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English version by Priya Hemenway

No tongue can tell Your secret
for the measure of the word obscures Your nature.
But the gift of the ear
is that it hears
what the tongue cannot tell.

— from The Book of Everything: Journey of the Heart’s Desire, by Hakim Sanai Al-Ghaznavi / Translated by Priya Hemenway

/ Photo by jordanfischer /

This verse has an elegant subtlety, and trimmed with a thin edge of wit. Here Sanai is playing with the mystic’s dilemma of words.

“No tongue can tell Your secret / for the measure of the word obscures Your nature.” The direct encounter with the Divine can’t truly be put into words. Words are a creation of the limited mind, powerful, certainly, but limited. Words, even when masterfully wielded, can only describe limited aspects of limited reality. Words imply a fracturing of reality into countless objects, an impassible duality of observer and observed, describer and described. How can words properly convey the undivided Wholeness?

(There is really no ‘encounter’ the way I just phrased it, because that implies two separates meeting, when there is really only the profound recognition of unity. Words fail the Wholeness.)

Seeing this limitation, some teachers construct complex frameworks of descriptions. Some hint and suggest and riddle. Some fall silent. What is said and what is left unsaid… a fascinating game. But it is only the encounter (which is not really an encounter) that conveys the truth of all this.

The “tongue cannot tell” these things properly. “But the gift of the ear / is that it hears” anyway. That is, when we truly and openly listen, an inner whisper begins to draw the awareness beyond the descriptions, the suggestions, the silences. And suddenly there we stand, outside of all words and concepts that obscure while they define. There we stand, witnessing, participating in the living Wholeness that is the divine nature of undivided Reality.

I like the game of words, perhaps too much. But it is time for my tongue to rest and let the ear enjoy its gift…

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English version by Stephen Mitchell

(To Erika, for the festival of praise)

Being arches itself      over the vast abyss.
Ah the ball that we dared,      that we hurled into infinite space,
doesn’t it fill our hands      differently with its return:
heavier by the weight      of where it has been.

— from Ahead of All Parting: The Selected Poetry and Prose of Rainer Maria Rilke, Translated by Stephen Mitchell

/ Photo by quinet /

The great German poet Rilke has reminds us to engage in the wondrous and terrible adventure of our lives. The dove “knows what serenity is, for she has felt her wings / pass through all distance and fear.”

I love the line:

only the won-back heart      can ever be satisfied

And that closing verse…

Being arches itself      over the vast abyss.
Ah the ball that we dared,      that we hurled into infinite space,
doesn’t it fill our hands      differently with its return:
heavier by the weight      of where it has been.

Wonderful!

I hear that line chanting itself through my mind…

Being arches itself      over the vast abyss.
Being arches itself      over the vast abyss…

Have a beautiful day!

Rainer Maria Rilke Germany (1875 - 1926) Timeline Secular or Eclectic

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to fully explore
      a rustic rose
            the frantic bee disappears

— from Haiku: The Gentle Art of Disappearing, by Gabriel Rosenstock

/ Photo by Berverly & Pack /

It’s been too long since we last featured a haiku by the contemporary Irish poet Gabriel Rosenstock. I had planned to select a haiku of his on the moon — in honor of this past weekend’s full moon — but this meditation on the bee’s journey into the heart of the rose just grabbed me. Perhaps I’m getting impatient for warmer weather and the warm scent of roses.

I just love the layers of meaning we can read into these three lines. The more deeply we explore this haiku, the frantic mind, like the bee, disappears…

Gabriel Rosenstock Ireland (1949 - ) Secular or Eclectic Primal/Tribal/Shamanic : Celtic

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Again I resume the long
lesson: how small a thing
can be pleasing, how little
in this hard world it takes
to satisfy the mind
and bring it to its rest.

What more did I
think I wanted? Here is
what has always been.
Here is what will always
be. Even in me,
the Maker of all this
returns in rest, even
to the slightest of His works,
a yellow leaf slowly
falling, and is pleased.

— from Given: Poems, by Wendell Berry

/ Photo by Jonathan Gill /

It’s been a while since we’ve had a poem by Wendell Berry. And, yes, maybe this poem is for a misty autumn morning, but it suits a crisp late winter day too…

Again I resume the long
lesson: how small a thing
can be pleasing…

That’s the “long lesson,” the slow realization of a lifetime lived with attention: the deep satisfaction of simple moments. Grand experiences may serve as important punctuation marks to life, but it is only when we deeply engage with the gentle flow of small events that we come to know our lives. Remember, real magic is hidden; it is hidden in those quiet moments.

how little
in this hard world it takes
to satisfy the mind
and bring it to its rest.

And nature is our constant teacher and guide, again and again bringing us back to ourselves.

With the ongoing havoc
the woods this morning is
almost unnaturally still.

When we walk well among the woods, with the quiet attention that comes only when self is left behind, we glide through the eternal moment.

