I sat beside the beloved of my soul and listened to her. I was silent and still. I felt a power in her voice that shook my soul. That electric tremor separated me from myself, and so my mind flew off into the infinite space where it swam. It saw the world as a dream and the body as a narrow cell.
A strange magic converged in the voice of my beloved, and it ruled my emotions as it pleased. Because of that magic, which makes me satisfied with the absence of words, I have become alienated from her language.
She is music, O people! I heard her, - when my beloved sighed after certain words, or smiled in the midst of certain words; I heard her, - when she spoke sometimes in a broken language, sometimes in a fluent and coherent language, and sometimes in a language half between her lips. when she spoke.
With my listening eyes I saw the influence of my beloved's heart. She kept me too absorbed in the treasures of her feelings through music - the voice of the heart - to savor the treasures of her words.
Yes, music is the language of the heart, and tunes are the winds that ruffle the strings of feeling. She is the delicate hand that knocks on the door of feeling. She awakens the memory, which traces and recreates the events that have influenced it.
Music is the gentle tune that calls. If she is mournful, she recalls memories of times of pain and sorrow; if she is cheerful, she recalls memories of times of relief and joy. She places all that she recalls on the pages of her imagination.
Music is a convergence of saddening sounds. When you hear her, she stops you and fills your heart with painful anxiety, like a ghostly phantom depicting misfortune for you.
She is also a compilation of joyful melodies. As you feel her, she seizes your whole body and mind, and so she dances merrily between your breast-helps.
This was one of Kahlil Gibran's earliest official publications, in the Arab American Diaspora in lop.
She is the sound of the strings of a lute, drifting into your ears with waves of ether. She may turn into a hot tear that flows from your eyes, a tear caused by the pain of a lover's distance or the pain of a wound eaten by the teeth of time. She may turn into a smile that blossoms from between your lips, a smile that is actually a sign of happiness and contentment.
She is the body of the dying man: it has a soul, from desire; it has reason, from the heart.
Man appears, and so music inspires him, as a language from above. Unlike other languages, she tells of the hidden hiddenness of the heart, between one heart to another, because she is the whisper of the heart. She is like love, whose influence pervades the human complex. So the desert barbarians sang and chanted, and the kings of the palaces shook before and after them. The bereaved mother interweaves her with her own lamentations, and she breaks the heart of the hard-hearted; the rejoicing man spreads her with his own joy, and she is a hymn of encouragement to those who are struck down by calamity. And she is like the sun, which enlivens all the flowers of the field with its rays.
Music is like a light that drives away the darkness in the heart, illuminates the heart, and brings out all that is hidden in the heart. Music seems to me to be a shadow of the true self, or a vision of the living senses. The mind is like a mirror, standing before the events and actors of the world, reflecting the images of those feelings and those visions.
The mind is a tender flower before the winds of judgment; the morning breeze blows upon it, and the dew bends its slender stem. It is also the cries of the birds that awaken people from their blindness. So man listens, feels, and sings with it the praises of Wisdom - the sweet cry of the bird and the creator of his own subtle feelings. The cry stimulates his mind, and he asks himself, and asks around him, what secret does the song of this insignificant bird tell, that it can pluck the strings of his feelings, and reveal to him the meaning contained in the writings of his predecessors? He inquired: was the bird calling to the flowers of the field, or was it imitating the soft skill of the canopy? Is it imitating the murmur of a spring, or is it making friends with the whole of nature? But he failed to find the answer.
The man could not understand what the birds on the branches were saying, nor could he understand the tinkling steps of the springs gently flowing on the cobblestones and the sound of the waves slowly pushing towards the shore. He doesn't understand the story told by the uncontrollable drops of rain on the leaves of the trees, or the story told by its gentle fingertips as it taps on the glass windows. Nor did he understand the love surprise that the breeze told to the flowers in the fields. But he felt that his heart knew and understood the meaning of all these voices, and that was why it trembled with joy at times, and throbbed with sorrow and trouble at others. Some voices called to him in a hidden language, which Wisdom placed before his natural nature, and so his heart communicated with nature, while he himself stood silent, hesitating and confused. Perhaps tears took the place of his words, for tears are the best transmitters of words.
