Posted by The poetic mood is prevailing today. Poetic awakenings. Dedicated to Smaranda.
Εχω ποιητικη διαθεση σημερα. Ξυπνηματα ποιητικα. Αφιερωμενα στη Σμαραντα.
Jalalu’ddin Rumi
Rumi (30 September 1207 – 17 December 1273) was a Muslim poet, jurist, theologist and Sufi mystic.
Rumi has influenced thousands of people across the centuries with his poetry and his vision of our relationship with God as a path of love.
His work unlock’s love’s precious secrets and initiates us into the mysteries of our most essential nature.
The Sufis understand the human heart to be the macrocosm, not just the microcosm, of the universe.
Whatever is in your heart is everywhere.
If you have anger in your heart, you will experience anger from others, ig hate, you shall be hated; if love, you shall be loved.
By knowing the mystery of your own heart, you begin to resonate with the mysteries of existence.
THE AWAKENING
A poem by Rumi
In the early dawn of happiness
you gave me three kisses
so that I would wake up
to this moment of love
I tried to remember in my heart
what I’d dreamt about
during the night
before I became aware
of this moving
of life
I found my dreams
but the moon took me away
It lifted me up to the firmament
and suspended me there
I saw how my heart had fallen
on your path
singing a song
Between my love and my heart
things were happening which
slowly slowly
made me recall everything
You amuse me with your touch
although I can’t see your hands.
You have kissed me with tenderness
although I haven’t seen your lips
You are hidden from me.
But it is you who keeps me alive
Perhaps the time will come
when you will tire of kisses
I shall be happy
even for insults from you
I only ask that you
keep some attention on me.
Giuseppe Ungaretti
Ungaretti is one of my favourite poets. I wrote an article about him back in 2009.
I start with the poem “Awakenings” in the original language, Italian, and then with my interpretation in English.
RISVEGLI
Ogni mio momento
AWAKENINGS
A poem by Giuseppe Ungaretti
My every moment
I lived
yet again
in a deeply rooted period
outside of me
My memory is back away
looking for those lost lives
I wake up in a bath
of things that are familiar and I care for
surprised
and at peace
I chase the clouds
that spread themselves smoothly
with watchful eyes
and I remember
a friend
who is dead
But what is God?
And the creature
buffled
with wide open eyes
gathers
star drops
and the silent field
And feels
to come alive again
George Sarantaris
