Birdsong
by Rumi
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Birdsong relieves
my deepest griefs:
now I'm just as ecstatic as they,
but with nothing to say!
Please universe,
rehearse
your poetry
through me!

Jalāl ad-Dīn Muhammad Rūmī (1207–1273) was a 13th-century Persian poet, faqih, Islamic scholar, theologian and Sufi mystic. Rumi's influence transcends national borders and ethnic divisions. He is held in high regard by Iranians, Tajiks, Turks, Greeks, Pashtuns, and in the West and around the world. Rumi has been called the "most popular poet" and the "best selling poet" in the United States. Keywords/Tags: Rumi, translation, birdsong, bird, song, grief, ecstasy, joy, happiness, universe, poetry, birds, songs, singing, songbirds



The Field
by Rumi
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Far beyond sermons of right and wrong there's a sunlit field.
I'll meet you there.
When the soul lazes in such lush grass
the world is too full for discussion.



Beyond
by Rumi
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Don’t demand union:
there’s a closer closeness, beyond.
The instant love descends to rest in me,
many beings become One.
In a single grain of wheat ten thousand sheaves germinate.
Within the needle’s eye innumerable stars radiate.



Untitled Rumi Epigrams

Raise your words, not their volume.
Rain grows flowers, not thunder.
—Rumi, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Your heart’s candle is ready to be kindled.
Your soul’s void is ready to be filled.
You can feel it, can’t you?
—Rumi, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

This is love: to fly toward a mysterious sky,
to cause ten thousand veils to fall.
First, to stop clinging to life,
then to step out without feet...
—Rumi, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

I am not this hair,
nor this thin sheathe of skin;
I am the Soul that abides within.
—Rumi, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Let yourself be guided by the strange magnetism of what you really love:
It will not lead you astray.
The lion is most majestic when stalking prey.
—Rumi, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Forget security!
Live by the perilous sea.
Destroy your reputation, however glorious.
Become notorious.
—Rumi, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch



Two Insomnias (I)
by Rumi
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

When I’m with you, we’re up all night;
when we're apart, I’m unable to sleep.
Thank God for both insomnias
and their inspiration.



Two Insomnias (II)
by Rumi
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

When I’m with you, we’re up all night.
When we part, I’m unable to sleep.
I’m grateful for both insomnias
and the difference maker.



I choose to love you in silence
by Rumi
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

I choose to love you in silence
where there is no rejection;

to possess you in loneliness
where you are mine alone;

to adore you from a distance
which diminishes pain;

to kiss you in the wind
stealthier than my lips;

to embrace you in my dreams
where you are limitless ...



I Prefer
by Rumi
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

I prefer to love you in silence,
for in silence there is no rejection.

I prefer to possess you in loneliness,
for in loneliness you are mine alone.

I prefer to adore you from a distance,
because distance diminishes pain.

I prefer to kiss you in the wind,
because the wind is subtler than my lips.

I prefer to embrace you in my dreams,
because in my dreams you are limitless.



Untitled Rumi Epigrams

I am not this hair,
nor this thin sheathe of skin;
I am the Soul that abides within.
—Rumi, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

We come whirling from nothingness, scattering stardust.—Rumi, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Why should I brood, with every petal of my being blossoming?—Rumi, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Why should I brood when every petal of my being is blossoming?—Rumi, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Elevate your words, not their volume. Rain grows flowers, not thunder.—Rumi, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Bare rock is barren. Be compost, so wildflowers spring up everywhere.—Rumi, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
I want to sing as the birds sing, heedless of who hears or heckles.—Rumi, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Your heart’s candle is ready to be kindled.
Your soul’s void is waiting to be filled.
You can feel it, can’t you?
—Rumi, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Your heart’s an immense ocean. Go discover yourself in its depths.—Rumi, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
The only prevailing beauty is the heart’s.—Rumi, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

This is love: to fly toward a mysterious sky,
to cause ten thousand veils to fall.
First, to stop clinging to life,
then to step out, without feet ...
—Rumi, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

What you seek also pursues you.—Rumi, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Love renders reason senseless.—Rumi, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Love is the bridge between your Heart and Infinity.—Rumi, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Your task is not to build love, but to bring down all the barriers you built against it.—Rumi, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Let yourself be guided by the strange magnetism of what you truly love:
It will not lead you astray.
The lion is most majestic when stalking prey.
—Rumi, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

The moon shines most bright
when it embraces the night.
—Rumi, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

The moon shines brightest
when the night is darkest.
—Rumi, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

