an Omar Kaijj'am poem + iets over Cheb Djalil (zanger) en andere zakelijkheden

Literal:

The palace where Jamshid held his cup
The doe and the fox now rest and sup
Bahram who hunted game non-stop
Was hunted by death when his time was up.

source: okonlife/poems


hierboven: een boekomslag bij poezie van Bahshar ibn Bur'd die oorspronkelijk uit Persia kwam maar zich vestigde eerst in Basra, later in Bagdad aan het hof van het Kalifaat - hij was blind en naar verluid lelijk maar zijn poezie waarover ik tot nu toe geen of weinig informatie gaf is prachtig, diepzinnig, vol liefdevolle beelden en naar verluid is deze ibn Bur'd de eerste van de moderne dichters in de Abassydische traditie//

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hieronder een verhaal over de betekenis van het bovenstaande vers dat ontroerenderwijs werelden met elkaar kan verbinden

Meaning:
The palace where Arthur sought the Grail
Is the resting home of the weak and frail
And the knight who challenged death on its trail
On the ocean of death forward must sail
Chasing the temporal is to no avail
As soon as you go through death’s dark veil.

Fitzgerald:

They say the Lion and the Lizard keep
The Courts where Jamshyd gloried and drank deep:
And Bahram, that great Hunter--the Wild Ass
Stamps o'er his Head, and he lies fast asleep.

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om ff te stellen: ergens anders wonen ook mensen// ons land is altijd een gastvrij land gebleven, ook naar het buitenland!

// één ding is mij met zekerheid duidelijk geworden: de standpunten en uitspraken van zekere heer Wilders - men denke ook aan de dichter Oscar Wilde - zullen niet altijd de volledige instemming van het franse publiek oogsten - wat het de wedstrijd Feyenoord/Cambuur van hedenmiddag betreft: jullie kunnen in elk geval zelf nadenken, daar is maar weinig van bekend in de spiegologie....

// voor het overige is het een wetenswaardigheid dat dhr. jhr. de Buer Clement Michel, hoewel niet van ijdelheid in de wieg gesmoord, zichzelf ook een 'cheb' acht, hoe Cheb Clement in het Marokkaans heet is hem maar mondjesmaat bekend aan het worden//

van het hof van de Kalief: een qit'a over de lente en de liefde

Ik ben aan het proberen een gedicht van Abdullah ibn al-Mu'ttaz (861-908) te vertalen uit het engels - ik geef eerst de engelse vertaling:

RAINDROPS:

= The eyelids of the burdened cloud let fall cascades

of rain, and the parterred garden is spattered with drops.

You see the exact spot when each hits the hoed ground:

it's like silver coins which bounce, are snatched, yet leave

a mark. So often the rain slaps the cheek of the earth.

There are running streams and the garden newly

blossoms. =

Actually this qit'a (poem) is about love and Mu'tazz poetry is remarkable for its strong visual expression, his poetry is elegant and reflects the joy in the all around light which gives his world it's rich appearance/

the translation is a bit too much realistic and no doubt in the arabian language he wrote in the sound is more abundant. Mu'tazz was a member of the Abassid family and grandson of Harun al-Rashid, he became kaliph for a day and a night but then had to flight for his enemies which didn't have such fine understanding about his inborn feeling of justice and peace - his end I will not mention like the poet lives on in his words of beauty/ 

I give another translation in Dutch:

uit de ogen van de ingetogen wolken vallen komen watervallen

met regen, en over de aardse tuin spetteren de druppels.

Je ziet de plek waar iedere regendruppel de aangeharkte grond raakt:

het is alsof zilveren munten rinkelen, worden gevangen, en toch

een teken achterlaten. Zo dikwijls slaat de regen op de wang van de aarde.

Er zijn waterstromen en de tuin krijgt nieuwe bloesems.

bron: 'birds through a ceiling of alabaster'- boektitel uit Penguin Classics

de groeten van onze andere meneer Buur minas nm. Bashar ibn Bur'd/Clem Bur / 

n.b. deze naam ibn Bur'd ontleen ik aan de dichter van die naam die schreef in de Abassidische traditie. 

