Mysticism of Rumi (Part2) - عرفان مولانا

می گفت در بیابان رند دهن بریده--صوفی خدا ندارد او نیست آفریده

Out in the desert,
a loose-mouthed sage was shouting:
a Sufi has no Creator
because he/she is not created yet!





حاصل عمرم سه سخن بیش نیست--خام بدم, پخته شدم, سوختم


The sum of my life
Is no more than these three words:
I was raw, I got cooked, I got burned.





تن خرقه و اندراو دل ماصوفی--عالم همه خانقاه و شیخ اوست مرا


My body is a cloak
and in it,
Lies the heart of a Sufi
The world is a Sufi-Convent
and He,
Is my Spiritual-Guide.





بهر جاییکه سرنهم مسجود او است--به شش جهت و برون از شش معبود او است


He is the One I bow to
Wherever I put my head down
He is the One I worship
In Six Directions or outside the Six.





تن ز جان و جان زتن مستور نیست--لیک کس را دید جان دستور نیست

Neither the body is veiled from the soul
Nor soul from body
Yet,
No one is allowed to see the soul.

The following is one of my favorite poems of Rumi..it captures the very moment Rumi was notified that Shams Tabrizi had been killed. In complete denial, Rumi desperately questions the messenger, and then begins to resign himself with the irreparable loss of Shams. It's the pure magical manifestation of Rumi's poetic longing for Shams.. The "Sun" being mentioned in the following verses by Rumi is in reference to Rumi's mystical friend, Shams Tabrizi, since Shams in Persian means the sun.

که گفت که آن زنده یی جاوید بمرد--که گفت که آفتاب امید بمرد
آن دشمن خورشید برآمد بر بام--دو چشم بست وگفت خورشید بمرد


Who said,
the "Immortal one" has died?
Who said,
the "Sun of hope" has died?
The enemy of my "Sun"
Came up to the roof,
Closed his eyes and said:
The "Sun" has died.

A Musical Tribute to Rumi by DJ Mercan Dede

" Mercan Dede (Arkın Ilıcalı) is a Turkish composer, Ney-Flute player, DJ and producer. He is a world music artist, playing a fusion of (traditionally acoustic) Turkish and other oriental musics with electronic sounds. The sound of Dede incorporates traditional instruments and other parts of the world, with horns, drum & bass dance beats, ambient electronic music and Sufi inspired spirituality.

Guide To Philosophy (Roger Scruton)

The following excerpts are from the eminent modern Philosopher, Roger Scruton's invigorating, compelling, and fascinating essay 'An intelligent Person's Guide To Philosophy'. Scruton's par excellence essay is A MUST READ for anyone interested in Philosophy or Philosophy related studies. On a personal note, this is one of the most enriching philosophical essays I've ever read. I highly recommend it to any 'aficionado' of Philosophy, or anyone wanting to learn and understand, in very simple terms, the often boring and heavy to digest themes of Philosophy.

'An intelligent Person's Guide To Philosophy'
Roger Scruton

WHY?
Philosophy exists only because of the question 'Why?'; Why-questions arise in the context of rational discussions; rational discussion requires language; language is organized by the concept of truth; truth is a relation between thought and reality and reality is objective: neither created by our concept, nor necessarily well described by them. Such is the train of thought that we have followed..

Philosophy-The love of wisdom-can be approached in two ways: by doing it, or by studying how it has been done..Plato and Socrates were citizens of a small and intimate city state, with publicly acceptable standards of virtue and taste, in which the educated class derived its outlook from a single collection of incomparable poetry, but in which all other forms of knowledge were rare and precious. Unlike the great Athenians, we live in a crowded world of strangers, from which standard of taste have all but disappeared, in which the educated class retains no common culture, and in which knowledge has been parceled out into specialisms, each asserting its monopoly interest against the waves of immigrant ideas..

Plato tells us that this life leads to a vision higher world, and Spinoza shows our world in another height ,under the aspect of eternity'. They reproach us for sensuous ways, and gently remind us, in the words of Socrates, that 'the unexamined life is not a life for a human being'..

Wittgenstein wrote that 'the world is the totality of facts, not of thing'.
(Tractus Logico-Philosophicus, 1.1)..

The French writer, Michel Foucault has invented a new way of doing history, based on the assumption that the truth of a thought is conferred by the system of ruling ideas..Foucault tells us(in Les Mots et Les Choses(1966)) that man is a recent invention, and we are understandably startled..

Someone could accept Descartes' argument as showing that, in the last analysis, the world remains hidden from us, lying beyond the boundaries of thought, but nevertheless believe that the distinction between the true and the false, the real and the imaginary, the objective and the subjective, are genuine and useful..

Hegel called the philosophy that he inherited from Fichte 'objective idealism'. The world is 'posited' by the self, and is therefore entirely composed of 'spirit': hence the name 'idealism'..That drama, give or take a few details, remains unchanged in Schelling and Hegel, and remnants of it survive through Schopenhauer, Feuerbach and Marx, right down to Heidegger..

It's tempting to agree with Nietzsche, that the philosopher is not interested in truth but only in my truth, and that the thing which masquerades as truth for him, is no more than the residue of his own emotions..

We're rational beings, and it's in our nature to ask questions. Dogs and cats live in a 'world of perception', to use Schopenhauer's phrase. Faced with something unusual, our thought is not 'What next?' but 'Why?' By answering the second of those questions, we can answer the first..

Maybe philosophical questions arise at the margin of our thinking, where the writ of reason ceases to run, and no more answers are forthcoming. Kant, in the Critique of Pure Reason, tried to show that this might be so..
Philosophy is useful to us, precisely because it, and it alone, can vindicate the concepts through which we understand and act on the world: concepts like that of a person, which have no place in science but which describe that we understand, when we relate to the world as it truly is for us..It is in this topsoil that the seeds of human happiness are sown, and the reckless desire to scrape it away, a desire which has inspired all those "science of man'- from Marx to Freud to sociobiology-deprives us of our consolation..
Philosophy is important, therefore, as an exercise in conceptual ecology. It is a last-ditch attempt to re-enchant the world, and thereby 'save the appearance'. Philosophy arises, therefore, in two contrasted ways: first, in attempting to justify the other kind of 'Why"', the 'Why?' which looks for reason, and the 'Why?' which looks for a meaning. Most of the traditional branches of Philosophy stem from those two attempts, the first of which is hopeless, the second of which is our best source of hope..

Flamenco Arabic, Omar Bashir

" Omar Bashir, son of the late, renowned Iraqi composer and Oud master Munir Bashir, is one of the most prolific Arab musicians today. With seven albums in a variety of styles to his credit, and an extensive resume of live performances in Europe and the Middle East, Omar is a rising star in the world of Arabic music in general and the Oud in particular.."

Sufi Jazz, Dhafer Youssef

Dhafer Youssef ظافر يوسف
http://www.dhaferyoussef.com/

"With his deeply affecting vocal style, a straight approach on the Oud (The Arabic lute), the Sufi-rooted compositions, spacey electric lounge vibes and a variety of fusion sounds, the Tunisian born composer, singer and Oud player, Dhafer Youssef is among today's shooting stars on the Jazz/world music scene.

Abusing Rumi, Scholarly Criticism of Rumi

Abusing Rumi [Scholarly Criticism of Rumi]

For God's sake, he is a poet, and one of the greatest.
By Suri Dalir

Rumi's famous lines from the overture to Mathnavi [1], '"In every company I uttered my wailful notes, I consorted with the unhappy and with them rejoice. / With unhappy and with that rejoice. / Everyone became my friend from his opinion; / none sought out my secrets from within me." are so laden with meaning-to use Rumi's own designation of a poem's content-that only pointing out some topical references are feasible in this short article. Embodying the universal desire and need of mankind to be understood and commiserated with, they denote the extremely difficult, nay, near-impossible task of fully understanding the mysteries of human nature. They reveal the lamentable fact that language, even as magical as Rumi's, is an inadequate vehicle for communicating the heart pangs, the 'pleasure/pain of love', the agonies of a tormented soul, and the eventual loneliness of man, "Be thou with or without a hundred thousand people" (Rudaki). Furthermore, they exemplify the challenge a Rumi student or scholar faces in analyzing, interpreting and explicating his unique poetry, his complex and sometimes conflicting (if not contradictory) views, each prompted by a different occasion and mood. They also foreshadow the attempts to force into the frame of pre-conceived perceptions.

One of the traditional approaches to Rumi's poetry, or rather only to his Mathnavi, is interpreting his poems (and I should add often in isolation) from philosophical viewpoint. True, Rumi, despite his conscious denial of philosophy and his contempt of philosophers, employs philosophical methods and premises to prove his theological and teleological outlooks. But this doesn't mean that Rumi is a bona fide philosopher who happens to choose the medium of poetry for philosophical discourses. M. T. Ja'fari typifies prominently of those interpreters who have donned Rumi with a philosopher's garb. Yet, claiming, perhaps correctly, to have identified twenty philosophical theories in the Mathnavi, he is unable, alas, to pinpoint Rumi's own philosophy, let alone define it. Another group-presumably taking Rumi's own view of Mathnavi as 'the Qoran in Pahlavi'-as the point of departure and a testimonial to their claims, portray Rumi as a great teacher of morality, piety and religious conduct. Others consider him the greatest mystic ever, without telling us in which definition of mysticism he fits. In one word, Rumi is measured by any scale, except his poetic genius.

