Like This
by Jelaluddin Rumi, translated by Coleman Barks
If anyone asks you
how the perfect satisfaction
of all our sexual wanting
will look, lift your face
and
say,
When someone mentions the gracefulness
of the nightsky, climb up on the roof
and dance and say,
If anyone wants to know what "spirit" is,
or what "God's fragrance" means,
lean your head toward him or her.
Keep
your face there close.
When someone quotes the old poetic image
about clouds gradually uncovering the moon,
slowly loosen knot by knot the
strings
of your robe.
If anyone wonders how Jesus raised the dead,
don't try to explain the miracle.
Kiss me on the lips.
When someone asks what it means
to "die for love", point
If someone asks how tall I am, frown
and measure with your fingers the space
between the creases on your forehead.
The soul sometimes leaves the body, then returns.
When someone doesn't believe that,
walk back into my house.
When lover moan,
they're telling our story.
I am a aky where spirits live.
Stare into the deepening blue,
while the breeze says a secret.
When someone asks what there is to do,
light the candle in his hand.
How did Joseph's scent come to Jacob?
How did Jacob's sight return?
A little wind cleans the eyes.
When Shams comes back from Tabriz,
he'll put just his head around the edge
of the door to surprise us.
like this
The thirsty fish!
I don't get tired of you. Don't grow weary
of being compassionate toward me!
All this thirst equipment
must
surely be tired of me,
the waterjar, the water carrier.
I have a thirsty fish in me
that can never find enough
of
what it's thirsty for!
Show me the way to the ocean!
Break these half-measures,
these small containers.
All
this fantasy
and grief.
Let my house be drowned in the wave
that rose last night in the courtyard
hidden in
the center of my chest.
Joseph fell like the moon into my well.
The harvest I expected was washed away.
But no
matter.
A fire has risen above my tombstone hat.
I don't want learning, or dignity,
or respectability.
I
want this music and this dawn
and the warmth of your cheek against mine.
The grief-armies assemble,
but I'm not
going with them.
This is how it always is
when I finish a poem.
A great silence comes over me,
and I wonder
why I ever thought
to use language.
