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the past

It has been many, many, many moons since I wrote my last ghazal poem. In fact, seeing as this blog serves as an archive/portfolio of my poetry, it’s easy to discover just when that was, exactly—December of 2012. Just about one month shy of 10 years.

Well, here it is:

the past

Once again these haggard bones and thews relive the past.
It seems no matter where I roam, I’ll never leave the past.

Your words, they still reecho up ravines and canyon walls
where aspirations reach like peaks, but not above the past.

However far our dreams may sprawl—however high they rise—
they come and go. And in the end, we merely weave the past.

A belching mire—hidden deep in mist—gave birth to all,
so everything that lives and grows is forced to grieve the past.

I found an alpine vale where I could fill my lungs with peace,
still shadows rise unwelcome guests—and I receive the past.

The road behind me stretches back and fades into a storm
that rumbles such uncertainty I scarce believe the past.

A soul fragmented by neglect, abuse, and bitterness
may find a way to live awhile, but won’t survive the past.

Unearthing ruins from memory may lead to understanding—
Yet you may also raise a corpse if you revive the past.

I know I’m owed a debt that even lifetimes can’t repay.
But, if I’ll ever thrive today, I must forgive the past.

Put down the seats and open up the moon roof—breathe a while.
The stars are out with yet another message, “Waive the past.”

So, yes, “the past.” It’s been doing a bit of haunting the last few months. I suppose it would be more accurate to say it’s been doing a lot of haunting all my life. So much of it is lost to me, hidden somewhere beyond my powers of recall. And yet it continues to bear influence on my daily life, my state of mind, my approach to relationships, everything.

As I contemplated this reality, a few lines came to mind that I felt could work within the ghazal structure, and so I finally had something to start tapping into this document that’s been sitting open on my last 3 laptops for the past 8 years. Yes, as in opened every single time I restarted the system, and without content that entire time—until now, that is. This is now my 135th ghazal.

There’s a lot of writing I would like to be doing—a lot of ideas I’d like to explore. But finding the time and energy for this has been difficult. A few months ago I bought a laptop that seems to be helping. I’ve gone through a few laptops and tablets over the past several years in search of the right writing and research tool. Turns out that—aside from dealing with sleep apnea, wonky biochemistry, my wife’s cancer, raising a kid, and working a full-time job—one big challenge I’ve struggled with is the ergonomics of typing and research, just sitting at and using a computer.

This laptop has an eraser mouse, which I thought had vanished from the earth close to 2 decades ago. And having a laptop with an eraser mouse I think has helped bring back a little inspiration and drive to write over the past few months because there’s so much less ergonomic strain involved. Still, time and energy are ever at a premium.

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to rest

This is a complete rewrite of a ghazal written in November of 2002. For some reason, I titled that original ghazal “*poof*”. Yes, with the asterisks. Having entered every title of every poem I’ve written in my adult life into a database, I can safely point out that this is the only poem I have ever titled in such a manner. I must have been feeling apathetic the day I completed the original. I’m not making “*poof*” available here because it’s really not worth sharing.

This rewrite extends the ghazal by one more couplet and the meter by two feet. It extends the rhyme to include partial consonance while keeping the radiff (or refrain) and it trades the use of my pen-name for allusion to one of its meanings in the final couplet. And, of course, it is now something I feel more comfortable sharing with my readers.

to rest

This poem has been published in my book an inkling hope: select poems, available in Kindle and paperback formats. Out of consideration for those who have purchased a copy, I have removed it from this post and online viewing in general.

Since the original has been completely rewritten, this becomes my 134th ghazal.

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Default

This began as a pregnant note, jotted down in one of my composition books as I sat in a fast food joint reflecting on the pangs of a friend’s recent betrayal of my loyalty and trust. This note eventually became the second couplet. My friend of many years turned on me quite unexpectedly and I was left stunned, numb, and pensive. I didn’t know at the time that the two lines I jotted down would later expand out into a ghazal that explored a broader spectrum of circumstances involving trust and betrayal.

Default

A field of dreams was sown by the hand of a spoken promise,
but they withered, for your words were merely a token promise.

The light outside is the veil of my great uncertainty;
inside, alone in the dark, I dream of your broken promise.

Your words were fuel for a blaze that warded off the darkness,
but soon the night fell back on embers of smoking promise.

Conviction was a spring that vanished as I neared it;
I was a fool, allured by hints of unspoken promise.

