In 2003 I left San Francisco to go on a peace pilgrimage to Damascus. I am reprinting this because I believe it is vitally important to offer positive personal stories about Arab countries.

I thought I heard someone say “terrorists”, but I realized by the context it was “terrace”, something about “the terrace next to the mosque”. That word – terrorist – shocked my nervous system. Nine-Eleven events were not so far away and George Bush was the American president. I told my ninety-one year old mother-in-law that we were just going to England and never mentioned Syria, even when we were there and calling her. It was strange: “Hi. Where? We’re in the countryside near… London”. Our friends and family were somewhere on a scale from worried to frightened that our visit to Syria would place us in harm’s way.  Syria. Number one enemy of Israel. President of the Arab American Institute, James J. Zogby, says in his article in the Syrian Times Nov. 19, 2003: “Having just returned from a short visit to the Arab world, I find the disconnect between the United States’ Middle East policy debate and realities in the region has never been greater than it is today.” he goes on to say that the real struggle is “…over ideas that will shape the U.S. policy debate in the minds of the American people.” For me it is important to communicate the urgency I feel; as if a tall, heavy door between America and Syria is swinging shut. Elias Amidon, leader of the journey, describes a “wall” being built by the U.S.

Why go? I went because I had a clear and powerful inner directive that comes from being welcomed by a loving friend or summoned by a great man – in this case a Sufi Master from the thirteenth Century, Sheik al Akbar, Ibn ‘Arabi. That seemed true to both my husband, Shabda, and me, so we went. Several years before this, we led a pilgrimage to Andalusian Spain and Morocco, entitled: In the Footsteps of Ibn ‘Arabi. We visited his birthplace in Spain, and carefully followed his trail to Fez. This was to be our completion phase – for us, and by proxy – for our fellow pilgrims of years past. The master lived his senior years productively in Damascus and was buried on the hill not far from the Al- Majed, our Hotel. I wanted to sit there quietly and sense what I felt. The “quiet” part was not meant to be, but now I’m getting ahead of myself.

We were here to join 13 other peace delegate pilgrims and our hosts, group leaders, Rabia Elizabeth Roberts & Elias Amidon of Boulder Institute for Nature and the Human Spirit. This journey was their invitation. The pamphlet for the Interfaith Pilgrimage reads: “The purpose… is to provide religious and community leaders, peaceworkers and other concerned citizens from Western countries an opportunity to visit Syria, …to come and listen to Syrian citizens describe their own views…and their visions for how real peace and mutual respect may be established.”

We were instructed to dialog with Syrians: “…how is it for you? What are the worst problems facing Syria?” Rabia & Elias had done this in Bagdad and Damascus in former years, and found that holding ground for this kind of exchange was very healing for local people who feel America doesn’t listen to them or their government.  “We are here to make friends and to listen,” they told us. “It’s a crash course in human trust, after which the pilgrimage comes alive.”

The resting place of Ibn 'Arabi

 

I stepped into the unknown and possibly hostile landscape and found that the feeling among Syrians was: You’re from America? You are welcome here! The unsaid part was something like, “We know that governments, particularly dictatorships, have little to do with the people and it seems we both have this problem, so we extend to you courtesy, as you are a guest in our country”.

Janaki from Boulder, Colorado and I teamed up and went to find a Syrian who spoke English. Finally we were led to Mohammad, a young man at a convenience store. He was happy to talk to us, but his boss, a man in his fifties was nervous. We began by saying we were peace delegates from America. Mohammad had learned our language from an interest in computers. He started by saying “OK” or “fine” to our questions. We would have been offered tea by now, but it was Ramadan and he was fasting. Finally he opened up and spoke: “Why do America and Israel need big nuclear weapons pointed toward us? They are so powerful. We are a small country. And why does America support Israel?”

I was amazed that we could have a conversation like this. That it was safe to do so. The names Israel and Jew are such a hot topic that our hosts inferred that neither word was prudent to say out loud on the street, as it would bring immediate attention. Israel is the enemy. America seems to share with that country what is perceived as expansionist goals. I was stunned to learn that 50 years ago Jews lived integrated lives in Damascus but now there are almost none. We listened. We told him it was impossible to understand how governments behave, and that we pray for positive change. At the group meeting there were many stories like ours. Collectively, we had just dropped into a deeper level. This was our work here.