No doubt, any researcher of Rumi is entitled to approach his poetry from any particular angle, or put his work in any perspective deemed appropriate, provided one takes Rumi's poetry is taken into consideration in its entirety. Portraying him as a representative of this or that trend of thought, or as an epitome of mystic devotion is but 'befriending' him for what we 'fancy' him to be.

However, eclecticism, though unscholarly, and at times, an indication of narrow-mindedness, is nothing compared to exploiting or abusing Rumi. A mulla exploits him to rebuke the 'slaves of matter and lust', who 'don't see what the food transforms to in the body', and that 'carnal soul is a dragon' (M.) However, he fails to see that sometimes Rumi, casting off the cloak of a preacher, also says 'food, burning in the body, turns into mental faculties', and that the 'wooden sword' and carnal desire are the means of training and preparing the soul for a transcendental love (D.) Our belletrists haven't fare much better than the traditional interpreters. For instance, the only comment Reza Baraheni comes up with by a brief reference to Rumi's poetry is that Rumi is a homosexual, Talaa dar Mes (gold in copper). However, the ghazal Mr. Baraheni chooses to prove his point has the least bearing, if any, to Rumi's homosexual tendencies, if, indeed, he had such tendencies. The late Shamloo, in order to prove the superiority of free verse to classical prosodic poems, and resorting to a line from the Divan, "Mofta'elan, mofta'lan kosht maraa", declares that that rhyme and meter hindered Rumi from fully expressing himself, and that "a great poet has been wasted in Rumi" (Jall-al-khaleq). If Shamloo had read Rumi's Fih Ma Fih, a booklet in prose which, supposedly contains the essence of his devotional and mystical views, he would have realized that Rumi couldn't express himself except in a rhythm and rhyme. Or if he had read the Divan with a little more patience, he would have come across a line, where Rumi says, (Haqam na-daad ghami, joz keh qafiye-talabi", 'The only worry God granted me was the quest for rhyme' D [2].) This is not to discredit the efforts of serious Rumi researchers, who have greatly contributed to our understanding of Rumi. But, what is disturbing, and even offensive, is abusing Rumi as a profitable marketing prospect-a rather dismal trend that has begun to trespass into the field of serious Rumi criticism. Some sales agents, who, shamelessly, appropriate even the title of Schimmel's excellent work on Rumi, are introducing him to the market as a teacher of love (as if love could be taught), and strange enough, as a great humanitarian. Massome Price, in her scholarly and original article " Is Rumi what we think he is", commenting on the misleading portrayal of Rumi by these 'spiritual' businessmen, points out Rumi's fanatic views and his contempt for man's trivial concerns or valuing his 'despicable' humanity. To add a note to Dr. Price's insightful observations, Rumi, as though to contradict himself, also stresses the deterministic view of man's nature and destiny, as many times as he reprimands man for his loathsome being, and asserts that "man is "what God has determined him to be." However, as in the case of anything else in his world of binary and polar oppositions, Rumi draws a clear-cut line between the elite, the God-chosen (pir, sheikh, morshed, o'liya) on the one hand, and common people on the other. The ignorant "un-chosen" are cows, donkeys, dogs, the slaves of lust (often depicted in obscene images, analogies and parables), deserving fodder and bone. While composing hundreds of lines on the sufferings of the lover-be it for the love of God or man-com-Shams-e Tabrizi, and dedicating numerous lines to the so-called miracles and extra-human feats of the Sufi masters, Rumi doesn't spare, in seven volumes of the Divan and six books of the Mathnavi, more than a few lines to the plight of the lowly and the so-called plebeians (avam). His astonishingly piercing sight which surveys the whole world down to the minutest detail, and his amazing insight that penetrates the heart of phenomena and existing realities is, undoubtedly, more than capable of seeing and feeling the sufferings of the poor, the tyranny of rulers and the havoc played by ruthless invaders. But, as if to spare himself the agonizing acknowledgement of harsh realities, he warns himself, quite unabashedly, 'Heed not the weeping [victims] of cruelty, nor those suffering in nakedness. / Thou are not the people's guardian./ Sit down and engage in your own affairs' (D.) Why don't the indignant, he wonders, create an imaginary, ideal and woe-free world in the face of painful realities, like 'A sleeping man who dreams consorting with the moon in heavens; / Why sorrowful then, even in fodder barn the sleeping maybe? (D.) This doesn't mean that Rumi's art should be evaluated in terms of his sympathy for the destitute and the wronged. But some of our Rumi lovers overlook his not so humane expressions, lest they mar the image of a perfect humanitarian Rumi they feature in their showcases.

As it was said, Rumi does see the poor and the naked, and does hear their laments and supplications, as the above-mentioned line indicates. And if he cared, he could have expressed his humanitarian feelings a in hundred times more artistic way than some of our modern socialistic and engagé poets. To be sure, he is keenly aware of the crushing power of tyranny, of robbing and "confiscating" of the subjects' property by the greedy rulers, of the piercing swords of the invaders, the chocked cries for justice, and even the tactics used by the resistance groups to evade the head hunters (D.) Rumi, like any other great poet and artist, is the intersecting point of the individual and the society. Therefore, there is no wonder that the unpleasant social realities creep into his poetry in a round about way, and disguised in mystic garb and esoteric viewpoints. He is trapped (to use his own expression) in the real world, yet, constantly modifying and re-shaping it as his poetic mind and imagination conceives, or, rather, desires it to be. In this process, the tangible realities of everyday life not only melt and evaporate in the ethereal and fiery world of love-mystical or the so-called Platonic-but they become just a parable, a metaphor, a symbol and a vehicle for sublime expressions of transcendental love and lofty aspirations. That is why the mystic hero turns out to be also the more passive, and often, masochistically submissive. In other words, the epic hero, blending in the miserable, helpless, defeated and subjugated common man, evolves into the mystic hero who fights with shadows. And that is why he creates beauty smeared in blood. He shocks and mesmerizes the reader by the 'spectacular dance of blood waves' (D.) His beloved pursues and tracks him down as a constable would pursue a wounded fugitive by traces of his blood (D.) Someone 'with a torch-like face' alights at his door, in the heart of darkness, and pools of blood surge everywhere (D.) He builds his utopia, 'full of gold and silver mines, / Everyone on the throne, and ailment unknown' (D.), on the ruins of cities and towns plundered, ravaged and burned by hordes of invaders and robbed by shahnehs to fill the rulers' 'ever-open bag' (D.) Surely, Rumi is the first and the only poet who introduces the image of a blood-smeared love ("eshq-e khoon-aalood") to the field of imaginative creation.

Obviously, these poems could be interpreted in the light of mystical theories, or even as a phantasmagoric products of a disturbed mind. And, no doubt, the mystical utopia is the symbolic depiction of the state of the soul, which, seemingly, has reached the "simple" world; that is a world stripped of colors, images and appearances, or, in one word, the very opposite of the real world. The description of this immaterial or rather, anti-material world, in three breath-taking lines in Divan (2353, 24898-900), is not only the most poetic depiction of the soul's state of union with the source of being, but it breaks the boundaries of any known monistic outlook.

However, the hair-raising images of bloody scenes, mound of skulls, a severed head circling the body it belonged to, and hundreds of similar images have been taken, undoubtedly, from the horrifying scenes of real life-of torch-carrying secret servicemen (to use the familiar terminology) appearing at the door of the victims in the heart of the night, and the ensuing 'pools of blood'; of Tatar (Mongol) invaders making heaps of victims' heads; of insolvency, cruelty and injustice. Rumi's sadistic God, who, "tortures and squashes the innocent" (D.), is not the God of any religion. Certainly, not the God of mysticism who was originally supposed to reciprocate man's love for Him. It is the tyrannical ruler-god-the king, the kahn and the beig-that, by the way, happens to be Rumi's favorite symbols of magnificently crushing power. The authoritarian and terror-inspiring voice, heard in "Har keh ze ghoghaa, v-az sar-e sodaa, sar keshad injaa, sar be-boridesh" (Cut off the head discordant, or by dark thoughts goaded that wrongly is turned') does not echo the decree of God Almighty, not even God, the Oppressor (qahhar), but the command of an invincible and autocratic earthly god.

One might argue that, Rumi's fascination with blood and his clearly power-worshiping tendencies, could be interpreted as a psychological reaction to bloodshed, cruelty and passive submission to rulers and invaders, as some Nietzsche critics have attributed his basically fascistic views as a reaction to Germany's weak and abject position in 19th century. We might also agree with A. M. Schimmel that Shams's alleged murder, apparently by Rumi's own son, has left a deep and disturbing impression on his mind (The Triumphant Sun). However, these theories, even if true, don't make either Rumi or Nietzsche a great humanitarian.