Time accompanied me. Oh, O God-clever one! Take to the stage of memory, so that you may see what place music holds among those peoples whom time has obscured. Come! Let us consider what influence music has left in the various stages of development of the sons of Adam.
The Dilettantes and the Egyptians worshipped music as a great deity, bowed down to it, and praised it. The Persians and Indians believed that music was the soul of God on earth. A Persian once said: "Music is originally a nymph of the gods in the sky, she fell in love with mankind, descending from the high heavens to the earth, to find her beloved. When the gods learned of this, they were furious and sent a fierce wind to follow her. The fairy dispersed this wind in the air, and as a result it spread to all corners of the world. The fairy herself did not die, absolutely not! She lives and inhabits the ears of mankind."
An Indian philosopher also said, "Sweet melodies consolidate my hope for the eternal existence of the beautiful."
Music was a god to the Greeks and Romans. They built lofty temples in his honor, and still speak to us of their magnificent altars with the finest offerings and the most fragrant fore-incense. This god they called Apollo. They depicted him in all his perfection, so that he stood out, as a river floats trees to the surface. Apollo played the lyre with his left hand and plucked the strings with his right, and his eyes gazed into the distance as if he saw the deep speedy underbelly of all things.
People say, Apollo strings of the struggle of the sound is the echo of nature, is he from the birds cawing across, the murmur of the water, the breeze blowing and tree branches swaying in the translation of the sound of nature.
It is said in their mythology that the music on the strings of Orpheus' lyre moved the hearts of the animals so much that the ferocious beasts followed him. The same is true of plants: the flowers to
Referring to mankind.
Refers to the ancient peoples of the valley of the two rivers.
The god of music in Greek mythology. He stretched out his neck to look, the branches of the trees swayed to him in a partial way, and even inanimate objects moved.
They say that the daughters of sin killed Orpheus, and they threw his head and his six-stringed lyre into the sea. The head and the lyre floated on the surface of the sea, and finally came to an island, which the Greeks called "the island of Song".
They say that the wave that carried Orpheus' head and lyre has since made up with its voice a moving elegy and a sad tune, which has traveled through space and is heard by mariners.
These are words, which, after the glory of that nation has passed away, we call whimsical tales from fancy, dreams created by the imagination. But all these words testify how deep and how great was the influence of music in the minds of the Greeks. They recounted them out of a wholesome faith. What does it profit us to call these words a poetic exaggeration in this respect, if they come from a delicate feeling and a love of beauty? According to what poets are wont to say. This is poetry.
The ruins of Assyria have left us paintings which depict the procession of kings advancing, with musical instruments as forerunners. Their historians talk to us about music, which they say was a sign of glory at celebrations and a symbol of happiness at festivals. Yes, for happiness without music is a girl with her tongue cut out. Music is the tongue of the peoples of the earth. They praised the goddesses they worshipped with carols of gold. The singing of hymns was then - and still is - an obligation, as were the prayers they made in the temples, and as were the living sacrifices they made to the worshipped powers. The sacred wording of the sacrifices began with inwardly moving feelings. Prayer, too, is corrected by the guidance of the mind and by those results which are produced by the tremors of the feelings. The free style, which is not approached by words, but flaunted by them, was occasioned by King David's remorse. Thus his paeans filled the land of Palestine, and his sorrows created a moving melody of self-expressed remorseful passion and inward sorrow. His reed flute appeared as an intermediary between him and God, asking forgiveness for his negligence. The earning sound of his lyre came from the depths of his heart, and passed through his veins to his fingertips, so that the work of these fingers was great for God and for man. He said, "Rejoice ye in the Lord! Praise with the trumpet! Praise him with flutes and stringed instruments! Praise him with the skin drum and the tambourine! Praise him with the harp and the organ! Praise him with the sound of burning pluck! Praise him with the raffle money of rejoicing! Let every one praise the Lord wide The Bible says that an angel blew a trumpet all over the world when the hour of the end of time came, whereupon souls arose at the sound of the trumpet, clothed their flesh, and rose again before that debtor. The writer of this verse highly praises
music, to which he gives the status of one of God's messengers to the souls of men. This writer speaks only as a picture of his feelings, and only in a certain manner of speaking in conformity with the beliefs of his contemporaries.