Dichters in die tijd (7e / 8e / 9e eeuw) waren meer een soort diplomaten aan het hof van de kalief/ ik voel mij daarmee verwant en een dergelijke dichtkunst wordt niet zoals in dit boerenfluitjeslandje betiteld als "verward" , integendeel, het hof van het Kalifaat kende een zeer verfijnde cultuur en wie aan de luister van het hof bijdroeg werd geëerd//ik wil dit verhaal tevens publiceren op 'gutenberglibrarian' waarvan de titel slaat op de boekhandelaar die in het boek van George Orwell '1984' samen met een paar anderen de enige was die aan Big Brother was ontkomen/

Tenslotte een muziektrack getiteld: Harun al-Rashid Peace Theme / over de dynamiek van de sa'la'am in de arabische wereld/ de westerse wereld moet wat wennen aan de andersoortige toonzetting maar persoonlijk vind ik het muziekstuk heel mooi/ probeer er de tijd voor te nemen - alleen wanneer we samen met dit soort dingen bezig zijn i.p.v. focussen op ongein zoals IS (onbereikbare ideogrammatica) komen we er goed vanaf - ik geloof ook dat er maar weinig mensen ter wereld te vinden zijn die inzicht hebben in het Kalifaat en haar wezenlijke historische betekenis en invloed/

*) deze tekst werd eerder gepubliceerd, hoewel niet volledig, op Facebook/clem

the poem of the octogonic nightgown blues / 'however', we here saying dr. Moonlight

A story of clear daylight swept the nightly fears away


this formal electroïde has the shape of the lay-down ruban bow/
supposibly the energetic eternal movement reveals us the secret of life\
that growing up and falling down again and then again growing are parts of one
big movement that never comes to an end/

/the cheshire vow will bring this bow again in shape for going straight on giving strength to all
and all will see we'll be preparing as so well in the palatine row of this so cherished borrough high
ad what I plan now is for a next hunt to bring a success into this my show,
and off we'll go into the readable partridge woods of mankind's gentle love

let's say then we go first to church to bow and let us Michael row his boat ashore
then after beer and breakfast and the knowledge preached for going in our minds not to forget
the sanity that heals the holy heel and gives to Patroklos his veils when eight's in the hour 
we all go again to ride the stallions which do not count their easiest steps and then 
when we did leave the courtyard and passed the gate of life's obeity
permit ourselves thus with one bow to each to whisper at the stallion's ears the ready flow

by which we understand the road we go and have us chosen for our doing things as right as all do
like anybody else, to chose for love any show of boyish snoozing noses and tilled intaglia cowardish breeds and then this knowing so him rushes to go handsfree below and up the trail of this
so often waged melody and sing we then a song which sets our comrade's gown to give an'get
once more the shore of Michael and take we then of such somehow the cheaper sleep he had that is him well forgotten such habit does speak in unspoken words the meaning of the watch

and out it is with the 'how sleep did you?' and makes the bones more weaned than weak
and just in time until the nine takes weapons on and keeps the holy chips of love forbidden
in teaks and ticketing for all prevoyant stinchy pins the shout-outs for us to anyway and all
this kind of phrases are to be praised for belonging to true answer's wisdoms.

me just one question goes in frozen bows to retake knowledge follows my mind in going
before the frog asks me to sacrifice in tinned shimmering to seal my being goodman and his
togetherness with me is as much with his saying well meant that he is the goodnight's ferry
as much it's silly as is sully to feel stuffed with kind sufy amusements and such sandman fruits,
for his retard arrival to identity is no doubt a fascinating happening we seldom saw. 

to get us the moor did do his pledge also and him he says that so long all so kind
to be allegiance for once more and then he'll chat the charming cherry for the cat.
and even better will be more sweet the beehive doubts that he will eat saying he loves the trouts
and what he adds is making the scene he loves to shout so much after he had
tea and then he gives he merrily spots he knows he ought to go again for sure.

so he awaits the spoilish shouts back to his guard and make one means his loins to take them up and after all this home sweet home comedy actions he moves straight out to where nobody meets,
how taking a door open and then closed is always part of the festivity in a row to go and return as by binding vow, a fortnight this seems now to have been doing on, and me, I wonder what's about 
this tricky deeds that varied on and on the say and what culd bring the sweets of weeping.

for saying goodbye he makes tight with he'll be to come too late for dinner and I shouldn't wait,
the message means a seal for me and him to relate that to a carry-on groan in a bovary tone
to ask now highly in devotion pointing to his votif candle gift in a silver shuffeled offer.
life is an act enrolling in the mid of hell, and for me only stays this knowing,
that if love wouldn't be a mighty power underneath the all sold out concert playing here 
I could scream without thinking, afterthoughts or shame: 
is there anybody home to tell me what's the head and what's the feet for vows with upright laying eights?

To make the poetry more lightly to consume we give herewith attached a fantasy without any intentional meaning behind accompanied with some full dramatic music tuned