A single hope became the wellspring of all deception,
seeping a saccharine poison, its scent evoking promise.

For years the dreamer wandered through realms of loss and fortune;
adrift on phasing currents, he never woke in promise.

Delusion is a bright-eyed mistress assuring passion,
but time reveals her treacherous ways, revoking promise.

Potential rises like a fog, illumed by a half-moon,
and leaves the unsteady path before us cloaked in promise.

This is my 133rd ghazal.

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The Path

This is a rewrite of a ghazal written many years ago, making this my 132nd. The original ghazal used the closest equivalent in English of qaafiyaa, or that rhyme which recurs directly before the radif, which is the refrain. The rewrite uses another device entirely, primary alliteration (on the accented syllable) before the radif. Everything else is different, too.

Years ago, I wanted the poem to metaphorize that quiet calling that leads one away from common pursuits to something more personal, lasting, and perhaps even contributive. The rewrite is more focused on depicting this idea than was the original.

The Path

This poem has been published in my book an inkling hope: select poems, available in Kindle and paperback formats. Out of consideration for those who have purchased a copy, I have removed it from this post and online viewing in general. However, the above player can still be used to listen to it.

The original, written in June of 2002, can be found under this title: “Path” (no article).

Publication History:

LYNX (web-based) — September 2012

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What is a Ghazal?

The Rumi and Hafez. Though many such translations are interesting and enjoyable to read, it is not possible for them to retain much of the complex ghazal structure itself. This is because the ghazal’s native languages are extremely rich in rhyme and polysemy, which are heavily relied upon when writing them, while English offers relatively few rhyming options and only a handful of polysemous words and phonemes. Translations to English must be adapted to English grammar and syntax, which necessarily forces the loss of not only most—if not all—of the original ghazal’s structure, but its polysemy as well. What we see in the English translations is almost always just one from a series of several possible translations.

It is relatively recently that poets have taken on writing original ghazals in English. Because of the scarcity of rhyme and polysemy in English, poets often adapt the form to their personal interpretations and preferences. Many such adaptations are so extreme that it is often not easy to recognize them as ghazals at all.

It was only after consulting a number of sources that I began to see what the English ghazal would look like. And I could see that they would be difficult to write. In fact, very few true to form English ghazals have even been written, which is understandable given the restrictive nature of the form.

There seem to be ten solid points that can be used to define the ghazal as an English art form:

The ghazal is comprised of couplets called sher. Supposedly, each couplet should stand alone as a complete poem, the idea being to make the ghazal like a pearl necklace. The necklace (ghazal) as a whole is striking, but each pearl (couplet/sher) may stand alone in its own beauty and completion of expression. So, by some interpretations, the ghazal is not a poem in itself, but a collection of poems in the form of sher.

Poets tend to interpret this idea in very personal ways. However, to provide a sensible context, it is safe to say that however a couplet reads, it should probably end in a definitive fashion, as if a concluding period could occur at the close of the second line. It is the established understanding that there should be a discontinuity of focus and/or topic between the sher, but I have learned from scholars native to Arabic and Farsi that this is a misunderstanding of English poets and readers. The couplets can have great continuity, as demonstrated in my ghazal “Acorn“, or they can have extreme discontinuity, as demonstrated in my ghazal “Transfigurations“. This is really up to the poet and her present mood.

While the first and second lines of each couplet together often complete a thought, they are themselves each thoughts with some degree of independence. Hence a natural, brief pause should occur at the end of the first line in completion of the first half of the thought.

In Arabic, Farsi, or Hindi this is probably very easy. But I would imagine that this breather could occur somewhere near the end of the first line or the beginning of the second in order to grant more freedom when writing ghazals in English.

There are between 5 and 15 couplets. This is not an exact number, but perhaps the usual number, or maybe simply more of a guideline. I have heard that in Arabic there are ghazals that go on for several dozen lines.

The second line of every couplet closes with a refrain, called radif. “Refrain” is really just the closest English equivalent to radif, as the meanings are different. But, for the purpose of this article, adapt your use of “refrain” to meaning radif, those words or phonemes that are the same at the end of every couplet.

In the opening couplet, both the first and second lines close with the refrain.

The refrain is a word or brief phrase. When a phrase is used, it contains no more than three words. This also is not writ in stone. I understand that historically some poets have used fairly long refrains, which probably look quite natural in one of the ghazal’s native languages. But in English, no more than three words is probably a solid guideline to prevent an extreme overabundance of repetition of content.

