Tag Archives: books

Hafiz – Poem 40

May 16, 2026 rebekahjmarshall Leave a comment

All images created by Rebekah Marshall’s prompts using AI on Gencraft.com website.

I am reading Hafiz’s Little Book of Life, poetry by Hafiz-e Shirazi. He is challenging me to become more comfortable with ambiguity. I will share his poem and some of my thoughts on his poem (sometimes with the help of experts when the concepts are too hard for me), followed by a poem and some art inspired by his poem.

Hafiz’s Poem 39:

Peace in both realms
Depends on your interpretation
Of these two utterances

“Be merciful with friends”

“Be tolerant of foes”

Some thoughts:

I’m not sure what two realms Hafiz is conceptualizing in this poem. There are so many options including: private life v. public life; religious life v. secular life; inner existence v. outer existence; human/earthly realm v. spiritual/divine realm; etc. I am going to keep it simple and consider the two realms “those who think like us” v. “those who do not think like us” as a simple way of saying “friend” or “foe.” That could apply to a number of different realms and is certainly relevant in current society where so much seems to balance on scales of dichotomy. Liberal v. Conservative; Rich v. Poor; Science v. Religion; Nature v. Progress; etc. We tend to be painted into black and white corners in nearly every conversation we enter.

I think Hafiz is suggesting that true peace depends on the way we perceive the gray areas that are not so easy to navigate. Can we be friends with someone who fails us? Those we love often hurt us the most because we care about their opinions and count on them. Can we be soft and loving to maintain relationships with those closest to us, even during the tough times? They are only human. And with our foes, can we allow for complexity and seek to understand without dehumanizing, othering, and judging too harshly? They are only human.

We will never have peace if we demand our way is the only way and there can be no other. Yes, we should have ideals, but then we must be merciful, tolerant, and gentle in our application of those principles as regards others. Can we hold compassion for those close to us and restraint toward those who oppose us? Will our differences and our interactions expand our hearts or harden them? The way we interpret these concepts holds the key to lasting peace.

My Poem 40:

Loving another means
accepting that they are human,
with all that entails,
including:
lateness, forgetfulness, distraction,
fear, ailments, impatience, frustration,
weakness, faults, arguments, disappointment,
and the list could go on…

The other we love may be friend or foe.
Both are in the same category of human,
with all that entails,
including:
beating heart, breathing lungs, thoughts,
opinions, feet to walk away, mouths that open,
hands that ball up into fists and clasp in prayer,
and the list could go on…

Hafiz. Hafiz’s Little Book of Life. Translated by Erfan Mojib and Gary Gach, Hampton Roads Publishing, 2023.

Essays, Writing

A Happy Pocket Full of Money (Book Review)

May 6, 2026 rebekahjmarshall Leave a comment

Oh my goodness, this book was hard for me to slog through. I’m not exactly sure what was so challenging for me, but I was unable to keep focused for more than a few pages at a time. A Happy Pocket Full of Money by David Cameron Gikandi was chosen as a book club pick for a women’s trading group I’m a part of for Day Trading. I try to play along but this one did not do it for me.

Perhaps I have read too many “Think Yourself Rich” books and have grown weary of the sound bites and platitudes. There must be something to said concepts for so many wealthy people to espouse them. I’m not saying they are false, but perhaps the constant koan-like paradoxes have exhausted me. I don’t know. My brain could not jump from one metaphor to another quote to a different story across a leap of faith required to accept the link between quantum physics and wealth generation. It is probably a failing or weakness on my part, but the threads were too loosely connected for me to follow.

My favorite chapter was the last one, and no, not because it was bringing the ordeal to a close. It was truly the chapter that made the clearest argument that my brain could comprehend. It focuses on money as symbol, only worth the value ascribed by those using it in trade. There is advice about taxes, offshore accounts, investing, energy transfer, ethics, etc., but no practical advice about how to make ends meet when living paycheck to paycheck. It remains a theoretical argument only the rich can claim as proof of success, while pointing to the poor as proof of failure. At some point, those doing all they can to better themselves grow weary of being told if only they believe harder, invest smarter, and intuit better, they too can become rich.

