tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10198326290897443382024-03-27T17:57:57.054-07:00Lamp to burnAdminhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11895344328863160229noreply@blogger.comBlogger334125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1019832629089744338.post-87358601885803525622011-03-17T07:55:00.001-07:002011-03-17T07:55:05.466-07:00THE ARGUMENT<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 0px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 0px; -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: none; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; border-collapse: separate; color: black; font: small "Times New Roman"; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><b><span style="color: blue; font-family: Times New Roman;">THE ARGUMENT<br />
<br />
Lucius Tarquinius, for his excessive pride surnamed Superbus,<br />
after he had caused his own father-in-law Servius Tullius to be<br />
cruelly murdered, and, contrary to the Roman laws and customs, not<br />
requiring or staying for the people's suffrages, had possessed himself<br />
of the kingdom, went accompanied with his sons and other noblemen of<br />
Rome, to besiege Ardea. During which siege the principal men of the<br />
army meeting one evening at the tent of Sextus Tarquinius, the<br />
king's son, in their discourses after supper every one commended the<br />
virtues of his own wife; among whom Collatinus extolled the<br />
incomparable chastity of his wife Lucretia. In that pleasant humour<br />
they all posted to Rome; and intending, by their secret and sudden<br />
arrival, to make trial of that which every one had before avouched,<br />
only Collatinus finds his wife, though it were late in the night,<br />
spinning amongst her maids: the other ladies were all found dancing<br />
and revelling, or in several disports. Whereupon the noblemen<br />
yielded Collatinus the victory, and his wife the fame. At that time<br />
Sextus Tarquinius being inflamed with Lucrece' beauty, yet<br />
smothering his passions for the present, departed with the rest back<br />
to the camp; from whence he shortly after privily withdrew himself,<br />
and was, according to his estate, royally entertained and lodged by<br />
Lucrece at Collatium. The same night he treacherously stealeth into<br />
her chamber, violently ravished her, and early in the morning speedeth<br />
away. Lucrece, in this lamentable plight, hastily dispatcheth<br />
messengers, one to Rome for her father, another to the camp for<br />
Collatine. They came, the one accompanied with Junius Brutus, the<br />
other with Publius Valerius; and finding Lucrece attired in mourning<br />
habit, demanded the cause of her sorrow. She, first taking an oath<br />
of them for her revenge, revealed the actor and whole manner of his<br />
dealing, and withal suddenly stabbed herself. Which done, with one<br />
consent they all vowed to root out the whole hated family of the<br />
Tarquins; and bearing the dead body to Rome, Brutus acquainted the<br />
people with the doer and manner of the vile deed, with a bitter<br />
invective against the tyranny of the king: wherewith the people were<br />
so moved, that with one consent and a general acclamation the Tarquins<br />
were all exiled, and the state government changed from kings to<br />
consuls. </span></b></span></span></div>Adminhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11895344328863160229noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1019832629089744338.post-14753695796339863662011-03-17T07:53:00.001-07:002011-03-17T07:55:33.758-07:00TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 0px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 0px; -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: none; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; border-collapse: separate; font: small "Times New Roman"; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><b><span style="color: blue; font-family: Times New Roman;">TO THE<br />
RIGHT HONOURABLE<br />
HENRY WRIOTHESLEY,<br />
EARL OF SOUTHAMPTON<br />
BARON OF TITCHFIELD</span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"><br />
<span style="color: blue;">The love I dedicate to your lordship is without end: whereof this<br />
pamphlet, without beginning is but a superfluous moiety. The warrant I<br />
have of your honourable disposition, not the worth of my untutored<br />
lines, make it assured of acceptance. What I have done is yours;<br />
what I have to do is yours; being part in all I have, devoted yours.<br />
Were my worth greater, my duty would show greater; meantime, as it is,<br />
it is bound to your lordship, to whom I wish long life still<br />
lengthened with all happiness.</span></span></b></span></span></div>Adminhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11895344328863160229noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1019832629089744338.post-81000716983396583522011-03-17T07:51:00.000-07:002011-03-17T07:51:06.743-07:00THE PHOENIX AND THE TURTLE<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 0px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 0px; -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: none; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; border-collapse: separate; color: black; font: small "Times New Roman"; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><b><span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"><span style="color: purple; font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: medium;">THE PHOENIX AND THE TURTLE</span></span></b></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 0px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 0px; -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: none; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; border-collapse: separate; color: black; font: small "Times New Roman"; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 0px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 0px; -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: none; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; border-collapse: separate; color: black; font: small "Times New Roman"; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><b><span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"><span style="color: purple; font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: medium;">A POEM BY</span></span></b></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 0px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 0px; -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: none; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; border-collapse: separate; color: black; font: small "Times New Roman"; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 0px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 0px; -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: none; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; border-collapse: separate; color: black; font: small "Times New Roman"; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 0px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 0px; -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: none; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; border-collapse: separate; color: black; font: small "Times New Roman"; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><b><span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"><span style="color: purple; font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: medium;">WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE</span></span></b></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 0px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 0px; -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: none; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; border-collapse: separate; color: black; font: small "Times New Roman"; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 0px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 0px; -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: none; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; border-collapse: separate; color: black; font: small "Times New Roman"; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 0px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 0px; -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: none; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; border-collapse: separate; color: black; font: small "Times New Roman"; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 0px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 0px; -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: none; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; border-collapse: separate; color: black; font: small "Times New Roman"; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><b><span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"><span style="color: purple; font-family: Times New Roman;">The Phoenix and the Turtle<br />
Let the bird of loudest lay<br />
On the sole Arabian tree,<br />
Herald sad and trumpet be,<br />
To whose sound chaste wings obey.<br />
But thou shrieking harbinger,<br />
Foul precurrer of the fiend,<br />
Augur of the fever's end,<br />
To this troop come thou not near.<br />
<br />
From this session interdict<br />
Every fowl of tyrant wing<br />
Save the eagle, feather'd king:<br />
Keep the obsequy so strict.<br />
<br />
Let the priest in surplice white<br />
That defunctive music can,<br />
Be the death-divining swan,<br />
Lest the requiem lack his right.<br />
<br />
And thou, treble-dated crow,<br />
That thy sable gender mak'st<br />
With the breath thou giv'st and tak'st,<br />
'Mongst our mourners shalt thou go.<br />
<br />
Here the anthem doth commence:—<br />
Love and constancy is dead;<br />
Phoenix and the turtle fled<br />
In a mutual flame from hence.<br />
<br />
So they loved, as love in twain<br />
Had the essence but in one;<br />
Two distincts, division none;<br />
Number there in love was slain.<br />
<br />
Hearts remote, yet not asunder;<br />
Distance, and no space was seen<br />
'Twixt the turtle and his queen:<br />
But in them it were a wonder.<br />
<br />
So between them love did shine,<br />
That the turtle saw his right<br />
Flaming in the phoenix' sight;<br />
Either was the other's mine.<br />
<br />
Property was thus appall'd,<br />
That the self was not the same;<br />
Single nature's double name<br />
Neither two nor one was call'd.<br />
<br />
Reason, in itself confounded,<br />
Saw division grow together;<br />
To themselves yet either neither;<br />
Simple were so well compounded,<br />
<br />
That it cried, 'How true a twain<br />
Seemeth this concordant one!<br />
Love hath reason, reason none<br />
If what parts can so remain.'<br />
<br />
Whereupon it made this threne<br />
To the phoenix and the dove,<br />
Co-supremes and stars of love,<br />
As chorus to their tragic scene.<br />
<br />
THRENOS<br />
<br />
BEAUTY, truth, and rarity,<br />
Grace in all simplicity,<br />
Here enclosed in cinders lie.<br />
<br />
Death is now the phoenix' nest;<br />
And the turtle's loyal breast<br />
To eternity doth rest,<br />
<br />
Leaving no posterity:<br />
'Twas not their infirmity,<br />
It was married chastity.<br />
<br />
Truth may seem, but cannot be;<br />
Beauty brag, but 'tis not she;<br />
Truth and beauty buried be.<br />
<br />
To this urn let those repair<br />
That are either true or fair;<br />
For these dead birds sigh a prayer.</span></span></b></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div></div>Adminhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11895344328863160229noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1019832629089744338.post-11197723790789032212011-03-17T07:40:00.001-07:002011-03-17T07:45:11.985-07:00A LOVER'S COMPLAINT<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 0px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 0px; -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: none; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; border-collapse: separate; font: small "Times New Roman"; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><b><span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"><span style="color: blue; font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: medium;">A LOVER'S COMPLAINT</span></span></b></span></span><br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 0px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 0px; -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: none; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; border-collapse: separate; font: small "Times New Roman"; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 0px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 0px; -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: none; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; border-collapse: separate; font: small "Times New Roman"; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><b><span style="color: blue; font-family: Times New Roman;"></span></b></span></span></span></span><div align="center"><b><span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"><span style="color: #778ed6; font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: medium;">A POEM BY<br />
WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE</span></span></b></div><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 0px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 0px; -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: none; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; border-collapse: separate; font: small "Times New Roman"; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 0px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 0px; -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: none; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; border-collapse: separate; font: small "Times New Roman"; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><b><span style="color: blue; font-family: Times New Roman;">From off a hill whose concave womb reworded<br />
A plaintful story from a sist'ring vale,<br />
My spirits t'attend this double voice accorded,<br />
And down I laid to list the sad-tuned tale,<br />
Ere long espied a fickle maid full pale,<br />
Tearing of papers, breaking rings atwain,<br />
Storming her world with sorrow's wind and rain.<br />
Upon her head a platted hive of straw,<br />
Which fortified her visage from the sun,<br />
Whereon the thought might think sometime it saw<br />
The carcase of a beauty spent and done.<br />
Time had not scythed all that youth begun,<br />
Nor youth all quit, but spite of heaven's fell rage<br />
Some beauty peeped through lattice of seared age.</span></b></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 0px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 0px; -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: none; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; border-collapse: separate; color: black; font: small "Times New Roman"; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><b><span style="color: blue; font-family: Times New Roman;">Oft did she heave her napkin to her eyne,<br />
Which on it had conceited characters,<br />
Laund'ring the silken figures in the brine<br />
That seasoned woe had pelleted in tears,<br />
And often reading what contents it bears;<br />
As often shrieking undistinguished woe<br />
In clamours of all size, both high and low.<br />
<br />
Sometimes her levelled eyes their carriage ride<br />
As they did batt'ry to the spheres intend;<br />
Sometime diverted their poor balls are tied<br />
To th'orbed earth; sometimes they do extend<br />
Their view right on; anon their gazes lend<br />
To every place at once, and nowhere fixed,<br />
The mind and sight distractedly commixed.<br />
<br />
Her hair, nor loose nor tied in formal plait,<br />
Proclaimed in her a careless hand of pride;<br />
For some, untucked, descended her sheaved hat,<br />
Hanging her pale and pined cheek beside;<br />
Some in her threaden fillet still did bide,<br />
And, true to bondage, would not break from thence,<br />
Though slackly braided in loose negligence.<br />
<br />
A thousand favours from a maund she drew<br />
Of amber, crystal, and of beaded jet,<br />
Which one by one she in a river threw,<br />
Upon whose weeping margent she was set;<br />
Like usury applying wet to wet,<br />
Or monarch's hands that lets not bounty fall<br />
Where want cries some, but where excess begs all.<br />
<br />
Of folded schedules had she many a one,<br />
Which she perused, sighed, tore, and gave the flood;<br />
Cracked many a ring of posied gold and bone,<br />
Bidding them find their sepulchres in mud;<br />
Found yet moe letters sadly penned in blood,<br />
With sleided silk feat and affectedly<br />
Enswathed and sealed to curious secrecy.<br />
<br />
These often bathed she in her fluxive eyes,<br />
And often kissed, and often 'gan to tear;<br />
Cried "O false blood, thou register of lies,<br />
What unapproved witness dost thou bear!<br />
Ink would have seemed more black and damned here!"<br />
This said, in top of rage the lines she rents,<br />
Big discontent so breaking their contents.<br />
<br />
A reverend man that grazed his cattle nigh,<br />
Sometime a blusterer that the ruffle knew<br />
Of court, of city, and had let go by<br />
The swiftest hours observed as they flew,<br />
Towards this afflicted fancy fastly drew,<br />
And, privileged by age, desires to know<br />
In brief the grounds and motives of her woe.<br />
<br />
So slides he down upon his grained bat,<br />
And comely distant sits he by her side,<br />
When he again desires her, being sat,<br />
Her grievance with his hearing to divide.<br />
If that from him there may be aught applied<br />
Which may her suffering ecstasy assuage,<br />
'Tis promised in the charity of age.<br />
<br />
"Father," she says "though in me you behold<br />
The injury of many a blasting hour,<br />
Let it not tell your judgement I am old:<br />
Not age, but sorrow over me hath power.<br />
I might as yet have been a spreading flower,<br />
Fresh to myself, if I had self-applied<br />
Love to myself, and to no love beside.<br />
<br />
"But, woe is me! too early I attended<br />
A youthful suit -it was to gain my grace -<br />
O, one by nature's outwards so commended<br />
That maidens' eyes stuck over all his face.<br />
Love lacked a dwelling and made him her place;<br />
And when in his fair parts she did abide<br />
She was new-lodged and newly deified.<br />
<br />
"His browny locks did hang in crooked curls,<br />
And every light occasion of the wind<br />
Upon his lips their silken parcels hurls.<br />
What's sweet to do, to do will aptly find:<br />
Each eye that saw him did enchant the mind,<br />
For on his visage was in little drawn<br />
What largeness thinks in Paradise was sawn.<br />
<br />
"Small show of man was yet upon his chin;<br />
His phoenix down began but to appear,<br />
Like unshorn velvet, on that termless skin,<br />
Whose bare outbragged the web it seemed to wear;<br />
Yet showed his visage by that cost more dear,<br />
And nice affections wavering stood in doubt<br />
If best were as it was, or best without.<br />
<br />
"His qualities were beauteous as his form,<br />
For maiden-tongued he was, and thereof free;<br />
Yet, if men moved him, was he such a storm<br />
As oft twixt May and April is to see,<br />
When winds breathe sweet, unruly though they be.<br />
His rudeness so with his authorized youth<br />
Did livery falseness in a pride of truth.<br />
<br />
"Well could he ride, and often men would say<br />
`That horse his mettle from his rider takes:<br />
Proud of subjection, noble by the sway,<br />
What rounds, what bounds, what course, what stop he makes!'<br />
And controversy hence a question takes,<br />
Whether the horse by him became his deed,<br />
Or he his manage by th' well-doing steed.<br />
<br />
"But quickly on this side the verdict went:<br />
His real habitude gave life and grace<br />
To appertainings and to ornament,<br />
Accomplished in himself, not in his case.<br />
All aids, themselves made fairer by their place,<br />
Came for additions; yet their purposed trim<br />
Pieced not his grace, but were all graced by him.<br />
<br />
