perception

Title: Canadian Fall
Artist: Scott Christensen


Sanai (1118-1152) (Abû'l-Majd Majdûd b. Adam Sanâ'î) is revered as one of the first great mystical poets of Persia. He produced many lyrical poems and a religious epic, The Walled Garden of Truth or the Enclosed Garden of Truth (The HADîQATU' L-HAQîQAT).


Don't speak of your suffering -- He is speaking.
Don't look for Him everywhere -- He's looking for you.

An ant's foot touches a leaf, He senses it;
A pebble shifts in a streambed, He knows it.

If there's a worm hidden deep in a rock,
He'll know its body, tinier than an atom,

The sound of its praise, its secret ecstasy --
All this He knows by divine knowing.

He has given the tiniest worm its food;
He has opened to you the Way of the Holy Ones.

Sanai

lost years

Title: In the Mountains Artist: Albert Bierstadt
VLADIMIR VYSOTSKY(1938-1980)
Where are they now, your 17 years?You lost seventeen good yearsAt Bolshoy Karetnyi.Went through seventeen great fearsAt Bolshoy Karetnyi.Your black hand gun- anywhere?At Bolshoy Karetnyi.What's the place without you there?At Bolshoy Karetnyi. Need I remind you of that house once more?Naw, you still remember, that's for sure.Yes, anybody's life is only half complete,If you haven't walked Koretnyi Street.I'll bet you yesYou lost seventeen good yearsAt Bolshoy Karetnyi.Went through seventeen great fearsAt Bolshoy Karetnyi.Your black hand gun- anywhere?At Bolshoy Karetnyi.What's the place without you there?At Bolshoy Karetnyi. Well, a while ago they changed it's name,Things are turning into a whole new game.No matter where you go to find what must be found:I betcha that Koretnyi Street is all around,I betcha yeah You lost seventeen good yearsAt Bolshoy Karetnyi.Went through seventeen great fearsAt Bolshoy Karetnyi.Your black hand gun- anywhere?At Bolshoy Karetnyi.What's the place without you there?At Bolshoy Karetnyi. Translated by Hans SleurinkГде твои семнадцать лет...Где твои семнадцать лет?На Большом Каретном.Где твои семнадцать бед?На Большом Каретном.Где твой черный пистолет?На Большом Каретном.А где тебя сегодня нет?На Большом Каретном. Помнишь ли, товарищ, этот дом?Нет, не забываешь ты о нем.Я скажу, что тот полжизни потерял,Кто в Большом Каретном не бывал.Еще бы, ведьГде твои семнадцать лет?На Большом Каретном.Где твои семнадцать бед?На Большом Каретном.Где твой черный пистолет?На Большом Каретном.А где тебя сегодня нет?На Большом Каретном.Переименован он теперь,Стало все по новой там, верь не верь.И все же, где б ты ни был, где ты ни бредешь,Нет-нет да по Каретному пройдешь.Еще бы, ведьГде твои семнадцать лет?На Большом Каретном.Где твои семнадцать бед?На Большом Каретном.Где твой черный пистолет?На Большом Каретном.А где тебя сегодня нет?На Большом Каретном.1962

breath of life

Title: Half Dome, Yosemite Valley Artist: Albert Bierstadt
And the weaver said, "Speak to us of Clothes." And he answered: Your clothes conceal much of your beauty, yet they hide not the unbeautiful. And though you seek in garments the freedom of privacy you may find in them a harness and a chain. Would that you could meet the sun and the wind with more of your skin and less of your raiment, For the breath of life is in the sunlight and the hand of life is in the wind. Some of you say, "It is the north wind who has woven the clothes to wear." But shame was his loom, and the softening of the sinews was his thread. And when his work was done he laughed in the forest. Forget not that modesty is for a shield against the eye of the unclean. And when the unclean shall be no more, what were modesty but a fetter and a fouling of the mind? And forget not that the earth delights to feel your bare feet and the winds long to play with your hair. Khalil Gibran

fiery hoop of the sun

Title: Autumn Landscape Artist: Jervis Mcentee Belarusian Iby Valzhyna Morttranslated by Franz Wright and Elizabeth Oehlkers Wrighteven our mothers have no idea how we were born how we parted their legs and crawled out into the world the way you crawl from the ruins after a bombing we couldn't tell which of us was a girl or a boy we gorged on dirt thinking it was bread and our future a gymnast on a thin thread of the horizon was performing there at the highest pitch bitch we grew up in a country where first your door is stroked with chalk then at dark a chariot arrives and no one sees you anymore but riding in those cars were neither armed men nor a wanderer with a scythe this is how love loved to visit us and snatch us veiled completely free only in public toilets where for a little change nobody cared what we were doing we fought the summer heat the winter snow when we discovered we ourselves were the language and our tongues were removed we started talking with our eyes when our eyes were poked out we talked with our hands when our hands were cut off we conversed with our toes when we were shot in the legs we nodded our heads for yes and shook our heads for no and when they ate our heads alive we crawled back into the bellies of our sleeping mothers as if into bomb shelters to be born again and there on the horizon the gymnast of our future was leaping through the fiery hoop of the sun

