This poem is dedicated to my grandfather, George Edwin Hurt Sr.

Between the prophecies of morning
and twilight’s revelations of wonder,
the sky is ripped asunder.

The moon lurks in the clouds,
waiting, as if to plunder
the dusk of its lilac iridescence,

and in the bright-tentacled sunset
we imagine a presence
full of the fury of lost innocence.

What we find within strange whorls of drifting flame,
brief patterns mauling winds deform and maim,
we recognize at once, but cannot name.
 

After the Poetry Recital

by Michael R. Burch
Later there’ll be talk of saving whales
over racks of lamb and flambéed snails.

 

H.B.
for Hermann Broch
by Hannah Arendt
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Survival.
But how does one live without the dead?
Where is the sound of their lost company?
Where now, their companionable embraces?
We wish they were still with us.
We are left with the cry that ripped them from us.
Left with the veil that shrouds their empty gazes.
What avails? That we commit ourselves to them,
and through this commitment, learn to survive.

I Love the Earth
by Hannah Arendt
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

I love the earth
like a trip
to a foreign land
and not otherwise.
Even so life spins me
on its loom softly
into never-before-seen patterns.
Until suddenly
like the last farewells of a new journey,
the great silence breaks the frame.

Abdul Ghani Khan – aka Ghani Baba – was an Pakistani poet, philosopher, engineer, sculptor, painter, writer and politician who wrote in Pashto.

Excerpts from “Zama Mahal” (“My Palace”)
by Ghani Baba
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

I fashioned a palace from the river’s white sands,
as the world, in great amazement, watched on in disbelief ...
My palace was carpeted with rose petals.
Its walls were made of melodies, sung by Rabab.
It was lit by a fair crescent, coupled with the divine couplets of Venus.
It was strung with the dewdrops of a necklace I entwined.
Eyes, inebriated by the stars, twinkled ever so brightly!

The Chalice
by Ghani Baba
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

A note of drunkenness floats on the dusk;
Come, drown your sorrows in the chalice!
What does it matter if you’re a yogi or an emir?
Here there’s no difference between master and slave.
Death’s hand, the Black Hunter’s, is weighing the blow;
Laugh! Laugh now, before laughter is ensnared.

Entreaty
by Ghani Baba
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

I do not need your polished lips,
Nor your hair in loops like a serpent’s coils,
Nor your nape as graceful as a swan’s,
Nor your narcissistic eyes drunk on your own beauty,
Nor your teeth perfect as pearls,
Nor your cheeks ruddy as ripe pomegranates,
Nor your voice mellifluous as a viola’s,
Nor your figure elegant as a poplar, ...
But show me this and only this, my love:
I seek a heart stained red, like a poppy flower.
Pearls by millions I would gladly forfeit
For one tear born of heartfelt love and grief.

(Written at age 15, in July 1929, on the ship Neldera)

To God
by Ghani Baba
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

i don’t say You don’t exist, i say You do,
yet Your universe seems to lack an owner!

za khu na wayam che neshta, za khu wayama che e, khu jahan de dasi khkarey laka be-malika kur

Look Up
by Ghani Baba
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

To understand the magnificence of the Universe,
look up.

Stargey bara ka ta portha, che pa shaan poi da jahan she

The Brain and the Heart
by Ghani Baba
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

The brain and the heart? Two powerful independent kings governing one country.

Khudaya aqal che o zra de wali rako, pa yu mulk ke dhwa khodhsara bachayaan

Someone please tell me:
How does one fall in love?
—Ghani Baba, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Last night the mountain peak
Spoke softly to the evening star.
—Ghani Baba, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Paradise lay beneath my mother’s feet.
—Ghani Baba, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Wherever our mothers walk, beneath their feet lies Paradise.
—Ghani Baba, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

 

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Mohamed Sarfan's picture

Dear Poeter, Memories of grandfather never leave the minds of many grandchildren until the last. Tears well up in my eyes as I think back to my grandfather's handshake. In a life that thinks only the rising will last, the sunset will imprison us to death against our will. All The Best My Dear Friend, Write More Congratulations

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