Although poetic genius knows no boundaries, and at times, a great poet like Sa'di could be a great humanitarian as well, the main criterion for evaluating and judging the merits of a poet's work is, has been and will always be the power of his artistic expression and the beauty of his creation. That is why the critics have devoted volumes to Milton's artistic excellence, in spite of his extreme egocentrism; or to Yates overwhelmingly powerful poetry in spite of his terrible male-chauvinism and his reactionary stance against modernism. And surely, no one would throw Ezra Pound's poems in the garbage because of his fascistic views. However, some of us Iranians either brush the disturbing poems away as exceptions, overlook them if they don't fit in the pre-fabricated frame, bowdlerize their divans, or, simply "purge' them from impurities. Cherishing the Mathnavi, as either a book of advice (andarz-naameh), or as a philosophical treatise, the Rumi interpreters have almost totally overlooked Divan. Besides A. M. Schimmel's monumental work, The Triumphant Sun, there are very few serious and scholarly researches of the Divan. However, despite her astonishing mastery of Persian, Arabic and Turkish languages, and her vast knowledge of the Middle Eastern literature, especially mystic literature, Dr. Schimmel only concentrates on Rumi's symbolism, and doesn't pay enough attention to the poetic significance of the Divan and to such crucial characteristics as the intertwining genres of epic and ghazal, which so brilliantly correspond to Rumi's complex worldviews and his particular mysticism. Perhaps, the reason why many Rumi scholars and researchers prefer studying and commenting on the Mthnavi is that it is, besides suiting better for preaching purposes, relatively less complex, at least, as far as moral and theological matters are concerned. The Divan, on the other hand, is not only perplexingly complex, and at times, it embodies certain notions and concepts that are disturbing and unsettling from religious and devotional viewpoints. It would appall a moralist to see the preacher Rumi singing, in a real or imaginary sama', "Chonaan mi-zan do dastak taa sahargaah,/Keh dar raqs ast aan deldaar-e delkhaa; / Hami-goo aancheh mi-daanam man o to, / Vali penhaan konesh dar zekr-e Allah." ('Keep clapping on, / For the heart-desired beloved is dancing; / And chant what you and I know, / But in incantation on Allah hidden (D.) It would horrify a pious mind to hear Rumi challenging, like an epic hero in the battle field, not only natural elements, human limitations and cosmic forces, but God himself, "Maa zarre-im sarkesh, / Az chaar o panj o az shesh"; / "Khod panj o shesh keh baashad, Z-Allah khashm kardam." (D.) Looked from this angle, it wouldn't be too far from the truth if one regarded the Mathnavi as the recantation of the Divan-a penance of some sort. Interesting enough, the staunch defenders of Rumi, while portraying him as a master 'moralist/preacher', have totally ignored the extremely obscene verses and parables in the Mathnavi (and occasionally in the Divan), which could put anti-scholastic and satirists like Zaakaani and Rabelais to shame. To be sure, these obscenities, which become more and more conspicuous after the 3rd book, and reach the apex in the 6th, have often little relevance to Rumi's mystic, pietistic or apocalyptic views. However, it seems that facts don't matter to some. They prefer to portray our poets, among other things, as the epitomes of morality and purity, not to mention abusing him as a west-pleasing marketing commodity.

Here, I should emphasize that, I am not advocating "art for art's sake". But it would be far from objective and all-inclusive scholarly approach (and, meanwhile, extremely unfair to a genius poet), if we lost sight of Rumi's amazing poetic excellence. To be sure, Rumi never claims that his purpose of composing poetry is to express this or that outlook or even mystic views or theories. Even if that were his original intent of composing certain poems, he knows, better than anyone else, that whatever the motive for composing a poem, the finished work might not turn out what the poet had in mind, "Ma'ni andar she'r joz baa khabt nist; / Chon falaasang ast, andar zabt nist ('A poem's content is but error-bound; / Like a sling, it may not obey the hand thereon' (M.) And probably, in order to exonerate himself in the eyes of those who objected to some of his not so mystic or pious utterances, he confesses that, "Like a lyre, he is not conscious of his own murmur; / he divulges secrets, without knowing secrets' "Chon changam o az zemzeme-ye khod khabaram nist; / Asraar hami-gooyam o asraar na-daanam." Moreover, he doesn't hesitate to boast, very rightly too, of the sublimity and grandeur of his poems both in the Divan and the Mathnavi. (Interesting enough, some of his poems embody theories on poetic creation, as well as literary appreciation, that Western poets and critics began to formulize several hundred years after Rumi.) It is true, Rumi often considers the words (sokhan) as a veil (hijab) between the poet and God, and confesses that 'the dust stirred by words won't let me see the bestower of words! (D.), and censures himself for 'being in love with words, not with the love (God, as pure love'), (D.) But he also confesses that the god of poetry (ilah), constantly competing with Allah, stands on his way to repent from composing poetry (D.) Furthermore, he keeps on promising himself that, 'one day, released from good and evil, he would come to himself like rose (blossoming fully), and recount the Lord's attributes, in his pearl-filled songs' (D.) It is almost comically ironic, all these claims and denials are also expressed in verses.

I have to add here that, contrary to didactic outlooks, the main purpose of art and literature is giving delight. That is why we say, "I enjoyed it", when, for instance, we watch a heart-rending tragedy. Then, why to put a poem, as some object, on a dissecting table and examine it part by part? The answer is that, first, some curious souls want to know why they enjoys reading a poem. Second, the level of delight depends on the level of understanding a poem. Surely, Rumi knows very well that, some of his poems will never reveal their mystery-even it be partially-without 'dissection', 'Tear off the skin of words, in order to reach the kernel of poetry, "Baraay-e maghz-e sokhan qeshr-e post raa be-shekaaf" (D.) Of course, there are many poems that could be enjoyed without needing analysis or explication. But take, for instance, this line by Rumi, "Vojood-e man azab-khaana-st o aan mastaan dar oo jam'and; Delam heyraan k-az ishaanam, ajab yaa khod man ishaanam" ('My being (or existence) is a brothel house, and the drunkards are gathering there. I wonder if I am one of them, or I am them' D.) The strange imagery, though hitting us on the head, as it were, and bugling our minds maybe for days, seems to lie beyond any comprehension, without 'dissection'.

As for Rumi's mysticism, there is nothing new or oringinal in Rumi's mystical poems, as far as mysticism proper is concerned. For instance, his famous line, "Be-meerid, be-meerid, dar in eshq be-meerid; / Dar in eshq cho mordid, hameh rooh pazirid" (Die in this love, die; When you die in this love, you all will receive souls), simply echoes Hallaj's "Uqtuluni ya theqati; / Inna fi qatli hatati, Va hatati fi mamati" (Slay me O friends! / my life is indeed in my slaying, and my life is in death.) However, when Rumi plays backgammon with God, and tries to cheat too, when he opens a scene of a spiritual orgy before our eyes, or a pandemonium as vast as the universe itself (D.), we wonder in which definition of mysticism his views might fit. And, when he yells that, 'You are asking what I want beyond [reaching the realm of] light. How could I know?' or when he deems even 'love', as deceptive ('Ablah-konandeh eshq ast", D.), we can't help but to believe that the ecstasy of 'receiving soul' and finding immortality through symbolic death, is nothing but transient fanciful thoughts, captured and immortalized in the lines of a poem. Nor could he be categorized in terms of his theological or teleological views, not even in terms of generic designation of his ghazals and his poetic creation. He is unique in everything, including in pedantry and fanaticism. Rumi is a category by himself.

In order to demonstrate that Rumi's views-whatever they maybe-are secondary to his poetic excellence, I will try to give a very brief analysis of one of his ghazals. Even in this purely mystical poem, he neither formulates mystic quest like Sana'i, nor does he give an allegorical account of the seven stages of spiritual journey, as Attar does. Instead, he dramatizes the stages, from amazement (heyrat) to annihilation (fana) and beyond, through dialogue, and concrete, yet, highly symbolic images. In ghazal 1095, the shockingly un-poetic image of 'broom', evolving from a common household feature into a symbol of purification, male sexuality, carnal love, prophetic mission and power of poetry, expands, as it were, into an axis of cosmic scope, connecting the earth with heaven, man with God and beyond. Then, burning everything that the broom stands for, the novice enters another stage of mystic experience, i.e., submission to the will of God, and offers his neck to the beloved's sword. The proliferation of heads, 'till a hundred thousand heads grew on my neck', under the sword's strokes, signifies the central paradox of mysticism-death in life, and life in death. After complete annihilation, the past tenses in the poem (gave, said, hit, grew) are dissolved in timelessness, the earthly notions of east and west lose their significance, and the door to eternity (la-makan) opens. When, at the final stage, the two voices of the first stage become one, it is not clear whether man has become God, or God has become man-the perfect union. [3]

Finally, in order to exonerate myself from an extremely erroneous approach to Rumi's poetry, I will quote one more line by the Master himself. In this single line, Rumi, besides commenting on the nature of poetry and the relationship between the form and the content, divulges the secret of a poem's universal appeal and the immortality of the Word, "Agarcheh baad-e sokhan bogzarad, sokhan baaghist; / Agarcheh baad-e sabaa bogzarad, chaman shaad ast." ('The air in the Word may pass, immortal the Word is; / The western wind may die down, the meadow happily lives', D.) In other words, the motive behind the composition of a poem fades away and is forgotten, but the beauty born out of it lives on, as each individual and each generation approaches it afresh. Or to quote Forough, another abused Iranian poet:

It is only the voice that remains.
__________________________________
1. Mathnavi-ye Manavi, ed. R.A. Nicholson, abbr. M.

