5. Times of Prayer – Idris Mears
Dec 29th, 2008
dusk
worlds merge at the margin of day with day
gathering in the shadows
strange intensity of colour
like the palette behind lids shut tight
against the brightness of a window opening
beyond
stranger
out of the gloom light-dazed blind
you stumble across the threshold
find yourself in the room at peace
feeling its margins sensing its vastness
knowing without turning the door has shut tight
on you gathered in here
belonging
night
becalmed
on the mirrorblack night sea face between
starry expanse unsounded depths
night sailor
teasing out the slack
alert in repose
watching for signs of wind
and then the stir of breeze before dawn
and sense stiffened you haul into the centre
and hold there for that moment’s catch of breath
dawn
in the texture of dawn’s soft wrap
each glistening bead tells
its glory tale of night’s drenching
noon
at dead of noon earth lets off a breath
frowning angels dance on the wall of heat
all creatures shroud from the blast
depth falls away from vision
and only stirs the play of silver on sheeny faces
in white room body laid out
the heart within without
all these surfaces all these appearances
afternoon
as the sun declines slow and sensual
adrift with the throng
you plough a dusty furrow fair through
antique city heart weary with usage past
trinkety wares of man
stacked up bolts of satin and shoddy and taffeta
bales of layered carpets
bold brass rank upon rank and the air rank
with perfume and spice and fetid lurking taint
covered over stratum upon stratum
the abundance of the earth
cascading out in primeval abandon
its green herbs and cucumbers its pulses grains and onions
a seething of gestures and faces and hubbub
a babel of sound woven into declensions of rhythm and cadence
ever-changing in their sameness
moom-moo baa-paa nee-nee nah-nah
sometimes here in the shabby afternoons
you turn a corner and catch
a glimpse of the fleeting of her hem raise dust
waft of mountain herb you stumbled across
in a secret recess after morning rain
Bravo! There are so many felicitous lines, and I love the hurtling into the more detailed abundance of the world via stillness and prayer (and even death, the body laid out…) and ending with the vision of The Beloved, made real by a scent, our most poignant of senses. I pray there are seismic shakes and pent up rivers of more poetry from this poet… a long time in coming… moom-moo baa-paa nee-nee nah-nah indeed!
moom-moo, baa-paa, nee-nee and nah-nah are the four words remaining from the Adamic language Syriania. A faqih told me about them once on the edge of the desert in Morocco.
Abdassamad
Amazing! In the poem they come across as possibly a rap refrain heard on a market radio… How ancientness survives!
لغة آدم القديمة وهي السرينية ولم يبق منها إلّا كلمة
مُومُّو
بَابَّا
نِنِّي
نَاهْ نَّاهْ
مُومُّو عين أو صبي
نِنِّي التمر
بَابَّا الخبز
نَاهْ نَّاهْ النوم
salaam everyone. what do these ancient words mean?
Sidi, the words are explained in the Arabic above.
moom-moo is the eye or the child (he is the apple of my eye!)
baa-paa is bread
nee-nee is the date
nah-nah is sleep