Gikandi, David Cameron. A Happy Pocket Full of Money, Hampton Roads Publishing Company, Inc., 2008.

The following was repeated no less than 500 times in the book:
“I am wealth. I am abundance. I am joy.”
I decided to use those words with AI to see what kind of images would emerge. These are the result:

These images created by Rebekah Marshall’s prompts using AI on Gencraft.com website.

Essays, Writing

How to Stop Time (Book Review)

May 5, 2026 rebekahjmarshall Leave a comment

I can think of few premises more horrible than that of Matt Haig’s novel How to Stop Time. It is a world where some among us age painstakingly slower than average. The protagonist appears to be in his early 40s but has been alive on this earth for over 400 years. From French aristocracy to quaint village life in old England, from the dangerous streets of Shakespeare’s London to the London of the 21^st Century, we are swept along with his story almost against our will. If life is a serious of tragedies with bright spots in between, imagine the tragedies of more than 5 lifetimes. The body still has aches and pains, the mind battles ups and downs, depression, anxiety, but with the added fears of being discovered, labeled a witch, a modern miracle, or a danger.

There are networks built to “protect” these long-living humans, but there are also organizations bent on finding and studying them like lab rats to enhance the lifespan of the rest of humanity. Staying hidden from both is nearly impossible, especially as modern technology advances to the point of photography, video, then internet and cell phones, and eventually social media. And how is one to love, to open the heart to vulnerability, knowing you will outlive any partner, child, grandchild, or friend? Oh, living with the pain of loss would be most unbearable for someone like me. I don’t even enjoy pondering this fictional concept any longer than I must.

But Mr. Haig has masterfully pondered these question and more in his tribute to family, humanity, love, and ode to living in the present. If nothing else, this book has made me thankful that my time here is brief in comparison. It is a good reminder to appreciate what we have and take no one we care about for granted. Change and death are inevitable constants that we must learn to accept; the alternative being the illusion of stagnation until the day we die.

Haig, Matt. How to Stop Time, Penguin Books, 2017.

Essays, Writing

Hafiz – Poem 39

May 3, 2026 rebekahjmarshall Leave a comment

Hafiz’s Poem 39:

Forgive the warring of the 72 nations
Not having seen the truth
They’ve gone down the road of fantasy

Some thoughts:

This poem took a little digging to learn about the number 72 in mystical Sufism and other Islamic cultural contexts. Apparently, it was a known phrase representing division or splits that people would have recognized as symbolic, rather than literal. The idea of 72 sects or religious groups became shorthand for fragmentation of what was once unified in hadith literature and early Islamic traditions. For Hafiz to mention 72 nations was to at once tap into phrasing his audience would recognize as representative of all the human groups of the world.

What is even more interesting to me is that he is not condemning all these nations for their shortsightedness but asking for their forgiveness. “They know not what they do.” They are caught in “the illusion” rather than recognizing the truth of peace and harmony. All the nations of the earth come from the same source. We all return to the same source after death. Why not live united in kindness, shared humanity, and communal peace during our short time in this reality? Such a question we could pose to the 197 nations in existence on our planet right now.

My Poem 39:

Can you truly not see
the shimmering promise
of a peaceful tomorrow?

The glow of city lights lies just over the horizon
where nation shall not rise up against nation.

This morass of darkness and despair
is not the truth you seek in your waiting
but merely an illusory nonsensical hellscape.

Continue to put one foot
in front of the other until you reach
the promised land of unity and peace,
where bees drip honey into mouths
open only to speak kind words,
and dams nurse calves languidly,
without fear of being separated by war.

Flowers are grown along every path purely
for making friendship wreaths and decorative
garlands to be given away free of cost or consequence
because nothing is required nor demanded of citizens
in this place beyond breath and awareness and love.

Hafiz. Hafiz’s Little Book of Life. Translated by Erfan Mojib and Gary Gach, Hampton Roads Publishing, 2023.

Essays, Writing

Hafiz – Poem 38

May 1, 2026 rebekahjmarshall Leave a comment

All images created by Rebekah Marshall’s prompts using AI on Gencraft.com website.

