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#Post#: 17822--------------------------------------------------
Re: Anne Cline Poetry
By: Clay Death Date: November 24, 2014, 10:19 am
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Notes
[The references are, except in the first note only, to the
stanzas of
the Fifth edition.]
(Stanza I.) Flinging a Stone into the Cup was the signal for "To
Horse!" in the Desert.
(II.) The "False Dawn"; Subhi Kazib, a transient Light on the
Horizon
about an hour before the Subhi sadik or True Dawn; a well-known
Phenomenon in the East.
(IV.) New Year. Beginning with the Vernal Equinox, it must be
remembered; and (howsoever the old Solar Year is practically
superseded by the clumsy Lunar Year that dates from the
Mohammedan
Hijra) still commemorated by a Festival that is said to have
been
appointed by the very Jamshyd whom Omar so often talks of, and
whose
yearly Calendar he helped to rectify.
"The sudden approach and rapid advance of the Spring," says Mr.
Binning, "are very striking. Before the Snow is well off the
Ground,
the Trees burst into Blossom, and the Flowers start from the
Soil. At
Naw Rooz (their New Year's Day) the Snow was lying in patches
on the
Hills and in the shaded Vallies, while the Fruit-trees in the
Garden
were budding beautifully, and green Plants and Flowers
springing upon
the Plains on every side--
'And on old Hyems' Chin and icy Crown
An odorous Chaplet of sweet Summer buds
Is, as in mockery, set--'--
Among the Plants newly appear'd I recognized some Acquaintances
I had
not seen for many a Year: among these, two varieties of the
Thistle; a
coarse species of the Daisy, like the Horse-gowan; red and
white
clover; the Dock; the blue Cornflower; and that vulgar Herb the
Dandelion rearing its yellow crest on the Banks of the
Water-courses."
The Nightingale was not yet heard, for the Rose was not yet
blown: but
an almost identical Blackbird and Woodpecker helped to make up
something of a North-country Spring.
"The White Hand of Moses." Exodus iv. 6; where Moses draws
forth his
Hand--not, according to the Persians, "leprous as Snow," but
white, as
our May-blossom in Spring perhaps. According to them also the
Healing
Power of Jesus resided in his Breath.
(V.) Iram, planted by King Shaddad, and now sunk somewhere in
the
Sands of Arabia. Jamshyd's Seven-ring'd Cup was typical of the
7
Heavens, 7 Planets, 7 Seas, &c., and was a Divining Cup.
(VI.) Pehlevi, the old Heroic Sanskrit of Persia. Hafiz also
speaks
of the Nightingale's Pehlevi, which did not change with the
People's.
I am not sure if the fourth line refers to the Red Rose looking
sickly, or to the Yellow Rose that ought to be Red; Red, White,
and
Yellow Roses all common in Persia. I think that Southey in his
Common-
Place Book, quotes from some Spanish author about the Rose
being White
till 10 o'clock; "Rosa Perfecta" at 2; and "perfecta incarnada"
at 5.
(X.) Rustum, the "Hercules" of Persia, and Zal his Father, whose
exploits are among the most celebrated in the Shahnama. Hatim
Tai, a
well-known type of Oriental Generosity.
(XIII.) A Drum--beaten outside a Palace.
(XIV.) That is, the Rose's Golden Centre.
(XVIII.) Persepolis: call'd also Takht-i-Jam-shyd--THE THRONE OF
JAMSHYD, "King Splendid," of the mythical Peshdadian Dynasty,
and
supposed (according to the Shah-nama) to have been founded and
built
by him. Others refer it to the Work of the Genie King, Jan Ibn
Jan--who also built the Pyramids--before the time of Adam.
BAHRAM GUR.--Bahram of the Wild Ass--a Sassanian Sovereign--had
also
his Seven Castles (like the King of Bohemia!) each of a
different
Colour: each with a Royal Mistress within; each of whom tells
him a
Story, as told in one of the most famous Poems of Persia,
written by
Amir Khusraw: all these Sevens also figuring (according to
Eastern
Mysticism) the Seven Heavens; and perhaps the Book itself that
Eighth,
into which the mystical Seven transcend, and within which they
revolve. The Ruins of Three of those Towers are yet shown by
the
Peasantry; as also the Swamp in which Bahram sunk, like the
Master of
Ravenswood, while pursuing his Gur.
The Palace that to Heav'n his pillars threw,
And Kings the forehead on his threshold drew--
I saw the solitary Ringdove there,
And "Coo, coo, coo," she cried; and "Coo, coo, coo."
