Pray for Damascus!

05 Sunday May 2013

Posted by Tea-mahm in Damascus, Syria, Travel, Uncategorized, Updates

≈ 9 Comments

From Syrian Poet exiled in France – Adonis:

Trans. From Arabic: Bassam Frangieh

Tomorrow when my country sings

With love flowing from me,

I erase the blackness with my face

And become a nation for every nation

So no darkness remains in our land

And no evil remains

Thus, say, I am free

And say, you are free.

Today I saw a name on my facebook request, someone I’ve thought about from time to time over the last decade. He is in management at the hotel where we stayed in Damascus, the Al-Majed (Spelled this way on the card, Maged on the building…). It will be 10 years this November, that Shabda and I landed in Damascus as part of a peace delegation headed by Elias Amidon and his wife, Rabia.

The fact that Damascus is caught in terrible civil war breaks my heart. Damascus may be the oldest continuously occupied city in the world. World Heritage states it was founded 3400 BCE. In 2003 it felt very safe to walk around there, and I did, often alone, feeling the heady ancient qualities, as if in the protection of a wise elder.

Our hotel was near a very high-end international hotel, and I had a daily routine of buying the International Herald Tribune there then stopping for a bag of fresh greens at the open market on another street. I’d ask the kitchen to lightly boil the greens for me. My friend, who worked at Al-Majed, needs to be mentioned here. When I returned from the north earlier than our peace-group, this man, whom I will call “B,” watched out for me. One morning he took me to the Al-Assad National Library, when he learned about my interest in writing about Prophet Muhammad’s wives.

Al-Assad National Library
Damascus

What a place! Built in the 1980’s this fancy new building houses all kinds of literature connected to the “ancestral cultural lineage,” 9 floors (two underground) and 40000 titles. B talked to the guard and convinced him that even though I was an American, he would vouch for me, that I needed entry, and here was my passport. (That was the era of Syria named as part of “The Axis of Evil” by President Bush.) I recall the place as vast and new, with a fountain and at least one cuneiform tablet on the wall. Wait. A Cuneiform Tablet just hanging on the wall? The first historical reference in the world was languaged in that writing on a tablet. Here is a good quote: “The tablets give a background into the world in which the Old Testament grew up.” [Researcher Ted Lewis June 1996, Biblical Archeologist.]

This library containes rare books in many languages and precious manuscripts – the pride of Syria. There is a map room. (Sadly, I never made it back to see detailed maps of 7th century Arabia…) After B left me there to pick his child up from school, I looked for someone with English. I asked how to obtain a stack of books on my subject, to sit and look through. She pointed to a long hallway with a fifties-style office of the chief official who approved and issued passes for the reading room. As-salamu ‘alaykum, I said, English? Wa-lakum as-salam, he replied, Française? And that was it. Me speaking my terrible un-conjugated French, my dismal Française, begging for a three-day card, as if my literary life depended on it. I think he smiled. I know he signed the card which I have framed and include here. It hangs over my desk.

Al-Assad Library Card with my name on it!

I spent the next two hours blissfully reading stories like that of the eclipse that happened right after Muhammad’s son Ishmael died, writing down sequences (they are before me on this pad: s27 614, outline of bio…. S14 809, Khadija, Mother of the Orphans….). I left as the great library closed its doors early, since it was Ramadan. I remember the chair I sat in, the look of the director’s desk, the cuneiform tablet. All thanks to B.

The night before I got a call from someone who said he was calling from the American Embassy and they were evacuating Americans from Damascus — within the hour. He said there would be a helicopter on the roof. I’d seen that roof. B, is this you??? Great peals of laughter. It was – a joke. At that moment I felt at home in Syria –– and I made a friend. Ten years have passed.

Al-Majed Hotel in the snow, and my friend’s son

So here is the conversation I had on facebook.

Me: B, is this really you from the Al-Maged in 2003? Good to be in touch.

B. oh yes, Thank God , you talked to me. The hotel is only for Syrians now fleeing from the war since we are still a bit safe area.

Me: My prayers are for you to be safe! I have such a good memory of the telephone joke you played when I was there. Also how good it was of you to take me to the library!

