When Hafiz <br />sang the poetry in his heart <br />in the beautiful gardens of Shiraz <br /> <br />they said his voice was like <br />pouring light into a cup <br />when the soul is thirsty <br /> <br />so no-one wrote it down; for <br />the page does not always sing; <br />better now, to seek out an old woman <br />who had heard Hafiz when she was young, <br />ask her to speak those verses <br />as she remembered them <br /> <br />or even to ask her grandchild <br />who remembered the light <br />of his voice in her grandmother’s eyes. <br /> <br />Because Hafiz <br />never saw anyone <br />who is not God <br /> <br />he called God sometimes Friend, <br />sometimes Beloved, <br />or Sweet Uncle, Generous Merchant, <br />The Immediate One, <br />The Problem Giver, <br />The Problem Solver, or <br />The Clever Rascal. <br /> <br />Because Hafiz <br />never saw anywhere <br />which is not God <br /> <br />he gave God’s address as <br />sometimes the holes in the roof, <br />or the cracks in the walls, <br />or even the back door <br />of a favourite pub <br /> <br />where God is the dancer, <br />the musician, the wine, <br />the beautiful companion. <br /> <br />Hafiz knew <br />we need poets <br />to bring rest and refreshment <br />because separation from God <br />is the hardest work in the world. <br /> <br />So don’t do a thing; <br />just rest there, and <br />we’ll bring you what you need. <br /> <br />* <br /> <br />[To Daniel Ladinsky, translator of 'Hafiz', <br />Shams-ud-din Muhammad, <br />c.1320-1389]<br /><br />Michael Shepherd<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/on-being-a-poet/
