We Should Talk about This Problem -- Hafiz

Guest poem sent in by Pavi Krishnan
(Poem #1654) We Should Talk about This Problem
 There is a Beautiful Creature
 Living in a hole you have dug.

 So at night
 I set fruit and grains
 And little pots of wine and milk
 Beside your soft earthen mounds,

 And I often sing.

 But still, my dear,
 You do not come out.

 I have fallen in love with Someone
 Who hides inside you.

 We should talk about this problem---

 Otherwise,
 I will never leave you alone.
-- Hafiz
Such a beguiling poem. It calls out to you with such patient, laughing
tenderness that the proud and frightened creature somewhere inside lifts its
small head in helpless confusion and wonder - this then the beginning of the
end - of glittery-eyed guardedness and a long lack of faith. A fierce
loneliness that must finally give way to love's kindness too sweetly
intentioned to be condescension. How scandalously fond I have grown of this
Sufi poet-saint whose name is Hafiz - and to think we only just met. I like
his willingness to confront the seeming stuck-ness of the situation with
such a sly, reproachful twinkle. I like the gentle humour of the understated
title suggestion: 'We should talk about this problem.' ...And I
particularly love the conclusion - for the caressing determination of its
exquisite threat.

pavi

[Links]

There's a biography attached to Poem #447.

http://www.hafizonlove.com/ is a nicely done site with a lot of information

11 comments:

  1. Oh I love this poem, it is simply beautiful.
    It speaks of an absolutely timeless ritual of wooing, and how often yo88u
    can fall in love with something because of it’s unattainable nature. At the
    same time it casts me back through the ages to every promised virgin-wife
    who has been blessed with a patient husband. This husband who has chosen her
    through love at first sight, or a single word. This husband that aches
    inside when she weeps on their wedding night instead of being angry and who
    spills his own blood and casts out sheets to the waiting courtiers.
    Thousands upon thousand of women I suppose have not been this lucky, but
    this is the image it evokes. The wry and playful husband setting gifts by
    the bedside, precious (probably aphrodisiac) fruits and liquids. Night after
    night he begs a kiss and each day he softly brushes her cheek as he kisses
    her still reluctant lips, then brushes her throat, then her shoulder, he
    chest, “her soft earthen mounds”, her leg, her ankle till eventually she’ll
    see his intent to love her and his patience and they’ll have reciprocal
    love. Maybe I’m reading too much into this? It’s just reminiscent of that
    possibility of honourable men through the ages and of the suggestions for
    reluctant wives in the Karma Sutra

    xX Coralie UK

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