Two poets

A few short notes on Pessoa’s “re-working” of Wordsworth’s “The Solidary Reaper”.

For reference, the Wordsworth poem is as follows:

BEHOLD her, single in the field,
Yon solitary Highland Lass!
Reaping and singing by herself;—
Stop here, or gently pass!
Alone she cuts and binds the grain,
And sings a melancholy strain;
O listen! for a vale profound
Is overflowing with the sound.
No nightingale did ever chant
More welcome notes to weary bands
Of travellers in some shady haunt
Among Arabian sands;
No sweeter voice was ever heard
In springtime from the cuckoo-bird,
Breaking the silence of the seas
Among the farthest Hebrides.

Will no one tell me what she sings?—
Perhaps the plaintive numbers flow
For old, unhappy, far-off things,
And battles long ago,
Or is it some more humble lay,
Familiar matter of to-day?
Some natural sorrow, loss, or pain,
That has been, and may be again!

Whate’er the theme, the maiden sang
As if her song could have no ending;
I saw her singing at her work,
And o’er the sickle bending;—
I listen’d till I had my fill;
And, as I mounted up the hill,
The music in my heart I bore
Long after it was heard no more.

Ostensibly it is about hearing a lone highland lass in song as she reaps the wheat. The poet perceives her from a hill, and is asking rhetorically — what does she sing? A cursory glance at the English literature journals and we see that this is often understood to be a trope for human existence … The “lass” being a kind of metaphor for the unfolding reality of creation.

I wouldn’t disagree, but have a few things to add, regarding the generative potential that is present within Wordsworth’s Romanticism, for which we must turn to Pessoa’s reworking, the second part of which reads:

Ah, canta, canta sem razão!
O que em mim sente ‗stá pensando.
Derrama no meu coração
A tua incerta voz ondeando!
Ah, poder ser tu, sendo eu!
Ter a tua alegre inconsciência,
E a consciência disso! Ó céu!
Ó campo! Ó canção! A ciência
Pesa tanto e a vida é tão breve!
Entrai por mim dentro! Tornai
Minha alma a vossa sombra leve!
Depois, levando-me, passai! (OP 111)

[Oh sing, sing without reason!
What in me feels is thinking.
Into my heart pour
Flooding your uncertain voice!
Oh, to be able to be you, being me!
To have your joyous unconsciousness,
And the consciousness of it! O heaven!
O countryside! O song! Knowledge
Weighs so heavy and life is so short!
Enter me, inside! Turn
My soul to your light shadow!
Then, bearing me away, pass on!]

Here the relationship to the reaper’s song is voiced more like a kind of du’a: he is not pondering the nature of the song as much as asking that it enters into him, that the song passed through him, flooding his heart with a kind of immanence of iqraa that will turn “my soul to your light shadow” — render his being a kind of “dark glass” (1 Corinthians 13).

There are a great many interesting English lit things that can be said about both poems in terms of postmodern quotation, repetition, Bloomian influence, etc … (You know, Picasso/Velasquez and all that.)

Instead, let me give a very short and direct Tailorite understanding.

I’d say that the bond between Wordsworth and Pessoa is not a naïve tension or anxiety of influence, say some self-referential Oedipus murder realised through the deliberate quotation but, rather, the (more accurately Bloomian) silsila of transmission of voice from the English Romantic to the Portuguese Occultist.

That is, Passoa’s utterance here, his reconstituted recitation is a self-fulfilling, illocutionary du’a, whereby the song of Wordsworth’s lass does indeed flood the heart of successor poet, the truth of Wordsworth’s poem is an Intellect transmitted (in a Christian Gnostic sense) and Passoa becomes Wordsworth (this is the true nature of influence after all, a kind of becoming, a sort of sunnah) “to be able to be you, being me”. But this becoming — this influence — is a function of the feminine reaper, a function of Wordsworth’s poem, because “she” is nothing if not influence itself. She is nothing but creativity, she is nothing but cycles of re-reading. She, and her song, are a literary harvest.