"So on the tip of his subduing tongue<br />
All kind of arguments and question deep,<br />
All replication prompt, and reason strong,<br />
For his advantage still did wake and sleep.<br />
To make the weeper laugh, the laugher weep,<br />
He had the dialect and different skill,<br />
Catching all passions in his craft of will,<br />
<br />
"That he did in the general bosom reign<br />
Of young, of old, and sexes both enchanted,<br />
To dwell with him in thoughts, or to remain<br />
In personal duty, following where he haunted.<br />
Consents bewitched, ere he desire, have granted,<br />
And dialogued for him what he would say,<br />
Asked their own wills, and made their wills obey.<br />
<br />
"Many there were that did his picture get<br />
To serve their eyes, and in it put their mind;<br />
Like fools that in th'imagination set<br />
The goodly objects which abroad they find<br />
Of lands and mansions, theirs in thought assigned,<br />
And labour in moe pleasures to bestow them<br />
Than the true gouty landlord which doth owe them.<br />
<br />
"So many have, that never touched his hand,<br />
Sweetly supposed them mistress of his heart.<br />
My woeful self, that did in freedom stand,<br />
And was my own fee-simple, not in part,<br />
What with his art in youth, and youth in art,<br />
Threw my affections in his charmed power,<br />
Reserved the stalk and gave him all my flower.<br />
<br />
"Yet did I not, as some my equals did,<br />
Demand of him, nor being desired yielded;<br />
Finding myself in honour so forbid,<br />
With safest distance I mine honour shielded.<br />
Experience for me many bulwarks builded<br />
Of proofs new-bleeding, which remained the foil<br />
Of this false jewel and his amorous spoil.<br />
<br />
"But ah, who ever shunned by precedent<br />
The destined ill she must herself assay?<br />
Or forced examples 'gainst her own content<br />
To put the by-past perils in her way?<br />
Counsel may stop awhile what will not stay,<br />
For when we rage, advice is often seen<br />
By blunting us to make our wills more keen.<br />
<br />
"Nor gives it satisfaction to our blood<br />
That we must curb it upon others' proof,<br />
To be forbod the sweets that seems so good<br />
For fear of harms that preach in our behoof.<br />
O appetite, from judgement stand aloof!<br />
The one a palate hath that needs will taste,<br />
Though reason weep, and cry `It is thy last'.<br />
<br />
"For further I could say this man's untrue,<br />
And knew the patterns of his foul beguiling;<br />
Heard where his plants in others' orchards grew;<br />
Saw how deceits were gilded in his smiling;<br />
Knew vows were ever brokers to defiling;<br />
Thought characters and words merely but art,<br />
And bastards of his foul adulterate heart.<br />
<br />
"And long upon these terms I held my city,<br />
Till thus he 'gan besiege me: `Gentle maid,<br />
Have of my suffering youth some feeling pity,<br />
And be not of my holy vows afraid.<br />
That's to ye sworn to none was ever said;<br />
For feasts of love I have been called unto,<br />
Till now did ne'er invite nor never woo.<br />
<br />
" `All my offences that abroad you see<br />
Are errors of the blood, none of the mind;<br />
Love made them not; with acture they may be,<br />
Where neither party is nor true nor kind.<br />
They sought their shame that so their shame did find;<br />
And so much less of shame in me remains<br />
By how much of me their reproach contains.<br />
<br />
" `Among the many that mine eyes have seen,<br />
Not one whose flame my heart so much as warmed,<br />
Or my affection put to th' smallest teen,<br />
Or any of my leisures ever charmed.<br />
Harm have I done to them, but ne'er was harmed;<br />
Kept hearts in liveries, but mine own was free,<br />
And reigned commanding in his monarchy.<br />
<br />
" `Look here what tributes wounded fancies sent me<br />
Of pallid pearls and rubies red as blood,<br />
Figuring that they their passions likewise lent me<br />
Of grief and blushes, aptly understood<br />
In bloodless white and the encrimsoned mood -<br />
Effects of terror and dear modesty,<br />
Encamped in hearts, but fighting outwardly.<br />
<br />
" `And lo, behold these talents of their hair,<br />
With twisted metal amorously impleached,<br />
I have received from many a several fair,<br />
Their kind acceptance weepingly beseeched,<br />
With the annexions of fair gems enriched,<br />
And deep-brained sonnets that did amplify<br />
Each stone's dear nature, worth, and quality.<br />
<br />
" `The diamond? -why, 'twas beautiful and hard,<br />
Whereto his invised properties did tend;<br />
The deep-green em'rald, in whose fresh regard<br />
Weak sights their sickly radiance do amend;<br />
The heaven-hued sapphire and the opal blend<br />
With objects manifold: each several stone,<br />
With wit well blazoned, smiled or made some moan.<br />
" `Lo, all these trophies of affections hot,<br />
Of pensived and subdued desires the tender,<br />
Nature hath charged me that I hoard them not,<br />
But yield them up where I myself must render -<br />
That is to you, my origin and ender;<br />
For these, of force, must your oblations be,<br />
Since I their altar, you enpatron me.<br />
<br />
" `O then advance of yours that phraseless hand,<br />
Whose white weighs down the airy scale of praise.<br />
Take all these similes to your own command,<br />
Hallowed with sighs that burning lungs did raise.<br />
What me your minister, for you obeys,<br />
Works under you, and to your audit comes<br />
Their distract parcels in combined sums.<br />
<br />
" `Lo, this device was sent me from a nun,<br />
A sister sanctified, of holiest note,<br />
Which late her noble suit in court did shun,<br />
Whose rarest havings made the blossoms dote;<br />
For she was sought by spirits of richest coat,<br />
But kept cold distance, and did thence remove<br />
To spend her living in eternal love.<br />
<br />
" `But, O my sweet, what labour is't to leave<br />
The thing we have not, mast'ring what not strives,<br />
Planing the place which did no form receive,<br />
Playing patient sports in unconstrained gyves!<br />
She that her fame so to herself contrives,<br />
The scars of battle scapeth by the flight,<br />
And makes her absence valiant, not her might.<br />
<br />
" `O pardon me, in that my boast is true!<br />
The accident which brought me to her eye<br />
Upon the moment did her force subdue,<br />
And now she would the caged cloister fly:<br />
Religious love put out religion's eye.<br />
Not to be tempted, would she be immured,<br />
And now to tempt, all liberty procured.<br />
<br />
" `How mighty then you are, O hear me tell!<br />
The broken bosoms that to me belong<br />
Have emptied all their fountains in my well,<br />
And mine I pour your ocean all among.<br />
I strong o'er them, and you o'er me being strong,<br />
Must for your victory us all congest,<br />
As compound love to physic your cold breast.<br />
<br />
" `My parts had power to charm a sacred nun,<br />
Who, disciplined, ay, dieted in grace,<br />
Believed her eyes when they t'assail begun,<br />
All vows and consecrations giving place.<br />
O most potential love! -vow, bond, nor space,<br />
In thee hath neither sting, knot, nor confine,<br />
For thou art all, and all things else are thine.<br />
<br />
" `When thou impressest, what are precepts worth<br />
Of stale example? When thou wilt inflame,<br />
How coldly those impediments stand forth,<br />
Of wealth, of filial fear, law, kindred, fame!<br />
Love's arms are peace, 'gainst rule, 'gainst sense, 'gainst shame;<br />
And sweetens, in the suff'ring pangs it bears,<br />
The aloes of all forces, shocks, and fears.<br />
<br />
" `Now all these hearts that do on mine depend,<br />
Feeling it break, with bleeding groans they pine,<br />
And supplicant their sighs to you extend,<br />
To leave the batt'ry that you make 'gainst mine,<br />
Lending soft audience to my sweet design,<br />
And credent soul to that strong-bonded oath<br />
That shall prefer and undertake my troth.'<br />
<br />
"This said, his wat'ry eyes he did dismount,<br />
whose sights till then were levelled on my face;<br />
Each cheek a river running from a fount<br />
With brinish current downward flowed apace.<br />
O how the channel to the stream gave grace!<br />
Who glazed with crystal gate the glowing roses<br />
That flame through water which their hue encloses.<br />
<br />
"O father, what a hell of witchcraft lies<br />
In the small orb of one particular tear!<br />
But with the inundation of the eyes<br />
What rocky heart to water will not wear?<br />
What breast so cold that is not warmed here?<br />
O cleft effect! Cold modesty, hot wrath,<br />
Both fire from hence and chill extincture hath.<br />
<br />
"For lo, his passion, but an art of craft,<br />
Even there resolved my reason into tears;<br />
There my white stole of chastity I daffed,<br />
Shook off my sober guards and civil fears;<br />
Appear to him as he to me appears,<br />
All melting; though our drops this diff'rence bore:<br />
His poisoned me, and mine did him restore.<br />
<br />
"In him a plenitude of subtle matter,<br />
Applied to cautels, all strange forms receives,<br />
Of burning blushes or of weeping water,<br />
Or swooning paleness; and he takes and leaves,<br />
In either's aptness, as it best deceives,<br />
To blush at speeches rank, to weep at woes,<br />
Or to turn white and swoon at tragic shows,<br />
<br />
"That not a heart which in his level came<br />
Could scape the hail of his all-hurting aim,<br />
Showing fair nature is both kind and tame;<br />
And, veiled in them, did win whom he would maim.<br />
Against the thing he sought he would exclaim;<br />
When he most burned in heart-wished luxury<br />
He preached pure maid and praised cold chastity.<br />
<br />
"Thus merely with the garment of a grace<br />
The naked and concealed fiend he covered,<br />
That th'unexperient gave the tempter place,<br />
Which like a cherubin above them hovered.<br />
Who, young and simple, would not be so lovered?<br />
Ay me, I fell; and yet do question make<br />
What I should do again for such a sake.<br />
<br />
"O, that infected moisture of his eye,<br />
O, that false fire which in his cheek so glowed,<br />
O, that forced thunder from his heart did fly,<br />
O, that sad breath his spongy lungs bestowed,<br />
O, all that borrowed motion, seeming owed,<br />
Would yet again betray the fore-betrayed,<br />
And new pervert a reconciled maid."</span></b></span></span></div></div>Adminhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11895344328863160229noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1019832629089744338.post-65434434667443892412011-03-17T07:28:00.000-07:002011-03-17T07:28:35.189-07:00Two loves I have, of comfort and despair,<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 0px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 0px; -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: none; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; border-collapse: separate; color: black; font: small "Times New Roman"; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, Times, serif;"><b></b></span><b></b><ul><b><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, Times, serif;"><i>- The Passionate Pilgrim II</i></span></b></ul></span></span><br />
<ul>Two loves I have, of comfort and despair,<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></ul><ul> That like two spirits do suggest me still;<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></ul><ul> My better angel is a man right fair,<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></ul><ul> My worser spirit a woman colour'd ill.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></ul><ul> To win me soon to hell,my female evil</ul><ul><span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span> Tempteth my better angel from my side,</ul><ul><span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span> And would corrupt my saint to be a devil,<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span> </ul><ul>Wooing his purity with her fair pride.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></ul><ul> And whether that my angel be turn'd fiend.</ul><ul><span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span> Suspect I may, yet not directly tell:<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></ul><ul> For being both to me, both to each friend.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span> </ul><ul>I guess one angel in another's hell:<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span> </ul><ul>The truth I shall not know, but live in doubt,<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span> </ul><ul>Till my bad angel fire my good one out.</ul></div>Adminhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11895344328863160229noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1019832629089744338.post-81463329759449826242011-03-17T07:26:00.001-07:002011-03-17T07:26:29.986-07:00Two loves I have, of comfort and despair,<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 0px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 0px; -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: none; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; border-collapse: separate; color: black; font: small "Times New Roman"; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, Times, serif;"><b> <ul>Two loves I have, of comfort and despair,<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>
That like two spirits do suggest me still;<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>
My better angel is a man right fair,<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>
My worser spirit a woman colour'd ill.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>
To win me soon to hell, my female evil<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>
Tempteth my better angel from my side,<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>
And would corrupt my saint to be a devil,<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>
Wooing his purity with her fair pride.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>
And whether that my angel be turn'd fiend.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>
Suspect I may, yet not directly tell:<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>
For being both to me, both to each friend.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>
I guess one angel in another's hell:<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>
The truth I shall not know, but live in doubt,<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>
Till my bad angel fire my good one out.</ul></b></span><b></b><ul><b><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, Times, serif;"><i>- The Passionate Pilgrim II</i></span></b></ul></span></span></div>Adminhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11895344328863160229noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1019832629089744338.post-4100369317157383242011-03-17T07:25:00.001-07:002011-03-17T07:25:54.384-07:00Time Line<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 0px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 0px; -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: none; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; border-collapse: separate; color: black; font: small "Times New Roman"; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"> <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span><b><span>William Shakespeare 1564 - 1616</span></b><b><span></span><img align="right" alt="Shakespeare" border="5" src="http://go.to.tripod.com/shakespeare/shakespeare.jpg" /></b><br />
<br />
<span><b> <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></b><u>Time Line</u></span><span></span><br />
1564 Born Stratford-upon-Avon, baptized (April 26),<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span><br />
eldest son of John Shakespeare and Mary Arden.<br />
1568 John Shakespeare becomes bailiff of Stratford.<br />
1582 Marries Anne Hathaway of Shottery.<br />
1583 Baptism (May 26) of first daughter, Susanna<br />
1585 Baptism (February 2) of twins,<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span><br />
son and daughter, Hamnet and Judith.<br />
1590-2 First performances of the historical<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span><br />
trilogy Henry VI.<br />
1596 Son Hamnet dies (August 11), aged eleven.<br />
1597 Bought New Place, the second largest house in Stratford.<br />
1598 First publication of the quarto of<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span><br />
<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span><i>Love's Labour's Lost.</i><br />
1599 Globe Theatre opens.<br />
1601 Father, John, dies.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span><br />
Performance of<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span><i>Richard II</i><span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>at the Globe.<br />
1603 Queen Elizabeth I dies.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span><br />
The Lord Chamberlain's Men<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span><br />
becomes The King's Men.<br />
1607 Daughter, Susanna, marries (June 5)<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span><br />
John Hall, a well known doctor in Stratford.<br />
1608 One of the founders of the Blackfriars Theatre.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span><br />
Mother, Mary, dies.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span><br />
<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span><br />
1610 Presumed year of return to live in Stratford, from London.<br />
1612 Testifies in the Belott-Mountjoy suit.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span><br />
The earliest surviving example of Shakespeare's<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span><br />
signature is at the end of his deposition.<br />
1613 The Globe burns down.<br />
1616 Daughter, Judith marries (February 10) Thomas Quiney.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span><br />
Shakespeare signs (March 25) his will.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span><br />
Dies (April 23). Buried in Holy Trinity Church, Stratford.<br />
1623 Death of Shakespeare's widow, Anne.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span><br />