A mono-rhyme, or qaafiyaa, is used throughout the couplets. This rhyme terminates at the syllable before each refrain. So, the rhyme is used twice in the first couplet and once on the second line of every couplet ensuing. If there are 15 couplets, the mono-rhyme is used 16 times. This can get interesting.

Similar to what we encountered above between “refrain” and radif, “rhyme” and qaafiyaa do not mean exactly the same thing. It would seem that qaafiyaa indicates a very specific type of rhyme–one that occurs between sher and just preceding radif. But, again, “rhyme” is the closest word available in English to this concept. So, for the purpose of this article, expand your understanding of “rhyme” to include this particular species designated by qaafiyaa.

Because of the general unavailability of rhyming words in English relative to the native languages of the ghazal, it should be considered acceptable to deviate from exact rhyme to the use of other types of parallelisms, both phonetic and semantic. For instance, in my ghazal “stardrift” I use disyllabic consonance instead of rhyme, and in my ghazal “moods” I use an associative parallelism where each word is hyponymous with the color brown. Such variation allows for a great deal more freedom within the form than does rhyme alone.

Except for the fact that each couplet uses a refrain, there is no end rhyme. However, end rhyme may be introduced as a compliment to the form. If end rhyme is used in any manner, it is used in conjunction with the mono-rhyme, not in place of it.

Each line throughout the poem uses the same meter.

Here it is worth noting that traditional ghazals use one of 19 specific meters. But, so far, I have not figured out a way to make an English ghazal adhere to any of them. I believe the variation of English accents makes this more or less impossible, so it seems my only choice for now are the metric structures found in English prosody. It is very important to poets of the languages native to the ghazal that the lines be completely isometric. For some reason, however, isometry in English poetry is now widely frowned upon. And it is difficult to accomplish in any case without bringing a robotic feel to the lines. But, when isometry is successfully employed in such a way that the words read and are spoken in a very natural way, this can bring a vibrancy to the ghazal form that is otherwise just not possible.

The poet uses his or her penname in the final couplet. This reference can be made on the first or second line. This is sometimes called the “signature couplet”. Traditional poets writing ghazals have often used this as a means of opening a sort of dialogue with themselves.

In my ghazals, the penname used is Zahhar. Since June of 2003, however, I no longer use the penname directly, but some reference to one of its meanings.

In reading many loose adaptations of the ghazal, I have found that the only points above used with some consistency are 1, 3 and 8.

Ghazals translated into English seem to also use points 2 and 10. Where translations are concerned, this makes perfect sense because words that rhyme in Eastern languages will not rhyme in English and rarely–if ever–will Eastern phraseologies used with a refrain translate directly into English. The translations themselves are not “ghazals,” but they certainly are “ghazal translations.”

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Reforming Words

This is a rewrite of a ghazal written many years ago, making this my 131st. The title, refrain, and preceding rhyme are the same, but everything else is different. Also, rather than using my takhallus (pen-name) directly in the final couplet, as I did in the original version, I just allude to it using one of its many meanings.

Reforming Words

We built this ivory dome on founding words;
its dream of hope sustained with grounding words.

Our Lady braves the darkness, torch in hand,
her call reechoed with resounding words.

In wisdom there is depth that can’t be measured
with just the simple plumb of sounding words.

Our elders gathered long ago and signed
a justice poignant with expounding words.

The multitude would never have been heard
without the glimmer of propounding words.

The graybeard mystic gained the truth of language,
and ever since has aired confounding words.

A wounded soldier presses to his brow
an old book full of most astounding words.

The shape of liberty has changed; the stars
are witness to the force of bounding words.

The original, written in February of 2002, can be read under the same title: “Reforming Words”.

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Offerings

This is a rewrite of a ghazal written several years ago, making this my 130th. The refrain and preceding rhyme are the same, though possibly more appropriately approached this time around.

Offerings

I’ll walk through tattered corridors of time for you;
I’ll pick through rooms dilapidate with grime for you.

I almost didn’t make it through yon craggy pass,
but I’ll go back and map that deadly climb for you.

Because the great flood covered riches deep in mud,
I dredge destruction from the fetid slime for you.

A legend tells of treasure sunk where memory dims;
I’ll find those depths and search that watery clime for you.