Hafiz’s Poem 38:

I’m not the color of hypocrisy
Either I am a red lion
Or a black serpent

Some thoughts:

I must admit that I am not at all certain of my interpretation of this one. It certainly seems to be along the similar vein of lukewarm water that is repugnant in the Bible verse of the New Testament. Be hot or cold, confident and decisive, real and certain, as opposed to waffling and on the fence. It reminds me a bit of the quote by Yann Martel in Life of Pi when the main character says, “It is not atheists who get stuck in my craw, but agnostics. Doubt is useful for a while…but we must move on. To choose doubt as a philosophy of life is akin to choosing immobility as a means of transportation.” I do not agree with that take, but understand the passion behind the utterance.

The sentiment I do agree with is that of being authentic rather than performative. Whatever the red lion and black serpent represent, they are the poet’s honest opinions. He is claiming that he will not speak untruth merely to save face or impress a certain crowd. Though the opinion may not be well received, might be complex, might be considered too intense, or venture into unsanctioned territory, he would rather speak his truth than be false or diluted.

I’m sorry, good teacher, but I am quite the fence sitter about some things. It is not always a comfortable position to be in, and one might argue, requires balance, a level head, and an open mind. We will have to agree to disagree for now, though that would also require fence-sitting, so you probably would not agree. lol

My Poem 38:

Rippling ember mane
flows like sun-blood
from roaring flame,
molten courage lava hot,
intense burning marrow
dissolves any tangled knot.

Coiled hidden spine,
a dark river eclipsed
by shadowed night,
deep as space unseen
conceals sudden movement,
striking stragglers of the in between.

Hafiz. Hafiz’s Little Book of Life. Translated by Erfan Mojib and Gary Gach, Hampton Roads Publishing, 2023.

Martel, Yann. Life of Pi. Harcourt, 2001.

The Bible. Authorized King James Version, Oxford UP, 1998.

Essays, Writing

Black Girl, Call Home (Book Review)

May 1, 2026 rebekahjmarshall Leave a comment

I just finished reading a fabulous book of poetry by Jasmine Mans called Black Girl, Call Home. Her dedication is written “For Mommy and Nana”, which spoke to me because I recently lost my grandmother and have been thinking about my relationships with my mother(s), daughter(s), and granddaughters. Her poems are commentary on world events, pop culture, race, gender, sex, family, you name it. Nothing is off limits for a poetic turn of phrase for Ms. Mans. I admire her fierce, unflinching insistence on speaking her true voice about topics I have never been brave enough to write about.

Rather than sharing my thoughts, I thought I would share a few lines of Mans’ poetry.

On mothers: I resent my mother / for things she has sacrificed / on my behalf.

On mothers: I know grace and mercy was raised / by the same single mother.

On God: I have reason to believe / God made dandelions / and metaphors / on the same day.

On Jay-Z: If we past kneeling, / How come we ain’t past dying?

On death: He died / as if / God / thought / he / outstayed / the welcome / in his own skin.

On Kanye (& the Black Aunties): …we know / we made you, / and who are we / to just let / our sister’s son / die?

On Whitney: She sits on an octave / past heaven… / A choir of collateral… / Enough voice to stretch / across the Pacific or the ghetto…

On time: Time / is a Black girl / tapping her red, / 4-inch / nails, against / a mahogany / kitchen table / on Springfield Ave.

There are poems in honor of Serena & Venus Williams, Michelle Obama, Sandra Bland, Halle Bailey, Alysia Harris, Sean Bell, a whole list of women who were sterilized without consent by American doctors, Henrietta Lacks and her immortal cells, a list of missing black girls, lovers, exes, and relatives, including parents, siblings, cousins, aunts, and uncles, as well as friends, neighbors, shop owners, and community members. She speaks with a bold, clear voice as a Black, queer, feminist. And I am inspired to broaden the scope of fodder for poetic consideration.

Mans, Jasmine, Black Girl, Call Home, Penguin Random House, 2021.

These images created by Rebekah Marshall’s prompts using AI on Gencraft.com website.