Publication of the First Folio by Robert Heminge and Henry Condell.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>Adminhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11895344328863160229noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1019832629089744338.post-3156237180862870832011-03-17T07:24:00.001-07:002011-03-17T07:24:46.504-07:00William Shakespeare Biography & Works<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 0px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 0px; -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: none; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; border-collapse: separate; color: black; font: small "Times New Roman"; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana, arial, tahoma, times, georgia; font-size: 12px; text-align: left;"> <div style="margin: 0px;"><br class="Apple-interchange-newline" />William Shakespeare was born in Stratford-upon-Avon on April 23rd, 1564. Three days later, on April the 26th, baby William was baptized at the Trinity Church before his proud parents, John Shakespeare and Mary Arden. John was a glover and merchant of leather. Mary Arden was a land heiress. William was the third child of eight children in the Shakespeare household. Only five of the children lived to be adults. John Shakespeare enjoyed considerable success as both a merchant and an alderman and high bailiff of Stratford. Before William would set out on his own, however, John suffered somewhat of a reversal of fortune in the late 1570's.</div><div style="margin: 0px;">Truth be told, the formative calculus of young William's education is more than a little mysterious, although it is known that he studied at the free grammar school in Stratford, which at the time rivaled Eton. Few records exist establishing just where he came into his formative knowledge of Latin and Classical Greek. It is known that William Shakespeare never went to University. This fact in and of itself has often fomented debate vis-�-vis the sheer possibility of his authorship of so many brilliant plays and verse.</div><div style="margin: 0px;">On November 28th, 1582, when William was 18-years-old, he betrothed Anne Hathaway. She was eight years his senior and with child at the time. Their first daughter, Susanna, was born on May 26th, in 1583. A bit less than two years later the couple also had twins, Hamnet and Judith, who were born February 2, 1585. They were happily christened, like their father, at the Trinity Church. Unhappily, however, young Hamnet never lived to see his twelfth birthday, dying at 11, on August 11th, 1596.</div><div style="margin: 0px;">It was not until seven years later, in 1592 that Shakespeare reappears in the public light. During this unknown period, it has been speculated that young Shakespeare was up to no good, and may have been in fact a poacher. Evidently he got caught illegally hunting on the land of Sir Thomas Lucy, while working as an assistant schoolmaster, and it was this incident which forced the young man to flee the hinterlands for the big city of London, to establish himself as an actor and playwright.</div><div style="margin: 0px;">Envied from the start, for his unthinkable talent, a London playwright called Robert Greene lampooned the newcomer, in the daily paper, with "�an upstart crow, beautified with our feathers, that with his tiger's heart wrapped in a player's hide, supposes he is as well able to bombast out a blank verse as the best of you: and being an absolute Johannes for totum, is in his own conceit the only Shake-scene in a country."</div><div style="margin: 0px;">Despise him or envy him or cherish him, it was clear William Shakespeare demonstrated a streak of brilliance so bright it was impossible to name. By 1594, he was not only acting and writing for Lord Chamberlain's Men (called the King's Men after the ascension of James I in 1603), but was a managing partner in all aspects of the enterprise as well. Lord Chamberlain's Men ran the gamut between grandiose tragic actors like Richard Burbage to master comedians like Will Kempe. The London Troupe became a favorite form of entertainment visited by the general theatre going public as well as the highest of Royalty. Although Shakespeare could not count himself wealthy, he could well afford a new house by 1611, which he built in his hometown of Stratford.</div><div style="margin: 0px;">To get there, he would write, in addition to serried sonnets, the following Plays:</div><div style="margin: 0px;">All's Well That Ends Well; As You Like It; The Comedy of Errors; Cymbeline; Love's Labours Lost; Measure for Measure; The Merry Wives of Windsor; The Merchant of Venice; A Midsummer Night's Dream; Much Ado About Nothing; Pericles, Prince of Tyre; Taming of the Shrew; The Tempest; Troilus and Cressida; Twelfth Night; Two Gentlemen of Verona; Winter's Tale; Henry IV, Part I; Henry IV, Part II; Henry V; Henry VI, Part I; Henry VI, Part II; Henry VI, Part III; Henry VIII; King John; Richard II; Richard III; Antony and Cleopatra; Coriolanus; Hamlet; Julius Caesar; King Lear; Macbeth; Othello; Romeo and Juliet; Timon of Athens; and Titus Andronicus.</div><div style="margin: 0px;">Although many venues have put on the above plays, it was more often than not in Shakespeare's co-owned Globe Theatre, which was 3000 seat labor of love put together with stolen scraps and woodworking talents in a somewhat dubious neighborhood in London. The Globe Theatre may well emulate Shakespeare in fame and significance in the world of Drama, and enabled the playwright a guaranteed outlet for his prolific output.</div><div style="margin: 0px;">When he died, as legend has it on his birthday, besides his home, William Shakespeare left but 300 pounds to his surviving daughter Judith, and to Anne, his wife, he left (his) "second best bed." To Western civilization, however, he left the above works, which have endured for over four hundred years to this day.</div></span></span></div>Adminhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11895344328863160229noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1019832629089744338.post-618992261099154942011-03-17T07:15:00.005-07:002011-03-17T07:15:54.964-07:00William Shakespeare 1<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 0px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 0px; -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: none; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; border-collapse: separate; color: black; font: small "Times New Roman"; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><b><span>William Shakespeare</span></b></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 0px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 0px; -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: none; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; border-collapse: separate; color: black; font: small "Times New Roman"; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 0px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 0px; -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: none; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; border-collapse: separate; color: black; font: small "Times New Roman"; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><ul><ul><div align="justify">William Shakespeare is universally regarded as the greatest dramatist and the finest poet of the English language. He lived in England during the era of Queen Elizabeth I of which historian consider the Elizabethan Age as a peak of English culture.</div></ul></ul><ul><ul>The exact birth date of William Shakespeare is unknown, however, based on the record of the parish register, he was baptized on April 26, 1564 in the Holy Trinity Church in Stratford-upon-Avon and buried there on April 25, 1616. According to the custom at that time, infants were usually baptized three days after their birth. And Shakespeare's birthday is usually celebrated on April 23, also the date of his death, he died at the age of 52.</ul></ul><ul><ul><div align="justify">William Shakespeare was the eldest son and the third of eight children, his father, John Shakespeare, was a glover, a tanner and a local prominent merchant who was later granted arms, acknowledged as a gentleman. Shakespeare's mother, Mary Arden, was left with money and some properties that her father gave her before his death, therefore, Shakespeare grew up in a fairly well off family. He was probably educated at the local grammar school in Stratford, he might have also learned Latin, Greek and the language of ancient Rome there.</div></ul></ul><ul><ul>William Shakespeare married Anne Hathaway in 1582, when she was 26 years old and pregnant, he was only 18. They had three children, Susanna, born in 1583, and twins - a boy and a girl, Judith and Hamnet, born in 1585. Sadly, Hamnet did not survive, he died at the young age of eleven.</ul></ul><ul><ul>Records showed that Shakespeare apparently arrived in London and began his career as an actor around 1588, within a few years, by 1592 he had attained success as an actor and playwright. In 1594, he became a shareholder of his acting company, Lord Chamberlain's Men, later called the King's Men for which he wrote many successful and popular plays, and in 1599, he became a partner in the Globe Theatre and subsequently the Blackfriars Theatre. All these financially advantageous arrangements secured his financial success and enabled him to enjoy his large fortune during his lifetime.</ul></ul><ul><ul>There are no complete or authoritative records on the life of William Shakespeare, we can only gather information on his life from public records such as tax registers, legal papers etc., or references to his work in various letters and diaries of his day. To a certain extent, his life is an enigma to some scholars and critics, they have theorized that some of Shakespeare's works might have been written by other authors, such as the philosopher and politician Sir Francis Bacon; or the 17th Earl of Oxford, Edward de Vere; or the young and genius Christopher Marlow. These critics have the conjecture that the actor and playwright Shakespeare, who was given only an average education and was born a son of a tradesman, could not have been the brilliant author of the splendid work found in the First Folio that was published in 1623.</ul></ul><ul><ul>Documentation on the precise date of Shakespeare's plays is lacking, none of his manuscript survived, scholars and critics generally divide his dramatic career into four periods: the Early Period, the Period of Comedies and Histories, the Period of Tragedies, and the Period of Romances. Shakespeare achieved recognition and earned his reputation as a popular poet after he wrote his two erotic narrative poems:<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span><i>Venus and Adonis</i><span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>(1593) and<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span><i>The Rape of Lucrece</i><span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>(1594), although these poems were not published until 1609. He wrote at least 37 plays and 154 sonnets. By 1612, he returned permanently to Stratford, partially retired there and wrote his last play.</ul></ul><ul><ul>All in all, Shakespeare is not only the greatest but also the most powerful and influential of the English writers and poets, he is the master of early modern English, with his profound understanding of human nature and his ability to create such vivid and interesting characters, Shakespeare definitely has had a direct significant influence in the shaping of English literature and the development of the English language.</ul></ul></span></span></span> </div>Adminhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11895344328863160229noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1019832629089744338.post-85372730313933743542011-03-17T07:15:00.001-07:002011-03-17T07:15:04.430-07:00William Shakespeare<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 0px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 0px; -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: none; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; border-collapse: separate; color: black; font: small "Times New Roman"; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px; text-align: left;"> <div style="color: black; font-family: verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 1.5em;"><b>I. Introduction</b><br />
Any discussion of Shakespeare's life is bound to be loaded with superlatives. In the course of a quarter century, Shakespeare wrote some thirty-eight plays. Taken individually, several of them are among the world's finest written works; taken collectively, they establish Shakespeare as the foremost literary talent of his own Elizabethan Age and, even more impressively, as a genius whose creative achievement has never been surpassed in any age.</div><div style="color: black; font-family: verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 1.5em;">In light of Shakespeare's stature and the passage of nearly four centuries since his death, it is not surprising that hundreds of Shakespeare biographies have been written in all of the world's major languages. Scanning this panorama, most accounts of the Bard's life (and certainly the majority of modern studies) are contextual in the sense that they place the figure of Shakespeare against the rich tapestry of his "Age" or "Times" or "Society." This characteristic approach to Shakespeare biography is actually a matter of necessity, for without such fleshing out into historical, social, and literary settings, the skeletal character of what we know about Shakespeare from primary sources would make for slim and, ironically, boring books. As part of this embellishment process, serious scholars continue to mine for hard facts about the nature of Shakespeare's world. The interpretation of their meaning necessarily varies, often according to the particular school or ideology of the author.</div><div style="color: black; font-family: verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 1.5em;">Whatever the differences of opinion, valid or at least plausible views about Shakespeare, his character and his personal experience continue to be advanced. Yet even among modern Shakespeare biographies, in addition to outlandish interpretations of the available facts, there persists (and grows) a body of traditions about such matters as Shakespeare's marriage, his move to London, the circumstances of his death and the like. The result of all this is that there is now a huge tapestry of descriptive, critical, and analytical work about Shakespeare in existence, much of it reasonable, some of it outlandish, and some of it hogwash.</div><div style="color: black; font-family: verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 1.5em;"><b>II. Three important points about Shakespeare</b><br />
In examining Shakespeare's life, three broad points should be kept in mind from the start. First, despite the frustration of Shakespeare biographers with the absence of a primary source of information written during (or even shortly after) his death on 23 April 1616 (his fifty-second birthday), Shakespeare's life is not obscure. In fact, we know more about Shakespeare's life, its main events and contours, than we know about most famous Elizabethans outside of the royal court itself.</div><div style="color: black; font-family: verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 1.5em;">Shakespeare's life is unusually well-documented: there are well over 100 references to Shakespeare and his immediate family in local parish, municipal, and commercial archives and we also have at least fifty observations about Shakespeare's plays (and through them, his life) from his contemporaries. The structure of Shakespeare's life is remarkably sound; it is the flesh of his personal experience, his motives, and the like that have no firm basis and it is, of course, this descriptive content in which we are most interested.</div><div style="color: black; font-family: verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 1.5em;">Second, the appeal of seeing an autobiographical basis in Shakespeare's plays and poetry must be tempered by what the bulk of the evidence has to say about him. Although there are fanciful stories about Shakespeare, many centering upon his romantic affairs, connections between them and the events or characters of his plays are flimsy, and they generally disregard our overall impression of the Bard. In his personal life, Shakespeare was, in fact, an exceedingly practical individual, undoubtedly a jack of many useful trades, and a shrewd businessman in theatrical, commercial and real estate circles.</div><div style="color: black; font-family: verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 1.5em;">Third, the notion that plays ascribed to Shakespeare were actually written by others (Sir Francis Bacon, the poet Phillip Sidney among the candidates) has become even weaker over time. The current strong consensus is that while Shakespeare may have collaborated with another Elizabethan playwright in at least one instance (probably with John Fletcher on<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span><i>The Two Noble Kinsman</i>), and that one or two of his plays were completed by someone else (possibly Fletcher on an original or revised version of<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span><i>Henry VIII</i>), the works ascribed to Shakespeare are his.</div><div style="color: black; font-family: verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 1.5em;"><b>III. Birth and Early Life</b><br />
Parish records establish that William Shakespeare was baptized on 26 April, 1564. Simply counting backwards the three customary days between birth and baptism in Anglican custom, most reckon that the Bard of Avon was born on 23 April, 1564. This is, indeed, Shakespeare's official birthday in England, and, it is also the traditional birth date of St. George, the patron saint of England. The exact date and the precise cause of Shakespeare's death are unknown: one local tradition asserts that the Bard died on 23 April, 1616, of a chill caught after a night of drinking with fellow playwrights Ben Jonson and Michael Drayton. Shakespeare was, in fact, buried three days later, exactly 52 years after his baptism.</div><div style="color: black; font-family: verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 1.5em;">Shakespeare was born and raised in the picturesque Tudor market town of Stratford-on-Avon, a local government and commercial center within a larger rural setting, and it is likely that the surrounding woodlands of his boyhood were reflected in the play<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span><i>As You Like It</i>, with its Forest of Arden. Shakespeare's mother Mary Arden was a daughter of the local gentry, holding extensive properties around Stratford-on-Avon in his name. In marrying Shakespeare's father, the glover and tenant farmer John Shakespeare, Mary Arden took a step down the social ladder of the Elizabethan Age, for her husband was of the yeoman class, a notch or two below the gentry. Yet long before his son's fame as a playwright fell to his good fortune, John Shakespeare's talents enabled him to rise modestly on his own accord as he became a burgess member of the town council. Despite evidence of a family financial setback when William was fifteen, Shakespeare's family was comfortable, if not privileged. Shakespeare's eventual fame and success spilled over to his parents in the form of both money and title, and on the eve of his death in 1601, Queen Elizabeth granted the Bard's father a "gentleman's" family coat-of-arms.</div><div style="color: black; font-family: verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 1.5em;">We have good cause to believe that Shakespeare attended Stratford Grammar School where he would have received a tuition-free education as the son of a burgess father. There young William was exposed to a standard Elizabethan curriculum strong on Greek and Latin literature (including the playwrights Plautus and Seneca, and the amorous poet Ovid), rhetoric (including that of the ancient Roman orator Cicero), and Christian ethics (including a working knowledge of the Holy Bible). These influences are pervasive in Shakespeare's works, and it is also apparent that Shakespeare cultivated a knowledge of English history through chronicles written shortly before and during his adolescence. Shakespeare left school in 1579 at the age of fifteen, possibly as the result of a family financial problem. Shakespeare did not pursue formal education any further: he never attended a university and was not considered to be a truly learned man.</div><div style="color: black; font-family: verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 1.5em;">There is a period in Shakespeare's life of some seven years (1585 to 1592) from which we have absolutely no primary source materials about him. We do know that in November of 1582, at the age of eighteen, he married Anne Hathaway (a woman eight years his senior), and that she gave birth to a daughter, Susanna, six months later. Two years after that, the Shakespeares had twins: Hamnet and Judith. Hamnet, Shakespeare's only son, would die at the age of eleven. Speculation has it that Shakespeare was not happy in his marriage, and that this may have played a role in his decision to move to London's theater scene. In fact, during the late 1580s and early 1590s, Shakespeare traveled back and forth between London and Stratford-on-Avon, but by this time, the momentum of Shakespeare's life was toward his career and away from family, hearth, and home. Although we lack hard facts, we may surmise that before he took up a career as a playwright, Shakespeare engaged in a variety of occupations, probably working with his father in commercial trades (leathers and grains), probably working as a law clerk, and possibly serving as a soldier or sailor for an England threatened by Spain. Shakespeare displays a command of the argot and the practices of many such crafts, as in his portrayal of the law profession in trial scenes of<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span><i>The Merchant of Venice</i>.</div><div style="color: black; font-family: verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 1.5em;"><b>IV. The Playwright</b><br />
