This wonderful piece is from "Love Poems from God; Twelve Sacred Voices from the East and West," edited by Daniel Ladinsky and is by Tukaram (1608 - 1649) who in the introduction is described as the most famous saint in Marathi India. "His poems were playful and earthy, sometimes very innocent and sometimes thought-provoking, often changing from serious to comical within a few lines. His poems in the vernacular are called abhangs, which are poetic songs of a teaching and devotional nature. Even today many children in India grow up hearing these poems (the milder ones) recited and set to contemporary music."
Landlocked in Fur
I was meditating with my cat the other day
and all of a sudden she shouted,
"What happened?"
I knew exactly what she meant, but encouraged
her to say more -- feeling that if she got it all out on the table
she would sleep better that night.
So I responsed, "Tell me more, dear,"
and she soulfully meowed,
"Well, I was mingled with the sky. I was comets
whizzing here and there. I was suns in heat, hell -- I was
galaxies. But now look -- I am
landlocked in fur.
To this I said, "I know exactly what
you mean."
What to say about converstation
between
mystics?
Sunday, June 24, 2012
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4 comments:
Wow, this Indian dude reminds me of someone I met on the bus.
But how did “Landlocked in fur” get extracted from sands-crypt. This calls for a visit to the Ol’ lost in translation archives.
And don’t you just hate it when you realize nirvana and you say to yourself “Oh the Journey is done and I’ve reached the destination” and then that lets in the thought of “ wow I wonder if they can see me dancing on top the holy mountain with my arms akimbo”, and then the whole collapses in on itself backwards but faster, and all of the sudden you can feel the gasoline you are sitting in where it is still cold where the oxygen and saffron flames haven’t reached it or worse yet you stare ahead at the wall and the edge of the couch is there in hard focus and you are aware of the burgundy stripes and the paw on top of that and you can count every whisker around that grin, and it is the same Aahaa..Hah grin that your cat or are you his gave you the last time.
Thanks to Ann and Alon for a very fun Sunday read!!
love this poem!
donna
The interesting thing about the book, is the translations are very much in contemporary vernacular with all kinds of modern references, so they're are translated . . . very loosely, to say the least. But, with the droll ones, it certainly lets the comedy through, but I suspect translating purists would be horrified.
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