What more did I
think I wanted? Here is
what has always been.
Here is what will always
be.

And we just might come to recognize the Source of “all this” — right here, within this moment, within our own breast.

Even in me,
the Maker of all this
returns in rest…

Berry’s title tells us this poem is about the Sabbath. He understands the real meaning of the Sabbath. It is not the one day out of seven when one goes to church or synagogue. Sabbath is the living moment of sacred rest. It isn’t a question of how often we sit within a steepled hall. Until the mind quiets and comes to rest in the heart, we have not yet honored the Sabbath.

Have a beautiful Sabbath day!

Wendell Berry US (1934 - ) Secular or Eclectic

More poetry by Wendell Berry

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English version by John Stevens

When all thoughts
Are exhausted
I slip into the woods
And gather
A pile of shepherd’s purse.

Like the little stream
Making its way
Through the mossy crevices
I, too, quietly
Turn clear and transparent.

— from Dewdrops on a Lotus Leaf: Zen Poems of Ryokan, Translated by John Stevens

/ Photo by digicla /

I really like the way this poem opens…

When all thoughts
Are exhausted
I slip into the woods
And gather
A pile of shepherd’s purse.

Ryokan gives us a sense of thoughts finally tiring of themselves and falling silent. And only then does it occur to him to enter the woods — a monk, in his quiet, moving slowly among the trees in search of his simple meal of shepherd’s purse (an edible wild herb).

But it’s that second verse that really awakens:

Like the little stream
Making its way
Through the mossy crevices
I, too, quietly
Turn clear and transparent.

He has movement, yes, but it is effortless flow. His entire life at that moment is transparent, completely clear, free from self and the silting of mind. The question lingers: Shall we too slip into the woods?

Ryokan Japan (1758 - 1831) Timeline Buddhist : Zen / Chan

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English version by Robert Bly

The Dark One threw me a glance like a dagger today.
Since that moment, I am insane; I can’t find my body.
The pain has gone through my arms and legs, and I can’t find my mind.
At least three of my friends are completely mad.
I know the thrower of daggers well; he enjoys roving the woods.
The partridge loves the moon; and the lamplight pulls in the moth.
You know, for the fish, water is precious; without it, the fish dies.
If he is gone, how shall I live? I can’t live without him.
Go and speak to the dagger-thrower: Say, Mira belongs to you.

— from Mirabai: Ecstatic Poems, Translated by Robert Bly

/ Photo by Kraetzsche  Photography /

The name Krishna can loosely be translated as “The Dark One.” Mirabai’s beloved here is Krishna — God. God threw her a “glance like a dagger.” Since then she has gone mad, overcome with a “pain” where she can’t find her body. What does all this mean?

The Dark One threw me a glance like a dagger today.

I love that thrilling, illicit image… God as hunter, God hunting us… with looks of passion. It raises the question, If God is everywhere hunting us, lying in wait, continuously casting hot, cutting glances at us, why then are we not more often pierced? Why hasn’t all the world, like Mirabai, gone insane with love?

I suspect it is because too often we look around and see only the mask. We miss the smoldering eyes beneath.

The pain has gone through my arms and legs…

Many mystics experience a sense of pain or wounding as part of their union with the Divine, a sacred pain. For some, this can be physical and obvious to observers. This is perhaps most startlingly manifest in the great Catholic stigmatists, like St. Francis of Assisi.

Other mystics speak of a wounding in a more metaphorical sense. The pain experienced is the perception of one’s separation from God. But that pain itself is the doorway to reunion. By allowing oneself to become completely vulnerable to that pain, to surrender to it, the mystic finds the pain transformed into the blissful touch of the Beloved.

Your most secret wound is the doorway.

It is the pain of the pierced ego. For one with inner balance, where the protective but limiting shell of the ego is no longer necessary, that pain points the way to freedom.

For this reason, mystics and saints describe the pain as being “sweet” or joyful or beautiful.

…and I can’t find my mind.

Think back to your school days, the painful crushes in the hallways. Then you see that beautiful someone turn your way and glance at you. In that instant, the whole world comes to a crashing halt. The echoes of teenaged taunts and laughter and gossip fade away. Your very thoughts fall silent. If someone were to ask you your own name, you’d be unable to answer.

You’ve lost both body and mind.

This is the state the true mystic knows.

Go and speak to the dagger-thrower: Say, [I belong] to you.

Mirabai India (1498 - 1565?) Timeline Yoga / Hindu : Vaishnava (Krishna/Rama)

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But what I’ve noticed when people use the word ‘free’ in most contexts is that they use it in a loaded way. You’ll often hear people say of government services – education would be a good example – that it’s ‘free’. Actually, it’s not. But it appears to be free so they think it is. That’s what might be called an optical illusion. It should more accurately be called a mental perception illusion.

