Sufi
A broken reed. No longer
its feet in earth, its stalk in water;
what will become of it?
Taken by grace; cut; shaped
into new name, new form;
breathed into it, the breath of life;
the breath, heard by a song
unmanifest, that waits to be born
from cause to mind to sound:
how can this sound be described,
the joy of broken reed now flute?
Now the reed can sing; speaks
of how it cried its loss;
yearned to find itself again;
knowing in its heart
that wholeness waits, somewhere, for ever;
now it sings for joy, so purely that
no ears, no heart, can resist its call;
nevermore to part the reed, the flute, the song.
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Related quotes
0245 The Sound of The Flute
Listen to the sound of this reed-flute –
hear what it says. First, it laments
its banishment; its tearing away
from its home, its reed-bed. And
this alone, tears at the yearning heart
of all those whose heart feels far from home.
Listen to it.
Then behind its breathy air
is fire – the fire of love; that sound
which tells every love-story in the world,
of lovers, parted, yearning to be
together once more. This flute first
tells of separation; then of unity.
Listen to it.
Do not listen to this dangerous
flute, unless you wish to hear
the innermost secrets of your heart –
the parting and the separation,
the yearning, yearning, for return –
Dare you listen to this story of pain, of love?
Listen to it.
(freely taken from the Prologue to Book I of the Masnavi I Ma’navi
of Maulana Jalalu’din Muhammad Rumi, the founder Dervish)
poem by Michael Shepherd
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In the spirit of Rumi - 27
‘O My Beloved –
I lose myself in the world’s distracting multiplicity,
yet cannot find the One in my restless mind –
I am in a desert place, a place of desolation… ’
My Beloved said
see the reeds, gently swaying like swooning dervishes
on the river bank, their feet in the water –
a man could sit for hours and watch them –
are they not beautiful?
See now the reed-flute, so carefully crafted,
waiting there to sound out sadness, love and joy –
is it not beautiful?
See the musician – how his eyes shine
with the music in his soul!
Is he not beautiful?
Hear the music that he plays –
telling its stories of life and death, of heaven and earth –
is it not beautiful?
Now watch him as he plays
the music which is himself
on the flute made from the willing reed –
am I not the One you hear in this?
I am beautiful in My Oneness;
I am beautiful in My multiplicity;
Is there a greater miracle than this?
And you, the witness of all this in Me –
is there a greater miracle than yourself?
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Muse
In my youth's years, she loved me, I am sure.
The flute of seven pipes she gave in my tenure
And harked to me with smile -- without speed,
Along the ringing holes of the reed,
I got to play with my non-artful fingers
The peaceful songs of Phrygian village singers,
And the important hymns, that gods to mortals bade.
>From morn till night in oaks' silent shade
I diligently harked to the mysterious virgin;
Rewarding me, by chance, for any good decision,
And taking locks aside of the enchanting face,
She sometimes took from me the flute, such commonplace.
The reed became alive in consecrated breathing
And filled the heart with holiness unceasing.
poem by Alexander Sergeyevich Pushkin
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When you work you are a flute through whose heart the whispering of the hours turns to music. Which of you would be a reed, dumb and silent, when all else sings together in unison?
quote by Khalil Gibran
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Primal
Krew Boylan, Ch'aska Cuba de Reed, Santiago Cuba de Reed, Lindsay Farris, Rebekah Foord
by Josh Reed from Primal (2009)
Submitted by Film Fan
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When I am asleep and crumbling in the tomb
When I am asleep and crumbling in the tomb, should you come
to visit me, I will come forth with speed.
You are for me the blast of the trumpet and the resurrection,
so what shall I do? Dead or living, wherever you are, there am I.
Without your lip I am a frozen and silent reed; what melodies
I play the moment you breathe on my reed!
Your wretched reed has become accustomed to your sugar lip;
remember wretched me, for I am seeking you.
When I do not find the moon of your countenance, I bind up
my head [veil myself in your mourning]; when I do not find your
sweet lip, gnaw my own hand.