B. God bless you Thanks You don’t know our needs of some nice words like this…

Tonight there was a video of an explosion and bombings that were happening in Damascus. One way we can connect with these terrible things in a healthy way is to see the face of a friend living there. To have him or her in our prayers, to walk that tightrope between obsessing rage-fully about injustice and putting the whole thing out of our mind and heart –– because it is too painful. I invite you, my friends and readers to send a prayer to Damascus, to B and his son, his mother, and his wife, to the spirit of protection and PEACE.

<> B and his mother, may they be safe and well . <>

(for more on Damascus Peace Journey 2003, see Damascus Journal part I and Damascus Journal part II here on Completeword.)

<> <> <>

Writing Retreat in Wyoming II

09 Tuesday Apr 2013

Posted by Tea-mahm in Poetry, Travel, Wyoming writing

≈ 8 Comments

It started with Lynn, who works here and keeps an eye on us, saying: two inches of snow today, 8 inches tomorrow, as I made my morning tea. I could tell because the heat in my room was finally coming through the vent at around 7 AM. I opened the outside door and it was COLD. As I write this I see a blur of white out the window, and my comfy stove-fireplace has been showing those make-believe logs burning, heating the room all afternoon. Snowstorm.

Yesterday morning I walked across a brown landscape and recorded a meadowlark and later, an oriole singing with loud rich volume. In the distance

Kim’s photo of a Meadowlark

another bird answered. Frogs, where there were none. And a daffodil about to open, a yellow bud, all part of the now white world outside my log cabin writing studio.

Kim has a fire going in the main house living room. A real one with logs and kindling.

I have been here so many days I can’t remember. There are 4 days left. The writing has filled a small booklet, and I’ve organized it pretty well. I am pleased and amazed at myself.

A couple of days ago, Melissa strung her handmade net across the creek and I took pictures of it. Yesterday morning, where I sat for morning meditation, I could see sparkles as the sun touched it and the wind slightly moved it behind a wall of branches. It had a magical spider-web-with-dew feeling, a between-worlds shimmer, as good art installations can. Tonight I’ll be having what leftovers I can find in my section of the fridge. We got farm-fresh eggs today so maybe an omelet. The weather is supposed to clear by the end of the week so the prop plane can fly to Denver. If not, Melissa, Kim, and I will spend the night in a hotel in Sheridan. A new group of artists and writers will be here soon.

I cannot imagine a better place to spend 30 days writing away from home. Thanks, Jentel, for all you have given me. A beautiful gift.

up on the big hill in the 1,000 acres… <> <>

Solomon: One year anniversary

31 Thursday Jan 2013

Posted by Tea-mahm in DJ Solomon Kahn, The Urs of Inayat Khan, Travel, Updates

≈ 20 Comments

taking Solomon’s ashes to the Ganges! Follow the purple line…..

The anniversary – one year– that marks the day Solomon died, is here. First, I want to thank all my friends, my close support team, Solomon’s dear friends who call and text me, asking how I am, and sharing their stories and humor; and the communities of good-hearted people who have held our family in their hearts over the last year. Big Thanks for that. There seems to be much synchronicity and ease around this marker. As the mother of a child who died, the year is full of markers: memorial, birthday, wedding, Thanksgiving and Christmas. Each one a strong reminder of loss, for me and many others. Yesterday we honored him in San Rafael, but with Solomon there is always more.

As I write this I feel the enthusiasm and adventure so easily associated with Solomon Kahn.

It started with my dear friend Girija. She lost her son Jon just over a year before Solomon’s passing. He was about ten years younger than Solomon.We have met several times over the last six months. Mostly, I don’t care to talk about the loss, but with her – it’s been easy.

She will be in Bangkok on January 31. She told me she plans to make offerings at a temple there – in Solomon’s name.

Jon Brilliant is smiling and tall — in the front row. Girija in the bright shirt…

Then she goes on to Delhi, where she will meet up with her close friend Suzanne and they will fly to Benaras (Varanasi, on the Ganges) and release some of Jon’s ashes to commemorate the second anniversary of his death. She offered to do the same with Solomon’s ashes, and will do that on the anniversary of Hazrat Inayat Khan’s passing, known as his URS or “Wedding Night,” when he left the earthly plane: February 5, 1927. <> This makes me fee so happy to know that once again, Solomon is taking someone he never met before (Girija) on an adventure!

Solomons’s ashes and 4 tiny photos – each representing a different visit Solomon made to Mother India – into the sacred waters there. Here are the 4 photos that will be put in the Ganges… Thank you Girija.