The Peace Pilgrims

What is the city of Damascus like? It is a vital, attractive city. One hotel has a revolving restaurant on the fifteenth floor. Other buildings go back hundreds of years. Some are crumbling. Not one American tourist. No soldiers in the streets, no beggars or disoriented people like the homeless I encounter in San Francisco. (This was written before the Iraqis poured into Syria as refugees.) The shops are full of merchandise. Streets busy with commerce. Police acting as traffic directors. I saw many women without head scarves and women with head scarves. The best hotel was filled with Saudi oil-men in town to work on a business deal with the Syrians. You could read about it in the Syrian Times and the Daily Star in English.

The day I did get to Ibn al Arabi’s tomb it was nearly noon as I came in with the women from our group. Five or six local women were there. A green curtain divided the room from the larger men’s side. I was thrilled to finally arrive, and silently touched my forehead to the rug for a minute or two.  “La la! “[no. no!] someone poked me and mimed with gestures that I needed to praise and be happy, not emotional. My face showed no traces of tears yet my behavior was somehow not appropriate. I’d come thousands of miles to put my head down here in this spot. What a discovery. I was in a country where woman’s emotional behavior, it seemed, was being censored by other women, most likely because it was not safe to stand out in word or action. Two of them spoke urgently in Arabic. One was writing me a note. What was going on? I don’t speak or understand modern Arabic. I asked for a Qu’ran and began to recite Sura Ya Sin, (chapter 36)  “Heart of the Qu’ran”.  As I recited, I struggled with the Syrian style of text, as one of the women corrected my mistakes. I began to notice her reading was completely uninflected, the way you would read if you wanted to escape notice. I had a more traditional pronunciation of certain letters like Qaf and Ayn (Arabic letters). I was taught that this tells that you’ve had a careful education. I felt gratitude for the years of insistence by my Arabic teacher to squeak the ayns and squeeze the pharynx for the qaf. They seemed happy with me now. Sura Ya Sin was giving me a moment of dignity.

Shabda and Elias had recorded a television interview with a prestigious commentator, for a weekly show called “Focus”, not unlike 20/20 in America. The group was at a monastery north of Damascus when it aired.

I was in my hotel room waiting for the show, watching live TV footage from Mecca. The phone rang. “Mrs. Kahn? This is The American Embassy calling. We are evacuating all American citizens from Damascus tonight. Can you be packed and ready to leave in one hour?” After the words were repeated my full attention was with that voice on the line! I said that I couldn’t leave because my husband wasn’t here. I was thinking, ‘God, he’s going to be on national television, I can’t miss that!’ “Never mind your husband, we need to get you out”, continued the voice. “How do I know this is the Embassy calling. I’m going to check with the hotel desk”. I answered. The caller played his last card: “We will have a helicopter waiting on the roof…” I’d seen the roof. I was suspicious. “Bayan is this you?” Happy laughter was the response.  It was the hotel manager, who was keeping a protective eye on me since I was in the hotel by myself. Syrian-American comedy hour.  Strangely, his show of bold dark humor made me feel more at home here. I’d faced the unspoken boogey-man, and it transformed into laughter.

The Most Amazing Library I Have Ever Entered:

The next day Bayan chuckled when he saw me, very pleased with himself. He was sitting at the computer that is located in the center of the lobby. He pulled up a chair for me, asking what I planned to do today. “Type this in,” I said. “It’s my web site”. “YOU have a web site?” He was stunned. “It’s because I’m a writer. It talks about my work.” I told him about my research on the Wives of Muhammad. He was on his feet. “But you have to go to The Al-Azhar National Library. I’ll take you there at once!” He told me if we left immediately, he could get me there and pick up his son on time from school. He must have decided I was a kind of celebrity, with a husband on television and my own web site.  He was at my service. The library guard looked at my passport for a long time.  He talked to Bayan. Finally I passed through the iron gates into a vast modern building like an urban American Museum. Three floors, two large spiral staircases, fountains that created a mushroom shaped lens of water off a round pedestal. Reflections of the sky danced on the water’s skin. Unusual art hung on the walls: a plaque with the world’s first alphabet, cuniform pressed triangles from Ugarit, fourteenth century B.C.  Impressive.

