That is definitely not the impression I take away from Persian and Urdu ghazals. Consider the fabulous Sufi poet, Rumi. His writing was about desire, longing and the occasional (read frequent) hangover. How could a whirling dervish not be in ecstasy since this is why they spin, nu?
I read a lotta ghazals and listened to some jazz first.
Nope. When I used to hang out in NYC, we thought the Village was the center of the city and uptown meant Broadway and Lincoln Center. I have heard amazing music (and poetry, too) in many places there, but never made it to Minton's or any of the great jazz clubs. I was young and did not yet realize there was a jazz gene in me, still unexpressed.
One of my girlfriends and I used to see this guy in Washington Square Park we'd chat with about the blues--well, he'd talk and we'd mostly listen. He even invited us to his apartment once and we grilled ribs and smoked pot and listened to John Lee Hooker and Muddy Waters. It was, well except for the pot at the time, pretty innocent. Anyway that guy was John Hammond, Jr., and if I knew then what I do now, I'd probably have proposed to him on the spot.
Well, I'm quite unhappy with the result here. Maybe I'll set it to rights or just write another. It started strong but sorta fizzled off at the end...I look forward to your interpretation
) That said, pot roast is a oft painfully slow lower heat dish that results in the meat becoming so broken down from cookin in its own excess juices (fat), it shreds and collapses when you touch it. I guess I was trying to suggest she was fragile in that way from cooking in her own excess juices of sweat, funk, and tears all day.
Yes, I read the same thing...
"Let us not disturb you unwillingly,
or find we are mechanics of breaking love."
I did not, however, work in drug or alcohol use into things--something else I saw in a write-up on the history and writing of ghazals.
I am not putting my name in if I write another. And that's a big if!
No more coffee for you.