The moon is brightest when it embraces the night.—Rumi, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
If your heart is light, it will light your way home.—Rumi, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Are you still in the dark that your light lights the worlds?—Rumi, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Why do you remain prisoner when the door's ajar?—Rumi, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Why do you remain prisoner when the door's wide open?—Rumi, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
As you begin to follow the Way, the Way appears.—Rumi, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Come, come, fellow traveler. Wanderer, worshiper, itinerant: it makes no difference. Ours is no caravan of despair. Come, even if you have broken ten thousand vows. Come yet again, come, come.—Rumi, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Forget security!
Live by the perilous sea.
Destroy your reputation, however glorious.
Become notorious.
—Rumi, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Don’t be satisfied with stories of others’ accomplishments. Create your own legend.—Rumi, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

I was so drunk my lips got lost requesting a kiss.—Rumi, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Eyes identify love. Feet pursue.—Rumi, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Everything beautiful was made for the beholder.—Rumi, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
The essence of the rose abides not in the perfume but the thorns.—Rumi, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Ignite yourself, then seek those able to fan your flames.—Rumi, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
When will you begin the long trek toward reconciliation with yourself?—Rumi, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
There is eloquence in silence. Stop weaving and the pattern is perfected.—Rumi, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
The universe lies within you, not without. Look within: everything you desire, you already are.—Rumi, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

You must understand
“one” and “two”
because one and one make two.
But you
must also understand
“and.”
—Rumi, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch



The imbecile constructs cages for everyone he knows,
while the sage
(who has to duck his head whenever the moon glows)
keeps dispensing keys all night long
to the beautiful, rowdy, prison gang.
—Hafiz loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

An unbending tree
breaks easily.
—Lao Tzu, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Little sparks ignite great flames.—Dante, translation by Michael R. Burch

Once fanaticism has gangrened brains
the incurable malady invariably remains.
—Voltaire, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Booksellers laud authors for novel editions
as pimps praise their ****** for exotic positions.
—Thomas Campion, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

No wind is favorable to the man who lacks direction.
—Seneca the Younger, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Hypocrisy may deceive the most perceptive adult, but the dullest child recognizes and is revolted by it, however ingeniously disguised.
—Leo Tolstoy translation by Michael R. Burch

Just as I select a ship when it's time to travel,
or a house when it's time to change residences,
even so I will choose when it's time to depart from life.
—Seneca, speaking about the right to euthanasia in the first century AD, translation by Michael R. Burch

Improve yourself through others' writings, attaining freely what they purchased at great expense.—Socrates, translation by Michael R. Burch

Fools call wisdom foolishness.
―Euripides, translation by Michael R. Burch

One true friend is worth ten thousand kin.
―Euripides, translation by Michael R. Burch

Not to speak one’s mind is slavery.
―Euripides, translation by Michael R. Burch

I would rather die standing than kneel, a slave.
―Euripides, translation by Michael R. Burch

Fresh tears are wasted on old griefs.
―Euripides, translation by Michael R. Burch

At an angle of ninety degrees,
two trees share the same plot.
This one grazes the eaves,
seeking vain attention in the window glass.

The other, its grey ghost lazes
prostrate on the herb garden, reveling
in secrets of lemon balsm and thyme.

At night, the first becomes demonic,
obliterates the universe,
branches scraping the pane, scratching
like fingernails on slate,
its coppery leaves trying to get in.

Its partner slinks to earth,
seeking solace,
wringing conterminous roots till sunrise.

I've had my fill of these unrested moments
fighting the pillow, not settling.
There is no joy in seeking stolen stars.

My dilemma grows horns.

I half dream of ******,
at least amputation.

But even the dimmest light shines in the dark -
I consider its tormented destiny.

At daybreak, like a ****** I scale its gnarled branches
ridiculously one-handed,
the other a keen-toothed weapon.

I am an agile goat shinning upwards
feeding on dreams of peace.

Lost in the sky, I become sap,
melt into its arms,
(a vertiginous release)
I become a curved branch.

(There's someone standing in my elbow!)

Leaves helix down, settling on autumn crocus.
“Look!  Gold on gold!"

The grey ghost yawns, grows its shadow,
waves its arms demanding justice.

I wave back.

Suddenly terrified, I secrete an invisible scent.
The branches contract, tense as ligaments.

My heart plummets, rolls out recumbent,
presses heavily on the earth
listening to fleshy roots recede.

A few deft cuts......

Sun gutters through bereft spaces,
striking the window.
Both trees a shade lighter, a lighter shade.

Tonight I will dream under visible stars,
feel the moon's half-light slide over me.



copyright © Caroline Grace 2012

Here the horse munches the grass
little knowing the trots of yore
for time when lays the bricks with curse
unhinges the strongest door.

Here the horse is tethered to feed
little hearing the neighs of past
for time when crumbles sows a seed
grows new order from soil of dust.

Here the horse lazes in sun
little seeing the shadow's growth
for time when ends a period's run
buries in the walls a lover's oath.