It is said that at the beginning of the tragedy of the Son of Man the disciples sang a hymn of praise before they set out for the olive grove where their teacher was arrested. I still seem to hear this song of praise emanating from the hearts of the sorrowful, who, seeing that some misfortune was about to befall the Peacemaker, sang a moving tune in place of a farewell address.
Music marched on ahead of the great army towards the war. She renews their fiery resolve, inspires them to conquer, and like gravity gathers their stragglers and forms them into inseparable ranks. The poet does not march ahead of the brigade to the battlefield, to that place of death, no, nor does the orator. The pen and the book do not accompany them, but music goes before them, like a great commander-in-chief, giving an indescribable strength to their weakened bodies, and inspiring in their hearts a love of victory, which overcomes their hunger and thirst and the fatigue of marching, and goes to the battle with all their might. They followed the music, rejoiced, and followed death into the land of the wicked enemy. In this way, the sons of men utilize the most sacred thing in the world to universalize the evil of the world.
Music was the companion of the shepherd in his solitude. The shepherd sits on a rock in the midst of his flock, and with his reed flute he plays a tune that his sheep understand, and so they graze obediently. To the shepherd the reed flute is like a friend who never separates, a lovely companion, replacing the terrible silence of the valley with bustling pastures, and with touching musical tunes that drive away loneliness and fill the space with sweetness and warmth.
Music guides the traveler's camel caravan, easing the labor of the journey and shortening the distance of the long road. Thus the good camel no longer walks in the desert wilderness unless he hears the song that drives them; the camel caravan no longer accepts the heavy load unless the camel bell is tied around the camel's neck. The wise men have tamed the beasts of prey in our time with all kinds of music, and tamed them with sweet songs, and these are not considered innovations.
Music accompanies our souls, crosses the stages of life with us, and shares my sorrows*** and my sorrows***. Music, like an angel on our happy days, and like a compassionate relative on our hard and difficult days.
A reference to Jesus Christ.
The baby came to us from the hidden world, and the midwifery gesture and relatives greeted his birth with songs of joy. The song of joy expresses the welcome of the baby into the world. When the infant sees the light, he greets them with a cry, and they respond to him with a shout of joy. It was as if they were racing against time with music to see who would tell him first of the wisdom of the Divine.
As the baby cried, his mother approached him with her own warm, loving song. He stops crying and, delighted by the tune that embodies his mother's love, cozies up to sleep. There is a power, a hypnotic power, in the mother's melodious tunes that makes her child lower his eyes. She rubs serenity into those gentle strains, and so sweetens them; wipes away the awe from them, and fills them with a motherly air, until the infant overcomes insomnia, and falls asleep, and his heart soars to the world of the soul. The child will not sleep if the mother speaks with the tongue of Cicero or reads Ibn Fareed.
A man, who carefully chose his partner in life, and their two hearts were united by the bond of marriage. They heeded the counsel of Wisdom written on their hearts from the beginning, and so relatives and close friends gathered, and when the newlyweds were joined in matrimony, they sang carols and popular tunes, letting music be the witness. On the day of the gathering of the Sabbath, it seemed to me as if I were she,-a voice mingled with the awfulness of sweetness, a voice that sings the praises of God in the midst of His creation, a voice that awakens the sleeping life and moves it forward to spread and fill the earth.