Why? Because both poets are speaking about the same thing: the Shekhina (Judaism)/Sakina (Islam)/Shakti (Hindu forms) — the immanence of Divinity’s presence that is the nature of creation in its essence as both 1) feminine receptivity to Divine Light (in Kabbalah referred to as the “shadow” that faces the “light” — hence his reference to “my soul to your light shadow”) and 2) feminine creativity in that receptivity is a kind of inception of language/perception that is productive in its lines of flight outward into new interpretations/harvests/reassembly/gathering/creativity/art/poetry/love-making. Sometimes she is called (approximately) the Tree of Life.

If you were to ask me for two good (and commonplace) Kabbalistic tropes for the Shekhina/Sakina principle, I would name a field of wheat, being harvested, and also a singing/reciting girl. Wordsworth combines both and frames them. Passoa (from an aesthetic perspective) answers Wordsworth’s transcendental framing device with his immanent supplication. Thus he completes Wordworth’s question with immanent supplication. Wordsworth adopted the man on the hill (this is Hajar) by questioning in distance from the girl, a question that adopts the conceit of locality and specificity (“what is she singing? Old days/new days, etc”) to clear cycles of the fabric of reality while Passoa is running down (in sa’ee), now at the valley between the hills, and recites an answer that totalizes the cosmos through the specificity of the poet’s individual becoming. So it’s a question/answer thing, and Wordsworth is an orb that always had Passoa within it, all the way through the Romantic years, the successor Passoa poem was there, gestating, required by Wordsworth for the original poem to be formed. (Though the discourse of poetry is infinite, as you can see in my reconciliation of the two here which is nothing more than another kind of poem contained within both, in their triangulation and triads abound within the perturbation of our supposed existence.)

So, in summary, Passoa is standing within the field of wheat, the land or “countryside” of perception/cosmos/immanence/culture — and is also, specifically, Wordsworth’s own poem, or, more deeply, the land is the girl in iqraa itself — and now he recites a poem that refers, in prayer, to its invocation of the spirit of his precursor poet, but this invocation is a self-fullfillment because it constitutes “her” reaping, it constitutes her iqraa, now running through him.

As a sidenote, this “becoming Wordsworth” is the nature of strong poetic influence and is the nature of all creative/spiritual lineage. And it is a form of Jihad, because it is involves both Passoa and Wordsworth’s identities and it involves the Body. (See our recent video for the details … But one other key factor that Wordsworth notes is the importance of the lass here.) The fact that the Sakina can be found in all forms of Jihad (see, e.g., Qur’an on Saul’s victory, its description of the Ark of the Covenant in battle and of course the Battle of Badr) and that Jihad’s nature is transmission, is transformative creative influence from “old” to “today”. This is predicated upon by Wordsworth’s vagary

Will no one tell me what she sings?—
Perhaps the plaintive numbers glow
For old, unhappy, far-off things,
And battles long ago;
Or is it some more humble lay,
Familiar matter of to-day?

She/her song (she is her song) is a cycle of harvest, a harvest of creativity engendered across the immanent plane of the fields of wheat:

As if her song could have no ending;
I saw her singing at her work,
And o‘er the sickle bending;—

I assume one of Pessoa’s identities was aware of what was going on here, from a culturally referential perspective. But not that it really matters: she was singing all along anyhow and her song was the harvest.


8 thoughts on “Two poets

  1. This is an interesting departure for you, Mu. Portuguese literary criticism? Tailorite hermeneutics clearly knows no bounds… 😉

    For some reason you leave out the first three verses of Pessoa’s poem, but I suggest they’re well worth considering.

    Ela canta, pobre ceifeira,
    Julgando-se feliz talvez;
    Canta, e ceifa, e a sua voz, cheia
    De alegre e anônima viuvez,

    Ondula como um canto de ave
    No ar limpo como um limiar,
    E há curvas no enredo suave
    Do som que ela tem a cantar.