A Musical Instrument
What was he doing, the great god Pan,
Down in the reeds by the river?
Spreading ruin and scattering ban,
Splashing and paddling with hoofs of a goat,
And breaking the golden lilies afloat
With the dragon-fly on the river.
He tore out a reed, the great god Pan,
From the deep cool bed of the river:
The limpid water turbidly ran,
And the broken lilies a-dying lay,
And the dragon-fly had fled away,
Ere he brought it out of the river.
High on the shore sat the great god Pan
While turbidly flowed the river;
And hacked and hewed as a great god can,
With his hard bleak steel at the patient reed,
Till there was not a sign of the leaf indeed
To prove it fresh from the river.
He cut it short, did the great god Pan,
(How tall it stood in the river!)
Then drew the pith, like the heart of a man,
Steadily from the outside ring,
And notched the poor dry empty thing
In holes, as he sat by the river.
'This is the way,' laughed the great god Pan
(Laughed while he sat by the river),
'The only way, since gods began
To make sweet music, they could succeed.'
Then, dropping his mouth to a hole in the reed,
He blew in power by the river.
Sweet, sweet, sweet, O Pan!
Piercing sweet by the river!
Blinding sweet, O great god Pan!
The sun on the hill forgot to die,
And the lilies revived, and the dragon-fly
Came back to dream on the river.
Yet half a beast is the great god Pan,
To laugh as he sits by the river,
Making a poet out of a man:
The true gods sigh for the cost and pain, --
For the reed which grows nevermore again
As a reed with the reeds in the river.
poem by Elizabeth Barrett Browning
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How Tuneful Is The Voice Of Sea
How tuneful is the voice of sea,
What true accord in ocean's murmur,
And in the reed's light, rhythmic tremour
What tender musicality!
In nature all is harmony,
A consonance fore'er agreed on,
And 'tis alone our phantom freedom
That is disturbingly off-key.
Whence comes this breach? How to explain
Why with the sea its song sonorous
The soul declines to sing in chorus?
Why does the thinking reed complain?
poem by Fyodor Ivanovich Tyutchev
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Man is but a reed, the most feeble thing in nature, but he is a thinking reed.
quote by Blaise Pascal
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Syrinx
Pan's Syrinx was a girl indeed,
Though now she's turned into a reed;
From that dear reed Pan's pipe does come,
A pipe that strikes Apollo dumb;
Nor flute, nor lute, nor gittern can
So chant it as the pipe of Pan:
Cross-gartered swains and dairy girls,
With faces smug and round as pearls,
When Pan's shrill pipe begins to play,
With dancing wear out night and day;
The bagpipe's drone his hum lays by,
When Pan sounds up his minstrelsy;
His minstrelsy! O base! this quill,
Which at my mouth with wind I fill,
Puts me in mind, though her I miss,
That still my Syrinx' lips I kiss.
The Song Of Pan
Mad with love and laden
With immortal pain,
Pan pursued a maiden--
Pan, the god--in vain.
For when Pan had nearly
Touched her, wild to plead,
She was gone--and clearly
In her place a reed!
Long the god, unwitting,
Through the valley strayed;
Then at last, submitting,
Cut the reed, and made,
Deftly fashioned, seven
Pipes, and poured his pain
Unto earth and heaven
In a piercing strain.
So with god and poet;
Beauty lures them on,
Flies, and ere they know it
Like a wraith is gone.
Then they seek to borrow
Pleasure still from wrong,
And with smiling sorrow
Turn it to a song.
poem by Archibald Lampman
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The Old Prison
The rows of cells are unroofed,
a flute for the wind's mouth,
who comes with a breath of ice
from the blue caves of the south.
O dark and fierce day:
the wind like an angry bee
hunts for the black honey
in the pits of the hollow sea.
Waves of shadow wash
the empty shell bone-bare,
and like a bone it sings
a bitter song of air.
Who built and laboured here?