Poetry, Writing

Hafiz – Poem 37

April 28, 2026 rebekahjmarshall Leave a comment

Hafiz’s Poem 37:

In our neighborhood we care
Only for broken hearts

If you are peddling ego
Take it to the other side of town

Some thoughts:

Around these parts, we expect you to be genuine (pronounced “gin-you-wine.”) Your word is your bond. A handshake is iron clad. Our currency is honest to goodness salt of the earth authenticity. I’m pretending Hafiz is from the South. The parts of the South that truly honor integrity and character as proof of moral fortitude. There’s no room for someone who’s gotten too big for their britches. Too many sheriffs and other metaphors that are getting lost in the weeds.

The point is that Hafiz wanted to live in a community that valued real dyed-in-the-wool neighbors, the Mr. Rogers kind. People whose hearts were open to love and kindness, who were not self-serving and selfish. Anyone coming into that type of community and trying to appeal to pride and better than logic would not fit in, would not be welcome, would not fare well. Go elsewhere with that toxic culture of competition and keeping up with the Joneses. Here in our neighborhood, we help one another, take care of each other, and have the humble brokenness to admit when we need to lean on someone’s shoulder.

My Poem 37:

Would you look what the cat drug in.

Of course you are always welcome to show up around these parts, so long as you leave your muddy boots at the door. Don’t go and make me mop again today.

I’ve got a casserole in the oven and a pitcher of iced tea brewin’.

How ‘bout you pull up a seat and tell me what you’ve been up to since I saw you last. Goodness knows it’s been ages since we’ve caught up. Don’t mind me; I’m usually doin’ chores ‘til I fall in bed, but I can listen while I work.

How’s your mama? Everybody doin’ ok after that last flood? We lost our chicken coop and two outer sheds, but our trailer’s still standin’, so we can’t complain.

Can I send you home with some eggs? We’ve got plenty to spare. To tell you the truth, I’m kind of sick of egg salad sandwiches these days. Up to my eyeballs in ‘em. Wish it was closer to Easter. I’d dye a bunch for the neighborhood kids.

You can’t stay for dinner? Well, I understand. But at least let me pack you up a few servings in a Tupperware. Don’t you argue with me.

Here you go. Be safe out there and come back now, you hear?

Hafiz. Hafiz’s Little Book of Life. Translated by Erfan Mojib and Gary Gach, Hampton Roads Publishing, 2023.

Essays, Writing

the Echo of Old Books (Book Review)

April 27, 2026 rebekahjmarshall Leave a comment

*All the rest of these images created by Rebekah Marshall’s prompts using AI on Gencraft.com website.*

I love stories where loose ends are tied up, wrongs are righted, and resolutions are satisfying. I will not give away which elements of this tale adequately meet my criteria, so as not to spoil the ending for anyone, but I will say that I was sufficiently pleased. The Echo of Old Books by Barbara Davis spans the 1940s to the 1980s. The technology of those worlds is so different from today that we forget how differently life was lived until we are placed back in those settings. No social media, no internet, no Googling, no cell phones. Newspapers, books, telephones, and eventually micro phish.

There are layers of intrigue surrounding the uber-rich, pre-WWII antisemitism, psychiatry as a weapon against women (especially the act of having women committed to asylums), and societal shame surrounding children born out of wedlock. But my favorite parts are of course, the tragic romance threaded throughout both the books and the decades. The world seems to always have a problem with letting people who love one another be together, whether because they are the wrong nationalities, colors, classes, genders, ages, or religions. Add family rivalry, childhood loss, and war, and the chances of happily ever after go way down.

At least four generations are affected by the racism, classism, and evil perpetrated by several characters in this story. And the question of whether it is safe to open the heart, heal from the past, and give love a second chance, must be answered by multiple characters, each in their own time and place. Though the specifics of this tale are rooted in one family, the concept is universal. If people are unwilling to face truth, have the hard conversations, and find a safe home where they can be vulnerable, there can be no hope of reconciliation.

Davis, Barbara, the Echo of Old Books, Lake Union Publishing, 2023.

