied me and said:
“Who bridled Dawn with the Pleiades?
Who saddled lightning with the half moon?”
Sweet handsome friend, I can tell you truly
that I’ve never been without desire
since it pleased you that I have you as my courtly lover;
nor did a time ever arrive, sweet handsome friend,
when I didn’t want to see you often;
nor did I ever feel regret,
nor did it ever come to pass, if you went off angry,
that I felt joy until you had come back
Poets Corner 