Here the horse walks in a round
little feeling the earth's spin
for time when shrinks the highest to ground
kingdoms fall in heaps of ruin.

I come from a moldy house
With human tall grass,
I grew up with water balloon fights, Saturday morning cartoons,
And the child like imagination I still carry.

Happiness, sunshine, and rainbows were all I ever was.
Things like gangs, ****, and even death
Were all unknown to a child’s mind.

I come from the lazes, the loud mouths,
The goof-offs, the gammers,
The writers, the poets, and the crazies.

From sunshine to isolation,
Sandy beaches to hard concrete
A lone fixed house to an overpopulated town house.
Struggling daily just to put food on the table.
Keeping up the grades just to get to that end of the bridge we call high school.
Bearing false happiness just to get through life

I come from the breaking sweat father breaks every day.
I am from the goals and dreams my parents have accomplished

I come from the center of the universe
  Growing wings and flying down to the Earth below,
Landing on the majestic, blue calm waters.
Like that lone forbidden fruit gently falling off the sacred tall

The great, green Giant sleeps all through the day;
beer-bellied, toes outstretched, dipping into the sea.
He lazes beneath the springtime sun, while we sit idly
anticipating possibilities and to-bes.

This dead castle bursts with life,
seagulls, and sandwiches,
and cameras capturing the view
onto something they can hold;
something graspable.

                *

The Giant disappears at night;
merging with the mountains.
Fading into the dark, as the waning moon
creeps up behind and over and above;
dripping reflections to feel a connection
with the earth again.

Lovers wander now, wandering through the flirting streets
which tease with uncertainty, and curtain the
awe-striking depth of the darkness that dumbs their speech
as they 'turn at this corner and just along the promenade..'.

Pushed back by a blast of wind;
numbing hands cold.
Forcing them away from
prolonging a gaze on the Sea's cruel honesty;
knowing they would be driven mad
by endless questions of eternity.

Questions they attempted to drown out with music and dancing
and Tequila shots and the kissing and the music and the dancing...

But now in the air, by this high-tide, they are
Modern-age-small-town-philosophers.
'Have you ever seen the petrified forest?'
Will they tell stories of us too?
Life is so short and now is certain, well...
as certain as certain could be known for certain so..'

So, after meditating on the existence of existence,
they find refuge in the optimistic light of the stars.
Warmth for the spirit from the deep, dark, cold depth of the darkness;
'Because the night is so very young.
Look, there are still stars in the sky...'

Venus is inconsistent; an evening and a morning star.
And, oh, is that Orion's belt?


         Lying on the floor, in the morning, after a night of philosophy.

They wish to lionize me,
But I refuse.
I turn my face away
But still look them in theirs
And tell them plainly,
“No, that’s not for me.”

A mouse is a mouse
No matter how big
The mane that’s ****** upon it.
A lion roars,
So big and proud,
But he lazes about in the sun
As his fur grows warm
And his eyes grow heavy.
A mouse is small,
But she’s busy.
Her heart pounds fast
As she avoids being seen
While at the same time
Leaving traces of her existence.

The lion will never
Sneak around in secret,
And the mouse will never
Boldly squeak for attention.

A mouse is small;
Any mane would go unnoticed.
A lion is big;
It will be noticed even without his crown.

And as a mouse
Will never be lionized,
Neither will I.

Remote cottage in a blanket fold
of purple hills in spring
a gem beneath a sky of blue and gold,
a peaceful, quiet thing.
Summer lazes where the spring has been,
a fragrant, scented cloak;
then hills, from purple, change to yellow, green
and russet-brown and oak.
Autumn passes by this lonely site,
and cold the winter breathes
laying down her shroud of silver-white
on autumn's dying leaves.
Remote cottage in a blanket fold
of white awaiting spring;
warm beneath a dying winter cold
a peaceful, quiet thing.

Our laziest mother
when the maid doesn't come to work
tires giving us chores.