My Library Card!

I located an English-speaking librarian who was amused by me;  with my headscarf (disguising my dreads), my inability to speak Arabic, my American passport, the books I was searching for – anything on the wives of Prophet Muhammad. There are no tourists from America, and it was off-season for Europeans. I was sent in search of the library director, Mr. D. Mazen Arafe. His office was at the end of a long hall. I smiled, “Salaam Aleikum, do you speak English?” He was seated at a big desk, looking at me. “Francais.” he replied. I really wanted my own library card with its Arabic version of my name. Words poured out in awful broken French. Success! I went to the reading room and ordered whatever I could find in English. I’ve laminated the card.

End of part I

Dear Friends and Family,

I am happy to let you know that after a decade of research and writing, my book “Untold: A History of the Wives of Prophet Muhammad” is being published through Monkfish Books. Monkfish has invited me to produce a private Limited Edition Hardcover Book under their new imprint known as Red Elixir. This allows the book to get to press quickly – published and in my hands by Dec 10, 2009.  A paperback edition will be released by Monkfish Books in the fall of 2010, and available to the general public.

By buying this book you are helping us finance the publication! The hand signed Limited Edition is available only by ordering directly from the author. The cost is $29 plus $5 for USPS Priority Shipping. You can order through Paypal <tamam@completeword.com> or write to the author at the same E-address.

We will do our best to fulfill all the orders the moment we receive the books from the printer, so it should be available for Christmas. Thank you for purchasing the book.

From the book proposal: The book casts a spotlight on the lives of each of Muhammad’s wives illuminating first her face, then the wider scene. The seven chapters demystify the women who stood in the daybreak of Islam.

This nonfiction biography connects the Western reader with the most famous women in the Muslim world. The book’s unusual format, sometimes called prosimetrum, employs narrative prose interspersed with short, lyric poems. The prose informs, the poetry creates intimacy and drops the reader deep into the story.

Untold: A History of the Wives of Prophet Muhammad is a scholarly work, informed by the oldest traditional sources. At the same time, it has a rare story-telling quality that captures the inquisitive reader who does not have the inclination to read scholarly texts. This book thoroughly speaks to a subject simply unknown to the Western reader and little known in the culture of its roots.

Dr Neil (Saadi) Douglas-Klotz, author of The Sufi Book of Life and co-author of The Tent of Abraham writes:  “Untold: A History of the Wives of Prophet Muhammad” takes us on Taman Kahn’s moving, personal journey of discovery, to unveil the hidden history of the wives of the Prophet Muhammad. The book frees the authentic voice of these women, who came from many different backgrounds and who played an essential role in the origins of Islam.  Ms Kahn steers a middle course between Western religious prejudice and uncritical hagiography by finding the poetry hidden between the lines of reported history, itself written mostly by men. As such, this book is part of a larger movement that seeks to reclaim the voices of women prophets and saints of all traditions.”

The last few days have been a naming frenzy. As if I were leaving the house for a celebration: to break a bottle of champagne over the prow of a luxury transatlantic vessel. Then I’m told, as I get in the car, that I must make a last minute name change. I am to chose a new name for the boat and announce it to the press. That may be a bit over the top. Let’s see, metaphorically: book = transatlantic ship, sinking and floating, large size feelings! Here’s what happened. While checking in with the great cyber presence – google – I  discovered that the name I had chosen for my just-written book, almost two years ago, had been taken by someone else. It showed up at the top of the list of 2 million-plus matches or partial matches by an author who writes, “Christians who minister in Muslim countries report an astounding openness to the gospel…” I think you catch my drift. Goodbye –  Married to Muhammad. Hello – what???

I wrote to my poet friends offering a list of contenders, hoping for an instant fix, a “yes, that’s it!” And they responded with choices. I am so grateful. My husband, with years of practice in such things, stayed in the safe zone. He gave his opinion quietly when I asked him to, and listened as I expressed my frustration or delight. Several days went by. Then it appeared! The title. Ruth Padel, who has written a stunning book on her great-great grandfather’s life, Darwin, A Life in Poems, [see blog April, 2009] suggested Untold: A History of the Wives of Prophet Muhammad. Yes!

