Coleman Barks and Rumi

For those who don’t read at the other, a cross-posting.

The closing act of the spring writers festival was leaving on a blissful high note –a performance of 800-year-old poetry of Rumi by the Mushfiq Ensemble and Coleman Barks.

The Persian music was by 2 men from Afghanistan, sometimes singing the Sufi’s words in the original tongue. A woman from India and a woman from Canada completed the Ensemble with the guest from the southern U.S., Coleman Barks.

The voices, violin and harmonium, each so much like a human voice, and tapping of tabla (drums) and plucking of other instruments blended into each other.

Together they did a kind of jazz-feel jam, reading each other, fading into and out of the words of Rumi.

Barks interspersed his performance with flows to how Rumi’s movement made life the worship: silence, discourse, movement, gibberish, music, jokes, and watching the behavior of animals as kinds of scripture.

You can’t explain the poems of Rumi. They were spontaneous speech. “These poems are a medium you swim in”. Interspersed were Nasrudin jokes, stories of meeting people who can recite Rumi in different languages, meeting government officials who at diplomatic functions begin a strong debate. His translator explained it was not political but over drunkenness in the poems of Hafiz versus Rumi, soemthing he could never see happening in the U.S. cabinet. There were poems by Bark himself of indulgent grandfatherness. And that cyclical repeating words until they dissolve.

Some notes of what he related…repeated in a way of haiku repeated in air, except in this case to his mellow deep voice of the south to accompaniness of singing and instruments. Out of context of the body of sound and rhythm, they lose most, but I note to myself what I can of the holiness if inner listening of an audience with one ear and tongues sold.

• When you pray your own longing is the reply.
• It’s said that god created the world because he loves stories. Make your life a good story so God doesn’t get bored.
• Any religion, any group, any person, each has a secret way to be with the Mystery, none to be judged.
• I didn’t come here of my own accord. The one who brought me here will have to take me home.
• What matters is how quickly you do what your soul directs.

When he spoke of his grand daughter and going to her soccer game, her team lost and the opposite team paraded chanting we won, we won and his grand daughter got up on the seat of the convertible and pumped her arm and chanting we lost, we lost, 10-zero, we lost with as much enthusiasm. Good losers don’t laugh last/ they laugh continuously

By the end the entire auditorium by the end instantly gave a long ovation, no hold outs standing because others are standing. The group will have another performance at the national library on May 18th. You can hear some of their music sample here.

If you want to hear some of the poems, The Voice of Longing, Coleman Barks CD of Rumi.