Me and Shabda at the Taj 1976, 3 months pregnant with Sol.

Sol at a cave in Deradun, India when he was about 8.

Solomon and JugdishMohen, his drum teacher, by the Ganges when he was 15.

Solomon and Jagdish Mohan, his tabla drum teacher, by the Ganges when he was 15.

Solomon and Scott Kaiser at his wedding in India a few years ago.

Solomon and Scott Kaiser at Scott’s wedding in India a few years ago.

<> <> <>

On the 31st, Nicole plans to visit the Mountain, the place our son proposed to her. We will be in Maui, visiting Ram Das and feeling the beauty of the island on this anniversary of Solomon’s death. By reading this, you are with us. Take a moment to feel the blessing of Solomon is your life. Even if you didn’t know him, like my British friend who says he guides her with phrases like: Live Life fully. Have a good time.…

I’m getting better at it, Dear Solomon. One day at a time! Thank you for all you brought to so many —- and continue to do so, one gift at a time.

<> <> <>

New York Peace Walk, and remembering the Plaza

15 Monday Oct 2012

Posted by Tea-mahm in Events, New York Peace Walk, peace pilgrimage, Plaza Hotel, Sufi, Travel

≈ 8 Comments

Last week Shabda and I were in New York City for a gentle Peace Walk, inspired by Jack Kornfield. Buddhist, Muslim, Sufi, Jewish, and Christian leaders, we set the pace. I know that the power of that intention of peace held by nearly a thousand people walking in a line makes a kind of rain-of-light that falls on the intended wounds in our earth, and acts as a balm. When a Yogi sits in a cave peacefully, the crime rate in the world drops a little bit. And I believe this is practical thinking, not airy-fairy silliness. So I walk for Peace on Earth, particularly in the Middle East.

New York City knows pain. I feel when I am there, a kind of collective experience, a bit of the maturity the Europeans have. To give words to the feeling: Yes, we have known the harm of 9/11 directly, and that teaches us to overlook our differences and acknowledge a kind of brother-sisterhood beneath petty competition. It is just a layer, a whiff, like the smell of chestnuts, or the subway heat coming up through a sidewalk grill on a cool day. I notice it. I honor it. I am sensitive right now to loss. <>

THE PLAZA HOTEL

It is right to mourn

For the small hotels of Paris that used to be

When we used to be….

The Lost Hotels of Paris ~ Jack Gilbert

A day or so after the walk, I went to 5th Avenue and Central Park. We were meeting my sister-in-law for a stroll in the park. I was drawn to the Plaza Hotel. It is one of my childhood homes, and this year I have been going inside them all: near Chicago this spring – my own house of the first eighteen years; my deceased Grandmother’s beautiful place two miles away; and now the sublime Plaza, her sister, my Great Aunt Marie’s home for part of every year in the decades when the Plaza served as residences as well as hotel rooms. She was one of the last of those who got their mail there, and called it “home.” My eccentric Great Aunt took a special interest in me. She had no children of her own. My mother was unable to care for me in my teen years, and I was sent away to school, then college just outside New York City. Mrs. Paul Healy the permanent guest on the 13th floor was a kind of mother to me. My time with her was the sixties.

Me and Aunt Marie back in the day

Aunt Marie married the man who founded Lyon and Healy music stores, which did well in the depression. He played high-stakes Bridge on the French Riviera. Paul Healy died early, but she was a financial genius who played the stock market from the 40’s through 60’s, so she could afford this life in her widowed years. A strong independent woman!

She lived in the Plaza spring and fall, The Everglades Club in Palm Beach in the winter, and Claridges in London and the Meurice Hotel in Paris in the summer. She wore a reddish wig she called her transformation, gold lace-up heels, fancy French clothing and white gloves every time she went out. She would send me to Elizabeth Arden’s to get cleaned up, have my messy curls set in a Mad Men bee hive.