[Included in Nicolas's edition as No. 350 of the Rubaiyat, and
also in
Mr. Whinfield's translation.]
This Quatrain Mr. Binning found, among several of Hafiz and
others,
inscribed by some stray hand among the ruins of Persepolis. The
Ringdove's ancient Pehlevi Coo, Coo, Coo, signifies also in
Persian
"Where? Where? Where?" In Attar's "Bird-parliament" she is
reproved
by the Leader of the Birds for sitting still, and for ever
harping on
that one note of lamentation for her lost Yusuf.
Apropos of Omar's Red Roses in Stanza xix, I am reminded of an
old
English Superstition, that our Anemone Pulsatilla, or purple
"Pasque
Flower," (which grows plentifully about the Fleam Dyke, near
Cambridge,) grows only where Danish Blood has been spilt.
(XXI.) A thousand years to each Planet.
(XXXI.) Saturn, Lord of the Seventh Heaven.
(XXXII.) ME-AND-THEE: some dividual Existence or Personality
distinct
from the Whole.
(XXXVII.) One of the Persian Poets--Attar, I think--has a pretty
story
about this. A thirsty Traveller dips his hand into a Spring of
Water
to drink from. By-and-by comes another who draws up and drinks
from
an earthen bowl, and then departs, leaving his Bowl behind him.
The
first Traveller takes it up for another draught; but is
surprised to
find that the same Water which had tasted sweet from his own
hand
tastes bitter from the earthen Bowl. But a Voice--from Heaven, I
think--tells him the clay from which the Bowl is made was once
Man;
and, into whatever shape renew'd, can never lose the bitter
flavour of
Mortality.
(XXXIX.) The custom of throwing a little Wine on the ground
before
drinking still continues in Persia, and perhaps generally in
the East.
Mons. Nicolas considers it "un signe de liberalite, et en meme
temps
un avertissement que le buveur doit vider sa coupe jusqu'a la
derniere
goutte." Is it not more likely an ancient Superstition; a
Libation to
propitiate Earth, or make her an Accomplice in the illicit
Revel? Or,
perhaps, to divert the Jealous Eye by some sacrifice of
superfluity,
as with the Ancients of the West? With Omar we see something
more is
signified; the precious Liquor is not lost, but sinks into the
ground
to refresh the dust of some poor Wine-worshipper foregone.
Thus Hafiz, copying Omar in so many ways: "When thou drinkest
Wine
pour a draught on the ground. Wherefore fear the Sin which
brings to
another Gain?"
(XLIII.) According to one beautiful Oriental Legend, Azrael
accomplishes his mission by holding to the nostril an Apple
from the
Tree of Life.
This, and the two following Stanzas would have been withdrawn,
as
somewhat de trop, from the Text, but for advice which I least
like to
disregard.
(LI.) From Mah to Mahi; from Fish to Moon.
(LVI.) A Jest, of course, at his Studies. A curious mathematical
Quatrain of Omar's has been pointed out to me; the more curious
because almost exactly parallel'd by some Verses of Doctor
Donne's,
that are quoted in Izaak Walton's Lives! Here is Omar: "You and
I are
the image of a pair of compasses; though we have two heads (sc.
our
feet) we have one body; when we have fixed the centre for our
circle,
we bring our heads (sc. feet) together at the end." Dr. Donne:
If we be two, we two are so
As stiff twin-compasses are two;
Thy Soul, the fixt foot, makes no show
To move, but does if the other do.
And though thine in the centre sit,
Yet when my other far does roam,
Thine leans and hearkens after it,
And rows erect as mine comes home.
Such thou must be to me, who must
Like the other foot obliquely run;
Thy firmness makes my circle just,
And me to end where I begun.
(LIX.) The Seventy-two Religions supposed to divide the World,
including Islamism, as some think: but others not.
(LX.) Alluding to Sultan Mahmud's Conquest of India and its dark
people.
(LXVIII.) Fanusi khiyal, a Magic-lanthorn still used in India;
the
cylindrical Interior being painted with various Figures, and so
lightly poised and ventilated as to revolve round the lighted
Candle
within.
(LXX.) A very mysterious Line in the Original:
O danad O danad O danad O--
breaking off something like our Wood-pigeon's Note, which she is
said
to take up just where she left off.
(LXXV.) Parwin and Mushtari--The Pleiads and Jupiter.