2. Kolliyyat-e Shams, Divan- Kabir, ed. B. Foruzanfar, abbr. D.

3. A detailed analysis and explication of this ghazal is given in "The Epic Characteristics of Divan-e Shams", by the present author, Jong, 1992.)

Alma Gitana: Diego 'El Cigala'

Diego Ramón Jiménez Salazar conocido como Diego « El Cigala », es un cantante (cantaor) flamenco.En 2003, Cigala presenta en fenómeno 'Lágrimas Negras', con colaboracion del maestro Cubano, Bebo Valdés que sobrepasa todas las expectativas, conviertiéndose en un éxito mundial...Diego Ramón Jiménez Salazar, known as El Cigala, is a famous Spanish Flamenco singer. One of his great albums is "Lágrimas negras", a cooperation with 85 year old Cuban pianist Bebo Valdés. The easy fusion of Cuban rhythms and flamenco vocals made this record an international success...

Sufi Chants: Qawali meets Flamenco

In these live performances,Qawali master Faiz Ali Faiz with his ensemble, and Flamenco singers Duquende and Miguel Poveda, accompanied by guitarist Chicuelo, have lent themselves to the development of the relationship between these two great vocal traditions.

THE MAGIC OF RUMI’S METAPHORS

THE MAGIC OF RUMI’S METAPHORS
Dr. Ali Sahebi

Throughout the history of mankind, metaphors have played a part in learning at all levels; from everyday to the sacred. This has happened because metaphors teach us through their knots of relevance. It has been my good luck to have been influenced by Rumi. Rumi helped me develop a deeper understanding of connectedness the ways in which metaphors serve to promote systemic thinking and systemic living. Metaphors, as Rumi narrates for us, facilitate problem solving, helps us manage transition, and formulate dreams. In Rumi’s Mathnavi, I found the power of metaphors one of the most important tools for communicating through a framework that allows the maximum number of participants the possibility to understand a teaching point. For Rumi, metaphors serve as models that close the gap between our experience as human beings and the theories we can create to explain our experience. This thought process is referred to as adductive thinking, the thinking which allows us to close the gap between inductive thinking and deductive thinking. Rumi’s metaphors offer the structures that help us go from the specific domain of life to the relationship of life.


Why Are Rumi’s Metaphors are so powerful? 

As Leonard Shalin stated “metaphor is the right brain’s unique contribution to the left brain’s language capability”. In Rumi’s Mathnavi, every story combines an inner logic and narrative sequence expressed through words (left brain preference) together with aspects of creativity, cohesion and pattern forming expressed through tone and emotion (right brain preference). In this way, both hemispheres of our brain are stimulated. These factors considerably contribute to our understanding of the following: the attention of metaphors as meaning carrying vehicles, the memorability of metaphors, and the appeal of metaphors to different ages, cultures, and information-processing styles. Rumi’s metaphors in Mathnavi carry the history, the culture, the values, and the customs of people. Rumi’s metaphors are a form of social glue that serves to entertain, instruct, and challenge the listener or reader. And because they strike deep chords in shared communal experience, they operate at both conscious and unconscious levels, conveying “messages” directly and indirectly.

Three Metaphors from the Mathnavi

The Grammarian and sense of superiority

A Businessman had invited his friend the schoolmaster for a trip on his boat. It was hot day, and while the Businessman attended to the steering and navigation, the Schoolmaster relaxed on the deck. After a while, the Schoolmaster asked, "What will the weather be like?"

The businessman looked at the sky, sniffed the air, and checked the direction of the wind. "We's going to have a storm," he said. The Schoolmaster was shocked. "You can't say 'We's! Don't you know grammar? You should say, 'We're…. We're going to have a storm.' My friends, if you don't know grammar you've wasted half your life." The businessman merely shrugged his shoulders and carried on navigating the boat with skill and an eye on the horizon.

Some time later, as the Businessman had predicted, a huge storm blew up. The wind was high, the waves were huge, and the little boat was swamped with water. Over the roar of the storm, the Businessman shouted to the Schoolmaster, "Have you ever learned how to swim?" "No. Why on earth should I have learned to swim?"
"In that case," said the Businessman grinning from ear to ear, "You've wasted all your life, because we's going to sink."

The three fishes

Three fishes once lived in a pool. They were: a clever fish, a half clever fish and a stupid fish. Life continued for them very much as it was for fishes everywhere until one day came-a man. He was carrying a net, and a clever saw him through the water. Calling upon his experience, the stories he had heard, and his cleverness, he decided to take action. ‘There are few places to hide in this pool, he thought. ‘I shall therefore play dead. He summoned his strength and jumped out of the pool, landing at the feet of the fisherman, who was rather surprised. But as the clever fish was holding his breath, The fisherman supposed he was dead: and threw him back. This fish now glided into a small hole under the bank.

Now the second fish, the half-clever one, did not quite understand what had happened. So he swam next to the clever fish and asked him all about it. ‘SIMPLE; said the clever fish, I played dead so he threw me back.’ so the half clever-fish immediately leaped out of the water, at the fisherman’s feet. ‘STRANGE; thought the fisherman, ‘they are leaping about all over the place.’ And because the half-clever fish had forgotten to hold his breath the fisherman realized that he was alive so he put him in his satchel. He turned back to peer into the water, and because he had been slightly confused from the fishes jumping onto dry land in front of him, he did not close the flap of his bag. The half-clever fish, when he realized this, was just able to ease himself out and, flipping over and over, got back into the water. He sought out the first fish and lay panting beside him.Now the third fish, the stupid one was not able to make anything at all of this, even when he heard the first and second fishes’ versions. So they went over every point with him, stressing the importance of not breathing, in order to play dead. ‘Thank you so much: now I understand, said the stupid fish. With these words he hurled himself out of the water, landing just beside the fisherman. Now the fisherman, having lost two fish already, put this one into his bag without bothering to look at whether it breathing or not. He cast the net again and again into the pool, but the first two fish were crouched into the depression under the bank. And the flap on the fisherman’s bag this time was fully closed. Finally the fisherman gave up. He opened the bag, realized the stupid fish was not breathing, and took him home for the cat .

Three pieces of advices

A man once caught a bird. The bird said to him, “I am no use to you as a captive. But let me free, and I will tell you three valuable pieces of advice”. The bird promised to give the first piece of advice while still in the man’s grasp, the second when he reached a branch, the third after he had gained the top of a mountain.The man agreed, and asked for the first piece of advice. The bird said: “If you lose something, even if it be valued by you as much as life itself – do not regret it”.

Now the man let the bird go, and it hopped to a branch. It continued with the second piece of advice:
“Never believe anything that is contrary to sense, without proof”. Then the bird flew to the mountain-top. From here it said: “O unfortunate one! Within me are two huge jewels, and if you had only killed me they would have been yours!” The man was anguished at the thought of what he had lost, but he said: “At least now tell me the third piece of advice.”

The bird replied: “What a fool you are, asking for more advice when you have not given thought to the first two pieces! I told you not to worry about what had been lost, and not to believe in something contrary to sense. Now you are doing both. You are believing something ridiculous and grieving because you have lost something! I am not big enough to have inside me huge jewels. “You are a fool. Therefore you must stay within the usual restrictions imposed on man”.

Voladores de Papantla/Papantla Flyers (Totonaca Indians' Ritual)

Voladores de Papantla/Papantla Flyers (Totonaca Indians' ritual in Mexico)

Jazz and Roots Reggae From California, Groundation

Jazz & Roots Reggae, Groundation
http://www.groundation.com

"Groundation is an American roots reggae band with jazz and dub influences from Sonoma County in Northern California.Groundation has truly become a worldwide movement. Incorporating a unique blend of reggae, jazz, and dub, Groundation has created a global community of fans that continues to grow. Their live shows are bursting with energy and improvisation. In the past two years, Groundation has played shows in fourteen countries spanning four continents. Highlights include playing for over 45,000 people in Morocco, 10,000 fans in Sao Paulo, Brazil, and 15,000 during a headlining spot at Summer-Jam in Germany. Groundation has also played both USA premier reggae festivals including a headlining spot at Sierra Nevada World Music Fest and an inspired set at Reggae on the River."

El Misticismo De Paulo Coelho

El gran escritor Brasileño, Paulo Coelho, considerado por unos el alquimista de la palabra y por otros un fenómeno de masas, es el autor más influyente de nuestro siglo. Lectores de más de 150 países, sin distinción de credos ni culturas, le han convertido en uno de los autores de referencia de nuestro tiempo.

Rumi and the Birth of Turkish Poetry

"Why did he[Rumi] not write more in Turkish? Was he not interested in the emergence of a Turkish literature? If he[Rumi] had been, would he have contented himself with a few simple verses and playful 'macaronic' mixtures of elements from two languages? What was wrong with his attitude towards Turkish? Did he regard it as a vulgar language; and did he even despise the common people speaking it?.." 


