I have inherited my mother's scarves
Autumn angora, winter wool
crisp cotton for spring;
silk for sad days like funerals, whatever the season.
She felt uncomfortable if there was no scarf.
At Rodin sculptures in the Burrell, she'd pause
and loudly tut not even a scarf around her neck.
When in town on separate jaunts,
I'd find her at the midday mass,
spot her immediately, her scarf
drawn up over her head, veil-like.
She'd nod as I joined her for the final hymn,
frown for a moment at my bare head
then smile in approval at my covered neck.
I take my time choosing my scarf, stroking
silver-flecked blues, warm reds, cool greens
noting that there are no beige.
It may be a difficult day ahead
but no matter. I'm not afraid
to stick my neck out
wearing any one of her scarves.
|Anne Murray reads at the Cornerstone - photo by Morelle Smith|
Jila Peacock translates Hafez and shows her illustrations of his words
Rise up wine giver and offer the cup
for love at first so simple is now beset with trouble
even as sighs rising from the tangle of perfumed curls
suffuse our hearts with rapture.
Here am I revelling in the midst of life
when every moment the camel bells cry out
‘Pack your goods and chattels!’
Redden the prayer rug with wine
if the Magian elder tells you
For seekers know the map and methods of the Way.
In night’s black terror amid the fearful waves and whirlpools
How may those wayfarers of the shore fathom my despair?
My whole life’s yield is ending in shame through my conceit.
How long can the mystery we all seek remain hidden?
If this is the presence you seek Hafez, be bold
Abandon the world, let it go:
Then face your heart’s desire.
Translated by Jila Peacock
|Jila Peacock shows her illustrations at the Cornerstone- photo by Mike Knowles|