I’m ready to go…right out of Mad Men

We would go downstairs to the Persian Room for dinner to see Diahann Carroll sing: Everything’s Coming up Roses. I loved bringing my college friends to meet my “Auntie Mame.” For them it was a movie. Sometimes she fixed me up with men friends in their 50’s because at age 85, we all seemed young to her. She had hopes for me that I would marry “royalty,” but those were dashed when I became a hippy in the late 60’s. She stopped writing me. Wouldn’t speak to her beloved niece who had moved to California and disappointed her so. I was bereft when she died before she saw my life bloom…

So as I walked from palatial room to room, the Palm Court, the Oak Room, The Edwardian Room, where we shared quiet dinners, [now a fancy men’s boutique,] I gave a silent thanks to my wacky, wonderful Aunt Marie who shared her glorious Manhattan with me years ago.

New salon where the Persian Room used to be: The Plaza

The Bosphorus – and Solomon

22 Saturday Sep 2012

Posted by Tea-mahm in Bosphorus, DJ Solomon Kahn, Istanbul, Travel

≈ 16 Comments

Yesterday Solomon and Nicole were supposed to be married. But that was not meant to be, due to Solomon’s death in January. Shabda and I are here in Istanbul, and have been for several days. I felt the best way to bring closure to this last appointment our son had made, was to travel up the beautiful waterway that divides the European Continent and Asia – the Bosphorus. We were with our UK friends, Cinda and Tansen, and wanted to make a comfortable day of it, which meant taking the boat as far north as it ran, then taking a taxi back to the city in the afternoon.

We began by catching a 10:30 boat, which was quite full, as it was sunny and warm after days of showers. It departs daily from the Golden horn, a kind of inlet in the heart of Istanbul, then joins a remarkable kind of river, known as the Bosphorus, on its way to the Black Sea. In the course of thirty-some miles, this salt channel passes under two suspension bridges. As we traveled back and forth between the European and Asian sides, the river became a clearer blue, the shoreline went from a continual urban landscape to villages, and finally, up closer to the entrance to the Black Sea, wooded mountainous countryside.

Just past the second bridge, an hour into the cruise, I knew it was the right moment. I pulled out a photo of Solomon and Nicole taken in our backyard, their eyes the same color as the water. I held it over the side of the boat with some of Solomon’s ashes. In front of the beautiful village of Kanlica (pronounced Kahn-li-ja) I let the photo and the ashes go.

It’s amazing how a small ritual like this can bring a feeling of ease, of completion to the ragged heartache of the day. OK, the moment seemed to say, you can let go of this wedding that was not meant to be, let go of this and return to present time. Here in this beautiful place on earth, on the water with a light breeze on a sunny autumn day in Turkey, I’ve done what I came here to do. The next couple of stops brought us into an even more peaceful location. Finally the boat stopped at the fishing village of Beykoz – the end of the line.

Shabda led us to the Baba Restaurant where we sat at a table right next to the water, the clear sea-blue water. It was so peaceful after some days in the city of 18 million people. The quiet was like a strong presence. We ordered and ate delicious fresh Sea Bass and another local fish, Dorado, cooked to perfection. Here was the perfect company. The perfect food. The perfect day.

Very much like a day with Solomon. This cruise and lunch and easy time with friends. Yet I imagine he’d have rented a fast boat and would return at evening, passing under the second bridge, the one with a thousand bright purple lights lit like the Golden Gate Bridge. He would would enter the harbor and see the Blue Mosque and Hagia Sophia glowing on the hill. After docking the boat he, Nicole, and his family and friends would take the short ride up the steep tunnel tram to the top of the hill where he would be scheduled to spin at one of the dance clubs on the night streets near Tunnel Square. Losing a child is a heartbreak, but Solomon always did his best to make the best of any situation. His harmonious life continues to shine in all of us.

Notes: (In the photo to the right, the small white diamond is the photograph…The white X on the large top photo is the place on the Bosphorus where the ashes went.)

Writing Residency

11 Wednesday Apr 2012

Posted by Tea-mahm in bookstores, Monkfish Books, Poetry, Ragdale Residency, Travel

≈ 5 Comments

Tags

artist residency

In a few days I will fly to Chicago to enjoy a two week residency at Ragdale Artist Residency in Lake Forest. The town, thirty miles north of the city, is where I was born and lived until I turned twenty-one. California has been my residence since the sixties, and my last visit there was in about 1975, so this is a journey to my youth and childhood, as well as a time to work on my poetry.

I’m giving a talk at a bookstore in Chicago and reading from my book, UNTOLD. Here is the flyer. Will share my adventures here over the next few weeks.

