By Khushwant Singh - Hindustan Times
Friday, March 31, 2006
Professor Coleman Barks who teaches poetry in the University of Georgia (US) is today regarded as the authority on the poetry of Jelaluddin Rumi (1201-1273). When starting on his translations Barks thought it wise to seek the guidance of the best-known Sufi teacher of the time, Bawa Muhaijudeen of Sri Lanka. As he introduced himself, his mentor asked him what his name meant. Barks told him. Whereupon Bawa started howling like a dog and then laughed.
The professor was not in the least offended because he knew that childlike behaviour is part of Sufi character. Howling is both an expression of pain and a cry for help. Rumi had written “the grief you cry out from draws you towards union; your pure sadness that wants help is the secret cup. Listen to the moan of a dog for its master, the whining, is the connection. There are love dogs no one knows the name of. Give your life to be one of them.”
I confess I am as out of my depth with this kind of dogma as I am with the writings of our own mystics, the Bhaktas. However, I persisted in my reading of Rumi for two reasons. The Essential Rumi, translated by Coleman Barks and John Moyne, was gifted to me by a close friend, Samia Moosa, an attractive Afghan lady who spends her time equally between Kabul and California. And I wanted to know what was so great about Jelaluddin Rumi after whom a cult of dancing dervishes has been established.
I was fully rewarded: there are gems of wisdom strewn in a lot of tales.
Saturday, October 14, 2006
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Saturday, October 14, 2006
Among mystics
By Khushwant Singh - Hindustan Times
Friday, March 31, 2006
Professor Coleman Barks who teaches poetry in the University of Georgia (US) is today regarded as the authority on the poetry of Jelaluddin Rumi (1201-1273). When starting on his translations Barks thought it wise to seek the guidance of the best-known Sufi teacher of the time, Bawa Muhaijudeen of Sri Lanka. As he introduced himself, his mentor asked him what his name meant. Barks told him. Whereupon Bawa started howling like a dog and then laughed.
The professor was not in the least offended because he knew that childlike behaviour is part of Sufi character. Howling is both an expression of pain and a cry for help. Rumi had written “the grief you cry out from draws you towards union; your pure sadness that wants help is the secret cup. Listen to the moan of a dog for its master, the whining, is the connection. There are love dogs no one knows the name of. Give your life to be one of them.”
I confess I am as out of my depth with this kind of dogma as I am with the writings of our own mystics, the Bhaktas. However, I persisted in my reading of Rumi for two reasons. The Essential Rumi, translated by Coleman Barks and John Moyne, was gifted to me by a close friend, Samia Moosa, an attractive Afghan lady who spends her time equally between Kabul and California. And I wanted to know what was so great about Jelaluddin Rumi after whom a cult of dancing dervishes has been established.
I was fully rewarded: there are gems of wisdom strewn in a lot of tales.
Friday, March 31, 2006
Professor Coleman Barks who teaches poetry in the University of Georgia (US) is today regarded as the authority on the poetry of Jelaluddin Rumi (1201-1273). When starting on his translations Barks thought it wise to seek the guidance of the best-known Sufi teacher of the time, Bawa Muhaijudeen of Sri Lanka. As he introduced himself, his mentor asked him what his name meant. Barks told him. Whereupon Bawa started howling like a dog and then laughed.
The professor was not in the least offended because he knew that childlike behaviour is part of Sufi character. Howling is both an expression of pain and a cry for help. Rumi had written “the grief you cry out from draws you towards union; your pure sadness that wants help is the secret cup. Listen to the moan of a dog for its master, the whining, is the connection. There are love dogs no one knows the name of. Give your life to be one of them.”
I confess I am as out of my depth with this kind of dogma as I am with the writings of our own mystics, the Bhaktas. However, I persisted in my reading of Rumi for two reasons. The Essential Rumi, translated by Coleman Barks and John Moyne, was gifted to me by a close friend, Samia Moosa, an attractive Afghan lady who spends her time equally between Kabul and California. And I wanted to know what was so great about Jelaluddin Rumi after whom a cult of dancing dervishes has been established.
I was fully rewarded: there are gems of wisdom strewn in a lot of tales.
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