A Persian Rapture Poem by Daniel Brick

A Poem by Paul Carrizales,
edited by Daniel Brick

Overtaken by that other mind
I sit beside myself - the eye
of flesh staring at the precipice -
wondering where you are:
Heart of my soul, where are you?

Behind these carnal eyes lies
the beacon's object, the still point:
the last weapon in the armory rusts,
poor people steal the tools,
No one objects when the osprey turns
into a swan. The rest stumble in slumber.

At coral dawn I awaken
from this world of dream,
water and West Wind at my face.
The questions were expected:
What is the name of the sun?
Does a fish know its appellation?
Can purple morning glory thank
new day's growing warmth?

I sit beside myself
wearing that other mind:
Beloved, how marvelous is your face!
The Face of faces, which fleshly eyes
have not seen. Who will tear the veil?

Fleet gazelles graze in a unseen garden
behind the eyes, where understanding
grows, and he who tastes knows.
Lovely women feel no obligation.
Khayyam learns what Kalabadhi knows:
the Secret of the Peacock Poet's silvered tongue.

I sit beside myself
watching the fine essence descending.
A Persian shepherd boy becomes
a soul in wonder, Jasmine blooms, fragrances
of Amber and Shalamar blend, water and
the West Wind stir things momentarily.
No fear remains...

After the rain, the rainbow mends the sky,
the day of colors appears again.
Heart of my soul, your sky bow waters my eyes,
and I know the name of the sun.

My friend Paul and I determied to write SUFI-inflected poems
during the summer of 1986. To that end, we both bought copies of Annemarie Schimmel's THE MYSTICAL DIMENSIONS OF ISLAM, a beautifully
written work of scholarship. For that summer Paul and I wrote, conversed, and drank wine from a SUFI vineyard. I cannot tell in
a SUFI poem where the poetry ends and the prayer begins, they are so completely intermixed. And so it should be.