Between the early 1590s (<i>The Comedy of Errors</i>) and the second decade of the seventeenth century (<i>The Tempest</i><span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>written in 1611), Shakespeare composed the most extraordinary body of works in the history of world drama. His works are often divided into periods, moving roughly from comedies to histories to tragedies and then to his final romances capped by a farewell to the stage in<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span><i>The Tempest</i>. The question of how and whether the Bard's career should be divided into periods aside, we do know that Shakespeare received a major boost in 1592 (the earliest review of his work that we have), when playwright-critic Robert Greene condemned the future Bard as an impudent "upstart" beneath the notice of established literary men or University Wits. Greene's critical diatribe was soon retracted by his editor as a number of leading Elizabethan literary figures expressed their admiration for his early plays. Retreating from London in the plague years of 1592 through 1594, Shakespeare briefly left playwriting aside to compose long poems like<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span><i>Venus and Adonis</i><span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>and at least some of his sonnets. But during this period, Shakespeare garnered the support of his first major sponsor, the Earl of Southampton. Soon, as a leading figure in the Chamberlain's Men company he would garner even greater patronage from the courts of Queen Elizabeth and her successor, King James.</div><div style="color: black; font-family: verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 1.5em;">Just as the rise of Shakespeare's success, popularity, and fame began to accelerate, he experienced a personal tragedy when his son Hamnet died in 1596. Shakespeare undoubtedly returned to Stratford for Hamnet's funeral and this event may have prompted him to spend more time with his wife and daughters. In 1597, Shakespeare purchased a splendid Tudor Mansion in his hometown known as the New Place. During the period between 1597 and 1611, Shakespeare apparently spent most of his time in London during the theatrical season, but was active in Stratford as well, particularly as an investor in grain dealings. Shakespeare also purchased real estate in the countryside and in London as well, the latter including Blackfriar's Gatehouse which he bought in 1613. In 1612, four years before his death, Shakespeare went into semi-retirement at the relatively young age of forty-eight. He died on or about 23 April of 1616 of unknown causes.</div><div style="color: black; font-family: verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 1.5em;">William Shakespeare's family lineage came to an end two generations after his death. His two daughters followed different paths in their father's eyes. His older daughter, Susanna, married a prominent local doctor, John Hall, in 1607 and there are indications that a close friendship developed between Hall and his renowned father-in-law. Susanna gave Shakespeare his only grandchild, Elizabeth Hall in 1608. Although she inherited the family estate and was married twice (her first husband dying) Elizabeth had no children of her own. Shakespeare's other daughter, Judith married Thomas Quiney, a tavern owner and reputed rake given to pre-marital and extramarital affairs and the fathering of illegitimate children. They had three legitimate sons, all of whom died young.</div><div style="color: black; font-family: verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 1.5em;"><b>V. Shakespeare's World</b><br />
Most of Shakespeare's career unfolded during the monarchy of Elizabeth I, the Great Virgin Queen from whom the historical period of the Bard's life takes its name as the Elizabethan Age. Elizabeth came to the throne under turbulent circumstances in 1558 (before Shakespeare was born) and ruled until 1603. Under her reign, not only did England prosper as a rising commercial power at the expense of Catholic Spain, Shakespeare's homeland undertook an enormous expansion into the New World and laid the foundations of what would become the British Empire. This ascendance came in the wake of the Renaissance and the Reformation, the former regaining Greek and Roman classics and stimulating an outburst of creative endeavor throughout Europe, the latter transforming England into a Protestant/Anglican state, and generating continuing religious strife, especially during the civil wars of Elizabeth's Catholic sister, Queen Margaret or "Bloody Mary."</div><div style="color: black; font-family: verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 1.5em;">The Elizabethan Age, then, was an Age of Discovery, of the pursuit of scientific knowledge, and the exploration of human nature itself. The basic assumptions underpinning feudalism/Scholasticism were openly challenged with the support of Elizabeth and, equally so, by her successor on the throne, James I. There was in all this an optimism about humanity and its future and an even greater optimism about the destiny of England in the world at large. Nevertheless, the Elizabethans also recognized that the course of history is problematic, that Fortune can undo even the greatest and most promising, as Shakespeare reveals in such plays as<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span><i>Antony & Cleopatra</i>. More specifically, Shakespeare and his audiences were keenly aware of the prior century's prolonged bloodshed during the War of the Roses between the houses of Lancaster and York. Many Elizabethans, particularly the prosperous, feared the prospect of civil insurrection and the destruction of the commonwealth, whether as a result of an uprising from below or of usurpation at the top. Thus, whether or not we consider Shakespeare to have been a political conservative, his histories, tragedies and even his romances and comedies are slanted toward the restoration or maintenance of civil harmony and the status quo of legitimate rule.</div></span></span></div>Adminhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11895344328863160229noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1019832629089744338.post-4100077966373936092011-03-16T04:28:00.000-07:002011-03-16T04:28:23.508-07:00Amir Khusro<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3Jb1Rl2GooFGQX2R9Hb0qQr3soshuip90q0qeRS1e0r_VtxpOkysWUVvwSG0iP7WAcaSXo7ou3SiYxRHyJIZGoUYmBwu5y0tBVSL7YAUAleasqy3QRGmkHyuiSWtIwNSjxg8R6SIzdkc/s1600/89.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" r6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3Jb1Rl2GooFGQX2R9Hb0qQr3soshuip90q0qeRS1e0r_VtxpOkysWUVvwSG0iP7WAcaSXo7ou3SiYxRHyJIZGoUYmBwu5y0tBVSL7YAUAleasqy3QRGmkHyuiSWtIwNSjxg8R6SIzdkc/s1600/89.jpg" /></a></div><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate; color: black; font: small 'Times New Roman'; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 0px; webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 0px; webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: none; webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #29303b; font-family: Georgia, Verdana, Arial, serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;"><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin: 0px 0px 1em; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;">Ab’ul Hasan Yam?n al-D?n Khusrow, better known as Amir Khusraw Dehlavi or Amir Khusraw Balkhi is one of the iconic figures in the cultural history of the Indian subcontinent. A Sufi mystic and a spiritual disciple of Nizamuddin Auliya of Delhi, Amir Khusro (or Khusrau) was not only one of India’s greatest poets, he is also credited with being the founder of both Hindustani classical music and Qawwali (the devotional music of the Sufis). “The classical music tradition in both India and Pakistan traces its roots to the 13th-century poet and musician Amir Khosrow, who composed the earliest ragas, the traditional rhythmic form.”The invention of the Indian Tabla is usually attributed to Amir Khusro.[2]</div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin: 0px 0px 1em; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;">Amir Khusro, a Hindustani Turk was born of a Turkic father, Saif ad-D?n Mahmoud, who was one of the chiefs of the Lachin tribe of the Karakhitais of Kush, Transoxania and a Rajput (Rawal) mother, in India. His grandfather bore the name of Turk.<br />
<em>Major life events in chronological order</em></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin: 0px 0px 1em; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;">1253 Khusro was born in Patiali near Etah in what is today the state of Uttar Pradesh in northern India. His father Amir Saifuddin came from Balkh in modern day Afghanistan and his mother hailed from Delhi.<br />
1260 After the death of his father, Khusro went to Delhi with his mother.<br />
1271 Khusro compiled his first divan of poetry, “Tuhfatus-Sighr”.<br />
1272 Khusro got his first job as court poet with King Balban’s nephew Malik Chhajju.<br />
1276 Khusro started working as a poet with Bughra Khan (Balban’s son).<br />
1279 While writing his second divan, Wastul-Hayat, Khusrau visited Bengal.<br />
1281 Employed by Sultan Mohammad (Balban’s second son) and went to Multan with him.<br />
1285 Khusro participated as a soldier in the war against the invading Mongols. He was taken prisoner, but escaped.<br />
1287 Khusro went to Awadh with Ameer Ali Hatim (another patron).<br />
1288 His first mathnavi, “Qiranus-Sa’dain” was completed.<br />
1290 When Jalal ud din Firuz Khilji came to power, Khusro’s second mathnavi, “Miftahul Futooh” was ready.<br />
1294 His third divan “Ghurratul-Kamal” was complete.<br />
1295 Ala ud din Khilji (sometimes spelled “Khalji”) came to power and invaded Devagiri and Gujarat.<br />
1298 Khusro completed his “Khamsa-e-Nizami”.<br />
1301 Khilji attacked Ranthambhor, Chittor, Malwa and other places, and Khusro remained with the king in order to write chronicles.<br />
1310 Khusro became close to Nizamuddin Auliya, and completed Khazain-ul-Futuh.<br />
1315 Alauddin Khilji died. Khusro completed the mathnavi “Duval Rani-Khizr Khan” (a romantic poem).<br />
1316 Qutb ud din Mubarak Shah became the king, and the fourth historical mathnavi “Noh-Sepehr” was completed.<br />
1321 Mubarak Khilji (sometimes spelled “Mubarak Khalji”) was murdered and Ghiyath al-Din Tughluq came to power. Khusro started to write the Tughluqnama.<br />
1325 Sultan Muhammad bin Tughluq came to power. Nizamuddin Auliya died, and six months later so did Khusro. Khusro’s tomb is next to that of his master in the Nizamuddin Dargah of Delhi.<br />
<em>Khusro the Royal poet</em></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin: 0px 0px 1em; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;">Khusro was a prolific classical poet associated with the royal courts of more than seven rulers of the Delhi Sultanate. He is popular in much of North India and Pakistan, because of many playful riddles, songs and legends attributed to him. Through his enormous literary output and the legendary folk personality, Khusro represents one of the first (recorded) Indian personages with a true multi-cultural or pluralistic identity.</div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin: 0px 0px 1em; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;">He wrote in both Persian and Hindustani. He also spoke Turkish, Arabic and Sanskrit. His poetry is still sung today at Sufi shrines throughout Pakistan and India.</div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin: 0px 0px 1em; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;">Amir Khusro was the author of a Khamsa which emulated that of the earlier Persian-language poet Nizami Ganjavi. His work was considered to be one of the great classics of Persian poetry during the Timurid period in Transoxiana.</div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin: 0px 0px 1em; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;">All text is available under the terms of the GNU Free Documentation License.</div></span></span></div>Adminhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11895344328863160229noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1019832629089744338.post-38570488221305710162011-03-16T04:16:00.000-07:002011-03-16T04:16:46.903-07:00Babu Rajab Ali<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate; color: black; font: 16px sans-serif; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 0px; webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 0px; webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: none; webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px;"> <div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin: 0.4em 0px 0.5em;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgacGdWan7Pz5nYbczqHwDdzzJx95x36-MQVZlGldJ6GVO6YMo9lboYzSP-SnWcqSeZeKJiPTbr_711i6OGHSZ-vNyKJEOHjEJcua2eOyp7scJNZptTqIZIZGT5hAbz_SK_FbWb7ArJ3tA/s1600/Babu+Rajab+Ali+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" r6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgacGdWan7Pz5nYbczqHwDdzzJx95x36-MQVZlGldJ6GVO6YMo9lboYzSP-SnWcqSeZeKJiPTbr_711i6OGHSZ-vNyKJEOHjEJcua2eOyp7scJNZptTqIZIZGT5hAbz_SK_FbWb7ArJ3tA/s1600/Babu+Rajab+Ali+1.jpg" /></a></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin: 0.4em 0px 0.5em;">Babu Rajab Ali was born on Aug 10th, 1894 in a Muslim family of Rajputs in the village of Sahoke district Ferozepur (now Dist. Moga). His father's name was Mian Dhamaali Khan and his mother's name was Jiyooni. Babu ji went to primary school in the neighboring village of Bambeeha bhai and then to high school in Moga and passed his matriculation in 1912 from Barjindra High School, Faridkot. Later on he graduated with a diploma in Civil Engineering, commonly known as Overseeri in Punjabi during those days, from an engineering school in Gujraat district. Babu Rajab Ali worked as an overseer in irrigation department all his life and was affectionately called Babu ji by people. Canals were being laid all throughout Punjab in those days and whole landscape was changing, and that was probably first and last time when the word Babu ji was respected with praise and thankfulness in rural Punjab. I believe it was sweetness of language in Babu Rajab Ali's poetry and personality that changed the meanings of phrase 'Babu ji' forever. During the World War II, Babu ji also went to Basra, Baghdad in Iraq and saw "Rabb dian karagariaN" which he has mentioned in his poetry. He worked throughout Punjab and also near Peshawar, as a result he was well-traveled person by the standards of that time. He was fluent in Punjabi and Urdu and knew some Persian, Arabic and English but his poetry was to be only in Punjabi and that too in the ThaiTh Malwaii accent.</div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin: 0.4em 0px 0.5em;">Babu ji had hundreds of shagird/students who learned Kavishari from him and sung his Kavishari in Punjabi melas. He was madly in love with Malwa and Punjabi poetry and probably at the peak of his life when one day in 1947 he had to leave his beloved village of Sahoke, his students, his admirers and family history of hundreds of years and leave for Pakistan. Babu ji went to Pakistan but his soul always wandered in Malwa and he wrote hundreds of poems on his separation from his beloved people and places. His family got some land allotted in OkaaRa and settled there. Babu ji visited East Punjab in March 1965 and thousands of Malwai Kavishar(s) came to see their beloved Babu ji.</div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin: 0.4em 0px 0.5em;">Babu Rajab Ali wrote about 1 dozen kissas and long poems about Hindu mythology like Puran Bhagat, KaullaN, Ramayan, Raja Rattan Sainn etc.; about 15 kissa about Muslim heroes and historic figures like Hassan Hussain, Hazrat Mohammad, Dahood Badshah etc.; another 15 kissas about Sikh history and heroes like Shaheedi Guru Arjun Dev, Saka Sarhind, Saka Chamkaur, Bidhi Chand de ghoRhay etc. He also wrote almost an episode or a kissa about every known Punjabi folktale like Heer Ranjha, Dulla Bhatti, Mirza, and Bhagat Singh etc. The breadth of the subjects chosen indicates how open hearted and secular poet Babu Rajab Ali was. Interestingly, most of his kissas related to Hindu heroes and figures were written during his life in Pakistan. His love for Punjab and Punjabi was unconditional and not bound by walls of religions or nationalities.</div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin: 0.4em 0px 0.5em;">Babu ji passed away on to the next world on May 6, 1979, singing songs of Punjabi and longing for seeing his village Sahoke of his childhood and youth again. Babu ji is a pride of Punjabi language and will live forever in hearts of Punjabis. His poems are still sung by hundreds of Kavishars in Punjab who claim with pride that they are shagirds of Babu Rajab Ali.</div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin: 0.4em 0px 0.5em;"><br />
</div></span></span><br class="Apple-interchange-newline" /></div>Adminhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11895344328863160229noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1019832629089744338.post-28201993088220117632011-03-16T04:05:00.001-07:002011-03-16T04:07:30.930-07:00Mian Muhammad Baksh<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate; color: black; font: small 'Times New Roman'; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 0px; webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 0px; webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: none; webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: verdana, tahoma, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 19px; text-align: left;"></span></span><br />
