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 26:
How may
Fresh poetry
Come
To a heart heavy with sorrow
Some thoughts:
Some poets find great inspiration in the “depths of despair,” but Hafiz does not seem to be one of them. He, like me, questions how inspiration can flow when the heart is weighed down, when creativity is struggling to breathe. He yearns for something fresh, new, insightful, but is so filled with pain that there is nothing but old blood, recycled phrases, and stale thoughts. Fresh poetry represents the best words in the best order that arrive like an honored guest, flow through the poet, and onto the page. This kind of poetry he seeks cannot be forced or coerced into existence.
I don’t have the answer for Hafiz, since I, too, struggle with this question. But it feels affirming to sit in this space and ponder, with my fellow wordsmith, the slipperiness of inspiration and the heaviness of sorrow. We poets love juxtaposition and imagery. I wonder if Hafiz was inspired to write this little gem while in the depths of sorrow. If so, he has answered his own question by writing, despite the pain. I suppose the only way to know for sure is to experience it for myself.
My Poem 26:
How heavy is a heart?
Google says less than a pound, but it depends on gender, age cardiovascular health, and body size.
I say it depends on how much what is lost meant to the heart that must continue to beat.
Hafiz. Hafiz’s Little Book of Life. Translated by Erfan Mojib and Gary Gach, Hampton Roads Publishing, 2023.
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 2:
Everyone Drives by While I Walk on alone
Some thoughts:
I can only relate metaphorically to this poem because walking is difficult for me. With my joint degeneration and chronic pain, driving is much more my speed. However, I respect the deeper meanings that might be of the walking-to-the-beat-of-your-own-drum sort of metaphor. If “I” am doing something that seems to be different from “Everyone,” but I believe it to be what is best for me, I must persist, despite the aloneness. Perhaps because of the aloneness.
Sometimes solitude is the best way to connect to purpose, find center, ground. The harried rush of this world can sap our energy and distract us from the quiet inner contemplation that can connect us to our better selves. We cannot be of service to others if we are barreling through life so fast we have lost our own ability to reflect, to ponder, to get to know the quiet of our own minds. It is only here that most of us can hear the still, small voice.
I’m not sure what kind of drivers were racing past Hafiz on his alone walk in the 1300s, but I assume they were carts pulled by horses and people on horseback mostly. Faster than the pace of a walker, but nothing compared to the 80mph drivers on Texas highways. My, the poems he would have written about the rush of life we live today.
My Poem 2:
My H.E.B. has electric shopping carts for people like me to use in their store. They are slow, so as not to endanger other shoppers who could be run over.
They beep loudly and embarrassingly if I need to back up for overshooting. They are awkward for direction changes, and can be the cause of traffic jams.
But I no longer feel anything other than thankfulness when I drive them to shop. The lack of pain while choosing for myself provides autonomy and independence.
I may drag the cord behind me like a tail, stall and get stranded by a depleted battery, and back into the occasional display or wall, but I move at a pace that is mine alone.
Hafiz. Hafiz’s Little Book of Life. Translated by Erfan Mojib and Gary Gach, Hampton Roads Publishing, 2023.
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 1:
Between these two doors This caravan
Some thoughts:
The imagery of doors implies entrances and exits, passageways, or boundaries. Two doors suggest pillars of demarcation in time, place, awareness or perhaps binary contrasts. Opposite ends of conceptual delineations like birth and death or past and future seem like reasonable possibilities.
But those don’t seem to be what Hafiz is concerned with. He is pointing out the between. What is happening in the interim, the dash? Of course, the interesting part is the journey. We get so hyper-focused on reaching the destination that we become uncomfortable with the time spent in the now learning to be patient.
I picture a caravan of camels carrying the worldly goods of travelers long distances, the people eager for trade, companionship, good food, fresh water, music, romance, and laughter. It is life in motion. The doors are really of no consequence right now. They are the least of our concern when we have all this living to do.
My Poem 1:
Unmoored, afloat, uncertain if hope is a delusion or a virtue stillness sits where ambition once cracked her knuckles
the in-between is where? beginning was once easy to define though ending is unknown the certainty of it was assumed
now nothing reveals itself as absolute except this protest march that might possibly transform into a celebratory parade
Hafiz. Hafiz’s Little Book of Life. Translated by Erfan Mojib and Gary Gach, Hampton Roads Publishing, 2023.
I learned a new word today—paracosm. The internet says it is a detailed imaginary world. Paracosms are often formed by people in childhood and the creators can have complex, deeply felt relationships with this universe of imaginary characters and conventions. I remember having vivid daydreams as a child, but do not remember a consistent fictional imaginary world that I would return to. I find this concept fascinating. These are some expert level imaginers to be committed to a fully created universe that they continue to develop from a young age on through adulthood. I am actually quite impressed.
As a writer, I try to create alternate worlds for my characters in my books and I can’t keep all the details straight. I forget my own rules and setting characteristics and have to keep referring to my notes. People who create paracosms just do it naturally and don’t even have to try. I wonder if novelists who create such amazing fantasy worlds are doing this, in a sense. Maybe some people are naturally more capable of writing fantasy because their brains easily create paracosms.
In case anyone else was unaware of this curious word, I thought I would share what I learned. Then I also made some art on my Gencraft site about paracosms. I simply typed in that word using different models and let AI share what the word made them think of. They turned out really interesting.
I’m having a creative moment. The level of bliss I am experiencing is every creator’s dream. It is that moment when everything feels possible, and all synapses are firing and one idea sparks another. There are so many tabs open in my brain that I need to pause and write about it for a minute just to process the joy.
