A YEAR IN POEMS 4/13/2021

 

“Because I cannot sleep
I make music at night.
I am troubled by the one
whose face has the color of spring flowers.
I have neither sleep nor patience,
neither a good reputation nor disgrace.
A thousand robes of wisdom are gone.”

Rumi, “Ode 314” (transl. by C Barks and J Moyne)

Although ancient (mid-13^th C. CE) there is a timelessness about Rumi’s poetry. The verse could be as comfortably from the 18^th C. or written last week. That is the essence of Rumi’s creations. He found the universality in his own emotions, filtering them through the vista of the world at large. I find it comforting to see so much commonality of feeling across cultures and across time.