<div class="posttitle" style="margin: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;"><h2 style="font-family: Georgia, Verdana, Arial, serif; font-size: 1.4em; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: 1px; margin: 1em 0px 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;">Mian Muhammad Baksh</h2></div><div class="entry" style="margin: 1em 0px; overflow-x: hidden; overflow-y: hidden; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 1em; padding-top: 0px;"><div style="line-height: 1.6em; margin: 0.7em 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;"><strong style="margin: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;">Mīān Muhammad Bakhsh</strong><span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>was a Sufi saint and a Punjabi poet of great repute. He is especially renowned as the writer of a book of poetry called<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span><strong style="margin: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;"><em style="margin: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;">Saiful Malūk</em></strong>. He was born in a village called khanqa peir-E-shah Gazi Khari Sharif, situated near Mirpur District of Azad Jammu & Kashmir).</div><div style="line-height: 1.6em; margin: 0.7em 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;"><img alt="" class="alignleft size-full wp-image-271" height="242" src="http://sufipoetry.files.wordpress.com/2009/11/mian_muhammad_baksh.jpg?w=146&h=200" style="background-clip: initial; background-image: url(http://s0.wp.com/wp-content/themes/pub/mistylook/img/shadow.gif); background-origin: initial; background-position: 100% 100%; border-bottom-style: none; border-left: rgb(238,238,238) 1px solid; border-right-style: none; border-top: rgb(238,238,238) 1px solid; display: inline; float: left; margin: 0px 15px 2px; padding-bottom: 10px; padding-left: 4px; padding-right: 10px; padding-top: 4px;" title="Mian Muhammad Baksh" width="188" /></div><div style="line-height: 1.6em; margin: 0.7em 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;">He belonged to the Gujjar caste and he was a fourth generation descendant of Pīr-e Shāh Ghāzī Qalandar Damriyan Wali Sarkar, who was buried in Khari Sharif. Pīr-e Shāh Ghāzī’s<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span><em style="margin: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;">khalīfah</em><span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>was Khwājah Dīn Muhammad; and his<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span><em style="margin: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;">khalīfah</em><span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>was Mīān Shamsuddīn, who had three sons: Mīān Bahāval Bakhsh, Mīān Muhammad Bakhsh – the subject of this article -, and Mīān ‘Alī Bakhsh. Mīān Muhammad Bakhsh’s ancestors originated in Gujrat, but had later settled in the Mirpur District of Azad Jammu & Kashmir. He was poet of Phari language (widely spoken in different parts of Kashmir.</div><div style="line-height: 1.6em; margin: 0.7em 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;">There is much disagreement about his year of birth. Mahbūb ‘Alī Faqīr Qādirī, in a biography printed as an appendix to the text of<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span><em style="margin: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;"><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/w/index.php?title=Saiful_Mal%C5%ABk&action=edit&redlink=1" style="border-bottom: rgb(153,102,51) 1px dashed; color: #265e15; margin: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-decoration: none;" title="Saiful Malūk (page does not exist)">Saiful Malūk</a></em><span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>gives the date as 1246 AH (1826 AD), a date also followed by the<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span><em style="margin: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;">Shāhkār Islāmī Encyclopedia</em>; 1830 and 1843 are suggested in other works but are almost cetainly erroneous. Mīān Muhammad Bakhsh himself states in his magnum opus –<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span><em style="margin: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;">Saiful Malūk</em><span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>– that he completed the work during the spring in the month of Ramadan, 1279 AH (1863 AD), and that he was then thirty-three years of age- hence he must have been born in 1830.</div><div style="line-height: 1.6em; margin: 0.7em 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;"><span style="color: white; margin: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;">-</span></div><h2 style="font-family: Georgia, Verdana, Arial, serif; font-size: 1.4em; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: 1px; margin: 1em 0px 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;">His Upbringing</h2><div style="line-height: 1.6em; margin: 0.7em 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;">He was brought up in a very religious environment, and received his early education at home. He was later sent with his elder brother, Mīān Bahāval, to the nearby village of Samwal Sharīf to study religious sciences, especially the science of<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span><em style="margin: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;">Hadith</em><span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>in the madrassah of Hāfiz Muhammad ‘Alī. Hāfiz Muhammad ‘Alī had a brother, Hāfiz Nāsir, who was a<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span><em style="margin: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;">majzub</em>, and had renounced worldly matters; this dervish resided at that time in the mosque at Samwal Sharīf. From childhood Mīān Muhammad had exhibited a penchant for poetry, and was especially fond of reading<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span><em style="margin: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;">Yūsuf ō Zulaikhā</em><span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>by Nur ad-Din Abd ar-Rahman Jami. During his time at the madrassah, Hāfiz Nāsir would often beg him to sing some lines from Jami’s poetry, and upon hearing it so expertly rendered would invariably fall into a state of spiritual intoxication.</div><div style="line-height: 1.6em; margin: 0.7em 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;">Mīān Muhammad was still only fifteen years old when his father, falling seriously ill, and realizing that he was on his deathbed, called all his students and local notaries to see him. Mīān Shamsuddīn told his visitors that it was his duty to pass on the spiritual lineage that he had received through his family from Pīr-e Shāh Ghāzī Qalandar Damriyan Wali Sarkar; he pointed to his own son, Mīān Muhammad, and told those assembled that he could find nobody more suitable than he to whom he might award this privilege. Everybody agreed, the young man’s reputation had already spread far and wide. Mīān Muhammad, however, spoke up and disagreed, saying that he could not bear to stand by and allow his elder brother Bahāvul to be deprived of the honour. The old man was filled with so much love for his son that he stood up and leaving his bed grasped his son by the arms; he led him to one corner and made him face the approximate direction of Baghdad, and then he addressed the founder of their Sufi Order, Shaikh ‘Abdul-Qādir Jīlānī, presenting his son to him as his spiritual successor. Shortly after this incident his father died. Mīān Muhammad continued to reside in his family home for a further four years, then at the age of nineteen he moved into the khānqāh, where he remained for the rest of his life. Both his brothers combined both religion and worldly affairs in their lives, but he was only interested in spirituality, and never married – unlike them.</div><div style="line-height: 1.6em; margin: 0.7em 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;"><span style="color: white; margin: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;">-</span></div><h2 style="font-family: Georgia, Verdana, Arial, serif; font-size: 1.4em; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: 1px; margin: 1em 0px 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;">His Formal Pledge of Allegiance</h2><div style="line-height: 1.6em; margin: 0.7em 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;">Despite the fact that he had essentially been made a<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span><em style="margin: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;">khalīfah</em><span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>of his father, he realized that he still needed to make a formal pledge of allegiance or<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span><em style="margin: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;">bay’ah</em><span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>to a Sufi master. Having completed his formal education he began to travel, seeking out deserted locations where he would busy himself in prayer and spiritual practices, shunning the company of his fellow-men. He took the Sufi pledge of allegiance or<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span><em style="margin: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;">bay’ah</em><span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>with Hazrat Ghulām Muhammad, who was the khalīfah of Bābā Badūh Shāh Abdāl, the khalīfah of Hājī Bagāsher (of Darkālī Mamuri Sharīf, near Kallar Syedan District Rawalpindi), the khalīfah again of Pīr-e Shāh Ghāzī Qalandar Dumriyan Wali Sarkar.He is also said to have travelled for a while to Srinagar, where he benefitted greatly from Shaikh Ahmad Valī.</div><div style="line-height: 1.6em; margin: 0.7em 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;"><span style="color: white; margin: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;">-</span></div><h2 style="font-family: Georgia, Verdana, Arial, serif; font-size: 1.4em; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: 1px; margin: 1em 0px 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;">His Poetic Talents and Works</h2><div style="line-height: 1.6em; margin: 0.7em 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;">Once he had advanced a little along the Sufi way he became more and more interested in composing poetry, and one of the first things he penned was a<em style="margin: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;">qasidah</em><span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>(quatrain) in praise of his spiritual guide. Initially he preferred to write<em style="margin: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;">siharfis</em><span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>and<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span><em style="margin: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;">duhras</em>, but then he advanced to composing stories in verse. His poetry is essentially written in the Pothohari dialect of Panjabi, and utilizes a rich vocabulary of Persian and Arabic words.</div><div style="line-height: 1.6em; margin: 0.7em 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;"><strong style="margin: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;">His works include:</strong></div><div style="line-height: 1.6em; margin: 0.7em 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;">Siharfi,<br />
Sohni Meheinval,<br />
Tuhfah-e Miran,<br />
Tuhfah-e- Rasuliyah,<br />
Shireen Farhad,<br />
Mirza Sahiban,<br />
Sakhi Khavass Khan,<br />
Shah Mansur,<br />
Gulzar-e Faqir,<br />
Hidayatul Muslimin,<br />
Panj Ganj,<br />
Masnavi-e Nīrang-e ‘Ishq,<br />
He also wrote a commentary on the Arabic Qasidat-ul-Burda of al-<a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Busiri" style="border-bottom: rgb(153,102,51) 1px dashed; color: #265e15; margin: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-decoration: none;" title="Busiri">Busiri</a>,<br />
and his most famous work, entitled Safarul ‘Ishq (Journey of Love), but better known as<strong style="margin: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Saiful Maluk.</strong></div></div></div>Adminhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11895344328863160229noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1019832629089744338.post-45069678678016360432011-03-16T03:54:00.001-07:002011-03-16T03:54:00.626-07:00Principal Karamjit Singh Gathwala<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate; color: black; font: small 'Times New Roman'; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 0px; webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 0px; webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: none; webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 18px; font-weight: 300; line-height: 18px; webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px;"><a href="http://www.punjabi-kavita.com/PunjabiPoetry.php" style="color: black; display: block; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: center; text-decoration: none; width: 150px;"> <h3 style="color: blue; font-size: 22px; font-weight: normal;">Principal Karamjit Singh Gathwala</h3></a><img align="right" height="180" src="http://www.punjabi-kavita.com/k1.jpg" width="150" />Principal Karamjit Singh Gathwala(23March1951-)<br />
Education: MA (Punjabi,Hindi,English). B.Ed.<br />
Birth Place :Naraingarh. Distt.Sangrur (Punjab)<br />
Punjabi Ghazlan/Ghazals, Punjabi Geet/Songs, Punjabi Kavitavan/Poems</span></span></div>Adminhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11895344328863160229noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1019832629089744338.post-87866295575439801282011-03-16T03:53:00.003-07:002011-03-16T03:53:17.007-07:00Lala Dhani Ram Chatrik<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate; color: black; font: small 'Times New Roman'; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 0px; webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 0px; webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: none; webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 18px; font-weight: 300; line-height: 18px; webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px;"><a href="http://www.punjabi-kavita.com/PunjabiPoetry.php" style="color: black; display: block; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: center; text-decoration: none; width: 150px;"> <h3 style="color: blue; font-size: 22px; font-weight: normal;">Lala Dhani Ram Chatrik</h3></a><img align="right" height="180" src="http://www.punjabi-kavita.com/chatrik.jpg" width="150" />Lala Dhani Ram Chatrik (1876-1954) devoted all his life for the upliftment of Punjabi language. He standardized the type set for Gurmukhi script. His language, its ornmentation and subjects of his poetry are near and dear to common people. Lala Dhani Ram Chatrik wrote Fullan Di Tokri, Bharthri Hari Bikramajit, Nal Damayanti, Chandanwari, Dharmvir, Kesar Kiari, Nawan Jahan, Noor Jahan Badshah Beghum and Sufikhana.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>Adminhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11895344328863160229noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1019832629089744338.post-30264380237825140692011-03-16T03:52:00.001-07:002011-03-16T03:52:20.395-07:00Professor Puran Singh<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate; color: black; font: small 'Times New Roman'; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 0px; webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 0px; webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: none; webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 18px; font-weight: 300; line-height: 18px; webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px;"><a href="http://www.punjabi-kavita.com/PunjabiPoetry.php" style="color: black; display: block; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: center; text-decoration: none; width: 150px;"> <h3 style="color: blue; font-size: 22px; font-weight: normal;">Professor Puran Singh</h3></a><img align="right" height="180" src="http://www.punjabi-kavita.com/Prof_Puran_Singh.jpg" width="150" />Professor Puran Singh(1881-1931), a great visionary poet wrote in English, Hindi and Punjabi. He also knew Japanese and German. Professor Puran Singh was influenced by Swami Ram Tirath, Bhai Vir Singh, Walt Whitman, Japanese way of life and Sikh Philosophy. His love for freedom, openness and purity of heart are the main theme of his poetry. Professor Puran Singh wrote Khulhe Maidan, Khulhe Ghund, Khulhe Asmani Rang (Poetry) and Khulhe Lekh (Prose) in Punjabi. He is rightly called the sixth river of Punjab.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>Adminhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11895344328863160229noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1019832629089744338.post-73401998328913529442011-03-16T03:51:00.001-07:002011-03-16T03:51:06.247-07:00Khwaja Ghulam Farid<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate; color: black; font: small 'Times New Roman'; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 0px; webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 0px; webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: none; webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 18px; font-weight: 300; line-height: 18px; webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px;"><a href="http://www.punjabi-kavita.com/PunjabiPoetry.php" style="color: black; display: block; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: center; text-decoration: none; width: 150px;"></a></span></span><br />
<h3 style="color: blue; font-size: 22px; font-weight: normal;">Khwaja Ghulam Farid</h3><br />
<img align="right" height="180" src="http://www.punjabi-kavita.com/khwaja.jpg" width="150" />Khwaja Ghulam Farid, one of the greatest Punjabi/Saraiki Sufi poets, was born in 1845 and died in 1901 at Chacharan Shrif. He was buried at Kot Mithan. His mother died when he was five years old and his father Khwaja Khuda Bakhsh died when he was twelve. His brother Fakhr Jahan Uhdi educated him. Khwaja Ghulam Farid was a great scholar of Arabic, Persian, Urdu, Sindhi, Braj Bhasha and Punjabi/Saraiki. He also wrote poems in Urdu, Sindhi, Braj Bhasha and Persian. He wrote Dewan-e-Farid in Punjabi/Saraiki in 1882. Khwaja Ghulam Farid wrote Kafis (272+) and many Dohrajat (Dohre).We present Punjabi/Saraiki Poetry of Khwaja Ghulam Farid in Gurmukhi script.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></div>Adminhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11895344328863160229noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1019832629089744338.post-14930849261306031142011-03-15T11:53:00.000-07:002011-03-15T11:53:36.338-07:00Bulleh Shah<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 0px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 0px; -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: none; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; border-collapse: separate; color: black; font: small "Times New Roman"; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px;"> <h1 style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="color: #20124d; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Bulleh Shah</span></b></h1><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLDHjz8Ek8UPsA5vo0WT69RLycGjiIXUkpwYHHPL2G2sXvep-v-nkAZaV3DgZdV-QH-gWflUVee0EMLA57Rsum-DbFg75mSZgQhU4cFWx0lU6b96ulo8AcDbByz8h1k5p2r7x54x6CgxE/s1600/Bullehshah.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" q6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLDHjz8Ek8UPsA5vo0WT69RLycGjiIXUkpwYHHPL2G2sXvep-v-nkAZaV3DgZdV-QH-gWflUVee0EMLA57Rsum-DbFg75mSZgQhU4cFWx0lU6b96ulo8AcDbByz8h1k5p2r7x54x6CgxE/s320/Bullehshah.jpg" width="227" /></a></div><br />
<div align="left"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 0px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 0px; -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: none; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; border-collapse: separate; color: black; font: small "Times New Roman"; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Mir Bulleh Shah Qadiri Shatari, often referred to simply as Bulleh Shah (a shortened form of Abdullah Shah) lived in what is today Pakistan. His family was very religious and had a long tradition of association with Sufis. Bulleh Shah's father was especially known for his learning and devotion to God, raising both Bulleh Shah and his sister in a life of prayer and meditation.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span><br />
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Bulleh Shah himself became a respected scholar, but he longed for true inner realization. Against the objections of his peers, he became a disciple of Inayat Shah, a famous master of the Qadiri Sufi lineage, who ultimately guided his student to deep mystical awakening.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span><br />
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The nature of Bulleh Shah's realization led to such a profound egolessness and non-concern for social convention that it has been the source of many popular comical stories -- calling to mind stories of St. Francis or Ramakrishna. For example, one day Bulleh Shah saw a young woman eagerly waiting for her husband to return home. Seeing how, in her anticipation, she braided her hair, Bulleh Shah deeply identified with the devoted way she prepared herself for her beloved. So Bulleh Shah dressed himself as a woman and braided his own hair, before rushing to see his teacher, Inayat Shah.<br />
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Bulleh Shah is considered to be one of the greatest mystic poets of the Punjab region.<br />
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His tomb in the Qasur region of Pakistan is greatly revered today.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div></span></span></div>Adminhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11895344328863160229noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1019832629089744338.post-68961505662240272372011-03-15T11:47:00.000-07:002011-03-16T02:38:55.674-07:00Hazrat Sultan Bahu<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 0px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 0px; -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: none; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; border-collapse: separate; color: black; font: normal normal normal small/normal 'Times New Roman'; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica;"> </span></span><br />