When death comes, the music shows another scene in the story of life; we hear the voice of mourning, and it is as if we saw her filling space with the shadow of grief. In that agonizing hour, when the mind bids farewell to the shores of this beautiful world and flies to that eternal sea, and throws her material skeleton into the hands of the singers and wailers, they let out a great outpouring of sorrow in mournful tones, and they cover that material entity with wet earth, so that he may rest in his grave, and with tones of voice that carry the suggestion of repression, and with songs that express the burnings of sorrow - -As long as the yellow earth was above the yellow earth, they kept repeating those tunes for his funeral. Once they become stale, their echoes remain in the cells of the people as long as the heart remembers the departed.
Cicero (143Mlod): an ancient Roman eloquent speaker, statesman, and philosopher.
Ibn Fareed (1181-1235): an ancient Arabian poet, Sufi, known for his poems documenting the spiritual life.
I sat with a man to whom God had given a good voice specifically, and to whom God had gifted the philosophical comprehension to compose songs. I saw listeners gathered around him, listening and feeling small. They held their breath and remained motionless, gazing at him like poets who have bowed willingly to the effective power that has revealed to them so many strange secrets. When the singer had finished, they sighed long and hard--"Ah! -Ah! Hiro this was a sigh from those hearts whose deep-seated waves of feeling had been raised by the tune! And how sweet that sigh is to those hearts!" Ah!!!" is the exclamation of thirsty hearts thrilled by memories; "Ah!!!" is a little word, but it is a long word; "Ah!!" is not the sound of one who hears the singer speak or sees his face, but the sigh of him who stretches out his ear to a tune made up from a total of broken voices. That living breath shows him a chapter in the story of his past life, or bares a secret hidden in his heart.
How I scrutinized the face of a sensitive listener! I saw his facial expression, at one time frowning, at another time his face stretched, changing as the tune turned and changed. I see his character by his movements, his heart by his appearance.
Music is like poetry and painting, expressing the different states of man, depicting the glimpses of the heart, elaborating spiritual visions, casting into form what parades in the mind, and illustrating the finest desires of the flesh.
Naharwinder
The song "Naharwinder" represents the separation of lovers and the farewell to the motherland, depicts the last glimpse of a dear traveler, and expresses the lament of the heart's great pain, especially the fire of longing. The Naharwinder is a voice from the depths of the sorrowful heart, the call of an outcast seeking some sympathy for his own threadbare life before the exhaustion of a long journey, the long sigh of a disappointed man caused by suffering, and the wail of a desperate man overwhelmed by patience and pain. The Naharwinder represents autumn, the quiet falling of yellowed leaves, taunted by the autumn wind and blown in all directions. Nahavinde is the prayer of the mother of a wandering son who has traveled far away from home. After her son has left, she cannot sleep at night and wrestles with her thoughts. Her son's absence attacks her with all kinds of disappointment, and she resists with patience and hope. There is a meaning, nay, many meanings, in the Nahavindra; there are many secrets, and the mind knows them, and the spirit is acquainted with them. There are many secrets, the lips attempt to utter them, the quill attempts to reveal them, but the lips dry up and the quill breaks.
The Isfahan Song
I listened to the Isfahan Song, and I saw - with my hearing eyes - the last chapter of the story of the sick lover. His lover is dead, his hopes are dashed, and he weeps and wails with the last vestiges of life in him, and mourns with what is left of him. The Isfahan song is the last breath of a dying man in the boat of death, between the shores of life and the sea of eternity. The Isfahan tune is a self-mourning with intermittent makeshift sobs and deep sung sighs, a tune whose echoes are intertwined with the bitterness of death and sorrow and the sweet silence of tears and loyalty.
If the Nahavind tune is the musings of one who lives with some hope, the Isfahan tune is the moan of the one whose ring of hope has been broken.