Poetry, Writing

Hafiz – Poem 36

April 19, 2026 rebekahjmarshall Leave a comment

Hafiz’s Poem 36:

Alas for the mockers of those
Who drink life to the very dregs

Only to abandon their own beliefs
At the open door of any tavern
Where their faith will be restored

Some thoughts:

Hafiz supposedly has double meanings in many of his poems, according to various experts. In this one, he could be talking about real drinking/partying, or the spiritual equivalent of feeling everything deeply, including joy, sorrow, and love. The people willing to drink to the dregs are the ones there until closing time. The real Mcoys. The mockers are those who set themselves up in judgment of and ridicule those kinds of people. Whether judgment of the literal drunkards or judgment of the deeply emotional/openly vulnerable/ecstatically connected people. Both can look rather similar to the untrained eye.

Either way, the reversal is the heart of this poem. The very people who judge others for their predisposition to revelry, might be the ones who crave it most. They can’t let themselves go, but when given the chance or suddenly set free to experience something ecstatic, they are the wildest ones you’ve ever seen. So much tightly wound, principled, rigorous defense of faith can sometimes reveal a lot about a person. They are just waiting for that moment to be unleashed, to experience, to feel something. And only then will they get it. The only way to connect is to leap into the unknown and grab for the ring or trapeze or whatever metaphor works.

Now, as a recovering alcoholic, I can’t finish without adding a cautionary note. I am not suggesting real alcoholics go live it up and fall off the wagon. Those of us with the disease of alcoholism and who are in recovery have already had our substance-induced revelry experiences and should have now graduated to the more spiritual/emotional side of celebration. Learning to find the depth of love, sit in grief, experience the full spectrum of emotions life puts us through without altering our brain chemistry IS drinking to the dregs the way Hafiz means it. It is learning to live fully, without needing to escape. And nary a one of us should sit in judgment of anyone going through the same hell of the disease of alcoholism that we have been through.

My Poem 36:

When you get sober
no one explains how much
you’ll miss turning off your brain.
It’s something you discover
when the thoughts won’t stop,
and you have to process the pain.

Hafiz. Hafiz’s Little Book of Life. Translated by Erfan Mojib and Gary Gach, Hampton Roads Publishing, 2023.

Essays, Writing

Behold the Dreamers (Book Review)

April 5, 2026 rebekahjmarshall Leave a comment

TRIGGER WARNING: This novel contains themes related to immigration challenges, economic hardship, race and class dynamics, and complex family relationships. It also touches on substance use and addiction, overdose, and instances of domestic conflict and violence. Some readers may find these topics emotionally intense.

All the rest of these images created by Rebekah Marshall’s prompts using AI on Gencraft.com website.

Behold the Dreamers by Imbolo Mbue provided a peek into the lives of some families quite unfamiliar to me—those of immigrants from Cameroon living in New York, trying to make a living in less than ideal conditions, and those of the privileged Wall Street rich executives with fancy cars and vacation homes in the Hamptons. I found the descriptions and complex relationships between the characters fascinating and believable.

The character I connected with the most was Neni, the wife of Jende, who follows her husband to New York from Cameroon with their toddler in tow when she is able. She is hard-working, persistent, hopeful, and resourceful. She jumps into every challenge with grit and is determined to become a pharmacist to help support her family. In one scene, she finally finishes her chores at midnight and must now study until at least 3:00 AM. Her toil is such a different pace in America than when she lived in Cameroon. I felt such empathy with her plight.

“She rested her head in her right hand, closed her eyes, and exhaled…Her mind was always active, it seemed—what needed to be done, by when, how long it would take to get done. Even when she sang during her chores, she was mindful of the next chore. And the one after that. Life in America had made her into someone who was always thinking and planning the next step.”

If only life could be different for all of us. Why must every step forward be two steps back, no matter how hard people try? So many in this world are giving the best they have to offer of their hearts, minds, and bodies, but all the wishful thinking, determination, prayer, and planning in the world does not always bring about success. There are no perfect answers or happily ever afters in this novel, but the spirit of survival, family, learning from our mistakes, and perseverance are inspiring nonetheless. And it is a wonderful reminder to treat everyone we meet as though they could be an angel, like the weary men Abraham offered hospitality to in the Bible. What a wonderful world we would live in if that were our perspective.

Mbue, Imbolo, Behold the Dreamers, Penguin Random House, 2016.