"Hafiz--a quarry of imagery in which poets of all ages might mine." - Ralph Waldo Emerson Hafiz was born at Shiraz, in Persia, some time after 1320, and died there in 1389. He is, then, an almost exact contemporary of Chaucer. His standing in Persian literature ranks him with Shakespeare and Goethe. A Sufi, Hafiz lived in troubled times. Cities like Shiraz fell prey to the ambitions of one marauding prince after another and knew little peace. The nomads of Central Asia finally overthrew the rule of these princes, and led to the establishment of the succeeding Timurid Dynasty. It is of utmost literary interest that a poet who has remained immensely popular and most frequently quoted in his own land should, for the universality and grace of his wisdom and wit, be known outside the land of his birth as he used to be, the subject of veneration among literati both in Europe and the United States. The time for revival of interest in a poet of such cosmopolitan appeal is overdue. His poems celebrate the love, wine, and the fellowship of all creatures. This volume, first published in 1952, brings back into print at last the renderings, the most beautiful and faithful in English, of this greatest of Persian writers.
The verses in Thirty-Three Poems, author William Sextons first collection, address a wide variety of topics from the heart of his own emotions. He examines his own feelings and anxieties about high school and explores thoughts on the earth and the environment. The verses detail his high school experiences for better or worse and illustrate the hopelessness that he felt because of the carelessness of people who mistreat the earth and her resources. Other verses were inspired by the times when he felt most deeply connected to his emotional center; these served as important emotional outlets and convey the deeply felt reactions of Sexton to the world at large. Biting Time Anger and frustration They eat at me like bugs Thousands of them Swarming me And knowing at my lungs I want to tear them into bits And kick the mangled husk Now my time is running short And rushing me to dusk I wish that clock would melt in fear And ever after shed its tears I want the time to drink its blood To slowly my racing heart Thud Thud Thud If only that which time would spare Was just enough to wash my hair
In this collection of poems Graham Simmonds is on a journey through dreams and reality. On the pilgrimage he encounters scenes and events showing that all people seek a mythology to justify their actions and existence. Not all seekers have empathy or understanding; some are mere malevolent egotists; others are lost in the roiling broth of uncontrollable circumstances. The joke lies in that there is no Pythagorean perfection in life, and that laughter and compassion can release us only when we realise this. There is always room for another pilgrim, and always another destination.