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The Ruin By Dafydd ap Gwilym Translated by A.Z. Foreman Battered hovel bare-holed you stand Between the moor and meadowland They sorrow who once saw your prime As a comely little cottage of pastime To see you a shattered shack today With ramshackle roof and rafters agley. Near your cheerful wall there was a day I do recall   �  rebuke of pain � When you were more merry inside Than now, unsightly  little sty, When I caught sight (and sang bright praise) In your corner there of a fair face A maiden, as noble a lady can be, Shapely and lively she lay with me Each one's arm (oh did I love her) Knotted a bond about the other The girl's arm fine as flurried snow Pillowed the ear of her praise-poet so And mine, a simple trick, I laid At the cute left ear of that courtwise maid. Good times we had  in your greenwood heyday But no, today is not that day. The Ruin Speaks: "With shelter's magic moan I do Bewail the way the wildwind blew. Spawned of the ...

Wales By Gwenallt Jones Translated by A.Z. Foreman Why give us all this misery? The wrack Of pain on flesh and blood like leaden weight, Your language on our shoulders like a sack, And your traditions fetters round our feet? The canker rots your colors everywhere. Your soul is scabbed with boils. Your song a scream. In your own land you are but a nightmare And your survival but a witch's dream. Still, we can't leave you in the filth to stand A generation's laughing-stock and jest. Your former freedom is our sword in hand, Your dignity a buckler at our breast. We'll grip our spears and spur our steeds: go brave Lest we should shame our fathers in their grave.   The Original: Cymru Gwenallt Jones Paham y rhoddaist inni'r tristwch hwn, A'r boen fel pwysau plwm ar gnawd a gwaed? Dy iaith ar ein hysgwyddau megis pwn, A'th draddodiadau'n hual am ein traed? Mae'r cancr yn crino dy holl liw a'th lun, A'th enaid yn gornwydydd ac yn grach, Nid wyt ond...

Wales and Welsh By Waldo Williams Translated by A.Z. Foreman Here are the mountains. One language alone can raise them And set them in freedom against a sky of song. Only one pierced the riches of their poverty, Through the dream of ages, visions of moment, come and gone. When through thin air the sun cuts carvings on the rocks, Strong over a chasm, sure over playgrounds of chance, I know not how they endure, unless the bounds of time Bound them in turn, in an eternity of dance.  Fit home for her, their interpreter! No matter what, We must claim the place and never ask the price. She's danger's daughter. Wind whips her path, her foot Where they of the lower air fell and failed to rise. Till now she's seen her way far clearer than prophets see. She'll be as young as ever, as full of devilry.   This poem alludes obliquely to a poem Aros mae'r mynyddoedd mawr (Still the mighty mountains stay) by the lyricist and poetaster John 'Ceiriog' Hughes. It begins Stil...

Khud chaak ker ke ghiribaan, zakhm si lete hain, Aao ab khud he hijr ka jaam pi lete hain, Aftaab ki gardish main mubtala hain tamaam siyare, Hum bhi apne shab-o-roz teri yaad ke gird ji lete hain, Tark-e-taluq ki naveed sunain un ko tou kis maqsad se? Dil-o-jaan jo dete hain, woh haal-e-dil jaan bhi lete hain, Perdesi pun ki ghariyon main se, yaadon ke iss khazanay se, Hum lete hain kuch tou bus woh aik shaam hi lete hain, Tearing our own gown apart, we sewed our wounds, Come, let's go drink the wine of separation ourselves, In the orbit of the sun, do all the planets revolve, Let us also revolve our days around your memory, What point in telling them the news of this relationship's ending, Those who give their heart, know also the state of the heart, From all the time in this foreign land, from all these beautiful memories, If I had to choose one, I would choose the evening we spent together, - Hassan Bin Fahim

              Wishing All Moms a Very Happy Mother's Day                 ~ Sunday, May 14, 2017 in United States ~ ~ Rumi's Tribute To Mothers ~ ~ Selected Rumi Poems from his Masnavi & Divan ~ My mother, she is simply the best mom ever. My father, he is pure perfection and greatness. I am joy, son of joy, son of joy, son of joy! When a mother cries out to her infant: "Come my child, let me breastfeed you, It's me, your mom, talking to you." Does a hungry baby ever respond: "Show me the proof first that you're my mom, Before I get comforted sucking your milk?" A mother is naturally soft, fragile, and special, Yet she fiercely protects her child Like a seasoned hunter chasing down a prey. A mother travels a  thousand miles- If she has to- for the sake of her child's  Happiness and w ell-being. A mother instinctively lets loose a hundred "Oh No...Oh God No.." cries of despair, When her chi...

dil utte sada naa likh ke, tu rab nu bhula dai apne, boli ishq di aape sikh ke, boli bhulni bhul gaiyaan, tu ravi paar aaja soniyo, ranjha ranjha kerdi rul gaiyaan, ranjhe di jutti peeli aai, menu kuri oh chaidi, jisdi akh thori neeli aai, pul thalay wadi naali aai, parre sutto tusi goriyan nu, tere sajan di akh kaali aai, On your heart write our name, Forget your own god, By learning the language of love, Forgetting a language, I have forgotten, Come over the river Ravi oh beloved, Saying your name - I have destroyed myself, Ranjha's shoe is yellow in color, I want that girl to be my lover, Whose eyes have a little blue in them, Beneath the bridge there is a large stream, Sit aside all your white girls, Your beloved has eyes black in color, - Hassan Bin Fahim

The Sense of the Father By Lera Yanysheva Translated by A.Z. Foreman (Set in the 1890s) I grew up in a camp, a traveling Rom. I'm living in St. Petersburg today, The city of His Majesty the Tsar. Is there a finer city? I can't say. Now Russian gentlemen pay me good money To entertain them in a restaurant chorus.  The good Lord even blessed me with good daughters Born in the moneyed home I had built for us. My daughters grew and blossomed into beauties. The men went crazy for them at a glance. The Russian soul finds freedom in a gypsy song And nobody could dance like my girls danced.  Then a disaster. My own blood betrayed me. Now I'm afraid to bloody show my face. Those two sang their last number to run off With noble "men" and dropped me in disgrace. They will give birth � good Lord � to halfblood freaks. In camp they say that I have sold myself.  "Too good for us" they stab me as they speak "But couldn't join the gadjo gents. Well, well......

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The Moon By Rajko �uric Translated by A.Z. Foreman The moon laughs we around the fire weep The sobs rise the laugh descends.  The firmament smells of weeping we, of laughter If the moon loses her sight and our eyes open wide, Who then will be able to tell where the wing of weeping and the wing of laughing meet. The Original: O Chonut O chonut asal amen trujal e jag rovas O rovipe uravel o asape mekhlol tele O d'el khandel p-o rovipe amen p-o asape Te o chonut rorrav�la te amen dikh�sa kon vakar�la Kaj e phak rovimasqe thaj e asamasqe ka arakhandon