    Ouvi-la alegra e entristece,
    Na sua voz há o campo e a lida,
    E canta como se tivesse
    Mais razões pra cantar que a vida.

    She sings, poor reaper,
    Thinking herself happy perhaps,
    She sings and she reaps and her voice, full
    Of joyful and anonymous widowhood,

    Quavers like the song of a bird,
    Limpid as a threshold in the air,
    And there are curves in the gentle story
    of the song that she has to sing

    To hear her delights and saddens,
    In her voice there is the field and labour,
    And she sings as if she had,
    More reasons to sing than life itself.

    Wordsworth asks: “Will no one tell me what she sings?” but Pessoa is able to answer this: her voice is full of “of joyful and anonymous widowhood”. She is the soul liberated from marriage to the false self, free to live beyond consciousness. And it is this that resonates so bittersweet with the poet – the Englishman flounders around the apparent contradictions of melancholy and sweetness, but the Portuguese understands immediately. This is saudade (which of course is the Arabic s-w-d, ‘black’, as in sawda, melancholy, but also sayda, mistress) that her song evokes in him – the secret of all true music, the intoxicating and devastating plaint of Rumi’s reed separated from its reedbed.

    Oh, to be able to be you, being me!
    To have your joyous unconsciousness,
    And the consciousness of it! O heaven!
    O countryside! O song! Knowledge
    Weighs so heavy and life is so short!
    Enter me, inside! Turn
    My soul to your light shadow!
    Then, bearing me away, pass on!

    It’s interesting, too, that the Portuguese language doesn’t differentiate between consciousness and conscience – this one word consciência doubling for both (something I hear quite a lot, living with a Portuguêsa! 😉
    ‘Joyous unconsciousness’ can thus also be read as freedom from conscience, making of the reaper even more of an anima figure (in the Jungian sense).

    Wordsworth is ‘filled’ with the reaper’s song, but Pessoa sees in it the possibility to be emptied:

    Minha alma a vossa sombra leve!
    Depois, levando-me, passai!

    With a nice play on leve – ‘light’ (but, better, ‘weightless’, ‘gentle’ or ‘flowing’; Nick Drake’s ‘soul with no footprint’) – and levando (from levar, to ‘lead’, ‘carry away’ or ‘take’).

    Bears comparison to the curious image of ‘a world without you’ in Drake’s ‘Joey’:

    Joey has loved but never shown her tears
    So she may laugh in the autumn of your years
    And when you’re with her, you’ll wonder if it’s true
    All they said of a world without you.

    1. James, in some kind of retroactive form of poetic analysis (proceeding backwards, up the poem), you have “answered” the question left by my omission.

      I only would have added two additional points:

      1) she is the “poor” reaper, with poverty being the keyword here, in its identification with Sakina … and the importance of SKN linking the two … the miskin (the poor) and Sakina (the tranquility of Allah) and the dwelling place of rest for the people are all one: reception to the light that are capable, via the agency of creating-in-speech/action the Divine bestowal, of mirroring this bestowal outwards, we find that the miskin, the poor dwelling place of our mind, is activated as a perfect mirror and Sakina descends upon us, an immanent plane of understanding.

      The “anonymous widowhood” I could attempt to refer to another property of Sakina, that of its impossibility, in the my usual sense that “woman” is the impossible hijab because she is language/song/perception (rather than a straightforward feminism of a feminine transcendent of language).

      That said, I wasn’t happy with “widowhood” because I’d like the Nur to figure in here somewhere, and its points like that where I begin to feel a bit cold towards the poet … but if she was, as you say, formally married to a Demiurge of the ego, then that makes sense. There is a curious kind of Zen that runs through his work, it seems, in tandem with his Occultism.