The following is an extraordinary literary research paper by the Swedish scholar, Professor Lars Johanson who explains and deciphers the mystery of why Maulana Rumi, despite living for more than 50 years in Turkey, decided-- intentionally or unintentionally-- to write his two "Magna Opera", Divan and Masnavi, and the rest of his works in his "Lengua Materna", Farsi.

Rumi and the Birth of Turkish Poetry
Dr. Lars Johanson
http://www.turkiclanguages.com

Although Jelâleddïn Rumi, as Gibb puts it, "presided at the birth of West-Turkish poetry" , his few Turkic verses, mostly Persian—Turkic mulammas, are usually not considered important enough to make him a Turkish poet . Beneath such and similar statements there are often undertones of regret and sometimes even slight reproach. Though Rumi lived "full half a century in a Turkish city", says Gibb, he "did virtually nothing towards the great work of founding Turkish literature". The questions heap up: Why did he not write more in Turkish? Was he not interested in the emergence of a Turkish literature? If he had been, would he have contented himself with a few simple verses and playful 'macaronic' mixtures of elements from two languages? What was wrong with his attitude towards Turkish? Did he regard it as a vulgar language; and did he even despise the common people speaking it?

Such questions are, of course, wrongly posed. It cannot be concluded from Rumï's choice of language for his poetry whether he looked down on Turkish or not, and whether he was, as it is sometimes formulated, "for" or "against" the people (halktan yana vs. halka karçi). Even the question whether he was "interested" in the emergence of a Turkish literature seems rather naive. It is certainly in the retrospective only that it may appear as if Jelâleddïn Rumi had been confronted with such an option at all.First, it must have been natural for Rumi to use Persian. Born in Balkh, he had, while still a young man, escaped the Mongol invasion by fleeing to Qonya together with his father Behâ'eddïn Veled. In the 13th century, the capital of the Seljuk Turkish Empire of Rum was to a great extent Persian-speaking. The stream of fugitives from the East further reinforced the Persian influence in Anatolia. It is, however, equally probable that Rûmï to some degree mastered Turkic, both the Khorasan Turkic variety spoken in Balkh at that time and "Turkish" proper, i.e., the everyday speech of the Seljuk Turks already living in Qonya. In fact, Rûmï spent the mature part of his life in a naturally multilingual environment, in which even demotic Greek was one component.We may suppose that Jelâleddïn Rûmï brought Persian (P) and East Oghuzic (Khorasan) Turkic (TE) with him, and that he acquired knowledge of West Oghuzic, Anatolian Turkish (TW) and even Greek (G) in Qonya.

We know nothing about the relationship between his competence in TW and TE. Once, however, the author gives us to understand that he does not Turkish (man agar Turk nlstam, dänam man ïn qadar kih baturkïst ab su 'although I am not a Turk, I know so much that su is Turkish for water'; VII). This declaration should certainly not be taken literally. As is well known, even Rûmï's son, Sultan Veled, on several occasions claims the same of himself (Tiirkce eger büeydüm ...'if I knew Turkish', etc.), although his work proves that he has an excellent knowledge of the language. However, the linguistic situation just mentioned is certainly not crucial for Rûmï's choice of a literary language. Nor can his choice be reduced to a simple case of "language loyalty" in a later, nationalistic sense. Languages and their varieties are chosen for specific purposes. In our case, the decisive factors are certain stylistic functions of the languages in question. A language used as a poetic vehicle must be elaborated to fulfill this function. As is well known, the Anatolian Seljuk court culture, including the literary education, was basically Persian. Not only did the poets write in Persian, but they also modeled their work on the poetic tradition of Sana'i, 'Attär and others. A stylistic variety of language such as this kind of literary Persian (P+lit) not only offers a developed vocabulary and other devices of a strict linguistic order but, above all, poetic models and a ready-made diction, a pre-existing style. It is easier to write in a functional dialect that offers such stylistic facilities than to transfer these facilities into another language.

Up to the Romantics, the situation in Europe was similar: many poets preferred Latin, since it offered them familiar models of poetic diction, a prepared system of expressions and formula, patterns of wording and versification. Summed up: Rümi simply had, from the beginning, a highly developed, functioning literary instrument at his disposal, by which he could also exert direct influence in Qonya. This statement is, of course, not tantamount to saying that he was an imitator. As we know, Rumi himself developed the available poetic vehicle to a high degree of perfection and created a masterly clear and simple style. It is, in fact, an essential point in our argumentation that Rûmï's activity was poetically productive, whereas that of some of his Turkish successors was largely reproductive, however creative they may have been in a strictly linguistic sense. Since, in Rûmï's situation, the employment of a literary variety of Turkic was not necessary, it appears less important whether such an alternative was at hand at all. It is often claimed that a literary language of a partly Oghuzic character existed in the East, but it must be born in mind that we have extremely scarce information about this idiom. Turkish
originated, like, e.g., Dehhärii, from Khorasan, but it is unknown to what extent the alleged Khorasan Turkic literary language really was in use there, to what degree Rumi mastered it, and Grunina describes the situation in Khorasan as follows: "On constate la formation d'une langue écrit à la base du langue qui pourrait être nommée oghouz d'est dans ces ré-gions avec leur plus grande confusion de la population Oghouz et Qyptchaq par rapport à la périphérie, Anatolie Centrale de cette période-là où, dans l'état plus pur était conservée la première base oghouz. On croit que le principal rôle dans le devenir de cette langue écrite appartient aux koinês urbains des centres d'Iran, Azerbaïdjan, plus tard Anatolie [...]. La littérature et la langue écrite apparues dans cette région probablement pas plus tard du XII siècle à la base de koinè oghouz d'est urbain déteminèrent les traits communs de la langue littéraire d'Anatolie des XIII—XIV siècles".
Whether it could have been used with success in an environment such as Qonya. There are in Rûmî's work no clear signs of contact with a Turkish literary tradition. It is, in this connection, irrelevant that his Persian texts contain a number of Turkic words, since these were common integrated borrowings (v. infra) in the Persian of the period in question.Turkish was not yet a literary medium, elaborated as a functional dialect in the sense of a variety; it was no equivalent poetic tool which Rumi or other poets could have used immediately and adequately for their purposes. This is why it is often considered "rough". European vernaculars in the Middle Ages and in the Renaissance were characterized similarly in comparison with Latin. Poets often wrote Latin with greater ease than their mother tongue. In the same way, the great Navâ'ï, the first major Turkic poet to use his vernacular ("Chaghatai"), testifies, in his Muhäkamat al-luyatain, that it is easier for the beginner to write Persian: the novice gets annoyed with the difficulties connected with composing poetry in Turkic, vä äsänraq sari mäyl qïlur ('and inclines to the easier [i.e., Persian]').

Sultan Veled's previously mentioned dictum concerning his knowledge of Turkish no doubt means that "he did not write Turkish verse with the same facility as Persian" (Gibb 1900:154). Authors' statements on the roughness of Turkish and their own ignorance of it generally refer to its degree of elaboration as a functional dialect and do not necessarily imply any negative judgment on the language as such. Even if Rumi did not master Turkish as a poetic medium, he could, of course, have tried to use it, i.e., to found a variety. We know that languages may be less developed (if used in limited func-tions) but that they are not, as E. Haugen has expressed the situation, "inherently handicapped"; all the great languages of today were once undeveloped. Rumi could have tried to transfer his diction to Turkish, These words are "türkisches Lehngut im Neupersischen, das bei jedem persischen Ver-fasser jener Zeit festgestellt werden kann" (Mansuroglu 1952:106; cf. 1954a.:207: "o za-manin biitiin farsça yazanlannda görülen yeni farsçaya girmis tiirkçe alinma malzeme"). Mehmed §erefeddin (1934) deals both with the Turkic and Persian—Turkic distichs at-tributed to Rûmi as well as the Turkic words occurring in the Persian text of his dìwàn and mattinavi.

European Renaissance poets often wrote in their mother tongue as if it were Latin, profiting from an established style ready for use. However, reformulation of formula acquired in a second language (imitano) may be a difficult task: many authors writing brilliant Latin poems were rather helpless when trying to master their vernacular. The main point, however, is that, even if the transfer is feasible, it must serve a purpose. In Rûmï's case it was not necessary to develop a variety. A new literary language is not likely to emerge if there is already one which meets all requirements. Rûmï's son Sultan Veled had other purposes and, consequently, acted differently. His mattinavi Rebäbnäme and other works contain a considerable number of couplets in Turkish, the earliest important specimen of Turkish poetry. Gibb wonders "what induced the author to break through all precedent, write a series of verses in the Turkish language and incorporate these in a Persian mes-nevi" (1900:152). He finds the 22 couplets in Greek, written in Arabic script, still more remarkable and suggests that the poet has "a fancy for versifying in various tongues". It is, however, important to see that Suljän Veled's situation was entirely different from that of his father. First, he was no immigrant, but born in Qaraman (when his father was still 19 years old). His Turkish competence may have been higher than that of his father. But, more important, he had other, practical aims: to build up the Mevlevi order and to spread and explain his father's ideas among the common people who did not know Persian. As a poet, he necessarily remained in the shade of the great genius. Sultan Veled's "Turkish" has been judged upon very differently, since this issue has two aspects, a poetic and a linguistic one, for which, however, the same terms have been employed. Suljän Veled is poetically reproductive, according to Gibb, "less a poet than a mystic teacher who taught through verse"; he says "what he has to say in the Suljan Veled's Turkish verses "gelten nach wie vor als die älteste iederschrift der türkeitürkischen Sprache" (Adamovic 1985:24). Later on, Turkish poets, as a rule, did not learn and use Greek. He took over the generalship of the order, and founded its first branches at several places.