(LXXXVII.) This Relation of Pot and Potter to Man and his Maker
figures far and wide in the Literature of the World, from the
time of
the Hebrew Prophets to the present; when it may finally take
the name
of "Pot theism," by which Mr. Carlyle ridiculed Sterling's
"Pantheism." My Sheikh, whose knowledge flows in from all
quarters,
writes to me--
"Apropos of old Omar's Pots, did I ever tell you the sentence I
found
in 'Bishop Pearson on the Creed'? 'Thus are we wholly at the
disposal
of His will, and our present and future condition framed and
ordered
by His free, but wise and just, decrees. Hath not the potter
power
over the clay, of the same lump to make one vessel unto honour,
and
another unto dishonour? (Rom. ix. 21.) And can that
earth-artificer
have a freer power over his brother potsherd (both being made
of the
same metal), than God hath over him, who, by the strange
fecundity of
His omnipotent power, first made the clay out of nothing, and
then him
out of that?'"
And again--from a very different quarter--"I had to refer the
other
day to Aristophanes, and came by chance on a curious
Speaking-pot
story in the Vespae, which I had quite forgotten.
"The Pot calls a bystander to be a witness to his bad treatment.
The
woman says, 'If, by Proserpine, instead of all this
'testifying'
(comp. Cuddie and his mother in 'Old Mortality!') you would buy
yourself a rivet, it would show more sense in you!' The
Scholiast
explains echinus as"
One more illustration for the oddity's sake from the
"Autobiography of
a Cornish Rector," by the late James Hamley Tregenna. 1871.
"There was one odd Fellow in our Company--he was so like a
Figure in
the 'Pilgrim's Progress' that Richard always called him the
'ALLEGORY,' with a long white beard--a rare Appendage in those
days--and a Face the colour of which seemed to have been baked
in,
like the Faces one used to see on Earthenware Jugs. In our
Country-
dialect Earthenware is called 'Clome'; so the Boys of the
Village used
to shout out after him--'Go back to the Potter, Old Clomeface,
and get
baked over again.' For the 'Allegory,' though shrewd enough in
most
things, had the reputation of being 'saift-baked,' i.e., of
weak
intellect."
(XC.) At the Close of the Fasting Month, Ramazan (which makes
the
Mussulman unhealthy and unamiable), the first Glimpse of the
New Moon
(who rules their division of the Year) is looked for with the
utmost
Anxiety, and hailed with Acclamation. Then it is that the
Porter's
Knot maybe heard--toward the Cellar. Omar has elsewhere a
pretty
Quatrain about the same Moon--
"Be of Good Cheer--the sullen Month will die,
And a young Moon requite us by and by:
Look how the Old one meagre, bent, and wan
With Age and Fast, is fainting from the Sky!"
The End
#Post#: 17826--------------------------------------------------
Re: Anne Cline Poetry
By: Anne Cline Date: November 24, 2014, 12:28 pm
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Thank you for sharing this interesting poem and including the
interpretation.
#Post#: 17866--------------------------------------------------
Re: Anne Cline Poetry
By: Clay Death Date: November 26, 2014, 10:10 pm
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you are welcome.
I will be making more contributions in the comings days.
This thread has the potential to be huge down the road.
#Post#: 17901--------------------------------------------------
Re: Anne Cline Poetry
By: Anne Cline Date: November 30, 2014, 6:27 pm
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Hearts Journey
When one soul finds another fair,
Curiosity is piqued - love in the air.
The journey of heart, of mind begins.
A burning fire swells within.
And if both souls-draw together.
Upon a path they'll walk-forever.
A journey begins, if their love does awake.
Only if both hearts, do not forsake.
But travel along, side by side keeping strong.
The heart of the other, when their day has been long.
Only when each one takes time to partake,
In the joys and the hardships that life will sure make.
These two souls bond closer-with each day that's past.
Taking comfort in building a love that will last.
It is trust, it is honor and respect there's no doubt.
It's a choice that we make-nothing to figure out.
As the years stack up slowly,then quickly and when,
The journey of one ends and then they transcend.
But one soul is left on the path they did forge,
Separated now, by deaths mighty gorge.
The soul that's remaining feels no hope left in sight.
The path seems so narrow, and dark as the night.
Then through the black-hopeless-seeming abyss,
Takes hold the memory-of your tender kiss.
Suddenly the trail where your broke down on all fours,
Seems wider and brighter than ever before.
For your heart shared a journey most patient and fine.
And the truest of Love, it does last for all time.
So you lift yourself up and return to the path,
For this is what we are to do against wrath.