      2) I viewed the first part of the poem as merely a movement from apprehension of her (in the same way Wordsworth does) — into dua — but you have clarified the significance of the first part very nicely. Quite amazing!

      Regarding the movement though, I guess I could say in addition that there is a kind of Saul-factor present within all comprehension/influence (because influence is Jihad).

      You’ve read this but for others interested in what I mean by Saul here:

      Comprehension is something that emerges in the movement from Wordsworth’s apprehension/distance/questioning into Pessoa’s supplication/closeness/answer … but is also predicated upon by the relationship between the first part of Pessoa’s poem and the second part, which has within it a form of distance/apprehension into supplication already. Not that his poem doesn’t require Wordsworth’s!

      I believe that Pessoa’s widow is quite ironic — ironically lovely — at the beginning. So is Wordsworth’s — Pessoa brings that out in ironic quotation. I suppose all Divine questions have a touch of irony, because a question always demands distance, it demands standing on the hill, apprehension — what you have identified, very nicely, as her blackness. I think failing to understand the irony (and irony’s beauty/blackness) in any Divine revelation (whether from Pessoa or from Muhammed) is the cause all evil that springs from religion.

      But the answer of the supplication, built into the poem — irony gives way to “descent” or “presence”, which is comprehension. (Though, self-referentially, actually the entire poem is still, in a way, back on Wordsworth’s hill, still a ironic question even in its “posture” of answer because the process of questioning/answering never ceases in harvests … if this wasn’t the case, we wouldn’t be able to discuss it and get anything out of discussion, which is far from what has happened to me after reading your reply!)

      As for Drake, I’ll put him on now and have a good listen 🙂

  2. I believe that Pessoa’s widow is quite ironic — ironically lovely — at the beginning…. I suppose all Divine questions have a touch of irony, because a question always demands distance, it demands standing on the hill, apprehension — what you have identified, very nicely, as her blackness.

    Is very nicely observed.

    What I sense at the heart of Pessoa’s poem is the tension created by a deep contradiction. Her song fills him with longing: “Oh, to be able to be you…”
    But, at the same time, he knows that this only makes sense if he is simultaneously able to be himself – the witness of her perfection – because she has no self-consciousness. “Oh, to be able to be you, being me!
    To have your joyous unconsciousness, And the consciousness of it!

    Here we are, of course, back in the territory of the shaykh al-akbar: the Divine Realities demand the existence of man as a conscious witness. But it is only at the point at which he ceases to witness as a separate individuality, but instead as The Witness, that this becomes possible.

    Pessoa feels the weight of his own individuality pressing upon him as he contemplates the reaper – it is this weight, and the longing he feels, that creates the sense of saudade, which is of the form of jihad.

    Greetings to Salma and to those who dwell in the preserve, for it behoves one who loves tenderly like me to give greeting.
    And what harm to her if she gave me a greeting in return? But fair women are subject to no authority.
    They journeyed when the darkness of night had let down its curtains, and I said to her, ‘Pity a passionate lover, outcast and distraught’,
    Whom desires eagerly encompass and at whom speeding arrows are aimed wheresoever he bends his course.’
    She displayed her front-teeth and lightning flashed, and I knew not which of the two rent the gloom,
    And she said, ‘Is it not enough for him that I am in his heart and that he beholds me at every moment? Is it not enough?

    writes Ibn al-‘Arabi in the Tarjuman

    Or in the words of Nick Drake – the English fadista, and prophet of the Sakina:

    Joey will come when once more it looks like snow
    Joey will come when it’s really time to go
    And you may smile when you find that you’ve been wrong
    You thought you’d found her but she knew you all along