I am seeing those words as I’m elevatored-up several stories to the bow of the enormous cruise ship and grasp the champagne bottle with the gold ribbon; as I adjust my darkglasses and gloves against flying glass, and as I swing the bottle like a baseball bat against the word UNTOLD. Balloons are released as the ship begins to slide backward into the water. I turn and smile.

Untold: A History of the Wives of Prophet Muhammad is my strong new title of the book that will be out in limited edition by Christmas under the “by invitation” imprint  called “Red Elixir.” This edition will be followed by a less expensive paper-back version for bookstores, schools and libraries under “Monkfish Books,” the umbrella publisher. More on this will follow.

I think I’ll climb up into the letter U and take a rest.

Untold. <>     <>     <>

FDR Monument designed by Lawrence Halprin

The passing of Lawrence Halprin covered half the front page of the SF Chronicle today. There were many color photos of his architectural creations. My heart goes out to Anna, Daria, and Rana in their loss. Years ago at my sister Wendy’s house I had a conversation with Larry about the creative process. I didn’t know him well, but since his daughter, Rana, was in my art class I taught at Urban School, I had taken the class on a tour of his architectural offices in San Francisco. This was the late 1960’s and his firm had created Sproul Plaza at UC Berkeley, and was working on Ghiradelli Square and Sea Ranch and many

other noteworthy sites.

Maybe it was the intensity in his voice, or his charisma – or both – but the words he spoke are still with me. “If you want to create using objects, space, and the environment, which is what architects do – be a sculptor. To get anything built, you need to be a politician.” He had just gotten the FDR monument approved, after years of working on it. “How was that?” I wanted to know. He said he had gone to Washington and sat on the grass at the national mall and contemplated what a memorial to FDR might be. He let me know that quiet time was a vital part of the process. A few years later, I was in D.C. with my eleven year old son, Solomon, taking him to visit Uncle Willy, my senator uncle. Larry’s words were still with me, but there was no FDR monument, and as we walked over to the Air and Space Museum, I remembered that conversation. I wouldn’t have seen the construction, on the narrow strip between the Tidal Basin and the Potomac River, flanked by cherry trees, since we stayed on the rectangular green between the Washington Monument and the Capital.

The time line of this project is impressive: approved in 1978, construction began in 1982, and (according to the SF Chronicle) it was completed in 1997. What a long, long time to hold a concentration! I remember watching a news special that year and seeing the FDR Monument unveiled, and an interview with Larry. I was stunned by the nearly two decades that had passed since he spoke to me about it. Then, years later (2006), in the city for my uncle’s memorial, I walked the tidal basin with my older son, Ammon, at the peak of the pink blossoms. I stood upon those terraces of stone, with trees, statues, falling water and pockets of quiet space. I would have liked to go back at night, but never did. His wife, Anna, said after his death, “He always wanted to do the most magnificent, uplifting thing he could. He strove for the ideal, and nothing less.” <>               Rest in peace, Larry.

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The second On-Line issue of The Sound Journal is up at thesoundjournal.org  [See link at the right] <> The theme is Balance, and there is a good variety of offerings including some words from Jane Hirshfield, a Middle Eastern Odyssey, a joyful music video, Fine Art, poetry, and Sufi commentary on Balance. Kyra Epstein and I worked hard on this issue, with a nod to the scales of Libra – now departed – as we gallop toward Halloween. Check it out! <> <>

The Sound Journal invited Scott Cilmi to share two beautiful paintings with our world community. Scott is a Bay Area painter who is featured by the prestigious Cohen Rese Gallery on Sutter Street in San Francisco.

Scott Cilmi “Affirmation III” 48′X48′ mixed media

Tuesday evening, October 20th, I begin my poetry class at CIIS in San Francisco entitled Eating Poetry. There may be room for a couple more people, if you are interested. As is my habit, I have been reading and digging through my books and papers and stuffing myself with words.