". Some accuse him of "poverty of language"; Vambéry even takes him at his own word, and declares that Sultan Veled did not have any command of Turkish at all.Rûmï's first followers were, as Gibb says, "masters who chose to teach in verse rather than in prose", and their work was "single-minded in purpose, artless and naive in expression"; cf. early Christian texts, written to be understood by less literate persons but regarded as vulgar by the educated. What mattered was the informative aspect. Nevertheless, Turkish had its breakthrough when brotherhoods, dependent upon missionary activities, directed their efforts to the Turkish-speaking people; cf. the Safawids' use of the vernacular for their religious aims, or Luther's linguistically decisive German bible translation. As for Sultan Veled, he shows a remarkable linguistic creativity in forming a new instrument for expressing spiritual ideas, in introducing a genuine Turkish vocabulary including a mystical terminology (see Mansuroglu 1958). When "the Turkish cause" is discussed, it should be born in mind that, in the cultural situation in which Jelâleddïn Rumi and Sultan Veled acted, there was no linguistic nationalism or language loyalty of a later kind, since nation and language were not intertwined in a mod-ern way. None of them is likely to have been influenced by the fear that Turkish was "menaced". It is highly improbable that they wanted to found a national literary language, however desirable this may appear from a modern Turkish point of view. Nor was there—as later on, under the Ottomans—a strong state that required an official prestige language of its own. As in European mediaeval literature, language choice was determined by the genre and not on the author's nationality. The few Turkish verses written by Jelâleddïn Rumi are found in his diwän.According to Vambéry, Sultán Veled is, "wie er selbst eingesteht, der türkischen Sprache gar nicht mächtig [...] Ja, das Türkische ist auch mitunter sehr untürkisch, wenn nicht geradezu fehlerhaft [...]".

Thus it would also be futile to discuss here whether Rumi was a "Turk" or not. According to Mansuroglu, only 10 of the 17 poems published by Mehmed Serefeddin (1934) really belong to Rum!
If, as suggested, Rumi used Persian to produce and did not have to reproduce, as his son did, we may ask why he used Turkish at all, or why he wrote mulammas. The Seljuk state was one of mixed culture; Qonya offered a organically multilingual environment. In such communities, the functions of the individual languages are mostly distinguished: each one is used in specific situations, for specific purposes. Bi- or multilingual poetry, too, gives a functional reflection of the situation. If Rûmï also wrote in Turkic, it certainly means that this language had functions of its own. Rûmï's Turkic and Persian-Turkic verses have little in common with his great Persian poems. In most cases, it dubious whether they express any mystical content at all. The majority make a "playful" im- pression, have an everyday vocabulary, and refer, no doubt, to the private life of the poet.The Turkic element is sometimes confined to a quotation of a trivial phrase: An yakï turki kih äyad-güyadam.'hey geymü sen?' 'Every Turk who comes says to me, »hey, are you well?

On the whole, it seems as if Rûmï simply could not resist using, tentatively, a vernacular with which he had a good deal of practical contact in his everyday life. of work, e.g., Ahmed Faqih's Carxnämä, may be older than Rumi's poems.Among texts with 'un-Ottoman' forms, Doerfer distinguishes such cases from "individuell fremdbeeinflußte Texte" (e.g., the macaronic poem of Seyyäd IJamza). Björkman: "Die Bedeutung dieser weniger Verse ist gering, sie sind mit seinen grossen persischen Werken überhaupt nicht zu vergleichen" (1961:82); the verses appear "recht bescheiden, denn sie sind weder inhaltlich noch der Form nach bedeutend, eher machen sie einen spielerischen Eindruck" (1964:406).

Mansuroglu characterizes seven poems as "love—anacreontic— mystical verses". Some are no doubt "anacreontic" in the sense of dealing in a cheerful way with the delights of love and wine; the content appears to be predominantly worldly. Even if the motifs are partly erotic, a mystical dimension generally seems to be absent. Terms from the current love and wine poetry are used, though not necessarily as symbols carrying mystical significations.Thus, the word cayi'r 'wine' does not seem to be employed in a religious sense (as, e.g., siici 'wine' in the sufic poetry of Sultan Veli and others)
Rüzi nisast xväham yalyuz sentir-- qatur¡da; hem sen cayir icer sen, hem men qobuz calar men. I want to sit alone beside you one day; you will drink wine, and I will play the lute' (VI).

In general, the vocabulary is hardly sufic, even if terms such as Cäläb 'God', cäläbi 'slave master; head of the order', qulavuz 'leader', and yol 'way' (for tariqatl) occur in a couple of poems, e.g., Uzun yolda sarja budur qulavuz 'This is the leader for you on the long way'. (V). In several poems, a "Turk" is mentioned or addressed (VII: turk-i mäh-cihrah 'moon-faced Turk', VIII: marä yärist turk-i jangjüyi I have a quarrelsome Turkish friend', IX: rasld turkam 'my Turk came'). The situation reflected in several of the poems is likely to concern the relationship to central persons in Rumï's life, such as the wandering dervish Semseddin from Tebriz, the uneducated, beautiful gold-smith Salähaddin Zarküb from Qonya, and Rûmï's last "substitute" (naib u xañfa), Celebï Husâmeddïn Hasan from Urmiya, all all them doubtlessly of Turkic tongue. In two poems (VI, VIII), Sems-i Tebriz 16 II, III, IV, VI, VII, VIII and IX. 17 , Semseddin Muhammed Tebrizi appears in Qonya, where Rumi, as Ritter says, "sich in den schönen Derwisch mystisch verliebt", a love which unleashes a "Strom dichterischer Produktivität" (1942:121). Since his neglected murids were dissatisfied, Sems had to leave for Damascus, but this disappearance did not have the wanted effect: "Maulänä war gänzlich verstört und noch weniger zugänglich als vorher" (Ritter 1942:122). After a new stay in Qonya, Sems disappeared for ever. Only after this separation Rumi really began to develop his mystical, Sufi-religious poetry. He found Sems again in himself, i.e. by a process of identification with the beloved. Thus, in several of Rûmi's ghazals the final bayt contains the name of Sems-i Tebriz instead of the author's own name.
Moreover, as Bjòrkman states, Rûmï's Turkic and mixed Persian—Turkic verses can hardly be regarded as an attempt at "propaganda". According to Mansuroglu, however, two of the poems (I, V) are just that, namely "written with the object of spreading religious mystical ideas amongst the Turkish people" . Bom-baci even suggests that, in one of these poems, Rûmï "se proclame être le guide spirituel de tous les peuples du Soufisme et de l'action du prosélytisme défini par lui en Anatolie". This seems to be a somewhat bold overinterpretation of the passage Eger Tat sen, eger Rum sen, eger Turk, zabän-i bizabänänrä biyämüz 'if you are a Persian, a Greek, or a Turk, learn the language of the tongueless' (V). In any case—even if this interpretation should be correct—the element of "propaganda" for religious-mystical ideas is rather limited in these verses. Bilingual poems of the kind found in Rûmï's Diwan are a common phenomenon in multilingual, especially diglossie situations. European bi- and multilingual poetry goes back at least to the Middle Ages; many mediaeval European poems are written in both Latin and a vernacular. Verses composed in two or more different languages are, on the whole, a highly interesting and many-sided phenomenon. The term 'literary language-mixing' seems less appropriate here, since 'language-mixing' has been used for very different language contact phenomena, e.g. for both alternation ("code-switching") and borrow ing ("code-copying"; Johanson 1992:12 sqq. and 1993). It is important to distinguish these concepts, especially since Ottoman-Turkish poetry was, without normally resorting to alternation, extremely absorptive as regards Arabic and Persian lexical elements. The claim that Ottoman poetry, as a whole, looks like an immense corpus of mulamma's is certainly erroneous. In spite of all inserted foreign lexical elements, its basis (including the basic syntax, inflectional endings, etc.) is generally Turkish in a consistent way. The kind of 'mixing' we are concerned with here is language-alter-nation in poetry, which, in itself, comprises different types. Rûmï's poems are certainly mulammas in the sense of "patch-work" poems or "pied verse", but it would be false to characterize them as 'macaronic', since genuine 'macaronic' verses, as introduced by Teofilo Folengo (Merlinus Coccaius) in the 16th century, are based on Latin and mainly contain Latinized Italian words with Latin endings. Thus, the B words are constructed and treated as A words; this is no real alternation. Why did Rumi compose mulammas'? Indeed, as we have seen, a mulamma can be regarded as a kind of planned 'code-switching'. It addresses an audience which is not necessarily educated, but obviously bilingual enough to appreciate it. Even if it is of popular nature, it has an esoteric aspect: it presupposes knowledge of more than one lan-guage. Its complex function makes it less translatable than a mono-lingual poem: it must be rendered in as many idioms as it was composed in, and the functions of these must be reproduced. In some situations, such polyphonic texts can certainly be said to express a wish for privacy of a linguistic group: a special mixture of languages is used to exclude monolingual groups from communication; cf. Stein-er's view on the dialectical, at once 'welding' and 'divisive' nature of speech (1975).