  3. a return “here” is incumbent upon me … though unforseen developements in the circumstances of my personal & present & ongoing situations , make this next to impossible – with the proper grace repsect interest & clarities ! – & , drat ! , perhaps for several more days , indeed maybe a week ; awaiting “massive” surgery for 15 december & already & for the past two months on heavy “morphine-patch” pain “smotherers” , as well as an unusually high dose of daily cortisones – oof! – & yet daily finger (& feet , & other muscles , even in places i didn’y know i HAVE muscles !) cramps which cause apparently “medicine accellerated arthritis” & just to type a single nota like this may take a half hour , & i have , each couple of minutes , to vigorously , or gently as the case may be , well , attend to their attendant & searing attendance , so ouch ! yet , at moments like this , it’s four am. , & just coming awake from my invariably short – 2-4 hours pure black sleep , the real ink of the “great disappeaenc !” – poof ! gone like one of kafka’s dogs , in fact never having known it HAD known “something called “life”” , n’est-ce pas , les amis ! (though how , i know ?!) & the crampings will sure arrive in the hours to come , with inevitable & irrevocable dawn , so i just slip in this nota & hope you will allow me some time , yet try to “count” upon it , to come in withh a merited & hopefully pretereternal “silsilah” of what , for “my own” io renasco outfit , we have long considered to be the original aleph-virus time&beyond generic term for this , not “linking” , but , rather , synapsing (!) range (as in afghan mountains , where the first “sûf” (get this !) are located , & employed for safety up to this instant & the droning of the huge rumors & damned certifications of War ! – more later on “our” , one more , “origins” for the term , sufy ,eh ; though , once more , in a full-blown & actively mentating comPosting , especially with the idea of a return the fernando & associators !) or , the silsiah of one good thing LEADING (invariably & with mutual attractions (shadhili mehtodology , as you know) to an other ! …

    (just turned 60 , cher james , on the very day , the 12th , you mailed in your first reply to this for me stunning & unexpected & , well , deeply touching , good garment threadings … (may we make wholeCloth !) , while brother/ustadhi musa mailed in on john lennon’s 70th birthday (for me more than a coincidence , but i won’t & can’t say now what … in “standard clear english” – i’ve been roughed up on this for decades , & maybe it IS due in part to the past 30 years’ total residence outside of english speaking ambiences , i live in a small village – sollies-pont : sunBridge ! – in southeastern sea board post carding farangistan … beats me ! maybe in a future nota i shll have found the proper , in the tibetan buddhist sesnse , & correct “slogan” – hamdullah w’inshallah al-muqallib ?!) & now&here (i don’t have the least idea how i got to this “page” , none ; what a real blessings , & i wish thus to reserve a bit of your futures , in order that i may , with full powers & a clear delivery , share with both of you gentle men , good thinkers , impeccably mannered (whoa – no butter for qJohnny ! i’m a MILK Man !) , correspondants & , truly , fragrantly “prosed” pen pals , as well as the blog readers , bien entendu … let’s say & then let you return to your present operations & lights … touching deeper into uncle albert’s (cariero – to be sure !) , alvaro’s , ricardo’s , bernardo’s & , the “missing” main man him self(s) , the generic pessoa – in french this signifies either a person , or “nobody” , another sweet quirk , & , french , like portugese , also has a single term for consciousness & conscience (though context , outside of true poêsiae , almost never leafs doubt , in common usage , of course ; yet , in poetry , this would be a possible “hinge” , or well , i should not detail now , i know , but the “fever”‘s got me , eh , & i write !) ; i find it ever since learning the local tongue , beginning in earnest in my first visit to france , in 1971 , with my then practically teen-age , er “wife-for-life” (didn’t happen quite like that , ha!) – & i , even & EVER , a year younger than THAT !) … that the other chief “lacking” french word , the one that english employs (through a speaker , writer , thinker , of course !) is the experience-experiment “fusion” ; both this for me “parEngima” (io term) plus the one you’ve pertinently introduced concerning conscience/consciousness , for a real author & orfan poet , from barashyt & on words hu! … are authentic “nûr-text” … (again , from io “thermae”) “naqt”‘s of , in fact EMPTY YET POSSIBLY “pregnant” , in a sense , hinges , but WITH , eh , the opening (important) door & the requisite properties to enrich , enlarge , focus & undergo expansions , contractions & a sort of suspended & provisional , but A “manifesting” (not necessarily “existing” , & fine ! … this is not more baggage !) , shift , & (not to create – “we” can’t , but CAN “make” , & , if on a roll & with “permissions & presences” adequate , then complete or at least begin , our forming/fashioning , of the language we are now prepared to express , oof ! – which opens the mouth of the “sirr” & from the ensuing to&fro , instanter !) … bin-GO !!! (son of as-safar !) arrive the saving & purposeful & lawful results , the ensuing poem or p-roseae , quoi !)