Since priceless pearls were buried with the fractured years,
I dig amongst these bones beneath the lime for you.

A thief once entered in the night and took all hope;
I’ve striven ever since to solve this crime for you.

We lean against a storm of sharp discordant words;
I’ll try to harmonize them into rhyme for you.

The soft wind carries voices from translucent skies
which whisper meaning on the garden chime for you.

The original, written in June of 2002, can be read under this title: “Offering” (not pluralized).

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Ghazal to the Ghazal

This is a rewrite of a ghazal that was written many years ago, making this my 129th. The refrain and preceding rhyme are the same, though possibly more appropriately approached this time around. I also wanted to bring a little Hafez into it this time as well.

Ghazal to the Ghazal

The heart may break its silence with the amorous ghazal;
the soul may sound its depths within the dolorous ghazal.

An ancient tongue arose from the dust of ancient tribes
and bubbled blue oases from the vaporous ghazal.

Long ago the broad Euphrates, dismayed by silence,
nursed arid roots which blossomed forth the prosperous ghazal.

In earthen cities, mahogany eyes and coal black tresses
have played by fountain springs to taste the flavorous ghazal.

We’re living rivers of light, each and all. So come,
partake of dreams inspired by the generous ghazal.

A traveler lost amid the dunes discovered water
by following the cadence of a rapturous ghazal.

Still a desert blossom shades the Poet of Shiraz
to honor all he offered through the rigorous ghazal.

When you heed the call to prayer, close your eyes;
the dry wind tranquilly refrains a wondrous ghazal.

There is a garden where the full moon casts her song,
awakening the roses with her decorous ghazal.

The original, written in March of 2002, can be read under this title: “English Ghazal”.

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moods

My 128th ghazal, inspired by a woman with deep brown eyes.

moods

a clarity settles deep in her soft amber eyes
and peace wells up from nearly fathomless eyes

adventure lures the heart to the mystery
of sidelong glances cast from her earthen eyes

imagination paves her path with promise
where patience lightly walks with brownstone eyes

hope found refuge under the feathery green
of one long look into her mahogany eyes

she cheers the sunbathed home of inspiration
with a glittering veneer of cherry-wood eyes

love tastes of strawberry kisses beneath dark curls
coated with the cream of her dark chocolate eyes

compassion sways against the sprawling skies
praying up to the stars with terrestrial eyes

Instead of qafiya, or that species of rhyme that occurs just before the radif (refrain), I used words loosely hyponymous with the color brown for an associative parallelism.

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spires

A ghazal! I haven’t written a ghazal since June of 2005. So that makes this—what?—my 127th. Feels nice to get one out again. I remember I got real tired of them by the end of my ghazal project a few years ago, but I never really intended to abandon them altogether.

With this one I veer away from using my penname in the signature couplet (last couplet) to using a reference to one of my penname’s meanings. In this poem it’s “open skies”, since “vast openness to the heavens” is one of the Arabic meanings for ‘Zahhar’.

spires

let’s twine our roots beneath the world together
until we rise against the wind together

let’s turn and reach to gather shades of light
with countless long thin leaves that wave together

let’s make a bed beneath our outstretched limbs
shaded by the dreams we weave together

let’s draw clear waters from the hidden earth
and breathe them out as vapors washed together

let’s share the sounds of creeks and faint cicadas
their rhythmic songs like magic wound together

let’s shelter soft brown trails among the fern
where lovers holding hands may walk together

let’s filter daylight from the open skies
through daydreams spun like amber webs together

Publication History:

Art Arena (web-based) — March 2007

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Stardrift

Written for Mahmud Kianush, a poet from Iran who used a couple of my ghazals in part of a BBC radio series covering the history and evolution of the Persian ghazal. It was a 12 or 13 part series, broadcast in Persian, and my ghazals were included toward the end as examples of how the ghazal form had found its way into other cultures and languages.

Having my work with the ghazal recognized by an Iranian scholar in this manner meant a lot to me. Thus was I moved to write and dedicate this ghazal to him. Most of the imagery is derived from his book of poems, Of Birds and Men, published in 2004 by The Rockingham Press.

Stardrift

This poem has been published in my book an inkling hope: select poems, available in Kindle and paperback formats. Out of consideration for those who have purchased a copy, I have removed it from this post and online viewing in general.

Publication History:

Art Arena (web-based) — July 2005

The Ghazal Page (web-based) — April 2006