The Saba
We listen to the Saba, and the heart awakens in the shadow. The heart wakes up and dances in the chest. Saba is the tune of the happy man, who forgets his sorrows, seeks joy and drinks it in. This man tastes a strange beauty and wants more. It is as if he knows that the spirits of joy are competing with this delicacy, and so he stays sober. Sabaquat is the love story of a joyful lover who overcomes time and conquers distance. The seclusion of the night makes him happy, for he is able to meet a beautiful lover in a distant field. This seclusion brings him joy and delight. The sambar blew like a gust of breeze and drew the flowers of the fields to sway and nod their heads to it merrily.
Rasta
In the silence of the night, the "Rasta", with a rhythm steeped in emotion, recounts the impact of the words of a letter from a valued friend. He was in a distant country, cut off from communication. Suddenly, a letter arrives, resurrecting feelings of hope and promising a reunion to the heart. I am like a singer of rasdas, spreading the news that the dawn is near and the darkness is gone. It is often said, "If your night is over, catch up!"
The word "breeze" is used here, which corresponds to the word "saba" in its form and pronunciation.
In the Baalbek Grievances, there is a delicate piece between reproach and reprimand, a mixture of the exciting Nahavend and the delightful Saba, which serves the double purpose of both in the mind.
Now, I have written these many pages. I see myself like a child who is copying down the words of a long carol; the carol which the angels sang when God fashioned the first man. Perhaps I am like an illiterate man who is memorizing a sentence from a book written by wisdom; the book that was written on the title-page of a feeling before time appeared.
Ah, music! Ah, holy Rabbi Otter! Your sisters in the arts have danced for some time in those past centuries, and they have been placed for some time in the deep house of oblivion. Thou mockest them, for thou hast not left the stage of the mind for a single day. You are like the echo of that one first kiss that Adam imprinted on Eve's lips. Echoes have echoes, and echoes of echoes have echoes. They pass on, reincarnate, surround everything and live long by everything. To their workers their own work is amusing; others, gifted with the gift, rejoice in their feats for the enjoyment of hearing.
Ah, daughter of mind and love! The vessel that holds the bitter juice and the sweet spring of love! The phantasmagoria of the human mind! The fruit of sorrow and the flower of joy! The fragrance that rises from the bouquet of collected feelings! O tongue of lovers and purveyor of lovers' secrets2 Artisan who makes pearls of tears from hidden feelings! O revelator of poetry and compiler of necklaces of poetic rhyme! The collector who unites the crumbs of thought and language! The I Amer who compiles the book of feelings with the elements of beauty! Ah, the mellow wine of the mind that lifts the drinker to the highest point of the world of illusion! Ah, the inspirer of the earth soldier! Purifier of the hearts of worshippers! The fluctuation of the Ether that carries the shadow of the heart! O ocean of elegant gentleness! We commit our souls to your waves, we entrust our hearts to your depths! Carry them to the other side of matter, and let us see the ethereal world O feelings of the heart, enrich them a little more! O feelings of the heart, expand a little more! Let those who have arms lift them up to build the word Zeus for these great gods! O angel of revelation, descend into the hearts of the poets! Pour into their intelligent cells the leading poems and prayers in praise of this great holy one! Expand the imagination of painters and sculptors! Create images and shadows for her!
"Rasd" is a cognate of the verb "to catch up" used here.
The bride of the ancient Greek god of music.
O inhabitants of the earth! Show honor to her male and female priests.2 Hold festive celebrations in honor of her servants! Erect statues in their honor! O peoples of the world, pray for her! Honor Orpheus, David, and Mausili! Recite Beethoven, Wagner, Mozart with more honor! Sing, O Syria, in the name of Fouqir al-Halbi! Sing, O Egypt, in the name of Abd al-Hamouri5! O world, honor those who have spread themselves in your skies and filled the air with their lovely souls! Honor those who have taught mankind to hear with their hearing and to listen with their hearts! Amen!
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