    finally , this may have become more complex than merely & friendly chat with a mini promise ; & i could , if my fingers allowed , er , go on&on&on ; i have , along with mister gee & sayed idries , uncle kazantsakis & jiddhi-ji , by far one of the hugest & most activated , projects justly concerning fernando pessoa – my “favorite” contemporary literature/esoteric Maêstros , to have ever been discovered by , or how ever it occurred ! … from armand guibert’s stunningly ignored & incredible french versions wwith which & back when i encountered this remarkable sheepless herder , master bard & genial language smuggler , as it were ; the origins of saudade , of course , zut alors ! , i should & could have “seen” that myself , so thanks a lot … sometimes a tiny “grain” of detail , just turns a huge “trick” , plus , with a living loving “word-book” of portugese within one’s hearth&home , what a magnificant treat … now that the fifth empire is dawning , this should turn out to be just sterling , friends , james , musa – b’slema ala kulli , your …

    ever loyal orfan – al -yatimi al-wafa , fidelé d’amoré , & , for “this” lieu & between us , i am “forced” to utilize “my” appropriate io renassco fellowship avatar , so that , i shall be signing here (& rarely elsewhere , in anglo/english sight , eh !) , to whit & with “reasons” furnished upon true interest querries :

    reflectively , warmly , & with organic trustings , i remain ,
    jean/delatour/digne – JDD !

    (hope this has been of interest , & , yes … at the age of 60 , er , i have “acquired” (hassan ashari – imam ghazzali) the rites to the “highest” possible there-in (the maqam of sittîn !) , for “me” , totally , as ezra the alps might have put it “MADE NEW” , & awesomely just endless how to put it real-ms , including , this , this highest & widest & deepest & even beyonders , yet priceless unique & universal :

    freedom of the poet !)

    p(lu)s 2 : have been & daily am , associating fernando with these particualar & for me , outstaning though not well known , equals , though pessoa remains , i’m certain , the primus inter pares , eh , or the PIP ! which leads to eucamyptus , to “willow in olive//relfected …” , to philopenas (io working concept – see dictionaries , if willing) , to pomegranites (while musa is very good at , if i might without denigrating , but i’m cramping now … crative theorizing (& , in this case , in an other , “our” roles seem almost potentially interchangeable , but at 60 … one does it !) , while james we know , is an exquistie & oft impeccable , who knows how to say he does not know when he does not , in brief & again with absurd or misleading refuctions , a crative “critque” , in all of it’s positive significations & , i , well … more of an item – or aSample(s) – provider , oh gee , i’d better leaf that at that & just add that i’ve been asociating with pessoa & , actively as i sayed & have donne (!) , jean de boshère (the poems much more yet than the fiction) , oscar vladislas lubicz milosz (ceselaw’s uncle) , benjamin – the willing martyr – fondane , the magnificent & nazi tortured “maqtul” & prince of poets saint-pol-roux , named , the magnificent (just as boshere is the pariah , or the obscure , “given” titles , from other peers poets readers & seers) , georges ribemont-dessaignes & our olde dear very young-to-die , affectionately recalled , rené daumal ; the subhanas , t’il now , raw & real … Wonders of the Ceaseless Ways … of course , what one DOES with the whole kit&qabbodle is one’s own affair with her Majesty , Life : a lone pilgrim in a universe of a thousand (major ALePh = hebrew 1000 ! with a-dam , being the aleph-virus in the blood (dam ; in farsi , breath !!!) for the “very first time … pure virgin’s “wool” at that … & at this instant began “human life” , well , as we are still knowing it , eh 🙂 Demons !