The wind and the sea say
-Their cold nest is broken
and they are blown away-
They did not breed nor love,
each in his cell alone
cried as the wind now cries
through this flute of stone.
poem by Judith Wright
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Man is but a reed, the most feeble thing in nature, but he is a thinking reed. The entire universe need not arm itself to crush him. A vapour, a drop of water, suffices to kill him. But if the universe were to crush him, man would still be more noble than that which killed him, because he knows that he dies and the advantage which the universe has over him; the universe knows nothing of this.
quote by Blaise Pascal
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Withered Rose
O withered rose! How can I still call you a rose?
How can I call you the longing of nightingale's heart?
Once the zephyr's movement was your rocking cradle
In the garden's expanse joyous rose was your name
The morning breeze acknowledged your benevolence
The garden was like perfumer's tray by your presence
My weeping eye sheds dew on you
My desolate heart is concealed in your sorrow
You are a tiny picture of my destruction
You are the interpretation of my life's dream
Like a flute to my reed-brake I narrate my story
Listen O rose! I complain about separations!
poem by Allama Muhammad Iqbal
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Work chapter VII
Then a ploughman said, "Speak to us of Work."
And he answered, saying:
You work that you may keep pace with the earth and the soul of the earth.
For to be idle is to become a stranger unto the seasons, and to step out of life's procession, that marches in majesty and proud submission towards the infinite.
When you work you are a flute through whose heart the whispering of the hours turns to music.
Which of you would be a reed, dumb and silent, when all else sings together in unison?
Always you have been told that work is a curse and labour a misfortune.
But I say to you that when you work you fulfil a part of earth's furthest dream, assigned to you when that dream was born,
And in keeping yourself with labour you are in truth loving life,
And to love life through labour is to be intimate with life's inmost secret.
But if you in your pain call birth an affliction and the support of the flesh a curse written upon your brow, then I answer that naught but the sweat of your brow shall wash away that which is written.
You have been told also life is darkness, and in your weariness you echo what was said by the weary.
And I say that life is indeed darkness save when there is urge,
And all urge is blind save when there is knowledge,
And all knowledge is vain save when there is work,
And all work is empty save when there is love;
And when you work with love you bind yourself to yourself, and to one another, and to God.
And what is it to work with love?
It is to weave the cloth with threads drawn from your heart, even as if your beloved were to wear that cloth.
It is to build a house with affection, even as if your beloved were to dwell in that house.
It is to sow seeds with tenderness and reap the harvest with joy, even as if your beloved were to eat the fruit.
It is to charge all things you fashion with a breath of your own spirit,
And to know that all the blessed dead are standing about you and watching.
Often have I heard you say, as if speaking in sleep, "he who works in marble, and finds the shape of his own soul in the stone, is a nobler than he who ploughs the soil.
And he who seizes the rainbow to lay it on a cloth in the likeness of man, is more than he who makes the sandals for our feet."
But I say, not in sleep but in the over-wakefulness of noontide, that the wind speaks not more sweetly to the giant oaks than to the least of all the blades of grass;
And he alone is great who turns the voice of the wind into a song made sweeter by his own loving.
Work is love made visible.
And if you cannot work with love but only with distaste, it is better that you should leave your work and sit at the gate of the temple and take alms of those who work with joy.
For if you bake bread with indifference, you bake a bitter bread that feeds but half man's hunger.
And if you grudge the crushing of the grapes, your grudge distills a poison in the wine.
And if you sing though as angels, and love not the singing, you muffle man's ears to the voices of the day and the voices of the night.
poem by Khalil Gibran
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Little Flute
Thou hast made me endless, such is thy pleasure. This frail
vessel thou emptiest again and again, and fillest it ever with fresh life.
This little flute of a reed thou hast carried over hills and dales,
and hast breathed through it melodies eternally new.
At the immortal touch of thy hands my little heart loses its limits in
joy and gives birth to utterance ineffable.
Thy infinite gifts come to me only on these very small hands of mine.
Ages pass, and still thou pourest, and still there is room to fill.
poem by Rabindranath Tagore
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I
Thou hast made me endless, such is thy pleasure. This frail vessel
thou emptiest again and again, and fillest it ever with fresh life.