X-tatic eggplant

Given the culinary title, I find myself in a kind of Julia Childs Poetry Kitchen. This situation may  be dicey, invoking a burned sonnet full of iams, or a crushed carton of egg-like similes. With luck, I can pull off a delicious prose poem souffle. Julia was known to say: “I just hate health food.” I like this one: “It’s so beautifully arranged on the plate – you know someone’s fingers have been all over it.” You could say that. About poetry.

Eating Poetry Mark Strand
Ink runs from the corners of my mouth.
There is no happiness like mine.
I have been eating poetry.
The librarian does not believe what she sees…

I’m excited about They Feed They Lion by Phil Levine, not just because of the “feed” word, but because this poem effects me deeply and I don’t know why; it is disturbing and beautiful. “Out of burlap sacks, out of bearing butter…” Bearing butter? As in ball-bearing grease? Yuck. “…They feed they Lion and he comes.” That ’s the last line. You need to look it up and see for your self.

Here is a wonderful poem by a poet named Joseph Hutchison:  Artichoke ~  O heart weighed down by so many wings. [That's the poem!@! Yes.]

Gustave Flaubert writes: Language is a cracked kettle on which we bang out tunes to make the bears dance, when what we long for is to move the stars to pity.

Books I’ve been reading: “Ordinary Genius,” by Kim Addonizio and “The Poetry Home Repair Manual,” by Ted Kooser. Wonderful reading.

The food theme is making me feel bloated. The Tums and Po Chai are in the medicine cabinet.

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I came up with a title for an essay using “word dancing” and a line from Stanley Kunitz that goes, in the Dangerous Traffic Between Self and the Universe. I surprised myself right there. I looked to see what Marvin Bell had to say about “word dancing.” It goes like this: “When poems are written well enough, when they are interesting enough, they’re like a dance…” I’m thinking I want to make the dangerous dance beautiful, so I add SEQUINS, with help from Dorianne Laux. “I write to be one sequin among the shimmering others, hanging by a thread from the evening gown of the world.” Lets have more words with sequins. Picture this from Mark Doty: “ I do my tap routine surrounded by five little girls in sequined outfits like bathing suits dipped in glitter.” Go Mark! From “Firebird: A Memoir.” Donald Justice goes beyond bathing suits and brings in a transvestite. “Some nights out on the dock/…There comes the sound/ of bare feet dancing/which is Mr. Kehoe,/lindying solo,/whirling, dipping/ in his long skirt that swells and billows,/ turquoise and pink,/ Mr. Kehoe in sequins…” from “A Chapter in the Life of Mr. Kehoe, Fisherman.” Imagine! Dorianne, Mark Doty and Donald Justice – all in poetry’s shimmer.

Here is some wisdom on dancing in traffic:

King David, flushed with wine, is dancing before the ark;

the virgins are whispering to each other

and the elders are pursing their lips but the king knows the Lord delights

in the sight of a valorous man/ dancing in the pride of life... Irving Layton: “A Wild Peculiar Joy.“It isn’t easy thumbing through books by my favorite poets for a word, but here are two I found.

“…the moon pocked to distribute more or less/ indwelling alloys of its dim and shine/ by nip and tuck,/ by chance’s dance of laws.” Heather  McHugh: “In Praise of Pain.”

“…like a wave about to break across dance floors/ they still dream of, disguised as bay and meadows.” Wm. Matthews: “What a Little Moonlight Can Do.”

“Dance me to your beauty with a burning violin/ 
Dance me through the panic ’til I’m gathered safely in 
/Lift me like an olive branch and be my homeward dove 
/Dance me to the end of love 
/Dance me to the end of love…” Leonard Cohen: “Dance Me To The End of Love.” Now that we’ve made it through “the panic,” with Leonard’s soothing voice, we can stop dancing. In traffic. Dangerous traffic. Put the red shoes away.

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Finding English words to match Arabic words is a very difficult task, but when you add the factor of poetry, with it’s thought, feeling and nuance, the mental athleticism becomes near Olympian. Khaled Mattawa – my favorite  Arabic-to-English translator – has brought the poems of Jordanian poet Amjad Nasser into the first English collection of his work. Shepherd of Solitude: Selected Poems is a recent book from Banipal Press, 2009. I like this book, and say, “Good Work, Khaled!

