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Poetry, Writing

Hafiz – Poem 37

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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 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)

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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.

Essays, Writing

The Love of My Life (Book Review)

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This image created by Rebekah Marshall’s prompt using AI on Gencraft.com website.

From The Love of My Life by Rosie Walsh:

“I invite you to think about an event in your past you’d do anything to erase.

You’re bound to have one, even if you’re young. And if you’re good at hiding it, it’ll be there on the strandlines of your own story: sand-camouflaged, unremarkable; visible only to those who know what to look for.

I was good at hiding mine.”

Rosie Walsh does an excellent job of making us question everything about the main character in her novel The Love of My Life. What sort of nefarious past has she kept hidden? Whose side should we be on? The quirky, adorable relationship between her and her unsuspecting husband makes us ache for them, wishing their tale could be less complicated. Can’t there be a happily ever after? Must there be ominous uncovering of stalkers, affairs, criminal activities, deception, danger, loss, and more? Why, yes…yes, there must because Rosie Walsh wants to drag her readers kicking and screaming through every revelation as though we are a character in her book.

Who is the love of Emma’s life? Is it her husband? Is it another man she is meeting in secret? Is it someone yet to be revealed? The twists and turns are well-timed, suspenseful in a way that makes the reader distrust nearly everyone and are satisfyingly straightened out by the end. I enjoyed every second of the tension in this book because it made me love the characters all the more for having endured the stress along with them.

Walsh, Rosie, The Love of My Life, Penguin Books, 2022.

Poetry, Writing

Hafiz – Poem 36

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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 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

The Storied Life of A.J. Fikry (Book Review)

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This book was a lovely little slice of life capturing the people of a small island town as they supported one another through the ups and downs we all experience. The quirky characters made me feel reminiscent of the Doc Martin show I used to watch with my husband about characters set in Portwenn, a fictional town on the coast of Cornwall, England. The gruff bookstore owner A.J., certain of never finding love after tragically losing his wife, reminded me of the doctor in Doc Martin with minimal people skills. A.J. loves books. Doc Martin loves practicing medicine. I’ll stop with the comparisons, but I should say that I am a fan of whatever this type of story is—odd outsider becomes an instrumental part of the community. He may be off-putting, but he’s our bookstore owner who is off-putting, sort of thing.

When a special gift is left for him in his bookshop, the life-changing effects are as dramatic and satisfying as one could expect. There is mystery, romance, tragedy, and comedy. And it is all wrapped in a heartwarming tale of people taking care of people. Now I will allow myself to watch the movie, since I finally read the book. I hope it is just as satisfying as the book was. I also enjoyed comparing notes with A.J. about his favorite short stories. I felt quite accomplished that I had read some of the ones he mentions at the beginning of the chapters.

Zevin, Gabrielle, The Storied Life of A.J. Fikry, Algonquin Books of Chapel Hill, 2014.

Essays, Writing

Not Up For Easter

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

Holidays take so much energy. Energy I do not have to share right now. The last month has been a lot. I don’t want to decorate, host any dinners or brunches, clean my house, buy gifts, make treats, bake desserts, dye eggs, hide candy, grocery shop, cook, or do anything involving pastel shades. I don’t have anything against any of those things, but the thought of participating in any of it makes me feel more tired than I already am. Add to that, I came down with a stomach bug and I just want to lie in bed for a few days.

I know holidays are important and create special memories, especially for children. I’m just not in the mood for all the hoopla and rigamarole. Thankfully, all 3 of my grandkids are in different states with different family members having wonderful times without me. That probably sounds horrible to say. I love them and want to be with them but also love that they have many relatives who want to spend time with them. I am very thankful for a large, extended family at times when my energy has been completely depleted.

Maybe next year. For this year, the newest granddaughter is snug as a bug in a rug with her parents up in Michigan, Charlotte is at a wedding with her father and his father at her aunt’s wedding up in New York, Julian is with his Abo and Aba in Texas, and I am going to take a nap. That sounds like the perfect Easter activity for me.      

Essays, Writing

Behold the Dreamers (Book Review)

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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.