<center><h1 style="color: #003333; font-family: "Times New Roman", "Times New Roman", Times; font-size: 24pt; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 0px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 0px; -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: none; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; border-collapse: separate; color: black; font: normal normal normal small/normal 'Times New Roman'; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica;"><span style="color: #38761d; font-family: 'Times New Roman', Times;">Hazrat Sultan Bahu</span></span></span></h1></center><center><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 0px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 0px; -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: none; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; border-collapse: separate; color: black; font: normal normal normal small/normal 'Times New Roman'; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxIOv_Odrt3AL8-3Nu9JtufpNzv-va2JBTxmkJuwR4iyIy3a4ZxqBKI20n6jYkZsgzwVs64Q8AAoJDnECpBHAQY_a9WILwKGJfB1gyuair_lLVNRopHElyRqWYw56BMfEvTigVKd6ja8k/s1600/Platanus+occidentalis.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="292" q6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxIOv_Odrt3AL8-3Nu9JtufpNzv-va2JBTxmkJuwR4iyIy3a4ZxqBKI20n6jYkZsgzwVs64Q8AAoJDnECpBHAQY_a9WILwKGJfB1gyuair_lLVNRopHElyRqWYw56BMfEvTigVKd6ja8k/s320/Platanus+occidentalis.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></span></div><h1 style="color: #003333; font-family: "Times New Roman", "Times New Roman", Times; font-size: 24pt; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 0px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 0px; -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: none; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; border-collapse: separate; color: black; font: normal normal normal small/normal 'Times New Roman'; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica;"><span style="color: #38761d; font-family: 'Times New Roman', Times;">The Sultanul Faqr and Sultanul Arifin</span></span></span></h1></center><center style="color: #003333; font-family: "Times New Roman", "Times New Roman", Times; font-size: 24pt; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 0px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 0px; -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: none; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; border-collapse: separate; color: black; font: normal normal normal small/normal 'Times New Roman'; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica;"><span style="color: #38761d;"></span> </span></span></center><center><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 0px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 0px; -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: none; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; border-collapse: separate; color: black; font: normal normal normal small/normal 'Times New Roman'; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica;"> </span></span></center><center><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 0px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 0px; -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: none; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; border-collapse: separate; color: black; font: normal normal normal small/normal 'Times New Roman'; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica;"> </span></span></center><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 0px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 0px; -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: none; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; border-collapse: separate; color: black; font: normal normal normal small/normal 'Times New Roman'; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica;"><span style="color: #38761d;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 0px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 0px; -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: none; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; border-collapse: separate; color: black; font: normal normal normal small/normal 'Times New Roman'; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', Times;"> Hazrat<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Sultan Bahu<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>is one of the most renowned sufi saints of the later Mughal Period in the history of Indo Pakistan subcontinent. He is often called Sultanul Arifin ( the Sultan of gnostics) in the Sufi circles. His ancestors belonging to the tribe of Alvids called Awan and coming from Arabia via Hirat ( Afghanistan ) had settled in the soon Sakesar Valley of Khushab District in Punjab. His Father, Sultan Bazid, had served in the army of the Emperor Shah Jehan as a high ranking officer and so in recognition to his services he had been awarded a jagir in the shorkot area. The family migrated to the place and settled at Qalai Shorkot, a settlement at the bank of River Chenab ( now in District Jhang, Punjab). Hazrat Sultan Bahu was born there, probably in 1628 A.D.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', Times;"> Even in the early childhood, it was perceived by all those around him that a strange light shone upon his face which compelled even the Hindus to utter Kalima Tayyiba ( there is no god but Allah and Muhammad is His messenger) in his presence. His father died when he was just a child but his mother Bibi Rasti, remained alive till he was forty years old.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', Times;"> His mother supervised his education but it must have been irregular because he was often found under the influence of ecstatic states. It seemed that his education remained informal to the end. Whatever he expressed or wrote after-words, it was in the light of his own spiritual vision and Knowledge.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', Times;"> His mother taught him the essential sufi exercises of dhikr ( invocation of Allah and His Names ) and he probably needed no more guidance after that. He was initiated to walk the path of Sufis intuitively. His spiritual experiences and vision enriched his mind and spirit with so much knowledge that he far excelled his contemporary Sufi masters and sufi poets in Tasawwuf ( Sufism ) and Suluk ( all about the Sufi Way and its stations and states). In a book he remarks: Though we have little of formal learning, / Yet the spirit has been blessed with holiness by esoteric knowledge. In fact he may be called a born saint.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', Times;"> He got married in his early youth and twice or thrice afterwards and had sons and daughters but all this did not deter him from his dervish wanderings, to visit the sacred places and look for the spiritual company of his fellow sufis.</span><span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', Times;"> At the age of thirty he had an extraordinary vision in which he saw Prophet Muhammad ( may peace be upon him ) through the spiritual recommendations and support of Hazrat Ali and Hazrat Shaikh Abdul Qadir Jilani. The prophet himself took his bay'ah and allowed him to pass on the Sufi teachings. He often mentions in his books about his presence in the spiritual meetings presided by the Prophet himself. However, in the treatise " Of the Spirit " he calls Hazrat Shaikh Abdul Qadir Jilani his Murshid ( spiritual director ). He is always lavish in the praise of Hazrat Shaikh and calls himself Qadiri. In his eyes the teachings of the Qadiriya order were most effective for the spiritual development of the disciples. But at the same time it is evidently clear that by the Qadriya order he means the one that he himself represented. He names it " Sarwari Qadiri ".</span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', Times;"> During the same period when he was a young man of about thirty, the war of succession between Dara Sikoh and Aurangzeb was fought. His later writings are sufficient proof of his moral and spiritual support for Aurangzeb who won and became the emperor. He himself, however, never cared to have any concern with the court or the courtiers.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', Times;"> All his life he kept traveling to the far-flung places initiating disciples and passing on the spiritual knowledge and wisdom to the seekers of truth. He might have written most of the books during such journeys. He never made a permanent Khaneqah during his lifetime.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', Times;"> Sometimes he fell into ecstasy and passed his days and nights in the state of absorption. Many places are still remembered and venerated where he stayed for some long or short periods to contemplate in solitude.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', Times;"> In "Manaqibi Sultani " a few of his journeys have been mentioned. His traveling in Saraiki region up to Sindh, his journey to Delhi where he met the emperor Aurangzeb in the Jamia Mosque and his visits to the tombs at Multan and other cities have been indicated.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', Times;"> He died in 1961 A.D. at Shorkot where he was buried close to the bank of the river. His body had, however, to be transferred twice to other nearby places due to the floods. Now the place he lies buried under a beautiful tomb is called Darbar Hazrat Sultan Bahu ( District Jhang, Punjab).</span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', Times;"> He wrote many books in Persian. He also wrote ghazals and poems in Persian as a well as<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span><a href="file:///C:/Inetpub/wwwroot/audio/haider2.ra" style="color: #663300;">Abyaat</a><span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>in Punjabi. His Punjabi poetry contains spiritual fervour and passionate expression of the exalted state of Divine Love. One is transported to the spiritual domains while one listens to his Dohas in a melodious voice of the singers. About thirty epistles, treatises and books are still available. Almost all of his work has been written under inspiration in his style peculiar to him. Most often he uses "scatter method " diffusing Sufi doctrine and the methods of spiritual realization in his writings</span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', Times;"> He was the greatest teacher and propagator of Faqr ( spiritual poverty ) which is the shining guiding star in his teachings. He may be considered one of the greatest Revealers in the history of Sufism.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', Times;"> His dargah has always been supervised by the Sajjadah Nashins of his own family. The present Sajjadah Nashin also belongs to his line.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', Times;"> It is strange that his fame rose and spread world-wide after his death. Only recently Scholars have turned attention to present and interpret his doctrine in a systematic way. The scope to edit, translate, interpret and transmit his work is still very vast. It is hoped that the next generation of sufi scholars and teachers will continue to perform this tremendous job more efficiently.</span></span></span></span></span></span></div>Adminhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11895344328863160229noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1019832629089744338.post-72499041536890771822011-03-15T10:31:00.000-07:002011-03-15T10:31:50.300-07:00Rahman Baba<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 0px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 0px; -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: none; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; border-collapse: separate; color: black; font: small "Times New Roman"; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px;"> <h1 style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="color: blue; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Rahman Baba</span></b></h1><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPGAfJab_gv4EMq5_TcNo-e0p3ucFFI-FwfXZ8xVPAHfwUiyTCL9qhSXD3Aa7sPAM-VDFLj5Q6bTuJ3KWRGY1qU9NiOvqF6UTLmsUjaw_S86qfwi23wLjZswcwMnwMl5MW-haKtlpFSwc/s1600/abdul-rahman-momand.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" q6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPGAfJab_gv4EMq5_TcNo-e0p3ucFFI-FwfXZ8xVPAHfwUiyTCL9qhSXD3Aa7sPAM-VDFLj5Q6bTuJ3KWRGY1qU9NiOvqF6UTLmsUjaw_S86qfwi23wLjZswcwMnwMl5MW-haKtlpFSwc/s320/abdul-rahman-momand.jpg" width="256" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 0px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 0px; -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: none; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; border-collapse: separate; color: black; font: small "Times New Roman"; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Abdul Rahman (respectfully referred to as Rahman Baba) is considered by many to be the greatest Pashtun poet.<br />
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Rahman Baba was born in the early seventeenth century in the hilly Mohmand region of Afghanistan, outside of Peshwar. This was a time when Afghanistan was under invasion by the Persians to the west and the Mongols to the east, a period of great struggle and hardship.<br />
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Yet, in the midst of this turmoil, the young Abdul Rahman showed himself to be an excellent student with a natural gift for poetry. But as he grew older he became disillusioned, questioning the real value of such pursuits. He withdrew from the world, becoming a hermit, dedicating himself to prayer and devotion. In his solitary worship, he began to write poetry again.<br />
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Despite his reclusive life, Rahman Baba's poetry quickly spread and gained fame. Religious figures used his poetry to inspire the devout. Political leaders used his poems to inspire the independence movement. Rahman Baba's poetry became an important part of the nation's voice.</span></span></div></span></span></div>Adminhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11895344328863160229noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1019832629089744338.post-34599003087471013692011-03-15T10:11:00.000-07:002011-03-15T10:11:17.822-07:00Khushal Khan Khatak<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 0px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 0px; -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: none; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; border-collapse: separate; color: black; font: small "Times New Roman"; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 1px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 1px; font-family: verdana, geneva, lucida, "lucida grande", arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><b><span style="font-size: x-large;">Khushal Khan Khatak</span></b></span></span></div><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 0px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 0px; -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: none; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; border-collapse: separate; color: black; font: small "Times New Roman"; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 1px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 1px; font-family: verdana, geneva, lucida, "lucida grande", arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"> </span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 0px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 0px; -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: none; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; border-collapse: separate; color: black; font: small "Times New Roman"; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 1px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 1px; font-family: verdana, geneva, lucida, "lucida grande", arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">Khushal Khan Khattak was born at Akora Khattak district Nowshera in 1613. He was an intelligent and bold person from childhood. His father Shahbaz Khan was killed in a tribal clash on 4th January, 1641. Mughal Emperor Shahjehan was the ruler of India during that period. Shahjehan had great regard for Khushal Khan Khattak due to the guts that he possessed. Khushal Khan Khattak was the ally of Mughals during many adventures and was awarded a Jagir and Lakhs of rupees.<br />
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The distances between the Aurangzeb Allamgir and Khushal Khan Khattak increased due to some misunderstandings and the latter was not remained a favorable person near the former personality.<br />
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Mahabat Khan who was the governor of Peshawar had tried to keep the relation between Khushal Khan Khattak and Aurangzeb Alamgir and was successful to a great extent. After Mahabat Khan, Syed Amir Khan was appointed as governor Peshawar then the tension increased between Khushal Khan Khattak and Syed Amir Khan, as a result Khushal Khan Khattak was arrested and put behind the bars. Khushal Khan Khattak was later on released and returned to homeland in 1668, but the relations between government and him remained tense. He was a good poet and religious scholar. He is also called with the name of Baba-e-Pushto. His poetry consists of more than 45,000 poems. According to some historians the number of books written by him is more than 200. But the books, which enjoyed more fame, are Baz Nama, Fazal Nama, Distar Nama and Farrah Nama. The Mazar of Khushal Khan Khattak is situated near the Railway Station of Akora Khattak in Nowshera district.<br />
After adorning herself elegantly and graciously from top to toe turning to be merciless and tyrannous.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span><br />
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She'll rob and plander the hearts with every hair of her lock. Lo! The beauty is conferred upon the sweetheart in abundance, so that she may bereave and deprive he lover of his heart. A spot where a few beloveds are seated for some time is more accelerated and enhanced in excellence than oparadize. Her black eye lashes are as furious and violent as arrows, they'll assault the lover, if the sweetheart has raised up her attractive eyes. ll inflame your heart furiously and tremendously.<br />
If two lovers are displeased and angry with one another, their courtship and affection will strengthen and confirm their friendly relations. There are as many soars and specks on my heart, As the tattoos on the lovely countenance of my sweetheart. When all the benumbed and bereaved are assembled to enjoy themselves,<br />