 Alfred Corn comments: “…Nasser has developed an unusually wide expressive range… Khaled Mattawa’s finely calibrated translations open a door onto poetry that is a pleasure to read…”  Here is a taste:

A Rose of Black Lace

…Night

is a train pulled by tired bulls,

and the woman spreads her whiteness on the stranger.

Amjad Nasser, poet

White this black-hearted night,

white

treacherous

costly and tall

wearing a pair of black pumps,

white, and blond

guarded by sleepless grass….

White

with a birthmark,

Khaled Mattawa, poet and translator

with marble,

the white of sapphire,

the white of her turn…

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You finally belong to another generation when 
you read the works of younger poets and grieve about the poetry,/
voices of offspring singers remind you of adamant cicadas in sleepless nights,/ you can count with your fingers the number of people walking the streets/
that are dressed like you and have the same haircut/
looking long and hard before they cross the street. Amjad Nasser

from the website “Lettre Ulysses Award” http://www.lettre-ulysses-award.org/jury04/bio_nasser.html

Four women and a satellite dish are changing everything. A day or so ago, Kyra sent me a link to the documentary film Dishing Democracy. I spent the next couple hours watching four women change my mind about the Middle East. Here is a weekly TV show Kalam Nawaem  (Sweet Talk), with women commentators, modeled on “The View.” It is watched by 200 million people in The Middle East, Europe, Africa, and the USA. It shows and discusses controversial themes. It is a satellite TV MBC show taped in a studio in Beirut, Lebanon, owned by a Saudi businessman named Sheik Wali Ibrahim. This show encourages public discourse, is about challenge, question, and debate. Because the media is so strong today, it can’t be stopped. There is a Content Committee that looks over the material, and brings in experts, so it is difficult for the governments of Muslim countries to interfere. Here are the four women:Rania Barghout is a Lebanese woman from Lebanon, Germany, and London, who is married with two children and lives in Beiruit. Muna Abu Sulayman is the first Saudi woman on international satellite TV. She  is a PHD candidate in Arab/American Literature; Farah Besiso is a Palestinian former actress who was proposed to on the show and was filmed at the birth of her daughter, Habiba, because she feels she wants to stay connected with the people who watch the show. Fawzia Salama is a prominent Egyptian Journalist who is a generation older than the other three and supplies the calm, wise perspective.

Rania Bargout

 

 

While Kalam Nawaem pushes social boundaries carefully, with each hot topic that brings controversy, there are more viewers. One theme was how men are becoming more unsatisfied with their wives due to images of young beautiful women seen on TV; that divorce is on the rise. On another show, Fawzia asks about the public manifestation of the sexual phenomenon of homosexuality, not accepted by either society or religion. Have people become more daring? And what is the effect on our traditional society? This is a super taboo. The man who was supposed to come on TV was threatened so they interviewed him on the phone.  He says society is wrong to condemn him as a homosexual. Rania asks for a public response. An imam condemns homosexuality based on his interpretation of a passage in the Qu’ran. Meanwhile people at cafes all over Egypt, Libya and Syria are discussing this question. It is no longer whispered about behind closed doors.

Another time Farah reads from a letter saying they are all going straight to hell, except for Muna who wears a hijab. She speaks to the man who wrote the hate letter: “I want to say Islam is a religion of kindness and respect. Allah knows what is in our hearts.”

Then there is the documentary, Dishing Democracy. [link posted below.] Filmmaker, Bregtje Van der Haak, says she made this film because she hopes “the Western viewers will get to know a different side of the Arab world.” Bregtje continues, and says, “The difference between Arab and Western feminists is that Muslim women focus on the happiness of the community rather than the individual. What also inspired me is the fact that I noticed that in the Arab world, professionals, working women, working men, are driven not only by individual goals, individual happiness, and making money, but they are really working as a community to make something happen. And this is something that I miss sometimes in the West. It really touched me, and I want to learn from it as a media professional. And I want to understand what it means not to put the individual first. And I learned a lot from the team of Kalam Nawaem. And I hope I can use it in my practice, in my professional life, but also in my own personal life.”