wants we make her tea
as she lazes on the bed
selective worker.
1/3/2024

god, what an awful 48 hours,
     insomnia without my anti-depressant
25mg pops and
            painkiller: pain-keeper...
**** sicks from the top
  and you get a chance to form a reply,
or rather, a reply comes out
    to the sithering event horizon
                           like... anything might...
i blame the change in climate,
after all an island climate is so much
different to continental climate...
       vaguely, what the hell did i do
for the past two months?
             spent it with my dementia prone
grandfather and:
     a neurotic grandmother...
             watched one act of lunacy that
you probably wouldn't forget,
trying to stop my grandmother
   from calling my grandfather names
e.g. to idiot! debil!
                          while he decided it
was 9am at 2am in the morning,
    walking out of the house in his
pajamas...
             and: lost... an abyss behind the
days... fell, broke his coffee table,
looked at me with bulldog mouth nearing
frothing...
               lunacy theatre...
               but try calming a scolding
woman while trying the dementia prone
old father to go back to sleep...
                      even though i did cook
for them for two months,
   sometimes we'd sit on the balcony on
Sunday and eat, the most perfect
poultry roast, roast tatties and a zingy
salad...
                    and i'm not that bad at
fixing up a kitchen,
    the bare minimum since these aren't
the sort of people who need fancy-fancy
details...
          freshened up the walls in a pale
canary yellow,
     painted the furniture sides and details
white to match up with freahly
bought grey wooden chairs...
       refreshed the floor,
          sure, linoleum... but it was
originally linoleum, and...
            i'm apparently pretty good at it...
        not to mention i did manage to
  to finally finish H. Sienkiewicz's
   nights of the teutonic order (krzyżacy) -
because i had to watch
            the Aleksander Ford film...
only today i remarked to my mother who's
not even 60 whop began walking
with a walking stick,
     matriachal and murmuring under
her breath in the candle:
                             to imagine such will...
(a) not enough teutonic knights for my liking,
(b) the film had to avoid so much
plot embedded in the book...
    (c) why the hell do i identify
   with these knights?
                introduction with conrad,
  i'm guessing,
       and all the fanciful names...
                 e.g. frederick von wallerond...
names as pristine as **** uniforms:
                     you almost want to have them...
but this is a story about the dawn
of the 15th century...
               you have Hastings 1066 in
the west...
               and you have Tannenberg of
1410...
                  maybe because
gott, mit uns! sounds so hard-on
                          while listening to
                an alle krieger by und ein...
or?
            see... speaking english,
                     the "almost" unrecognisable
version of german...
      you... become fanciful,
    with a history...
                    almost attempting to be closer
to home...
         with an intact psyche at least:
not bothered by a tongue per se...
                   werner von tettigen:
                                      kommen auf!      
and that lightning krieg just last weekend?
    public houses in Marienburg...
               angel session:
   ****, forgot my genitals!
                forgot my genitals i said to her,
can we pretend
               i am both the mouth
of Vul'              and the tongue of Phal'?
                          Lusva was born
                          leeches stuck to
        the mime language of hearts.
                             funny you should say...
        **** usually sinks to the bottom
and then back up...
    michael rotondo...
                         we heard that one surface...
but only a week later,
   in a respetable english publication
             that's the times:
   style supplement...
               a certain francesca segal
moved back into her mother's house...
            two children and a husband
  towed...
                         but no... nothing of
the ordinary:
                       mickey was saying:
   i'm like air... sometimes there...
           can't defend him either...
                                  i know, the minor
detail... 6 months in...
            but then there's the oddity of work...
can anyone even comprehend
michael getting the sort of job
francesca has?
                      now all that i want to do
is work in my pyjamas, within arm's reach
of a well-stocked fridge
                            and a hot kettle...    
it's these little intricacies of
the story...
               i'm happy to have "suffered"
past the 48 hours thinking:
                 why did i accidently steal
ten quid from a teenager that
started to mouth me off when i bought
him 40% rather than pissy-juice friendly...
and the moral conundrum is
   with the already drunk or sober teen
who can't keep his mouth shut...
    ****... when me, Peter and Kieraan
were growing up, we'd be buying
      cheap cider from the local indian corner
shop and play snooker at
                 the local youth club...  
   ah man... there's hardly a point...
     there's a psychotic itch, a taunting line
you don't want to cross confined
    to the word:              loo       sir...    
****, that's hardly metaphorical...
                                      low       ner(d)?
                see, already soo'unds better...
****... why did i even begin this
                                               narrative?
oh, right...
                         the fatherly concern for
the oedipus son...
                                      yet the daughter
always has a hard time with
her mum...
                        household grievances...
it would have been a nice theory...
had i not the capacity to look for
          Charon with two coins on my eyes
when i look at a *******...
****... it's like the heart could never be
as pristine as to involve a me
                            in the whole affair...
it must be the whole oedipus complex
inverted-stigma...
                      apart from the commentary
*******...
              i guess i'll have to bury mine...
properly... unlike i buried her cat that
was poisoned by my neighbours...
               poor ******... hope you like
the piece grave i hacked off...
                   don't worry, it didn't belong
to anyone,
      stacked like in a jewish cemetary...
who knows...
          maybe i buried a holocaust victim
into a body of a cat, that now lazes
                        around ha-shem's throne?
i still need to find that teenager
before his "uncle" finds me and give
him back the ten quid...
                     drank the ***** though...
funny...
     michael wouldn't have this sort
of problem if...
                                            grandparents...
but then you wonder about
  michael's parents...
             so... we much of your parents
lately?
                   there's a 1 in 4 chance that
                              one of them is still alive;
     mine was 3 in 4 till about 5 years ago.