Poetry Chaikhana Blog

A land not mine, still
by Anna Akhmatova

English version by Jane Kenyon

A land not mine, still
forever memorable,
the waters of its ocean
chill and fresh.

Sunset in the ethereal waves:
I cannot tell if the day
is ending, or the world, or if
the secret of secrets is inside me again.

— from Women in Praise of the Sacred: 43 Centuries of Spiritual Poetry by Women, Edited by Jane Hirshfield

/ Image by Mohamed Nohassi /

In honor of Navratri, the Hindu festival of nine nights in honor of the feminine face of God, I was thinking of selecting a poem dedicated to the Mother Goddess by Ramprasad or Kamalakanta, but then I thought I should select something by a female poet. As I started scanning through the women poets on the Poetry Chaikhana, I realized that it has been far too long since I last highlighted a poem by the great Russian poet Anna Akhmatova. Her writing and her life embody so much of the strength of women in a complex and often harsh world, while courageously retaining a vision of the inner life and the aspirations of the human spirit.

This is a favorite poem of mine from Anna Akhmatova. Though she wrote during some of the bleakest times of Soviet Russia, there are moments of radiant — one might even say, transcendent — joy that emerges in her poems.

A land not mine, still
forever memorable…

There is something of the mystic’s experience in these lines. An ocean. Light. Deep rest and the sense of life. A brilliant white. Wine…

Sand on the bottom whiter than chalk,
and the air drunk, like wine…

Soon, you find yourself asking, Is the day ending, or the world? Ultimately, it is you who are ending. The train of mental chatter has come to a halt. The world and what you called yourself are not as you thought at all, and both are new and alive and too vast to be called your own.

Then you know that the secret of secrets is within you. And it is so deeply familiar you must have known it before, and it is there again.

I cannot tell if the day
is ending, or the world, or if
the secret of secrets is inside me again.

During this time may we all see in the immensity of existence and in the challenges of life the face of the Eternal Mother.

Recommended Books: Anna Akhmatova

Women in Praise of the Sacred: 43 Centuries of Spiritual Poetry by Women	The Complete Poems of Anna Akhmatova	Poems of Akhmatova	Dancing with Joy: 99 Poems

Anna Akhmatova Russia (1889 – 1966) Timeline Secular or Eclectic

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The purpose of life is awareness.

I made the mistake of waking up and sending out the Rumi poem this morning without first glancing at the news — and therefore I made no mention of the terrible flooding and devastation in the wake of Hurricane Helene.

And I should also acknowledge of the escalating violence by and around Israel, now directed against Lebanon. The likelihood of a regional war increases with each new provocation.

These sorts of terrible and terrifying events remind us that we can no longer take old certainties and securities for granted. We have little choice but to turn inward for our meaning and security, while outwardly becoming more flexible, dynamic, and, where possible, be willing to help.

I am sending love and blessings to all of you and your loved ones.

I lost my world, my fame, my mind
by Mevlana Jelaluddin Rumi

English version by Andrew Harvey

I lost my world, my fame, my mind —
The Sun appeared, and all the shadows ran.
I ran after them, but vanished as I ran —
Light ran after me and hunted me down.

— from The Longing in Between: Sacred Poetry from Around the World (A Poetry Chaikhana Anthology), Edited by Ivan M. Granger

/ Image by Lynh Nguyen /

A rare Monday poem today. But it is international Rumi Day, and I had to take a moment to share a Rumi poem with you all…

The Sun appeared, and all the shadows ran.

Many of Rumi’s poems make reference to the sun. This always has layered meaning for Rumi since he was deeply devoted to his spiritual teacher Shams of Tabriz… The name Shams means “the sun.”

The sun for Rumi can be God or the radiance of God shining through his beloved teacher or the light of enlightenment. Though why should we separate them out? They are all the same Light.

The light of God comes, the clarity of enlightenment shines, and the shadows disappear.

Of course, seeing the world in this way removes us from society’s consensus reality. In that light, we see things simply and purely as they are, not as we are told they are. Standing outside that shadow world, we realize that every role we play in life, in fact, our thoughts have not journeyed with us across the threshold:

I lost my world, my fame, my mind —

Filled with that light, surrounded by the light, all of existence interpermeated by that light, we can search for some root or tendril of those things that once seemed so immutable and defining, but the more we search, the more we recognize how gossamer thin the very fabric of our own identity actually is.

I ran after them, but vanished as I ran —
Light ran after me and hunted me down.

Then it hits us: We are not really “selves,” we are not the distinct nuggets of identity commonly imagined, we are not even illumined beings surrounded and permeated by light. There is only light, and no “I” in the midst of it. The only “self” we can claim is not really a separate being but, rather, a distinct point-of-view within that one immense shining Being. The enlightened mystic sees only that light, dancing and playing, sometimes eddying into “me” and “you” and all the world, without actually losing its luminescent nature or flow.

So, seekers, while you are on your spiritual hunt, remember to look over your shoulder. That glow you glimpse might just be hunting you.

Happy birthday, Jelaluddin!

Recommended Books: Mevlana Jelaluddin Rumi

The Longing in Between: Sacred Poetry from Around the World (A Poetry Chaikhana Anthology)	This Dance of Bliss: Ecstatic Poetry from Around the World	Poetry for the Spirit: Poems of Universal Wisdom and Beauty	Music of a Distant Drum: Classical Arabic, Persian, Turkish & Hebrew Poems	Perfume of the Desert: Inspirations from Sufi Wisdom
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Mevlana Jelaluddin Rumi Afghanistan & Turkey (1207 – 1273) Timeline Muslim / Sufi

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Approach the trysting place
naked.

