Ghazal of the Bullwhip
Who hears braided tongues lashing the glare still?
The language of pain writhing through white air, still.
Or herding cattle you pop and crack above the horizon,
pastoral and flowing. But sharp, a sonic nightmare, still.
You ask how love blossoms through decades and more.
That look, a caress, the perfect words – all quite rare, still.
Oh to be a larks head knot, strengthening when used.
Delicious hitch, unmoved water, tight square, still.
I fall, you fall. We fall together in pleated silence.
The inevitable loop of the captive’s bright snare, still.
No gods today, but voices trickling through my skull:
Bob, Bob, they say. Not again. Even you should care. Still!
* * *
In response to a comment, Daniel Schnee dared/challenged me three days ago to write a poem about a bullwhip. To make it interesting I decided to combine his theme with my latest enthusiasm, the ghazal form.
I love it!
One wouldn’t think the word ‘still’ could carry such coiled energy.
Great read!!
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Thanks very much. My ghazal writing still needs much work, but I’m pleased with my progress. And yes, “still” is such a quiet, motionless word, that one wouldn’t expect it to work as it does. At least that was my hope.
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It does crack like a whip…I think it’s the pause…(K)
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That little stillness. π
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“Oh to be a larks head knot, strengthening when used…” Oh, for all its tearing through the space-time fabric, your increasingly-refined artistry (and I dare say its artist) is no worse for the wear, still!
And as far as outlaws earning their monikers is concerned, I’d say yours is certainly all it’s cracked up to be, Bullwhip Okaji!
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Groan! I think “Bullwhip” would be right up there with the politically incorrect, racially insensitive yet somehow appropriate “Lumberjap” (picture me with a chainsaw), a notch or two above what my sister called me for years (Shithead). We won’t get into other nicknames. π
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Uh-oh! I wasn’t aware of any politically I correct connotations for Bullwhip! Hope I didn’t offend. I just meant it in the spirit of “whipper-snapper,” the etymology of which, come to think of it, I’m not sure of, either…
“Lumberjap” is pretty evocative (tempts my very naughty inner-cynic to find it a bit amusing…), yet also horrifying. π
Anyway, I agree with Dr. Schnee — it’s a fantastic poem!
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*incorrect
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Ha! You couldn’t possibly offend me. Actually, I like “Lumberjap.” It plays with words and sounds in that peculiar way I like.
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Okay, I feel a lot better about myself now…
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But it does make me want to don a flannel shirt and eat noodles with chopsticks while chain sawing a huge cedar…
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Don’t forget the beret! π
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That would certainly complete the picture!
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And you’d have to sing, too, like the Monty Python song.
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Most definitely. The chain saw would improve my voice!
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π
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Really REALLY fantastic poem! How is it that you just keep getting better and better seemingly day to day?
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I’m so pleased you like it, Daniel. The poem never would have been written had you not challenged me. Am really enjoying working with the ghazal form. Its constrictions crack open some interesting doors.
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Ghazals are also songs, ghazal poetry set to music, which are famous throughout India and Pakistan. I worked (flute/saxophone) with a particularly good ghazal singer from Pakistan and even learned to sing one of two of them. Great stuff…
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I don’t think I’ll get around to singing them, but I’d like to hear it done.
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Cool! Thanks, Daniel.
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I have been observing these for some time now, but this one made me think of the many dances I have observed from the sidelines at Greek parties (and I do not mean sororities) —
counting step by step, 9 against 8 or worse, song after song, until I finally say “I’ve got it!” and jump in, and fail gloriously. But it never stops me from trying, so… π
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The only failure is to not try.
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Rhythms in Greek, Bulgarian, Turkish, etc, music are not “against”anything. They are based on groupings of two or three beats or notes, known as aqsaq (“limping”) rhythms, which are actually better described as “swaying” rhythms. Thus, while the music we usually listen to in North America is mostly based on groupings of 2 and 4 beats, much folk music from around the world is based on 5, 7, 11, 15, etc. For example, Greek music as a lot of 3 and 7 beat patterns. There are some amazing classical Turkish pieces that have 10 beat patterns.
If you listen carefully… the groupings of two and three beats/notes have key points, key accents that give you a better overall sense of the flow than just counting “1-2, 1-2, 1-2-3]. For example, if you clap every time you say “one” in the following seven beat pattern 1-2, 1-2, 1-2-3] you will hear the overall “sway”, the flow to which you can time your movements: “ONE two ONE two ONE two three”.
Sway back and forth on the ones… and you will be able to find the right way to move your body and feet. π
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Love the Ghazal. Love this
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Thanks, Claire.
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I’m enjoying your ghazals. I really like this, and I agree about the word “still.” Energy and a pause together (or something)–my brain’s a bit of a mush right now. π
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I’m suffering from sleep-deprived mush brain today. At least that’s my story.
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It’s been a long week. π
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A long two weeks!
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Yeah–a long few months.
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π
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