The nature of free is such that there contains within it a duality that cannot be escaped. All freedom consists of freedom to and freedom from. It can be likened to Kierkegaard’s Either/Or dichotomy. We’ll call it the To/From dichotomy.

The To aspect of ‘free’ (re: freedom) is an expression of liberty within an individual’s range of choices. Being in a state of ‘free’ gives an individual a right to make decisions regarding X without restriction. In other words, all options are open.

The From aspect of ‘free’ is the expression of restraint upon an external force that has the power or authority to restrict an individual’s range of choices regarding X.

Let’s put these definitions into the context of the political realm. If an individual is free then he or she is said to be free to do something yet free from something else. The X factor in the To aspect of free as it relates to the context of politics is the right to perform actions that do not injure another party who is also free. The X factor in the From aspect of free as it relates to the context of politics refers to a legal restraint on the external force of government to restrict an individual’s choices. That is, From freedom stops government from restricting individuals from exercising their To freedom rights.

How about some examples:

• Religion – To: Choose one; From: Congress has no right to respect one religion over another or prohibit the free exercise of any religious practice.
• Press – To: Write what you will; From: Government cannot stop you from writing.
• Speech – To: Speak your mind; From: Government cannot stop you from speaking your mind.
• Sex – To: Pick a partner; From: Government cannot stop you from choosing a partner, even a partner of the same sex or a partner that someone else has not approved.
• Firearms – To: Maintain a posture of self defense through ownership of guns and weapons for that purpose; From: Government cannot stop you from protecting yourself and your family.
• Employment – To: Choose your occupation; From: Government cannot choose your occupation for you.

I hope I have made these distinctions clear with these illustrations. Now, I’d like to turn them over into the context of poetics.

The To/From Dichotomy In The Free Of Poetics

Whenever poets and literary critics discuss free in the context of poetics, as in ‘free verse’, it is usually in the aspect of From. They are most often making a comment that asserts that free verse is free from meter. And it is. To some extent. Not completely.

In actuality, the From aspect of free verse is not a complete break from meter. That is the common conception, but it denies the To aspect of free. What the From aspect of free verse is, and not just on the surface, is a freedom from the constraints of meter. That’s a far cry different than ‘free from meter’.

Meter, it’s raw character, that is, is a constraint. It restricts the freedom of a poet to do as he pleases. The poet may want to write a sonnet that ignores the metrical pattern of iambic pentameter, but if he does so then he won’t be writing a sonnet. The constraint of the form – the meter – restricts the poet from exercising his freedom to do otherwise.

The To nature of free verse, however, allows a poet a full range of choices. It does not close off the choice to employ meter when and if desired. It simply places a restriction upon the constraint of meter just as the From aspect of political freedom places restrictions upon government to place legal constraints upon citizens.

Seen this way, poets who write free verse can exercise more options.

How ‘To’ Freedom Can Make Poetry Better

I believe poets, particularly free verse poets, who consider the ‘free’ in free verse to be an expression of the From aspect of freedom are limiting themselves and their abilities to create. Of course, a poet who writes only in meter isn’t writing free verse. That’s obvious. But a poet that mixes it up, with a little meter here and there thrown in with free verse lines here and there, is exercising a full range of options.

Poets who see themselves as free from the constraints of meter will likely not pay much attention to the traditional modes of expression that made poetry what it was prior to the 20th century. But poets who see themselves as free to exercise all options do not have such a restriction. They have the latitude to be more creative.

This is the basic building block of Millennial Poetics. The ‘free’ in free verse is an expression of To as much as From. The free verse poet does not have to employ meter and may never do so, but he leaves that option on the table. Not just from poem to poem, but from sequence to sequence and from line to line. Free verse is a To/From proposition.

Consider the following lines, trite though they may be:

I dropped my dolly in the dirt
I asked my dolly if she hurt
And all my dolly would she say
Was, “How the hell would you feel asshole?
It feels pretty crappy!”

Silly as these lines are, you can see the obvious metrical pattern in the first three lines. Each consists of four metered feet consisting of iambs – iambic tetrameter. But the last two lines of this sequence do not fit the pattern. The reader is free to emphasize the words of choice. One reader may emphasize “How”, “hell” and “you” while another may emphasize “Was”, “the” and “feel” in the penultimate line.

This is effectively what Ezra Pound meant when he said, “compose in the sequence of the musical phrase, not in the sequence of the metronome.” The intent was not to break free of meter completely, though that has been the effect in free verse circles.

Poetry is best when it carries a melody. Music. Cadence. Even without the meter. Poetry that has no rhythm is failing to do its job. It’s like candy without sugar.

The poetry of the 21st century needs to move back toward the musical and away from the blandly philosophical. Poets should study meter, not to employ its constraints, but to engage in its possibilities. By re-engaging with the poetry of the past, the poetics of the future can invigorate itself with greater freedom, a higher level of creativity, and an expanded range of choices for the poet. Free will once again be free rather than relegated to the chains of Un.