I feel this is hopeful and exciting bridge-making! Please check it out.  <> Episodes and intro. to KalamNawaem http://www.pbs.org/wnet/wideangle/episodes/dishing-democracy/introduction/973/

 <>Interview with the filmmaker of Dishing Democracy: http://www.pbs.org/wnet/wideangle/episodes/dishing-democracy/filmmaker-notes-bregtje-van-der-haak/1842/

It’s Ramadan, right in the middle just past the full moon. In honor of this sacred month, I’d like to offer brief poetry excerpts, one from Palestinian-American, Suheir Hammad b. 1973, and the other from Delhi, India: poet Mirza Ghalib d. 1869.

“mike check”         by Suheir Hammad, from her book Zaatar Diva.

mike check/

one two one two can you/

hear me mike check one two/

mike checked/

my bags at the air/

port in a random/

routine check…/~

I understand it was/

folks who looked smelled/

maybe prayed like me/~

can you hear me mike/

ruddy blond buzz/

cut with corn flower/

eyes and a cross/

round your neck/~

mike check……../

a-yo mike/

whose gonna/

check you?

 Ever since she came out with the defining poetic moment of 9/11, “First Words Since,” and combined spoken word and the best of word-smithing, ever since I saw and heard her read at The Dodge Poetry Fest nearly a decade ago, I have been a Suheir fan. Catch “mike check”  on You Tube –http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_q11Nnba3iQ

 ”post zionism”       by Suheir Hammad, from her book Zaatar Diva

 my mother has always been/

plaiting hair untangling grape/

leaves preparing plates/

of mahshi between prayers/

and sharpening machetes…/~

 

Then there is Mirza Ghalib. Robert Bly in his book, The Winged Energy of Delight, describes him as “ …roguish, a breaker of religious norms, a connoisseur of sorrow, and a genius.”

“Questions” translated by Bobert Bly

Since nothing actually exists except you,/

Then why do I keep hearing all this noise?/~

These magnificent women with their beauty astound me./

Their side glances, their eyebrows, how does all that work? What is it?…/~

Good rises from good actions, and that is good./

Beyond that, what else do saints and good people say?/…….

 

In honor of this sacred month, I’d like to discuss briefly a term I have been considering, mentioned in the Book of Language by Kabir Helminski.

The word Shari’ah is known to mean Sacred Law, and to preserve social order. For me, there is a kind of strictness  associated with the word.  Actually, it is based on the Qu’ran and the example of Muhammad – [who was known to break his own rules!] It comes from the verb shara’a,  literally “an open, clear way.” The term shir’ah (or shari’ah), Kabir writes, “signifies ‘the way to a watering place.’” May we all be refreshed! May this gentle, earthy verbal reality become actual!

Here is my poem about Prophet Muhammad’s wife, Hafsa, and the Quran, from my forthcoming book, Married to Muhammad, Untold History of the Prophet’s Wives.

“Hafsa’s Qu’ran”

Marwan, governor of Medina… sent a courier to Hafsa
asking for the folios but she refused him…   Anas ibn Malik

 

Tell The Governor I say no,
I don’t accept command or bribe
I do not vacillate
and you can leave, now go.

 

I am the Prophet’s librarian.  And this
is the book: al-Kitab. The only set
of Abu Bakr’s folios, first copy of God’s kiss.
Its ink still hums against my very skin.

 

The Mother Who Reads, the Prophet’s librarian,
how blessed I am by al-Kitab,
which, after the last companion’s gone
may wash believers in the Word-of-God

 

Arabic, a printed alembic architecture of light
recorded on palm stalk, on camel’s
shoulder-bone, or held in memory;
copied to parchment then, and
swaddled with a length of green cloth, first

 

Qu’ran passed from my father
down to Uthman, then to me. Between the leaves
is Revelation. How can someone like you understand,
Marwan? You set yourself to be the one

 

to grab and shred and burn
this first Qu’ran (may copies rise and multiply),
as soon as I am shrouded in clean cloth
and lowered into earth.

 

notes: al-kitab – means the (a) book, any book. <>Source: Alim on CD-ROM, narrator, al-Bukhari, Anas ibn Malik hadith #6:183-184.Alim on CD-ROM, narrator, al-Bukhari, Anas ibn Malik hadith #6:183-184.    <>          <>           <>           <>