    though , currently residing in the chapel of the white whole … at 60 … in full philopenas , a con gusto , but with muscle failure yet a mind a-sparkle , it’s amost sunday 6 am. & , i think i have dared to share my care & , ps again , i don’t participate much anymore on any of the YHG’s discussion tea-parties (& much more force sappingly , oft irrelevant , irreverant & smush-mush fussy kissing&cursing & mostly , no real eyes on the theme , so’ever … all the while supposing they are actually moving a head ; maybe , but the inevitable road (sufy equals (!) the end of inevitable , or it means nothing at all , in “our” book …) leads to damascus (qas!) , so how is it you beleaf you are destined to arrive one night in baghdad , “idiot” !) , which perhaps one of the motivations for carrying on so … i sense there might be , there are , here it is ! … lieux where my true kith-n kin , my semblables , mes freres (et soeurs) , in brief , o! you with working humAtomic half/hearts & full-spirited (active rûh) mind are both present & operant , amen !

    JDD – via johnny juarez jaguar gee : salutations from the entire io renasco ogni mattini rascal nûr-turers – ya haqq , or , iô’s uncelebrated yet with certitudes : “‘ISM … or/wtith/and/in&about , precisely & with no wiseacrings , for , THIS IS WHAT THIS IS !

    1. somehow , chers amis , IF you did get through the preceeding , somehow an “emoticon” or what-the-heck , appears in my sent-in nota text & it is not intentional , in fact i have no idea from whence nor why it has appeared , & i disapporve & deny it’s reliablity & censure its presence , ‘specially sorry this occured on my maiden-nota molti béné , gosh golly & … how old IS … gold !?! dhat”s all !


      1. SLM dear Ustad QJ,

        Your note is something I spent a lot of time thinking over. I’d recommend readers give it their full attention!

        the opening (important) door & the requisite properties to enrich , enlarge , focus & undergo expansions , contractions & a sort of suspended & provisional , but A “manifesting” (not necessarily “existing” , & fine ! … this is not more baggage !) , shift , & (not to create – “we” can’t , but CAN “make” , & , if on a roll & with “permissions & presences” adequate , then complete or at least begin , our forming/fashioning , of the language we are now prepared to express , oof ! – which opens the mouth of the “sirr” & from the ensuing to&fro , instanter !) … bin-GO !!! (son of as-safar !) arrive the saving & purposeful & lawful results , the ensuing poem or p-roseae , quoi !)

        I was concerned with lineages of Truth transmission (microscopic horizontal, if you will) — but I find this big picture view to be quite essential and very nicely put. I believe you are talking about Hajar’s Sa’ee, in a way, as poetry. A to-and-fro (vibration) from which Truth “descends” from the sirr as the poet/Hajar “ascends” in flight, according to the checks and balances of the cosmic order.


        There are parts of your bibliography I am not so familiar with — so thanks also for that tip, I will check these out.

        Your health is in our prayers, and your wisdom is always a blessing for us!


        1. for now & for this , musa of london towne , & original dynamic essence being … all is sayed & donne ; now , if you get time the chance & a marvellous opening moment , perphaps you shall kindly have a look at my quhadaratae & the transVersion of the mariner , by fernando pessoa … epynymous founder post mortuum of tthe io renasco fellowShip fernando pessoa poetry parliament ; but more on that later ; thanks for the open ended & pertinent reply , i shall chew on it , & then , either swallow , or … spit ! i remain , your loyal orfan al-yatimi al-wafe ;

          questorJohn – omini animale post coitu tristum !

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