Anne Murray, Jila Peacock and Hafez

Gracenotes

INHERITANCE

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

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