Organic Roses of Ecuador

25 Sunday Sep 2011

Posted by Tea-mahm in Ecuador, Organic Roses, Travel

≈ 4 Comments

ROSES & ROSES is an enormous organic rose farm in Cayambe, Ecuador, with seven hectares in production, owned and operated by Maria Gloria (Magoly) Espinosa, a beautiful Ecuadorian, whose family held the land for over four centuries. In Ecuador there are 720 rose farms that ship first quality long-stem roses world-wide. But in this country, only four are organic. That makes the farm a brave, green sanctuary.

What about bugs, disease and fertilizer? When the farm switched over from conventional treatment, several plant enginers quit, because they could not imagine a large operation without chemical support. The community of workers is happy because all the symptoms and effects of chemical poisoning are absent. The business takes good care of employees; they are highly valued. The packing room felt spacious and cheerful. There is a soccer field outside the dining hall. The greenhouses smell minty, with only slight rose fragrance. I savored the moist earthy air.

Magoly took us on a tour. As a rose-lover, I was enchanted. There are shamanic herbs at the entrance of each greenhouse and many plants with essential oils placed throughout. Mint is planted and the ends of the rows, a special herb provides a barrier along the walls of the giant greenhouses to keep ants away. Each walking space between the rows is grass, mulch and herbs. Small birds do some damage, but are tolerated.

We walked down the rows topped with plentiful blooms named Anastasia, Pink Finesse, Malibu, Proud, Circus, Forever Young (red), Esperansa, Ambiance, Latina. A yellow rose, Fiesta is loved by the Russians – who are good customers of many varieties. Bloody Mary was changed to Freedom and sold lots more.

"Finesse," with 3 hearts!

The roses are not bred for smell, because they travel better with less scent. There’s a beautiful rose called Finesse, with “three hearts” inside the bloom.

Israel and Holland provided original rootstock, now the farm grows their own. We visited the greenhouses with fresh grafts onto the rootstock, saw plants that were just getting started. In another building I stood by a towering red rose. Amazing.

Workers spray roses with the same fungus that is used to make yogurt, also use 87 tons of sugar cane residue for organic material. They have a kind of distillery with a rich rose-spray tea that keeps bugs away. For fertilizer, fermented tibicos, a mixture of molasses and fungus plus iron (from horseshoes) is made and stored in a room of black barrels. All the water used in the farm is recycled.

The tallest red rose...

Small teabags cover the blooms from moisture of the spray, or in the case of the red roses, from blackening sunburn. The structures are plastic translucent sheeting which create a beautiful light. The high ceilings are ventilated from the outside with long horizontal openings.

There are walls of trees around the greenhouses to prevent the wind from damaging structures. As I write this in our friends’ house several hours south, thunder and black clouds and wind accompany a cool rain. An hour ago I walked here in the high altitude equatorial sun. This is the climate that roses love.

The flowers at this Ecuadorian farm are some of the most beautiful and sought-after roses anywhere. When carefully picked and wrapped, they can last up to three weeks. This place blends productive capacity with nurture, in the best sense of the word. Imagine if every flower grower farmed with this conscious and careful approach!

For general information on the subject of “organic roses from Ecuador”: <http://www.5min.com/Video/Ecuadors-Fair-Trade-Organic-Roses-516997727>

Saved by Beauty: a new book about Iran

03 Friday Jun 2011

Posted by Tea-mahm in Iran, Poetry, Shams-i-Tabriz, Sufi, Travel

≈ 1 Comment

On a Thursday a couple weeks ago, Roger Housden launched his new book at the Marin bookstore Book Passage. He shared the stage with Peter Coyote who asked him good questions. About 100 people turned out. Roger told the audience: “When I went to Iran I wanted to meet the creative people. Iran is 3,000 years old! Human rights, Sufi traditions of love and wisdom. I wanted to see how these were carried on in present day Iran.”

Roger Housden

Roger Housden has written a fine book.

Saved by Beauty, Adventures of an American Romantic in Iran is an elegant bridge between cultures. I read this slowly, tasting the literary flavors – not my habit, since I read quickly – even with poetry. I’m not into sappy “romantic” stuff. But this book is fresh and compelling. Unexpected. He is detained by Iranian Security. I mean really detained and questioned over and over. Scary.