As stated above, Rûmï's non-Persian poems generally make a rather private impression with respect to their content as well. The combination of languages is functional in the sense that it reflects the actual multilingual situation holding in Rûmï's community. But for what literary ends did the poet use two languages in this con- trapuntal way? As Elwert points out, language alternation varies from literature to literature, and, within the same culture, from period to period, according to the tolerance of the audience, the literary genre, the taste of the period and the stylistic intentions of the author. Elwert shows that the use of foreign language elements in poetry is essentially a stylistic problem with a broad diversity of motiva tions. Even if the technique of inserting foreign elements can be read, Foreign elements in poetry do not always presuppose a polyglot audience. Elwert rightly points out that, in some cases of stylistic use of foreign elements (e.g., since the Romantics, for the characterization of a milieu), the understanding of the latter is not essential, or not even intended. Giese states that especially "el exotista Pierre Loti ofrece bellos ejemplos de elementos de lenguas orientales para caracterizar el ambiente", and quotes some Turkish examples. Poets wrote mulamma's in Persian and the Turkic vernacular early on (Caferoglu 1964). In early Armeno-Turkic literature we meet Armenian poems, intercalated by Turkic verses (Berberian 1964:813 sq.). Bilingual poems help activate a literarily non-active popular language, even if not necessarily written with this aim. The mixed structure is highly efficient: it allows the poet to "exercise" the literarily non-elaborated language in the framework of a poem in the elaborated one. The poem is not only a model, but constitutes the structural framework itself. Köprülü suggests that when poets of Khorasan and Transoxania tried to write Turkic poems rather early in 'arüz, they started with Turkic-Persian mulamma's.

As indicated above, Rûmï is not likely to have had such aims, i.e. to adtivate a literary non-active popular language. But his Turkic verses are exponents of a stage in the typical Ausbau process of a new language: first, the language is used for humorous or folkloristic purposes, then lyric writers may adopt it, followed by prose narrators. When Anatolia was divided into principalities, the literary activities continued in different Turkish dialects, without a prestige idiom accepted by all. Later on, the Ottoman dialect became the only recognised literary medium; its resources were supplemented, its functions elaborated. But the domination of Persian continued. The vehicle for poetry was to a large extent modelled on Persian; Ottoman poets adapted its topics, style, diction and metre to the different requirements of Turkish. Some formed their style in the less elaborated language and learned to master its stylistic resources by reformulating in what they had already formulated in Persian; cf. the practice of European poets translating their own Latin poems as an exercise to develop their diction in the vernacular. Similar cases of Turkic poetic activities are known from the Azeñ area. In view of Jeläleddin Rûmï's enormous non-linguistic impact on Turkish poetry, the verdict that he "did virtually nothing towards the great work of founding Turkish literature" is obviously absurd. Much more difficult is the assessment of his purely linguistic contribution. Periods of bi- or multilingualism have, however, been decisive for the emergence of many literary languages. This is one such case. Not only did Jelâleddîn Rumi "preside" at the birth of Turkish poetry; his mixed verses also mark the multilingual starting-point of the following grandiose development.

نمونه هايى از اشعار تركى مولانا
Samples of Rumi's Poems in Turkish

اوسون وارسا ائى عاقيل، زينهار مالا آلدانماغيل

شول نسنه­نى كيم سن قويوب، گئده­سين اول بوندا قالا

ايلك قوشوق- شعر اول

اوسون وارسا ائى عاقيل Usun varsa ey âqil

زينهار مالا آلدانماغيل! Zinhar mala aldanmağıl

شول نسنه­نى كيم سن قويوب Şol nəsnəni kim sən qoyub

گئده­سين اول بوندا قالا Gedəsin ol bunda qala

سن زحمتيني گؤره­سين Sən zəhmətini görəsin

دونيا مالينى دوره­سينDünya malını dürəsin
آنلار قاليرلار خرج ائديب Anlar qalırlar, xərc edib

آنمايالار سنى بيله Anmayalar səni bilə

سنى اونودور دوستلارين Səni unudur dostların

اوغلون٫ قيزين٫ آروادلارين Oğlun, qızın, arvadların

اول مالينى اوله­شه­لر Ol malını üləşələr
حئساب ائديب قيلدان قيلا Hesab edib qıldan qıla

بير دملييه آغلاشالار Bir dəmliyə ağlaşalar

آندان باريب بايراشالار Andan barıb bayraşalar

سنى چوخورا گؤموشوب Səni çuxura gömüşüb

تئز دؤنه­لر گوله گوله Tez dönələr gülə gülə

قيلمايالار سنه وفا Qılmayalar sənə vəfa

بونلار باي اولا، سن گدا Bunlar bay ola, sən gəda

سنين اوچون وئرمه­يه­لر Sənin üçün verməyələr

بير پارا اتمك يوخسولا Bir para ətmək yoxsula

بوگون سئوينيرسين منيم Bugün sevinirsin mənim

وار دييه آغچام، آلتينيم Var diyə ağçam, altınım

آنمازمىسين اول گونو كيم Anmazmısın ol günü kim

مؤحتاج اولاسين بير پولا؟ Möhtac olasın bir pula

اول مال دئدييين مار اولا Ol mal dediyin mar ola

حاقق´ين گؤزونده تار اولا Haqq’ın gözündə tar ola

هرگيز مدد بولماياسين Hərgiz mədəd bulmayasın

چئوره باخيب ساغا، سولا Çevrə baxıb, sağa sola

ايكينجي قوشوق- شعر دوم

ايلتدين ايسه آندا چيراغ İltdin isə anda çiraq

اولا سنه اول خوش دوراق Ola sənə ol xoş duraq

بوندا نه كيم قيلدين ياراق Bunda nə kim qıldın yaraq

آندا سنه قارشى گله Anda sənə qarşı gələ

مال، سرمايا قيلغيل آزيق Mal sərmaya qılğıl azıq

حاقق´ا اينانيرسان باييق Haqq’a inanırsan bayıq

ياپ آخيرت٫ دونيانى ييخ Yap axirət, dünyanı yıx

تا ائره­سين خوش منزيلهTa erəsin xoş mənzilə

چون اولا الينده ديره­م Çün ola əlində dirəm

يئتديكجه گوج، قيلغيل كرم Yetkicə güc, qılğıl kərəm

اؤيود بودور كى من دئره­م Öyüd budur ki mən derəm

دؤولت آنين اؤيود آلا Dövlət anın öyüd ala

آييتما مال اولدو تلف! Ayıtma mal oldu tələf

حاقق مين بيرين وئره­ر خلف Haq min birinin verər xələf

قيلغيل سلف! قيلما علف! Qılğıl sələf! Qılma ələf

ورنه هامى ضاييع اولا! Vərnə hamı zayi ola

ديله­ر ايسه­ن عئيش-ى ابد Dilər isən eyş-i əbəd

قيل نه دئدييسه اول احد Qıl nə dediysə ol əhəd

اوندان ديله هر دم مدد! Ondan dilə hər dəm mədəd

تا ائريشه­سين حاصيلا! Ta erişəsin hasıla

بئيله بويوردو لم يزل: Beylə buyurdu ləm yəzəl

"بيلين منى! قيلين عمل! Bilin məni! Qılın əməl

ترك ائيله­نيز طول-ى امل Tərk eyləniz tul-i əməl

اويمايينيز هر باطيلا! Uymayınız hər batıla

يوخسول ايسه­ن، صبر ائيله­گيل Yoxsul isən, səbr eyləgil

گر باى ايسه­ن، خئير ائيله­گيل! Gər bay isən, xeyr eyləgil

هر بير حالا شوكر ائيله­گيل! Hər bir hala şükr eyləgil

حاقق دؤندوره­ر حالدان حالا Haq döndərər haldan hala

دونيا او´نون٫ آخرت او´نون Dünya onun, axrət onun

نئعمت او´نون٫ مئحنت او´نون Ne’mət onun, mehnət onun

دامو او´نون٫ جننت او´نون Damu onun, cənnət onun

دؤولت اونون كاني بولا Dövlət onun k’ani bula

حاق´دان منه نه مال گره­ك Haq’dan mənə nə mal gərək

نه قيل گره­ك٫ نه قال گره­ك Nə qil gərək, nə qal gərək

ديله­ييم اييى حال گره­ك Diləyim iyi hal gərək

كندؤزونو بيله­ن قولا Kəndözünü bilən qula

اول كيم گئده اوزاق يولا Ol kim gedə uzaq yola

گره­ك آزيق آلا بيله Gərək azıq ala bilə

آلماز ايسه يولدا قالا Almaz isə yolda qala

ائرمه­يه هرگيز منزيله Erməyə hərgiz mənzilə

وئردى سنه مالى چلب Verdi sənə malı Çələb

تا خئيره قيلاسين سبب Ta xeyrə qılasın səbəb

خئير ائيله­گيل، حاق قيل طلب! Xeyr eyləgil, Haq qıl tələb

وئرمه­دن اول مالى يئله! Vermədən ol malı yelə

آس ائتمه­يه مالين سنين As etməyə malın sənin

خوش اولمايا حالين سنين Xoş olmaya halın sənin
نسنه­رمه­يه الين سنين Nəsnərməyə əlin sənin