juda

Title: FrostfireArtist: Dorthy Fagan

robe of splendor

Title: Winter Scene, Gloversville
How could I ever thank my Friend?No thanks could ever begin to be worthy.Every hair of my body is a gift from Him;How could I thank Him for each hair?Praise that lavish Lord foreverWho from nothing conjures all living beings!Who could ever describe His goodness?His infinite glory lays all praise waste.Look, He has graced you a robe of splendor>From childhood's first cries to old age!He made you pure in His own image; stay pure.It is horrible to die blackened by sin.Never let dust settle on your mirror's shining;Let it once grow dull and it will never polish.When you work in the world to earn your livingDo not, for one moment, rely on your own strength.Self-worshiper, don't you understand anything yet?It is God alone that gives your arms their power.If, by your striving, you achieve something good,Don't claim the credit all for yourself;It is fate that decides who wins and who losesAnd all success streams only from the grace of God.In this world you never stand by your own strength;It is the Invisible that sustains you every moment.
Saadi, translation by Andrew Harvey and Eryk Hanut - 'Perfume of the Desert'

lalla ruk

Peasant in a Festive Dress Lalla Ruk Dearest dream, my soul's enchantment Lovely guest from heav'n above, Most benevolent attender To the earthly realm below, You gave me blissful satisfaction Momentary but complete: Bringing with you happy tidings - Like a herald from the skies. I dreamed dreams of life eternal In that Promised Land of peace; I dreamed dreams of fragrant regions, Of a tranquil, sweet Kashmir; I could witness celebrations, Festivals of roses vernal Honoring that lovely maiden From lands strange and far away. And, with glistening enchantment Like an angel from above, - This untainted, youthful vision Came before my dreaming eyes; Like a veil, a shining shroud Screened her lovely face from view, Tenderly she did incline Her shy gazes toward the earth. All her traits - her timid shyness Underneath her shining crown, Childlike her animation, And her face's noble beauty - Glowing with a depth of feeling, Sweet serenity and peace - All of these completely artless Indescribably sublime! As I watched, the apparition (Captivating me in passing) Never to return, flew by; I pursued - but it had gone! T'was a vision merely fleeting, Transient illumination Leaving nothing but a legend Of its passing through my life! T'is not ours to harbor Beauty's spirit - Ah, so pure! It comes nigh but for a moment From its heavenly abode; Like a dream, it slips away, Like an airy dream of morning: But in sacred reminiscence It is married with the heart! Only in the purest instants Of our life does it appear Bringing with it revelations Beneficial to our hearts; That our hearts may know of heaven In this earthly shadow realm, It allows us momentary Glimpses through the earthly veil. And through all that here is lovely, All that animates our lives, To our souls it speaks a language Reassuring and distinct; When it quits our earthly region It bestows a gift of love Glowing in our evening heaven: "Tis a farewell star for all to see.
VASILY ZHUKOVSKY© A. Wachtel, I. Kutik and M. Denner www.russianpoetry.net Лалла Рук Милый сон, души пленитель, Гость прекрасный с вышины, Благодатный посетитель Поднебесной стороны, Я тобою насладился На минуту, но вполне: Добрым вестником явился Здесь небесного ты мне. Мнил я быть в обетованной Той земле, где вечный мир; Мнил я зреть благоуханный Безмятежный Кашемир; Видел я: торжествовали Праздник розы и весны И пришелицу встречали Из далекой стороны. И блистая и пленяя - Словно ангел неземной - Непорочность молодая Появилась предо мной; Светлый завес покрывала Отенял ее черты, И застенчиво склоняла Взор умильный с высот. Все - и робкая стыдливость Под сиянием венца, И младенческая живость, И величие лица, И в чертах глубокость чувства С безмятежной тишиной - Все в ней было без искусства Неописанной красой! Я смотрел - а призрак мимо (Увлекая душу вслед) Пролетал невозвратимо; Я за ним - его уж нет! Посетил, как упованье; Жизнь минуту озарил; И оставил лишь преданье, Что когда-то в жизни был! Ах! не с нами обитает Гений чистой красоты; Лишь порой он навещает Нас с небесной высоты; Он поспешен, как мечтанье, Как воздушный утра сон; Но в святом воспоминанье Неразлучен с сердцем он! Он лишь в чистые мгновенья Бытия бывает к нам И приносит откровенья, Благотворные сердцам; Чтоб о небе сердце знало В темной области земной, Нам туда сквозь покрывало Он дает взглянуть порой; И во всем, что здесь прекрасно, Что наш мир животворит, Убедительно и ясно Он с душою говорит; А когда нас покидает, В дар любви у нас в виду В нашем небе зажигает Он прощальную звезду. 1821