There are gardens. “Paradise derives from the old Persian word for “garden,” pardis,” Roger writes. “So important was the garden in old Persia that when a new city was planned, the gardens would be planted before any foundations were laid.” You will want to read this chapter. He sketches the garden of Naranjastan in Shiraz with words that seem to be colored with artist’s pastels. Back in the hotel he checks in with the poet Rumi, whose book he carries on his journey. He opens to these words: Remember the proverb, Eat the grapes. /Do not keep talking about the garden./ Eat the grapes.

Some chapters are spicy. He is welcomed by Toufan, highly placed in the sophisticated Iranian film world. She is a woman who lived in L.A. for years, then moved back to Iran after her thirteen-year-old daughter suggested it. When Roger said he’d like to meet a Sufi Sheikh, she told him, “Sufism is all the rage here now… it has become fashionable with the upper classes the way Kabbalah has in the West because of Madonna.”
A friend in America gave Roger a jar of marmalade to take to her as an introduction. Toufan began the chain of connections that would bring him to the door of many creative and interesting Iranians.

She introduces Roger to the artist Haleh, who says: “Women in Iran today are breaking the hijab of expression, both politically and artistically. Women are expressing themselves now in every art form in a culture where they have been taught not to reveal themselves… And you know what gave them permission? The Revolution. The Revolution created a new form of language for foreign relations that was unapologetic, angry, and direct. That had never been known in Iran before…”

He travels around the country by himself and discovers Iranian Judaism, the Zoroastrians, and the Sufis. He savors the visual elixir of the heart of Isfahan – the Royal Mosque. He writes, “Isfahan is the Florence of the Orient, without the tourists.”

People, places, and a stunning experience that is life changing. He takes us along through the police interrogation. He emerges a changed man. “And yet, the very absence of my well-worn identity felt like a sudden breath of freedom: like taking off a tight fitting suit I had not even realized I was wearing.”

Saved by Beauty by Roger Housden, Broadway Books, Crown Publishing, 2011.

Untold, wordled in a cloud of words

15 Tuesday Jun 2010

Posted by Tea-mahm in Poetry, Travel, Untold, word-dancing, wordle

≈ 3 Comments

I’ve discovered wordle.net! To do this, go there and paste in some text. I dropped in my promotional material and the pattern above was chosen, with the most used words appearing larger. I decided to put in selections from the chapter on ‘A’isha, with “The Battle of the Camel” featured, and here is what appeared:

‘A'isha and The Battle of the Camel

Here is some of the text from Untold: A History of the Wives of Prophet Muhammad:

“Beware the barking dogs of Hawa’ab” is a phrase from the legend of ‘A’isha’s journey to Basra. In this tale, there were dogs in the town barking or howling. This caused ‘A’isha to remember Muhammad’s warning. Alarmed, she wished to turn back. But her generals, men invested in war, tricked her into going forward. Was this a story concocted by ‘Ali’s followers to discredit her? Whatever the truth, she continued, riding first to Basra, then to a place near the Tigris River where the armies faced each other and the leaders began to negotiate a resolution to the conflict. During the night fighting broke out and the truce ended ended quickly — with war. Untold, p. 44. [This is followed by a poem]

<><> owner’s manual: the howdah

The father of this howdah is dawn with no birds. Its mother is a lost prayer. This is the story of ‘A’isha, the ride to Basra, the sidewise motion of war. It is equal parts the camel’s wobbly stride and a woman’s keen eye.

The howdah is a covered platform strapped to a camel’s back. Some facts about the howdah:

ONE. It’s arrow proof.

TWO. One can peer out through the slits.

THREE. Dismounting requires that the camel kneel or fall.

‘A’isha travels inside a howdah.

When her army comes to Hawa’ab, the local dogs

set up a ceaseless howl.

Beware the barking dogs of Hawa’ab She hears him say,

“Turn back and do it now!” Were those the Prophet’s words?

‘A’isha’s generals bark and bark around her. She wishes they’d shut up. She rides on.

More things to know about the howdah:

ONE. It’s a fairly safe observation post in a battle

TWO. Above the battle, it’s a rallying point for the troops.

THREE. It’s a Pandora’s Box.

A war begins and ends in hemorrhage.

Ten thousand dead and dying men surround Aisha’s tall, red camel.

What happens to a howdah during a battle:

ONE. In a fierce battle it can become a target.

TWO. If the camel falls, the howdah crashes from a great height.