Let me begin by describing the tabs open on my computer…just for funsies. I have one open that is a bank of usernames I need for different creative tools I’m using that I access through my writing company’s browser. Yes, my best friend and I started a technical writing company. We have meetings and everything. They are on our calendar. We feel very grown up. I’m working on an ebook for our company’s portfolio that is about Data Privacy. It is too wordy, and Erica (my business partner) basically told me I must go back to the drawing board and turn all my wordiness into bullet points and sound bites and images and stuff because people don’t actually like to read all that. Sigh…
In other news, I have a tab open to my current obsession, Suno, where I create music from my lyrics or AI’s lyrics, or some combination of our poetic collaboration. I just wrote a prompt to create a French swamp blues song called “Vie triste”, which translates to “Sad Life.” AI made up this chorus and I love it so much.
And with every kiss We say to ourselves (Ouch) But without kisses It’s worse (Ouch again)
Before that, I generated a sort-of-Salsa song called “Qué rico me lo bailas.” I laughed out loud at Google Translate’s suggestion for the English title as “How delicious you dance it for me.” No, I don’t think that is quite the right interpretation of the meaning. ChatGPT explained that it implied a playful and flirtatious tone, with a focus on admiring someone’s dance moves and rhythm. That sounds more like the idea I was going for. Anyway, I hope it doesn’t say anything awkward in Spanish. Someone will have to let me know if it does.
On another tab, I have an art AI program open called Artistly, where I’m trying to generate an image of a dancer to be the album cover for the Salsa song. It is a new program for me, so I am watching videos to learn how to change the color of his shirt, make him stop pointing at the sky, fix his strangely formed hand, erase the stick he’s now holding for some reason, then add a background. The technology is super impressive. I don’t know what I’m doing, but I’m figuring it out and having fun as I learn. And then I noticed that Suno already generated the perfect album cover. It is a picture of a bird shaking its tailfeathers. I see you AI. Very funny.
Suno AI generated based on my lyrics.
While my latest song is playing, which happens to be a Korean Bluegrass piece about an old married couple, I am working on art on my Gencraft website. One of my projects with my art is to train AI to be more diverse with body size, skin tone, hair texture, gender, disabilities, and age. I am currently trying to teach one model how to make a little black fairy have an afro instead of loose curls. It is basically arguing with me and struggling to understand.
I am going to wrap up this blog post I am currently working on, then I plan to work a bit on a memoir I am ghostwriting for someone. Next, I will turn my focus to my own novel I am writing. If there is any time left, I will attempt to learn more about template creation for selling digital products on Etsy using a new template website I am learning how to navigate called Templett. I have started a store and am trying to fill it with unique, creative digital art and templates for people to download. There is so much I want to do and not enough hours in the day! When can I read any of my hundreds of books waiting for my attention? When can I get back to any one of my novels I’ve started to write, but not finished? When can I work on my coding classes online to make myself more marketable in tech? And I do have a real job where I work 8 hours in front of a computer with AI every day.
The reality of all this is that most of it was not possible until right now. AI was not advanced enough to be at the stage where engineers needed my help to train them with language. My job was not possible a few years ago. I am not an artist and do not enjoy attempting to create art with my hands, but for the first time in the history of ever, my words can be transformed into beautiful images by AI through collaboration. I love music and can read music, but do not have the time or musical skills on multiple instruments to create the music I am imagining to accompany my lyrics. This new technology did not exist until now. This is a new opportunity for word-creatives like me to express ourselves in a whole new way. And I am here for it.
Julian thinks he has blood burp, the kind where blood comes out of your body. We’re not sure if he needs to go to the hospital, or if he simply needs a glass of water. He said he burped like 1,000 times. He almost burped google plex. Do you know what google plex means? It means past infinity.
He’s busy playing the piano, and such beautiful music makes him wax contemplative. Try to guess that song, he says. Happy Birthday, I throw out on a whim. NO! It’s something that says uuuuhhhh. He’s learning to sound out words in Kindergarten and likes to point out the starting sounds of words to show how smart he is, like the color red – rrrrr, rrrrr, come on, guess it, he says. rrrrr, eeeee, dddd, red. R, E, D. Red.
Back to uuuuuhhhh. The name of his melancholic song. He is very offended that I can’t figure it out. Turns out, it’s Up from the movie. I think that is the saddest sounding song he can think of, and he wants to play something soulful. Now he’s banging in such a way that all the cats have run outside. He says the loud banging is from the movie, too. It’s the part where there’s singing. He’s done playing the piano.
Now he has my Wonder Woman sword and is practicing stabbing me in a variety of different ways. Through the underarm is his favorite because it comes out the other side and looks really realistic. Hey, wanna arm wrestle? he asks conspiratorially.
I’m not sure how normal our relationship is. This probably isn’t how most people imagine grandmothers and grandsons spend their time. But I don’t want to miss a second of it. What do you want for Christmas? I ask. Without missing a beat, Cristiano Ronaldo cologne from Amazon. Cologne? For a 6-year-old? Are you sure? He nods. What if it arrives and it’s stinky? It won’t be. Ronaldo always smells better than everybody all the time. My bad. I learn something every day.
It always starts with humming a tune or whistling a little ditty.
Then she gets caught up in her own musicality and can’t help but start belting out a few show- tunes and catchy pop numbers.
Before you know it, others have joined in with their makeshift instruments and attempts at harmony, creating spontaneous improvisational magic, the likes of which might not be heard again for a billion years or more.
@Home Studio – 309th poem of the year
Runner ups for the Space Singing photos to accompany my poem:
rebekahjmarshall 