This little flute of a reed thou hast carried over hills and dales,
and hast breathed through it melodies eternally new.
At the immortal touch of thy hands my little heart loses its limits
in joy and gives birth to utterance ineffable.
Thy infinite gifts come to me only on these very small hands of
mine. Ages pass, and still thou pourest, and still there is room to fill.
poem by Rabindranath Tagore from Gitanjali (1912)
Submitted by Silvia Velea
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By Moschus
I slept when Venus enter'd: to my bed
A Cupid in her beauteous hand she led,
A bashful seeming boy, and thus she said:
'Shepherd, receive my little one! I bring
An untaught love, whom thou must teach to sing.'
She said, and left him. I, suspecting nought,
Many a sweet strain my subtle pupil taught,
How reed to reed Pan first with osier bound,
How Pallas form'd the pipe of softest sound,
How Hermes gave the lute, and how the quire
Of Phoebus owe to Phoebus' self the lyre.
Such were my themes; my themes nought heeded he
But ditties sang of amorous sort to me.
The pangs that mortals and immortals prove
From Venus' influence and the darts of love.
Thus was the teacher by the pupil taught;
His lessons I retain'd, he mine forgot.
poem by William Cowper
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You & Me
Prologue:
Knew you were only fooling when you turned around and said goodbye
Please call this over I'll just roll up in a ball and cry
The winter moon is often viewed in the eye of you
Saw a man walking on the moon on a black and white T.V.
I saw 4 lads from Liverpool in my babysitter's magazine
I saw rain shine than sun fall
Saw nobody home
Saw candles burning in the wind
I saw Lou Reed in Rome
I saw the land beyond my wildest dreams behind a willow tree
Saw naked ladies on the wall of a bathroom in a factory
Saw apples lying on the ground
Saw right through the snow
I saw women dying in an opera
Saw Lou Reed in Rome
Then I saw your face and thought how life's so good to me
We were meant to meet each other in the middle of a mystery
I saw an old man sleeping in the cold by a purple limousine
I saw the biggest canyon in the world with an angel in the stream
Saw a weary eyed 14 year old dancing all alone
I saw a needle going through a heart
Saw Lou Reed In Rome
Then I saw your face and thought how life's so good to me
And we were meant to meet each other in the middle of a mystery
Then I heard you smile and thought how wonderful indeed
Were meant to meet each other You and Me
You and Me
Then I saw your face and thought how life's so good to me
And we were meant to meet each other in the middle of a mystery
Then I heard you smile and thought how wonderful indeed
Were meant to meet each other You and Me
You and Me
You and Me
You and Me
You and Me
You and Me
song performed by by Men Without Hats
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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You And Me
Prologue:
Knew you were only fooling when you turned around and said goodbye
Please call this over i'll just roll up in a ball and cry
The winter moon is often viewed in the eye of you
Saw a man walking on the moon on a black and white t.v.
I saw 4 lads from liverpool in my babysitter's magazine
I saw rain shine than sun fall
Saw nobody home
Saw candles burning in the wind
I saw lou reed in rome
I saw the land beyond my wildest dreams behind a willow tree
Saw naked ladies on the wall of a bathroom in a factory
Saw apples lying on the ground
Saw right through the snow
I saw women dying in an opera
Saw lou reed in rome
Then i saw your face and thought how life's so good to me
We were meant to meet each other in the middle of a mystery
I saw an old man sleeping in the cold by a purple limousine
I saw the biggest canyon in the world with an angel in the stream
Saw a weary eyed 14 year old dancing all alone
I saw a needle going through a heart
Saw lou reed in rome
Then i saw your face and thought how life's so good to me
And we were meant to meet each other in the middle of a mystery
Then i heard you smile and thought how wonderful indeed
Were meant to meet each other you and me
You and me
Then i saw your face and thought how life's so good to me
And we were meant to meet each other in the middle of a mystery
Then i heard you smile and thought how wonderful indeed
Were meant to meet each other you and me
You and me
You and me
You and me
You and me
You and me
song performed by by Men Without Hats
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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