گر سونمه­دينسه ال اله Gər sünmədinsə əl ələ

من بير بيچاره ائى ايلاه! Mən bir biçarə ey İlah

ياولاق چوخ ائيله­ديم گوناه Yavlaq çox eylədim günah

يازيقلاريمدان آه، آه! Yazıqlarımdan ah ah

ما شرح ائده­م، گلمز ديله Ma şərh edəm gəlməz dilə

ائى شمس، ديله حاق´دان حاق´ي! Ey Şəms, dilə Haq’dan Haq’ı

بيز فانىبيز ، اولدور باقى Biz fanibiz. Ol’dur baqi

قامولار او´نون موشتاقى Qamular O’nun muştaqı

تاخوده­كو (؟) كيمين اولا! Taxudəki (?) kimin ola

كيچكينن اوغلان٫ هئى بيزه گلگيل! Kiçkinən oğlan, hey bizə gəlgil

داغلاردان داشدان٫ هئى بيزه گلگيل! Dağlardan daşdan, hey bizə gəlgil

آى بيگى سندين٫ گون بيگى سنسين Ay bigi səndin, gün bigi sənsin

بيمزه گلمه! بامزه گلگيل! Biməzə gəlmə, baməzə gəlgil

كيچكينن اوغلان٫ اوتاغا گيرگيل! Kiçkinən oğlan, otağa girgil

يولو بولمازسان٫ داغلاردان گزگيل! Yolu bulmazsan, dağlardan gəzgil

اول چيچه­يى كيم، يازىدا بولدون Ol çiçəyi kim yazıda buldun

كيمسه­يه وئرمه! خيصمينا وئرگيل! Kimsəyə vermə, xısmına vergil
گله­سن بوندا سنه يئى٫ غرضيم يوخ٫ ائشيديرسين Gələsən bunda sənə yey, qərəzim yox, eşidirsin

قالاسان آندا ياووزدور٫ يالينيز قاندا قاليرسين؟ Qalasan anda yavuzdur, yalınız qanda qalırsın

چلب´يندير قامو ديرليك٫ چلب´ه گل! نه گزه­رسين؟ Çələb’indir qamu dirlik, Çələb’ə gəl nə gəzirsin

چلبى قوللارين ايسته­ر٫ چلبى´نى نه سانيرسين؟ Çələbi qulların istər Çələb’ini nə sanırsın

نه اوغوردور٫ نه اوغوردور٫ چلب آغزيندا قيغيرماق Nə uğurdur, nə uğurdur Çələb ağzında qığırmaq

قولاغين آچ! قولاغين آچ! بولا كى آندا دويارسين Qulağın aç, qulağın aç, bola ki anda duyarsın



اگر يئىدير قارينداش٫ يوخسا ياووز Əgər yeydir qarındaş, yoxsa yavuz

اوزون يولدا سنه بودور قيلاووز Uzun yolda sənə budur qılavuz

چوبانى برك توت! قوردلار اؤكوشدور Çobanı bərk tut, qurdlar öküşdür

ائشيت مندن قارا گؤزوم٫ قارا قوز! Eşit məndən qara qözüm, qara quz

اگر تات´سان و گر روم´سان و گر تورك Əgər Tatsan, vəgər Rumsan, vəgər Türk

زبان بىزبانان را بياموز! Zəbani bizəbanan ra biyamuz


از ملمعات تركي-فارسي مولانا
Turkish and Farsi mixed poems of Rumi


دانى كه من به عالم٫ يالنيز سنى سئوه­رمن
چون در برم نيايى٫ اندر غمت اؤله­رمن
من يار باوفايم٫ بر من جفا قيليرسين
گر تو مرا نخواهي، من خود سني ديله­رمن
روئى چو ماه دارى٫ من شاددل از آنم
زان شكرين لبانت٫ بير اؤپگونو ديله­رمن.تو همچو شير هستى ٫ منيم قانيم ايچه­رسين٫
من چون سگان كويت٫ دنبال تو گزه­رمن
فرماى غمزه ات را٫ تا خون من نريزد
ورنه سنين اليندن من يارغي‌يا بارارمن
هر دم به خشم گويى: بارغيل منيم قاتيمدان!من روى سخت كرده٫ نزديك تو دورارمن
روزى نشست خواهم٫ يالقيز سنين قاتيندا
هم سن چاخير ايچه­رسين٫ هم من قوپوز چالارمن
روزى كه من نبينم آن روى همچو ماهت
جانا! نشان كويت٫ از هر كسى سورارمن
آن شب كه خفته باشى٫ مست و خراب و تنها
نوشين لبت به دندان٫ قاتى قايى يارارمن
ماهى چو شمس تبريز٫ غيبت نمود و گفتند:از ديگرى نپرسيد٫ من سؤيله­ديم٫ آرارمن



ماهست نمىدانم٫ خورشيد رخت يانه

بو آيريليق اودونا٫ نئجه جيگريم يانه؟

مردم ز فراق تو٫ مردم كه همه دانند

عئشق اودو نهان اولماز٫ يانار دوشه­جك جانه

سوداى رخ ليلى٫ شد حاصل ما خيلى

مجنون كيمى واوئيلا٫ اولدوم گينه ديوانه

صد تير زند بر دل٫ آن ترك كمان ابرو

فيتنه­لى آلا گؤزلر٫ چون اويخودان اويانه

ائى شاه شجاع الدين٫ شمس الحق تبريزى!

رحمتدن اگر نولا٫ بير قطره بيزه دامه؟

مرا ياريست ترك جنگجويى

كه او هر لحظه بر من ياغى بولغاى

هر آن نقدى كه جنسى ديد با من

ستاند او ز من تا چاخير آلغاى

بنوشد چاخير و آنگه بگويد:

تلا لالا تلا ترلم٫ تلا لاى

گل ائى ساقى٫ غنيمت بيل بو دم­نى!

كه فردا كس نداند كه نه بولغاى

الا ائى شمس-ى تبريزى نظر قيل!

كه عشقت آتش است و جسم ما ناى



اى ترك ماه چهره! چه گردد كه صبح تو

آيى به حجره من و گويى كه : گل برى!؟

تو ماه تركى و من اگر ترك نيستم

دانم به اين قدر كه به تركيست آب سو

آب حيات تو گر ازين بنده تيره شد

تركى مكن به كشتنم اى ترك ترك خو

رزق مرا فراخى از آن چشم تنگ توست

اى تو هزار دولت و اقبال تو به تو

مكش از بهر خون من اى آرسالان قيليچ

عشقت گرفته جمله اجزام مو به مو

نام تو ترك گفتم از بهر مغلطه

زيرا كه عشق دارد صد حاسد و عدو

گؤيچه­ك باخيشلارين بر ما فسون بخواند

اى سيز ديشى تو سئىره ك و دسيز ديش هانى بيجو ؟

تكتور شنيده ام از تو و خاموش مانده ام

غماز من بس است در اين عشق رنگ و بو



رسيد تركم با چهره اى گل وردى٫ بگفتمش

چه شد آن عهد؟ گفت: اول واردى

بگفتمش كه: يكى نامه اى بدست صبا بدادم

اى عجب آورد؟ گفت: گؤسته­ردى

بگفتمش چرا به يكه آمدى اى دوست؟

سئييرتدى يولداشيم يولدا٫ ائردى





من كجا، شعر از كجا؟ ليكن به من در مىدمد

آن يكي تركي كه آيد، گويدم: هئي كيمسين؟





يا اوحدالجمال٫ يا جانيم مىسين؟!

تو از عهد من اى دوست مگر ناديمسين؟

قد كنت تحبنى٫ فقل: تاجيك´سين

واليوم هجرتنى٫ فقل: سن كيمسين؟


آن ترك سلامم كند و گويد "كيمسين"

گويم كه "خمش كن كه نه كي دانم ني بي


گفتم فضولى من: اى شاه خوش و روشن!

اين كار چه كار تست؟ كو سنجر؟ كو قوتلو؟

مست است دماغ من، خواهم سخنى گفتن

تا باشم من مجرم، تا باشم يازيقلى


آن پسر پينه دوز٫ شب همه شب تا به روز

بانگ زند چون خروس: اسكى پاپوچ كيمده وار؟


اوزون ائى يار-ى رؤوحانى

وئرير ايسسى كيمى جانى

سنين اول اييىلييين هانى؟

اگر من متهم باشم؟


به صلح آمد آن ترك تند و عربده جو

گرفت دست مرا و گفت: تانرى يارليغاسين