Their best enjoyment is the negotiation concerning your appreciation. O'Khushal! don't look at her with deliberation and seruting, It'll inflame your heart furiously and tremendously.</span></span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAGcpIBikJ8cC0Sa5lROyxRsT9WYuwgW44lM1807xj9lflOfk_sBNkNna1ycebNB5_v9zz4Q68020xKTSylIPAMwrTdFOSdJnOzBlfO1730DKxFm5bqchY6776Wo1Fpi-GFdk0xVaR6o0/s1600/Khattak.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" q6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAGcpIBikJ8cC0Sa5lROyxRsT9WYuwgW44lM1807xj9lflOfk_sBNkNna1ycebNB5_v9zz4Q68020xKTSylIPAMwrTdFOSdJnOzBlfO1730DKxFm5bqchY6776Wo1Fpi-GFdk0xVaR6o0/s320/Khattak.jpg" width="260" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div></div>Adminhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11895344328863160229noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1019832629089744338.post-33060987336350361222011-03-15T09:58:00.000-07:002011-03-15T09:58:51.214-07:00HAMZA BABA AS A SUFI<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 0px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 0px; -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: none; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; border-collapse: separate; color: black; font: small "Times New Roman"; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #444444; font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;"> </span></span></div><h2 style="color: #336699; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 18pt; font-weight: normal; text-align: center;"><b>HAMZA BABA AS A SUFI</b></h2><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixGAK4MeXkYs7JR2wVXe_D49W-o-aK1ahnWiFGpqmWC4CD-yDl3tE1rmdlQwd4cAacS1jBxWJ1JoPNEaRqUAuq4kxXIaS07AG7MqqdnKaR8v6Mi3EBLVxZivu7U0hYpQr9Djtz0_a39pc/s1600/hamzashinwari.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" q6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixGAK4MeXkYs7JR2wVXe_D49W-o-aK1ahnWiFGpqmWC4CD-yDl3tE1rmdlQwd4cAacS1jBxWJ1JoPNEaRqUAuq4kxXIaS07AG7MqqdnKaR8v6Mi3EBLVxZivu7U0hYpQr9Djtz0_a39pc/s320/hamzashinwari.jpg" width="306" /></a></div><div style="color: #336699; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 18pt; font-weight: normal; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="color: #336699; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 18pt; font-weight: normal; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="color: #336699; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 18pt; font-weight: normal; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 0px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 0px; -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: none; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; border-collapse: separate; color: black; font: small "Times New Roman"; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #444444; font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small; text-align: justify;">It was in 1930 that Hamza Baba took formal allegiance at the hand of Syed Satter Shah, whom he also lovingly called Bacha Jan, to intiated in the cult of my mysticism. For 23 years when his murshid passed away at Peshawar in 1953, Hamaza Baba was used to be constantly with him when ever in Peshawar where he usuallu lived. He would also a accompany his murshid on their ocassional journies to India and Kashmir. The pir-murshid relationship is at the same time a relationship of deep reverence, love and devotion. The disciple considers his mentor as not only the most perfect human being but also the sole cause of his spiritual advancment. Even when they are separated preforce it is imperative for the diciple to be canstantly imaginning his Murshid so much so that he gets absolutly absorbed in him. This spiritual state is called FANA FIL SHAIKH (absorption in the shaikh).<br />
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<strong><span style="color: #009900;">SHUJRAH AALIA CHISHTIA NIZAMIA NIAZIA</span></strong><br />
<br />
Huzrat Mohammad (S. A. W.)<br />
Huzrat Ali (R. A.)<br />
Huzrat Hassan Basri (R. A.)<br />
Huzrat Shaikh Abdul Wahed (R. A.)<br />
Huzrat Fazil Ibne Ayyaz (R. A.)<br />
Huzrat Ibrahim Shah Adhum (R. A.)<br />
Huzrat Bu Hezifa (R. A.)<br />
Huzrat Hubeer Basri (R. A.)<br />
Huzrat Mumshad (R. A.)<br />
Huzrat Khuwja Bu Ishaq (R. A.)<br />
Huzrat Abdaal Ahmed (R. A.)<br />
Huzrat Bu Mohammad (R. A.)<br />
Huzrat Bu Yousaf (R. A.)<br />
Huzrat Khuwja Moudod Chishti (R. A.)<br />
Huzrat Haji Sharif (R. A.)<br />
Huzrat Usman Harooni (R. A.)<br />
Huzrat Moin ud Din Chishti (R. A.)<br />
Huzrat Qutbuddin (R. A.)<br />
Huzrat Farid ud Din (R. A.)<br />
Huzrat Nizam ud Din (R. A.)<br />
Huzrat Naseer ud Din (R. A.)<br />
Huzrat Kamal ud Din (R. A.)<br />
Huzrat Siraj ud Din (R. A.)<br />
Huzrat Khuwja Ilmu ud Din (R. A.)<br />
Huzrat Mahmood Rajan (R. A.)<br />
Huzrat Shaikh Hussan (R. A.)<br />
Huzrat Shaikh Mohammad (R. A.)<br />
Huzrat Yaha Muddani (R. A.)<br />
Huzrat Shah Kaleem Ullah (R. A.)<br />
Huzrat Nizam ud Din (R. A.)<br />
Huzrat Fakher ud Din (R. A.)<br />
Huzrat Shah Niaz Ahmed (R. A.)<br />
Huzrat Mulvi Ubaid Ullah (R. A.)<br />
Huzrat Shah Mohammad Azeem (R. A.)<br />
Huzrat Syed Abdul Sattar Shah Bacha (R. A.)<br />
Huzrat Amir Hamza (R. A.)<br />
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Maktoobate Hamza Baba (Letters of Hamza Baba) (R. A.)<br />
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Muktoobate Hamza Baba is not only a book on Tassawaf but it is a teacher to the people who are intrested in this specific field. It is composed of letters written by Hamaza Baba to his devoted disciple Malik Abdur Rehman in reply to the questions in his letters from time to time. It is a hundred percent practical book because Malik Baba has requested for guidness in his spiritual travel and Hamza Baba Has guided him. It is a text book for those who are intrested in a way toward God. Malik has rightly siad that no book has been written on Tassawaf having a knowledge equal to it in the last one century. It is the book of century. The person who read this book thoroughly he will definitly be in serach of a PIr (spiritual guider) and will surly find the one if he is not tired. The book is unique in its material and style. Two Babas have discussed a very specific topic known to very little people. Hamza Baba has written a lot but it was known to very few people that he is a sufi of very high caliber. Dr. Qabil Khan Afridi has rightly said that Malilk Baba has discovered hamza Baba as a sufi. The points which were raised by Malik Baba in his letters seldome come in mindes. So don not say a thing wrong if it is beyond your approach. It also wroth mentioning thata a theoratica man will face difficulty in penetrating to its meanings. In other words if a person want to know the inn` and outs of this book he should serach for a Pir. Malik Baba has also said that if a person follows the teachings given in this book, God will dipute a man to guide him as well, and on completion of first phase of his spiritual life which is known as Fanna Fil Shaikh (Absorbtion in Shaikh) while entering in to the second phase Fanna Fil Rasool (Absorbtion in the Prophet Mohammad P.B.U.H.), he will understand that who has guided him uptill now. In this book various minute and difficult points of sufism are discussed and explained which are common in spiritual world but not known to them entirely. This book has complete knowldge of spiritualism and sufism. This book will also let you know about all the questions rising in your mind regarding Tasawaf. It also show that sufi of this unique class has a complete programe and it is not based on supperficial things caled Tarkalogy. The contents in this book are clear but you have any question regarding any thing related to this field you can contact us you will be given proper answer.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span><br />
MOST WELCOME TO HAMZALOGY</span></span></div></div>Adminhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11895344328863160229noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1019832629089744338.post-35141828507384493102011-03-15T09:32:00.000-07:002011-03-15T09:32:16.759-07:00Amir Hamza Khan Shinwari<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjwnRWrJjmyxrmu9p8btlk0rdMVwMpizGuLOVRf00dZhG9_b1JRxEfmks0NyB17WyI7fyWdI5m0qy3JWmlpcFTrtsUbNUcZgKIMoQfC1eax07eiXVWbvTcsv_79sNgHA73SpmR9UWkN8E/s1600/hamzashinwari.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" q6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjwnRWrJjmyxrmu9p8btlk0rdMVwMpizGuLOVRf00dZhG9_b1JRxEfmks0NyB17WyI7fyWdI5m0qy3JWmlpcFTrtsUbNUcZgKIMoQfC1eax07eiXVWbvTcsv_79sNgHA73SpmR9UWkN8E/s320/hamzashinwari.jpg" width="306" /></a></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 0px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 0px; -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: none; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; border-collapse: separate; color: black; font: small "Times New Roman"; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #444444; font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;"><h2 style="color: #336699; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 18pt; font-weight: normal; text-align: center;"><b><span style="color: purple;">Amir Hamza Khan Shinwari<br />
(1907 to 1994)</span></b></h2></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 0px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 0px; -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: none; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; border-collapse: separate; color: black; font: small "Times New Roman"; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #444444; font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small; text-align: justify;">Amir Hamza Khan Shinwari, to give him his full name at the outset, was born in 1907, in the Ashrafkhel clan, in a village called Khugakhel, at the stone`s throw from the Landikotal Sarai, NWFP, Pakistan. His father was Malik Bazmire Khan, one of the Maliks of the Shinwari tribe, who commanded a considerable respect. Malik Bazmir Khan had married twice and had six sons in all. Hamza was his fifth son.<br />
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In his autobiography, Hamza foundly relates his earliest life, with vaivd details, right from the time of brest feeding and toddling infancy. He claims to have had a very sharp memory, so sharp that if he descibed all the fond memories of his infant life it would only be taken for exaggareted fiction or if a figment of his fertile imagination and no body will really believe him. He claims even to have memories of prenatal life, the scene of "alasto bir rabikum qaalu bala", when, after creating the souls, God had gathered them all to ask them "am I not your Lord?" and they all or each had replied "Yes, Thou Art". He explains that this first affirmation and the direct interaction with Allmighty Allaha has left a permanent mark on each soul, which has become its life-long, distinguishing trait, even long after its embodiment in this temporal world. Some were terrified by the booming thunder of the voice of God, while other heard it as a sweet symphony. Some were dazed by His luminous brightness while other were bewitched by His infinite beauties. Some started dancing with joy while others bolted in fear. And these traits have been brought over by all of us to our life on this plannet.<br />
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Describing his own memories of this supreme event of the human spiritual world he writes "I heard a voice, 'alasto bir rabikum' (am I not your Lord?) and I suddenly had a consciousness of my being.It must be said that before this I was in the state of unconcsiousness, even if I was there already. And in the reply I said, 'bala', (yes Thou Art); and I felt that there was an element of doubt in my voice. Than after describing the various stages of the tranfermation and descent of the spirit into this terrestrial world, he says that While yet in his mother`s womb he was feeling a gradually receding light; and than he felt as if he had a fall from above, with the light finally disappearing from his sight; leaving him in the lap of a suffocating darkness. At this he cried and the women gathered around his mother cheerfully proclaimed, "Oh, its a boy," that a male baby was born.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>Adminhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11895344328863160229noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1019832629089744338.post-83085391177409265292011-03-15T09:13:00.000-07:002011-03-15T09:13:26.107-07:00HAZRAT AMIR HAMZA SHINWARI BABA<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 0px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 0px; -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: none; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; border-collapse: separate; color: black; font: small "Times New Roman"; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #444444; font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;"> <h2 style="color: #336699; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 18pt; font-weight: normal; text-align: center;"><span style="color: green;"><span style="color: blue;">HAZRAT AMIR HAMZA SHINWARI BABA<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span><br />
Chishti Nizami Niazi (R. A.)</span><span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span><br />
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<div align="center"><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><img border="0" src="http://www.hamzababa.faithweb.com/images/hamzababa.jpg" /></span></div><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><h3 style="color: #336699; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: bold;"><div align="justify"><span style="color: blue; font-family: Comic Sans MS;">Amir Hamza Khan Shinwari Baba was a leading mystic luminary of the twentieth century, with enormous contribution to pushto and urdu literature, not only in poetry but also in prose and drama. Being the founder of Khyber School of Literature, Hamza Baba is considered a versatile genious and an institution. He has encourged and fostered a large number of budding pushto poets who owe their growth and perfection to his benign care and artistic excellence. And, being at the same time a practising sufi and spiritual guide (MURSHID), he has also trained an equally large number of disciples in the esoteric, spiritual discipline.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span><br />
</span></div></h3><span style="font-family: Comic Sans MS;"><span id="text_1_wrapper"><span id="text_1"><span id="text_1_wrapper"><span id="text_1"><span id="text_1_wrapper"><span id="text_1"><span id="text_1_wrapper"><span id="text_1"><span id="text_1_wrapper"><span id="text_1"><span id="text_1_wrapper"><span id="text_1"><span id="text_1_wrapper"><span id="text_1"><span id="text_1_wrapper"><span id="text_1"><span id="text_1_wrapper"><span id="text_1"><span id="text_1_wrapper"><span id="text_1"><span id="text_1_wrapper"><span id="text_1"><span id="text_1_wrapper"><span id="text_1"><div align="justify"><span style="color: blue;">...I heard a voice, 'alasto bir rabikum' (am I not your Lord?) and I suddenly had a consciousness of my being. It might be said that before this I was in the state of unconsciousness, even if I was there already. And in the reply I said, 'bala', (yes Thou Art); and I felt that there was an element of doubt in my voice. While yet in my mother`s womb I was feeling a gradually receding light; and than I felt as if I had a fall from above, with the light finally disappearing from my sight; leaving me the lap of a suffocating darkness. At this I cried and the women gathered around my mother cheerfully proclaimed, "Oh, its a boy," ....<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div><div align="right"><span style="color: blue;">(Autobiography, Hamza Shinwari)</span></div><br />
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<div align="justify"><span style="color: blue;">....All creations exists in or because of God. It is the attributes of God that come across each other to have self conciousness and the sense of externality and this way God minifests Himself. This the reality of the unreality that we call creations; whether we call it the shadow or reality or its mirror, it is realy saying the same thing. God was a hidden treasure and He wanted to minifest Him self. He created this entire universe in this way. Now looking at His creation is actually looking at God, not from the point of view of the universe being the wonderfull handicraft of a master artisan but also because it is still Him or inside Him. We can not imagine a separate God against a separate universe for that will limit His Omnipresence, may also bestow eternity on the universe. There can not be two co-eternal, co-existing at the same time. If God is Omnipotent and Omnipresent than what is the potentiality or even the reality of the universe and where does it exist? We are forced to conclude that it is entirly dependent upon God and can exist only in him. And that is the doctrine of Wahdatul Wajud (the unity of essence)....</span></div><div align="right"><span style="color: blue;">(Muktoobat-e-HamzaBaba)</span></div></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
</div>Adminhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11895344328863160229noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1019832629089744338.post-80296272634840889952011-03-13T23:19:00.002-07:002011-03-13T23:19:48.579-07:00The Story of a Poker Steer<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 0px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 0px; -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: none; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; border-collapse: separate; color: black; font: small "Times New Roman"; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: 2; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: verdana, Arial, Tahoma, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; text-align: left;"> He was born in a chaparral thicket, south of the Nueces River in Texas. It was a warm night in April, with a waning moon hanging like a hunter's horn high overhead, when the subject of this sketch drew his first breath. Ushered into a strange world in the fulfillment of natural laws, he lay trembling on a bed of young grass, listening to the low mooings of his mother as she stood over him in the joy and pride of the first born. But other voices of the night reached his ears; a whippoorwill and his mate were making much ado over the selection of their nesting-place on the border of the thicket. The tantalizing cry of a coyote on the nearest hill caused his mother to turn from him, lifting her head in alarm, and uneasily scenting the night air.<br />
On thus being deserted, and complying with an inborn instinct of fear, he made his first attempt to rise and follow, and although unsuccessful it caused his mother to return and by her gentle nosings and lickings to calm him. Then in an effort to rise he struggled to his knees, only to collapse like a limp rag. But after several such attempts he finally stood on his feet, unsteady on his legs, and tottering like one drunken. Then his mother nursed him, and as the new milk warmed his stomach he gained sufficient assurance of his footing to wiggle his tail and to butt the feverish caked udder with his velvety muzzle. After satisfying his appetite he was loath to lie down and rest, but must try his legs in toddling around to investigate this strange world into which he had been ushered. He smelled of the rich green leaves of the mesquite, which hung in festoons about his birth chamber, and trampled underfoot the grass which carpeted the bower.<br />
After several hours' sleep he was awakened by a strange twittering above him. The moon and stars, which were shining so brightly at the moment of his birth, had grown pale. His mother was the first to rise, but heedless of her entreaties he lay still, bewildered by the increasing light. Animals, however, have their own ways of teaching their little ones, and on the dam's first pretense of deserting him he found his voice, and uttering a plaintive cry, struggled to his feet, which caused his mother to return and comfort him.<br />
Later she enticed him out of the thicket to enjoy his first sun bath. The warmth seemed to relieve the stiffness in his joints, and after each nursing during the day he attempted several awkward capers in his fright at a shadow or the rustle of a leaf. Near the middle of the afternoon, his mother being feverish, it was necessary that she should go to the river and slake her thirst. So she enticed him to a place where the grass in former years had grown rank, and as soon as he lay down she cautioned him to be quiet during her enforced absence, and though he was a very young calf he remembered and trusted in her. It was several miles to the river, and she was gone two whole hours, but not once did he disobey. A passing ranchero reined in and rode within three feet of him, but he did not open an eye or even twitch an ear to scare away a fly.<br />
The horseman halted only long enough to notice the flesh-marks. The calf was a dark red except for a white stripe which covered the right side of his face, including his ear and lower jaw, and continued in a narrow band beginning on his withers and broadening as it extended backward until it covered his hips. Aside from his good color the ranchman was pleased with his sex, for a steer those days was better than gold. So the cowman rode away with a pleased expression on his face, but there is a profit and loss account in all things.<br />
