For my father, nothing is more sacred than poetry — specifically the mystical poetry of Rumi.(The Great 12th Century Persian Poet) A Project by Kamran Talattof. I aimed to learn it by heart and under the expert tutelage of my father, a physician by trade and a connoisseur of Sufi poetry by tradition. Any of the smaller images on the poem page for a larger version) the Persian.Five years ago, in an act of creative desperation, I decided to immerse myself in the classical Persian poetry I grew up taking for granted. From now on, it’s me and a broken heart You’ll find glued to my Love’s door Now that broken hearts my love lovesHafez: Dance of Life contains 12 Hafez poems with multiple perspectives. To me, she keeps closed the door of union In pains, she keeps broken my broken heart. These poems are so strong, beautiful, and fresh in Persian that I wish you could enjoy them without any translations.
But like most children of addicts, I grew up resenting the object of my father’s addiction. By all accounts, he is a tried-and-true Rumi addict. Response for condolences in Persian when someone is offered condolences.My father, who grew up in Iran, recites Rumi’s verse with the same fervor and frequency most people reserve for food and oxygen. The Divan of Hafiz-Hamid Eslamian Join with Hafiz and His Incomparable Love Poems If like me, you too fall in this trip, Hold the wine and cup upon your lap.17th Death Anniversary Inspirational Quotes Love Poetry Urdu Anniversary.
Standing on my Atlanta balcony watching the sun rise over Stone Mountain, I felt a deep connection to every atom back to Adam and before, and to the divine spirit within each one of those atoms. For a brief moment before the hallucinations, delusions, restraints, seclusion and hospitalization that ensued, an intense calm washed over me. Soon, Rumi’s poetry became a lifeline, allowing me to survive both my own personal insanity and the political insanity to come.My manic, psychotic break from the rest of the world’s notion of reality was clinical and terrifying, but it started out soulful and electrifying.
The former creates a mystic, the latter a lunatic.When I first began studying Rumi with my father in late 2014, years after that psychiatric hospitalization, properly diagnosed and medicated for bipolar disorder and in recovery, I never expected that within a few short years my extended family in Iran would be barred from visiting us in the United States. The madness he promotes is rooted in ecstatic love the one he condemns, in petty fear. For what modern medicine lacked by way of explanation, Rumi provided through my father’s voice, visiting me on the locked psychiatric unit of the same hospital where he had performed thousands of surgeries and delivered hundreds of babies:In love with insanity, I’m fed up with wisdom and rationality.While Rumi considers insanity a mark of divine favor, he distinguishes between types. At long last, I was beginning to understand this poetry that had spoken to my father since he was a child in Shiraz.
Persian Love Poems How To Counter The
It may seem counterintuitive, but true community demands originality, not conformity. In Rumi’s words:Become the sky and the clouds that create the rain, not the gutter that carries it to the drain.Of course it’s easier to be the gutter than the sky, to imitate rather than to create, but imitation builds cults, not communities. Thankfully, as a student of my father and Rumi, I have learned how to counter the toll of this weight. Heavy with fear’s warped wisdom and rationality, crazier than anything mania ever induced in me, this weight is a reminder that clinical psychosis, even absent any mystical tendency, seems sensible compared with our current political reality.
This is why, for Rumi, ego is not only the worst of our natural and inescapable human afflictions but also the root of them all. This false feeling of being somehow “better than” our fellow human beings allows us to forget the common source of our humanity and thus to disconnect from the divinity within ourselves and one another. More than any other factor, it’s ego that makes us forget, filling us with a sense of superiority.
For decades, I failed to fill them, too distracted and distraught by the struggles along the way to notice the treasures lighting my path.But today, as the faith and ancestry I share with my father and Rumi have made me more of a target, more hated and unwelcome in my own home than ever before, I am grateful for this treasure trove of poetic prescriptions. What mattered was that I approached my poetic pilgrimage with patience and humility, recognizing every hardship as an invitation to step out of fear and into love in my own life:Every storm the Beloved unfurls permits the sea to scatter pearls.For as long as I can remember, my father has been scribbling these and other poems on his old prescription pads, signing them as though they were for any ordinary pharmaceutical and leaving them like pearls at my feet. Naturally, nothing went according to plan.Still, through all of it, I had my father to guide me and remind me that it didn’t matter how long it took to write this imagined book. I set aside a month to learn this poetry, perfect my rudimentary Farsi, overcome a brutal case of writer’s block and then research and ideally write a book about it. When I first flew across the country to study Rumi’s poetry with my father, I did so brimming with hubris and ambition. Love has ejected the referee.Indeed, when it comes to the prison of our own ego, love is our only ticket out.
Follow The New York Times Opinion section on Facebook , Twitter and Instagram. We’d like to hear what you think about this or any of our articles. Now I claim my inheritance I fill my prescriptions, and I pass them along.Melody Moezzi is a visiting professor of creative nonfiction at the University of North Carolina Wilmington and the author, most recently, of “The Rumi Prescription: How an Ancient Mystic Poet Changed My Modern Manic Life,” from which this essay is adapted.The Times is committed to publishing a diversity of letters to the editor.
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