If you come any other way,
what’s the point?

Bent
by Ivan M. Granger

Yes, seekers, do
sit up,
stand tall.

Effort clears the way,
but the steps
are already taken.

— from Real Thirst: Poetry of the Spiritual Journey, by Ivan M. Granger

/ Image by Guillaume Bolduc /

So many straight spines and rigorous strivings in the spiritual game. All valuable in the right context. But, you know, at some point you just lean into that divine embrace and finally find what all that effort failed to attain.

I like the image of a slingshot. You and I, we are the pebbles. We pull and strain; we fast and meditate, pray and breathe, turn inward, reach outward to help how we can… and yet all we feel is tension. Then, unexpectedly, we surrender, perhaps we stumble, we let go. The slingshot snaps back; that’s when we soar!

Letting go doesn’t mean much if we haven’t first created the proper dynamic tension and focus through spiritual effort. But ceaseless tugging only leads to rigidity and strain. Effort is required, but it is only through yielding that we reach the goal.

Another way to understand this is that enlightenment, salvation, liberation, the true Self, these are not attained through effort. They are not attained at all. They simply are. They are already our nature. Effort is necessary, yes, but only to clear away the delusion that they are not already who we are. Effort clears the way, but the steps are already taken.

So, yes, seekers, do sit up, stand tall. But then again, we slouch our way into heaven. Resting in that recognition, we let the years pass…

A good weekend to go outside, lean back into the earth, look up, let go, and soar!

Recommended Books: Ivan M. Granger

The Longing in Between: Sacred Poetry from Around the World (A Poetry Chaikhana Anthology)	This Dance of Bliss: Ecstatic Poetry from Around the World	Real Thirst: Poetry of the Spiritual Journey	For Lovers of God Everywhere: Poems of the Christian Mystics	Diamond Cutters: Visionary Poets in America, Britain & Oceania
More Books >>

Ivan M. Granger US (1969 – ) Secular or Eclectic Yoga / Hindu : Advaita / Non-Dualist

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We are interconnected.
Our experiences
are always shared experiences.

The hour is striking so close above me
by Rainer Maria Rilke

English version by Anita Barrows and Joanna Macy

The hour is striking so close above me,
so clear and sharp,
that all my senses ring with it.
I feel it now: there’s a power in me
to grasp and give shape to my world.

I know that nothing has ever been real
without my beholding it.
All becoming has needed me.
My looking ripens things
and they come toward me, to meet and be met.

— from Rilke’s Book of Hours: Love Poems to God, by Rainer Maria Rilke / Translated by Joanna Macy

/ Image by Francisco Moreno /

It has been a while since I last featured something by Rilke. This poem is not as well known as some of his others, but there is so much I like about it.

The hour is striking so close above me

The first verse speaks to us of the immediacy of the present moment. We, along with the poet, awaken to the Now with a widening awareness. Our senses become alive in a new way. But there is more going on than sensory perception.

I feel it now: there’s a power in me
to grasp and give shape to my world.

That’s a surprising statement. When we really step into the present moment we have an unexpected sense of majesty and command. In some way we become participants in the act of creation.

Rilke continues:

I know that nothing has ever been real
without my beholding it.
All becoming has needed me.

What do you suppose Rilke is trying to say to us? Here is how I understand it. When we are quiet, when we are still, when we fully step into the present moment, we encounter reality in a very different way. We necessarily drop our mental projections about what has happened in the past, what will happen in the future, and, most importantly, what is happening right now.

Let’s use a simple example of noticing a tree on a walk. Most of the time, if a tree registers in our awareness at all as we go by, we minimally acknowledge it as “tree” and walk on. That “tree” we noted conjures up in the mind several elements: a canopy of leaves, usually green leaves, a central trunk, a general sense of height. We notice a tree, we think “tree” and we paint this picture in the mind. But we never quite saw the tree. We never saw that tree. We didn’t really encounter it. The tree wasn’t real. It was an idea of a tree.

If, however, we stop and turn around and really see the tree, truly behold it, without preconception, allowing the tree to simply be as it is and allowing ourselves to become quiet witnesses — that is when the tree becomes real.

There is a magic in such moments of encounter, when we let them happen. The world comes alive. This is not just something that happens internally in us as the quiet, present witness, but in the people and things that are witnessed. We all wait to be seen, truly seen. Even a tree. The universe is a grand stage of awareness waiting to meet awareness. We all come alive when we see and are seen.

My looking ripens things
and they come toward me, to meet and be met.

Recommended Books: Rainer Maria Rilke

The Enlightened Heart: An Anthology of Sacred Poetry	Ahead of All Parting: The Selected Poetry and Prose of Rainer Maria Rilke	The Soul is Here for its Own Joy: Sacred Poems from Many Cultures	Rilke’s Book of Hours: Love Poems to God	In Praise of Mortality: Rilke’s Duino Elegies & Sonnets to Orpheus
More Books >>

Rainer Maria Rilke Germany (1875 – 1926) Timeline Secular or Eclectic

More poetry by Rainer Maria Rilke