THREE. al Hawdaj, al Haddun! The other side claims victory.

The daughter of this story is a crushed bird. Its son is a desire for peace

folded in to that unspeakable war. This is the story of ‘A’isha

as Shahada. The story over and over, between one breath

and the next, anywhere else than this. Any other outcome. <><>

endnotes:~ This is a phrase that may have been yelled in battle as a great animal with a howdah fell heavily al-hawdaj,– the howdah, al-Haddun! – the heavy, tumbling, fall.~ “Beware the barking dogs…” was, according to some accounts, something Muhammad had prophetically told ‘A’isha years before (hadith). ~ Shahada means witness.

pages from Untold about Zaynab b. Jahsh

One morning Zaynab opened the door to greet Muhammad and something happened between them. Some say she was wearing only a single garment, and that he closed his eyes and said, “Praised be God the Great, praised be God who turns hearts!”…. Untold, p. 49.

<>~<>~<>

Notes from the Dodge Poetry Fest

21 Tuesday Oct 2008

Posted by Tea-mahm in Poetry, Travel

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Tags

Dodge, Poetry, Stanhope, Student Day

My good friend Wendy Taylor Carlisle and I spent four soggy but word-happy days at Dodge a couple weeks ago. I gathered sixty-some pages of notes on the four days of poetry. The website states that almost 20,000 people attended! Student Day claimed a registration of 5,000 high school students from all over the country. I spoke with youth poets from Maryland, New Jersey, and Jacksonville, Florida. Several offered to send poems to The Sound – the newsletter I edit – for the January poetry issue. Here are words from master poets Robert Haas, Naomi Shihab Nye, and Lucille Clifton when they spoke to the young writers:

Robert Haas

Just imagine a place where American High School students and American writers could get together and talk about poetry!

The order in which you present information is crucial. Robert Frost wrote: “Something there is that doesn’t love a wall.” A translation might read, “There is something that does not love a wall.” That simple inversion would lose the poetic beauty of the phrase. It can strike the reader – yes, but in examining what is meant, the order of the words makes it hard to pin that down…

Sometimes it’s good to take down barriers, sometimes it’s good to put them up. [He says later on referring to a Wallace Stevens poem] – That poem hypnotized me because it felt emotionally true.

Why is poetry so powerful? An answer to that might be: Whole worlds we acquire with a word – just buried inside one word!

Naomi reading at Dodge

Naomi Shihab Nye:

Here’s an idea: hand out business cards with the names of your five favorite poets.

Whatever the experience, you can always find a poem that’s been to that moment before you.

Poetry is the cheapest art. You don’t have to be rich to write, but you will be rich because the language can give you so much. Time slows down when you write a poem: think of this, notice that…take inspiration from things on the perimeters of your life, ask questions and wonder. Curiosity helps keep poetry alive. Poets aren’t ever bored. There is so much to think about!

Lucille Clifton:

There are all kinds of ways of being smart.

I want to write about what it is to be human, about us recognizing in each other a kind of sameness. This culture is afraid of difference. There are lots of different names for deity, and deity answers [to them all].

Walt Whitman didn’t have an MFA. I think one has to feel in order to be a fine poet; connect spirit, feeling, and intellect, or just write greeting cards.

Cleverness is often in the way of poetry!

If someone doesn’t teach you something, go out and learn it. The more you learn, the more you are able to cope with surprises.

If you leave reason out sometimes you can have important things, but if you leave heart out, your writing doesn’t live.

Poetry wants to speak for those who have not yet found a voice to speak.

The greatest poet writing in my time is Stanley Kunitz.

Our mission as poets is to let the poem become what it wants to be.

CompleteWord

Category Archives: Travel

Pray for Damascus!

Writing Retreat in Wyoming II

Solomon: One year anniversary

As I write this I feel the enthusiasm and adventure so easily associated with Solomon Kahn.

Solomons’s ashes and 4 tiny photos – each representing a different visit Solomon made to Mother India – into the sacred waters there. Here are the 4 photos that will be put in the Ganges… Thank you Girija.

New York Peace Walk, and remembering the Plaza

The Bosphorus – and Solomon

Writing Residency

Organic Roses of Ecuador

Saved by Beauty: a new book about Iran

Untold, wordled in a cloud of words

Notes from the Dodge Poetry Fest