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Afterword - Poem by Louise Gluck

Reading what I have just written, I now believe
I stopped precipitously, so that my story seems to have been
slightly distorted, ending, as it did, not abruptly
but in a kind of artificial mist of the sort
sprayed onto stages to allow for difficult set changes.

Why did I stop? Did some instinct
discern a shape, the artist in me
intervening to stop traffic, as it were?

A shape. Or fate, as the poets say,
intuited in those few long ago hours—

I must have thought so once.
And yet I dislike the term
which seems to me a crutch, a phase,
the adolescence of the mind, perhaps—

Still, it was a term I used myself,
frequently to explain my failures.
Fate, destiny, whose designs and warnings
now seem to me simply
local symmetries, metonymic
baubles within immense confusion—

Chaos was what I saw.
My brush froze—I could not paint it.

Darkness, silence: that was the feeling.

What did we call it then?
A "crisis of vision" corresponding, I believed,
to the tree that confronted my parents,

but whereas they were forced
forward into the obstacle,
I retreated or fled—

Mist covered the stage (my life).
Characters came and went, costumes were changed,
my brush hand moved side to side
far from the canvas,
side to side, like a windshield wiper.

Surely this was the desert, the dark night.
(In reality, a crowded street in London,
the tourists waving their colored maps.)

One speaks a word: I.
Out of this stream
the great forms—

I took a deep breath. And it came to me
the person who drew that breath
was not the person in my story, his childish hand
confidently wielding the crayon—

Had I been that person? A child but also
an explorer to whom the path is suddenly clear, for whom
the vegetation parts—

And beyond, no longer screened from view, that exalted
solitude Kant perhaps experienced
on his way to the bridges—
(We share a birthday.)

Outside, the festive streets
were strung, in late January, with exhausted Christmas lights.
A woman leaned against her lover's shoulder
singing Jacques Brel in her thin soprano—

Bravo! the door is shut.
Now nothing escapes, nothing enters—

I hadn't moved. I felt the desert
stretching ahead, stretching (it now seems)
on all sides, shifting as I speak,

so that I was constantly
face to face with blankness, that
stepchild of the sublime,

which, it turns out,
has been both my subject and my medium.

What would my twin have said, had my thoughts
reached him?

Perhaps he would have said
in my case there was no obstacle (for the sake of argument)
after which I would have been
referred to religion, the cemetery where
questions of faith are answered.

The mist had cleared. The empty canvases
were turned inward against the wall.

The little cat is dead (so the song went).

Shall I be raised from death, the spirit asks.
And the sun says yes.
And the desert answers
your voice is sand scattered in wind.
Louise Gluck

Latest Urdu Poetry

gai guzri kahani lag rahi hai
mujhe har shai purani lag rahi hai
wo kahta hai ki fani hai ye dun

Apni Har Baat Bhool Gaya Wo Guzre Huwe Kal Ki Tarah,
Toot Kar Jissay Chaha Tha Pagal Ki Tarah.

Main Houn Majbor Apnay Dil Say Mujhko,,

Paraya Gham Bhi Apna Gham Lagta Hai,,

O Himalah! O rampart of the realm of India!
Bowing down, the sky kisses your forehead

Your condi

Mujh Se Door Ho Tu Khud Ko Sambhaly Rakhna ,

Log Pochein Gay Kiyon Preshan Ho Tum,



Kuch Ni

Aik Soraj Tha Ke Taaron Ke Gharane Se Utha
Aankh Heran Hai Kya Shakhs Zamane Se Utha

Mujay awaz de laina

Kabi jab ankh chalke to
Kabi jab dil na sambhle to
Mujay awaz de laina

K

mishal-e-ummid thamo rahnuma jaisa bhi hai
ab to chalna hi paDega rasta jaisa bhi hai
kis liye s

Log ishq kartay hain baray shor kay sath,
Humne bhi kia bare zor kay sath,
Lakin ab karain gay tho

Let other leaders
Retire
To play golf
& write
Memoirs
About bombing
Villages
They've never se

Narm Seeney Mein Dhraktey Hain Wo Naazuk Lamhaat
Jin Ki Lehroon Mein Utaar Jaane Ko Ji Chahta Hai

Yun gawara nahi jeena bin tere mujhe,
Kyun hai juda koi to waja batade,
Kuch aur nahi to kar itna

Thy sins and hairs may no man equal call ;
For, as thy sins increase, thy hairs do fall.
John Don

Payaam Aaye Hain Os Yaar-e-Bewafa Ke Mujhe
Jisay Qaraar Na Aaya Kaheen Bhula Ke Mujhe

Judaayiaan

Soch soch kar yehi,
Sochta hai dil,
Bhul jaye sochna tumhe,
Ye sochna hai muskil.

Aap jaate to hain us bazm main shibli lekin,
Haal-e-dil dekhiye izhaar na hone paaye..

Jo khusboo ban ke dil me bas gaya hai,
Khuda jaane woh mujhse kyon khafa hai !

WO chehra gam se

KhuDA Kare MAin TErY SAtH JufT HO JAouN...

DuA KArtA ReHtA HuN IN TAAQ RAAtoN MEiN..

Apni manzil pe pohanchna bhi kharre rehna bhi,
Kitna mushkil hai barre ho ke barre rehna bhi..

Unki galiyoon se jab guzre to manzar ajeeb tha,
Dard tha magar wo dil ke kareeb tha,,,



Jise

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