11. Encore
Eloquent PROOF, open your book of poems or from the point
of your pen shower forth your pearls of speech.
Your verses are perhaps too long, too many - but
since I find them
sweet and instructive, I cannot have enough of them!
I ll write a panegyric on a king whose gifts are precious
even if he gives me so many of them I can t stagger away
under their weight! So refresh those words growth hoary,
give new life to old saws, rain down a cloud of gems
and ancient earth in Springtime. This book
which at first looked too heavy, has become a joy
for me, just as an old shirt looks elegant again
when it comes back fresh from the laundry.
Poems from a heart-full of knowledge must be sweet
as spring-water poured from clean clay jug.
What is the spice of speech? Meaning and metaphor -
and yours is a cook s garden of poetic herbs.
Repetitive? Yes, but one need not fear repetition
in poetry which can only improve the more we read.
God seasons the pot of earth with tastes, smells, colours -
apples, oranges, walnuts, quince and pomegranate;
the grapes of the vine never clog your palate
even if they taste the same as last year s or
the year before. To the intelligent reader
wisdom and knowledge are the seeds of literature;
come, Sage, sow these seeds in my heart,
leave behind you a harvest of verse which will keep
your memory fresh (on its own level) as that
of the Prophet himself. Was it not eloquence
which spread his Faith to Earth s four corners,
was it not by his words he raised himself
on Seventh Heaven?
Earth s creatures may be
conquered by Wisdom only because the Almighty Lord,
the Subduer, is also the All-Wise. Contemplate
your body, see the soul that hides within it:
how can it be, when this too too solid flesh
sinks to sleep, that something remains awake,
seeing, speaking, aware? This dead carrion lives
only by a magic jewel, the amulet of gnosis:
shame and speech, praise and blame belong to it alone,
and when it departs, your body s no more than a corpse
why do you value skin and bones, and despise the true
and only Lord of your body? You consort with slaves
but have not met the master; know both
as they are in REALITY, for in this knowledge
(all wisemen agree) all wisdom resides.
Old fellow, if you neglect your better half,
don t complain if wisemen refuse you the
title of MAN. Body ad soul are comrades
in knowledge and action, but you have neglected
the affairs of the older and better of the two.
You treat your soul as if it were a stranger,
your body a suspicious and inhospitable
town-dweller; the wanders the streets unhoused,
unfed. Is this the custom of the noble host?
How can you train your soul if it remains
unknown to you? Make its acquaintance,
treat it well; your soul goes naked while
your body is cosseted in silks and furs. Shame!
What a state of affairs! Weave a cloak
with meaning as warp and words as weft,
for the soul must clothed in the texture
of Wisdom. Wisdom is a citadel, just as
the Prophet was acity of knowledge and Ali
its worthyGate (this is a sound tradition,
recorded by honest men). The knowledge and advice
which have issued forth from this Gate
are too exalted even to be calledknowledge andadvice ;
they bear the same relation to the ordinary sense
of these words as a rose to a thorn.
If you find Wisdom something mean and hateful, no wonder!
Even the camel (gourmet of thorns) refuses to eat
your wormy flower. I offer you a clue, a way
to that House of Wisdom; keep it secret, guard it
from the frivolous. If you find the Gate and
enter the palace, you escape forever this
caravan of demons, you will learn at least
why the cosmic dance was begun, and what
shall be the end of its monotonous revolutions.
The Architect of the galactic dome has brought you
here for a certain task - why do you shun it?
Feed your soul till it s fat on wisdom -
don t let it end its prison days lean
as a boneyard cur. Everything s found is its
proper place - to reach elsewhere is to make
unnecessary trouble. The world cotains only
fraud and deceit; if you want Wisdom, listen to me
and seek it in religion. This upturned bowl,
this sky under which you sit (as you imagine)
so safe and secure, is really as ocean, about
to fall on your head. Watch out! God has
chained you up in this cave only to protect you
from Satan s marauding band - you will never
realise how lucky you are till a day comes
which is a thousand times worse. The world
is a bazar where you must shop as if
for an endless journey, before you return
to your empty house - for perhaps you may
fall ill, and never find the market again.
O noble reader, act according to my words,
for in the great BALANCE, your deeds
must measure up to what you say.
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