The Love that you share it endures till the end.
No passing away-can take memories my friend.
~Anne Cline
#Post#: 17937--------------------------------------------------
Re: Anne Cline Poetry
By: Clay Death Date: December 2, 2014, 2:11 pm
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this poem is nothing short of amazing.
awesome creativity.
#Post#: 17940--------------------------------------------------
Re: Anne Cline Poetry
By: Clay Death Date: December 2, 2014, 2:42 pm
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[move][URL=
HTML http://s1322.photobucket.com/user/spartacus120/media/spartan%20images/this%20is%20sparta/sparatus-1/cool6/cool7/ann-4_zps986bf5d9.jpg.html][IMG]http://i1322.photobucket.com/albums/u572/spartacus120/spartan%20images/this%20is%20sparta/sparatus-1/cool6/cool7/ann-4_zps986bf5d9.jpg[/img][/URL][/move]
#Post#: 17945--------------------------------------------------
Re: Anne Cline Poetry
By: Anne Cline Date: December 3, 2014, 12:38 pm
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Acceptance
A friend of mine was writing,
Of clearing out some friends.
He spoke of judging them by actions,
As words are just tone blends.
These words did seem to many wise,
The thumbs they all popped up.
But then it started me to thinking,
And really woke me up.
The compassion that this posting lacked,
Like friends are just dismissed.
But eloquently put of course,
Was missing the whole gist.
For life is ups and downs we know,
Not rosey all the time.
And friends are not disposable,
If you have a clear frame of mind.
I thought back to other posts I've read,
How the joyous are judged as braggards.
Seems no matter what people say,
Someone is always throwing daggers.
So before you cast your judgments,
Analyzing all your friends.
Consider the path that they walk on,
Perhaps theirs is now on a bend.
Maybe they need a kind ear,
And not one to pick them apart.
Stop trying to fix every problem.
Just listen to them with your heart.
Casting away human beings,
Is a bold move to make in one's life.
You miss out on important lessons,
Have to endure considerable strife.
So I had to express my sad feelings,
That a person would lose someone dear.
Because of judgement and perceptions,
And simply refusing to hear.
Hear with the soul what their saying,
Let the person know you are there.
That person may be struggling,
There are hardships in life we all bear.
If we expected each human being,
To be perfect and beaming with light.
There'd be not a single friendship on earth, dear-
That's a lonely and pitiful sight.
~Anne Cline
#Post#: 17946--------------------------------------------------
Re: Anne Cline Poetry
By: Anne Cline Date: December 4, 2014, 10:19 am
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Widows Lament
My husband died on Christmas Eve,
His suffering long endured.
Myself and son's we prayed and prayed,
And hoped that he'd be cured.
I tried to stay steadfast and strong,
As I watched my family break.
The tears that filled my children's eyes,
Was more than I could take.
So numb of soul-and heart and mind,
I prod each one along.
Try to be the anchor,
So that they can all cling on.
Inside there grew a coldness,
Where once, a fair heart had been.
Aware of only sadness,
The blackness grew within.
And so I pushed myself to do,
The things I'd always dreamed.
Follow the light inside my soul,
As impossible as it seemed.
And as I tried to push my heart,
Into the world of the living.
I found the place was also dark,
Cruel and unforgiving.
And so I realized at once,
To settle back, and then.
Proceed with much more caution-
Where my trust had always been.
The journey now I take it slow,
Still shrouded by this veil.
But I feed that inner light within.
Cause it will never fail.
~Anne Cline
#Post#: 17947--------------------------------------------------
Re: Anne Cline Poetry
By: Clay Death Date: December 4, 2014, 9:05 pm
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fantastic poems Anne.
your creativity and your ability to create magic with words is
amazing.
#Post#: 17953--------------------------------------------------
Re: Anne Cline Poetry
By: Anne Cline Date: December 5, 2014, 11:54 am
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Miles Between
Many people live far away,
From the people who they love each day.
Miles of land, of trees and sea,
Prevent you-from being next to me.
The bonds of love they keep us close,
Though miles between-we think of most.
We use what time we can and do,
Use text to chat and cell phones too.
Video clips and photos shared,
While closeness, we do need-is spared.
Now and then we drive and fly,
Embrace in hugs-sit close by.
Catch up on moments we were lacking,
Sit up too late-mindlessly snacking.
Then like a flash, the days are past,
Though time speeds on, the memories last.
No price applies to time well spent.
For loved ones sure are Heaven sent.
~Anne Cline
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