Art, Essays, People, Writing

Grandad Passed Away This Morning

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

My grandad passed away this morning peacefully in his sleep. He was 92 years old and loved by 5 generations. He got to spend time with his newest great-great-granddaughter about a week ago and still said the prayer for our breakfast 4 days ago. The last few days, he was lost in his thoughts and seemed to be remembering projects and work assignments from many years past, his mind constantly trying to be productive and wrap up loose ends. We kept reassuring him that he could rest. All his hard work was complete and there were no more deadlines to meet.

His belief to the end was that his next waking moment would be in a resurrected body free of pain, reunited with those who passed before him, like his wife (my Mema) who we lost 2 years ago.

I felt like being creative with my grief and made some AI art in honor of Grandad (and Mema.)   

Poetry, Writing

Hafiz – Poem 35

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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 35:

Harvests of spirituality could burn
Right on down to the ground
In the flames of self-denial
& the bonfires of hypocrisy

Some thoughts:

A lot of work comes before the output of a harvest. There is tilling, sowing, watering, weeding, pruning, feeding, and scaring pests away. To reach the point of harvest in spiritual terms means we’ve been doing something right. We’ve been putting in the effort necessary to produce noticeable fruits of the spirit. We are right at the finish line, ready to pluck the bounty from the stems and feast on our reward. Surely, we would never sabotage our own efforts and burn it all to the ground.

But it happens all the time. We become rigid in our ways and begin to try to change aspects of ourselves that we think must be purified even more. In our search for perfection, we become more and more radicalized in our thinking, unwilling to compromise or accept any other ideas. We think we have figured out the truth, the only way, the perfect path, and no one else could possibly be right. We lose humility and set ourselves in the place of judgement as though we know the Will of God. We light the flames of justice and destroy ourselves in the process, hypocrites that we have become in our staunchness.

Maybe we need to go back to the early days of tilling and pruning to be reminded that toiling in the dirt is part of being human. We are made of the stuff. We are not asked to deny our humanness, nor make idols of our belief systems. We are only meant to reap what we sow and give thanks every step of the process. The harvest is no more holy than the weeding. And not allowing ourselves to enjoy the fruits of our labors is a crime against the natural order of things. Hard work deserves to be rewarded and we are worth it.

My Poem 35:

Planting mystery seeds in soil
turned twice, watered with tears,
and weeded by blistered hands,

the bountiful produce gleams
in the sunlight like golden prosperity
waiting to be reaped and gathered.

If only, if only…pride goes before,
and losing the self in the process
hurts nearly as much as the regret.

How many acres of spiritual crops
must burn to ashes before we admit
we might not know everything?

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

This poem “The Flint” by Christina Rossetti felt connected somehow. Something in the humble nature of the flint, who retains its flintness without flinching, is inspiring.

Rossetti, Christina. Sing-Song: A Nursery Rhyme Book. George Routledge and Sons, 1872.

Poetry, Writing

Hafiz – Poem 34

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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 34:

Good were the times
Being with the Friend
All else – fruitlessness
& ignorance

Some thoughts:

I am choosing to interpret the Friend as love/God/integrity/connectedness. Any time spent in that state is Good. Like Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden, it was very good. They were very good. All was good because they were experiencing that love and connectedness on tap. Everything else that is done with thoughtlessness, anger, a lack of compassion, or without care is probably meaningless. It is only in those times of being online with our higher selves, plugged in to that higher consciousness that comes with being one with the Friend, that our experiences are meaningful and fruitful.

Today, am I connected to the Friend and finding purpose in my thoughts and actions? Or am I disconnected and just going through the motions? Am I present or distracted? Are my choices sincere or performative? We can sense when our self is acting from a place of integrity vs. when we are simply reacting and flailing about uncentered.

My Poem 34:

Good times await the kind of friends
who finish each other’s sentences
and pick up threads of conversation
from years past like it was yesterday.

Days spent apart are meaningless,
unable to mark time because no
witness can claim shared experience
without the presence of the other.

To fill the void with woven energetic
nuance recognized by spilt laughter
and resonance, they need only make
eye contact to collapse the distance.

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