When the calf's mother returned she rewarded her offspring for his obedience, and after grazing until dark, she led him into the chaparral thicket and lay down for the night. Thus the first day of his life and a few succeeding ones passed with unvarying monotony. But when he was about a week old his mother allowed him to accompany her to the river, where he met other calves and their dams. She was but a three-year-old, and he was her first baby; so, as they threaded their way through the cattle on the river-bank the little line-back calf was the object of much attention. The other cows were jealous of him, but one old grandmother came up and smelled of him benignantly, as if to say, "Suky, this is a nice baby boy you have here."<br />
Then the young cow, embarrassed by so much attention, crossed the shallow river and went up among some hills where she had once ranged and where the vining mesquite grass grew luxuriantly. There they spent several months, and the calf grew like a weed, and life was one long summer day. He could have lived there always and been content, for he had many pleasures. Other cows, also, brought their calves up to the same place, and he had numerous playmates in his gambols on the hillsides. Among the other calves was a speckled heifer, whose dam was a great crony of his own mother. These two cows were almost inseparable during the entire summer, and it was as natural as the falling of a mesquite bean that he should form a warm attachment for his speckled playmate.<br />
But this June-time of his life had an ending when late in the fall a number of horsemen scoured the hills and drove all the cattle down to the river. It was the first round-up he had ever been in, so he kept very close to his mother's side, and allowed nothing to separate him from her. When the outriders had thrown in all the cattle from the hills and had drifted all those in the river valley together, they moved them back on an open plain and began cutting out. There were many men at the work, and after all the cows and calves had been cut into a separate herd, the other cattle were turned loose. Then with great shoutings the cows were started up the river to a branding-pen several miles distant. Never during his life did the line-back calf forget that day. There was such a rush and hurrah among these horsemen that long before they reached the corrals the line-back's tongue lolled out, for he was now a very fat calf. Only once did he even catch sight of his speckled playmate, who was likewise trembling like a fawn.<br />
Inside the corral he rested for a short time in the shade of the palisades. His mother, however, scented with alarm a fire which was being built in the middle of the branding-pen. Several men, who seemed to be the owners, rode through the corralled cows while the cruel irons were being heated. Then the man who directed the work ordered into their saddles a number of swarthy fellows who spoke Spanish, and the work of branding commenced.<br />
The line-back calf kept close to his mother's side, and as long as possible avoided the ropers. But in an unguarded moment the noose of a rope encircled one of his hind feet, and he was thrown upon his side, and in this position the mounted man dragged him up to the fire. His mother followed him closely, but she was afraid of the men, and could only stand at a distance and listen to his piteous crying. The roper, when asked for the brand, replied, "Bar-circle-bar," for that was the brand his mother bore. A tall quiet man who did the branding called to a boy who attended the fire to bring him two irons; with one he stamped the circle, and with the other he made a short horizontal bar on either side of it. Then he took a bloody knife from between his teeth and cut an under-bit from the calf's right ear, inquiring of the owner as he did so, "Do you want this calf left for a bull?"<br />
"No; yearlings will be worth fourteen dollars next spring. He's a first calf--his mother's only a three-year-old."<br />
As he was released he edged away from the fire, forlorn looking. His mother coaxed him over into a corner of the corral, where he dropped exhausted, for with his bleeding ear, his seared side, and a hundred shooting pains in his loins, he felt as if he must surely die. His dam, however, stood over him until the day's work was ended, and kept the other cows from trampling him. When the gates were thrown open and they were given their freedom, he cared nothing for it; he wanted to die. He did not attempt to leave the corral until after darkness had settled over the scene. Then with much persuasion he arose and limped along after his mother. But before he could reach the river, which was at least half a mile away, he sank down exhausted. If he could only slake his terrible thirst he felt he might possibly survive, for the pain had eased somewhat. With every passing breeze of the night he could scent the water, and several times in his feverish fancy he imagined he could hear it as it gurgled over its pebbly bed.<br />
Just at sunrise, ere the heat of the day fell upon him, he struggled to his feet, for he felt it was a matter of life and death with him to reach the river. At last he dragged his pain-racked body down to the rippling water and lowered his head to drink, but it seemed as if every exertion tended to reopen those seared scars, and with the one thing before him that he most desired, he moaned in misery. A little farther away was a deep pool. This he managed to crawl to, and there he remained for a long time, for the water laved his wounds, and he drank and drank. The sun now beat down on him fiercely, and he must seek some shady place for the day, but he started reluctantly to leave, and when he reached the shallows, he turned back to the comfort of the pool and drank again.<br />
A thickety motte of chaparral which grew back from the scattering timber on the river afforded him the shelter and seclusion he wanted, for he dared not trust himself where the grown cattle congregated for the day's siesta. During all his troubles his mother had never forsaken him, and frequently offered him the scanty nourishment of her udder, but he had no appetite and could scarcely raise his eyes to look at her. But time heals all wounds, and within a week he followed his dam back into the hills where grew the succulent grama grass which he loved. There they remained for more than a month, and he met his speckled playmate again.<br />
One day a great flight of birds flew southward, and amidst the cawing of crows and the croaking of ravens the cattle which ranged beyond came down out of the hills in long columns, heading southward. The line-back calf felt a change himself in the pleasant day's atmosphere. His mother and the dam of the speckled calf laid their heads together, and after scenting the air for several minutes, they curved their tails--a thing he had never seen sedate cows do before--and stampeded off to the south. Of course the line-back calf and his playmate went along, outrunning their mothers. They traveled far into the night until they reached a chaparral thicket, south of the river, much larger than the one in which he was born. It was well they sought its shelter, for two hours before daybreak a norther swept across the range, which chilled them to the bone. When day dawned a mist was falling which incrusted every twig and leaf in crystal armor.<br />
There were many such northers during the first winter. The one mysterious thing which bothered him was, how it was that his mother could always foretell when one was coming. But he was glad she could, for she always sought out some cosy place; and now he noticed that his coat had thickened until it was as heavy as the fur on a bear, and he began to feel a contempt for the cold. But springtime came very early in that southern clime, and as he nibbled the first tender blades of grass, he felt an itching in his wintry coat and rubbed off great tufts of hair against the chaparral bushes. Then one night his mother, without a word of farewell, forsook him, and it was several months before he saw her again. But he had the speckled heifer yet for a companion, when suddenly her dam disappeared in the same inexplicable manner as had his own.<br />
He was a yearling now, and with his playmate he ranged up and down the valley of the Nueces for miles. But in June came a heavy rain, almost a deluge, and nearly all the cattle left the valley for the hills, for now there was water everywhere. The two yearlings were the last to go, but one morning while feeding the line-back got a ripe grass burr in his mouth. Then he took warning, for he despised grass burrs, and that evening the two cronies crossed the river and went up into the hills where they had ranged as calves the summer before Within a week, at a lake which both well remembered, they met their mothers face to face. The steer was on the point of upbraiding his maternal relative for deserting him, when a cream-colored heifer calf came up and nourished itself at the cow's udder. That was too much for him. He understood now why she had left him, and he felt that he was no longer her baby. Piqued with mortification he went to a near-by knoll where the ground was broken, and with his feet pawed up great clouds of dust which settled on his back until the white spot was almost obscured. The next morning he and the speckled heifer went up higher into the hills where the bigger steer cattle ranged. He had not been there the year before, and he had a great curiosity to see what the upper country was like.<br />
In the extreme range of the hills back from the river, the two spent the entire summer, or until the first norther drove them down to the valley. The second winter was much milder than the first one, snow and ice being unknown. So when spring came again they were both very fat, and together they planned--as soon as the June rains came--to go on a little pasear over north on the Frio River. They had met others of their kind from the Frio when out on those hills the summer before, and had found them decently behaved cattle.<br />
But though the outing was feasible and well planned, it was not to be. For after both had shed their winter coats, the speckled heifer was as pretty a two-year-old as ever roamed the Nueces valley or drank out of its river, and the line-back steer had many rivals. Almost daily he fought other steers of his own age and weight, who were paying altogether too marked attention to his crony. Although he never outwardly upbraided her for it, her coquetry was a matter of no small concern with him. At last one day in April she forced matters to an open rupture between them. A dark red, arch-necked, curly-headed animal came bellowing defiance across their feeding-grounds. Without a moment's hesitation the line-back had accepted the challenge and had locked horns with this Adonis. Though he fought valiantly the battle is ever with the strong, and inch by inch he was forced backward. When he realized that he must yield, he turned to flee, and his rival with one horn caught him behind the fore shoulder, cutting a cruel gash nearly a foot in length. Reaching a point of safety he halted, and as he witnessed his adversary basking in the coquettish, amorous advances of her who had been his constant companion since babyhood, his wrath was uncontrollable. Kneeling, he cut the ground with his horns, throwing up clouds of dust, and then and there he renounced kith and kin, the speckled heifer and the Nueces valley forever. He firmly resolved to start at once for the Frio country. He was a proud two-year-old and had always held his head high. Could his spirit suffer the humiliation of meeting his old companions after such defeat? No! Hurling his bitterest curses on the amorous pair, he turned his face to the northward.<br />
On reaching the Nueces, feverish in anger, he drank sparingly, kneeling against the soft river's bank, cutting it with his horns, and matting his forehead with red mud. It was a momentous day in his life. He distinctly remembered the physical pain he had suffered once in a branding-pen, but that was nothing compared to this. Surely his years had been few and full of trouble. He hardly knew which way to turn. Finally he concluded to lie down on a knoll and rest until nightfall, when he would start on his journey to the Frio. Just how he was to reach that country troubled him. He was a cautious fellow; he knew he must have water on the way, and the rains had not yet fallen.<br />
Near the middle of the afternoon an incident occurred which changed the whole course of his after-life. From his position on the knoll he witnessed the approach of four horsemen who apparently were bent on driving all the cattle in that vicinity out of their way. To get a better view he arose, for it was evident they had no intention of disturbing him. When they had drifted away all the cattle for a mile on both sides of the river, one of the horsemen rode back and signaled to some one in the distance. Then the line-back steer saw something new, for coming over the brow of the hill was a great column of cattle. He had never witnessed such a procession of his kind before. When the leaders had reached the river, the rear was just coming over the brow of the hill, for the column was fully a mile in length. The line-back steer classed them as strangers, probably bound for the Frio, for that was the remotest country in his knowledge. As he slowly approached the herd, which was then crowding into the river, he noticed that they were nearly all two-year-olds like himself. Why not accompany them? His resolution to leave the Nueces valley was still uppermost in his mind. But when he attempted to join in, a dark-skinned man on a horse chased him away, cursing him in Spanish as he ran. Then he thought they must be exclusive, and wondered where they came from.<br />
But when the line-back steer once resolved to do anything, the determination became a consuming desire. He threw the very intensity of his existence into his resolution of the morning. He would leave the Nueces valley with those cattle--or alone, it mattered not. So after they had watered and grazed out from the river, he followed at a respectful distance. Once again he tried to enter the herd, but an outrider cut him off. The man was well mounted, and running his horse up to him he took up his tail, wrapped the brush around the pommel of his saddle, and by a dexterous turn of his horse threw him until he spun like a top. The horseman laughed. The ground was sandy, and while the throwing frightened him, never for an instant did it shake his determination.<br />
So after darkness had fallen and the men had bedded their cattle for the night, he slipped through the guard on night-herd and lay down among the others. He complimented himself on his craftiness, but never dreamed that this was a trail herd, bound for some other country three hundred miles beyond his native Texas. The company was congenial; it numbered thirty-five hundred two-year-old steers like himself, and strangely no one ever noticed him until long after they had crossed the Frio. Then a swing man one day called his foreman's attention to a stray, line-backed, bar-circle-bar steer in the herd. The foreman only gave him a passing glance, saying, "Let him alone; we may get a jug of whiskey for him if some trail cutter don't claim him before we cross Red River."<br />
Now Red River was the northern boundary of his native State, and though he was unconscious of his destination, he was delighted with his new life and its constant change of scene. He also rejoiced that every hour carried him farther and farther from the Nueces valley, where he had suffered so much physical pain and humiliation. So for several months he traveled northward with the herd. He swam rivers and grazed in contentment across flowery prairies, mesas and broken country. Yet it mattered nothing to him where he was going, for his every need was satisfied. These men with the herd were friendly to him, for they anticipated his wants by choosing the best grazing, so arranging matters that he reached water daily, and selecting a dry bed ground for him at night. And when strange copper-colored men with feathers in their hair rode along beside the herd he felt no fear.<br />
The provincial ideas of his youth underwent a complete change within the first month of trail life. When he swam Red River with the leaders of the herd, he not only bade farewell to his native soil, but burned all bridges behind him. To the line-back steer, existence on the Nueces had been very simple. But now his views were broadening. Was not he a unit of millions of his kind, all forging forward like brigades of a king's army to possess themselves of some unconquered country? These men with whom he was associated were the vikings of the Plain. The Red Man was conquered, and, daily, the skulls of the buffalo, his predecessors, stared vacantly into his face.<br />
By the middle of summer they reached their destination, for the cattle were contracted to a cowman in the Cherokee Strip, Indian Territory. The day of delivery had arrived. The herd was driven into a pasture where they met another outfit of horsemen similar to their own. The cattle were strung out and counted. The men agreed on the numbers. But watchful eyes scanned every brand as they passed in review, and the men in the receiving outfit called the attention of their employer to the fact that there were several strays in the herd not in the road brand. One of these strays was a line-back, bar-circle-bar, two-year-old steer. There were also others; when fifteen of them had been cut out and the buyer asked the trail foreman if he was willing to include them in the bill of sale, the latter smilingly replied: "Not on your life, Captain. You can't keep them out of a herd. Down in my country we call strays like them<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span><i>poker steers</i>."<br />
And so there were turned loose in the Coldwater Pool, one of the large pastures in the Strip, fifteen strays. That night, in a dug-out on that range, the home outfit of cowboys played poker until nearly morning. There were seven men in the camp entitled to share in this flotsam on their range, the extra steer falling to the foreman. Mentally they had a list of the brands, and before the game opened the strays were divided among the participants. An animal was represented by ten beans. At the beginning the boys played cautiously, counting every card at its true worth in a hazard of chance. But as the game wore on and the more fortunate ones saw their chips increase, the weaker ones were gradually forced out. At midnight but five players remained in the game. By three in the morning the foreman lost his last bean, and ordered the men into their blankets, saying they must be in their saddles by dawn, riding the fences, scattering and locating the new cattle. As the men yawningly arose to obey, Dick Larkin defiantly said to the winners, "I've just got ten beans left, and I'll cut high card with any man to see who takes mine or I take one of his poker steers."<br />
"My father was killed in the battle of the Wilderness," replied Tex, "and I'm as game a breed as you are. I'll match your beans and pit you my bar-circle-bar steer."<br />
"My sire was born in Ireland and is living yet," retorted Bold Richard. "Cut the cards, young fellow."<br />
"The proposition is yours--cut first yourself."<br />
The other players languidly returned to the table. Larkin cut a five spot of clubs and was in the act of tearing it in two, when Tex turned the tray of spades. Thus, on the turn of a low card, the line-back steer passed into the questionable possession of Dick Larkin. The Cherokee Strip wrought magic in a Texas steer. One or two winters in its rigorous climate transformed the gaunt long-horn into a marketable beef. The line-back steer met the rigors of the first winter and by June was as glossy as a gentleman's silk tile. But at that spring round-up there was a special inspector from Texas, and no sooner did his eye fall upon the bar-circle-bar steer than he opened his book and showed the brand and his authority to claim him. When Dick Larkin asked to see his credentials, the inspector not only produced them, but gave the owner's name and the county in which the brand was a matter of record. There was no going back on that, and the Texas man took the line-back steer. But the round-up stayed all night in the Pool pasture, and Larkin made it his business to get on second guard in night-herding the cut. He had previously assisted in bedding down the cattle for the night, and made it a point to see that the poker three-year-old lay down on the outer edge of the bed ground. The next morning the line-back steer was on his chosen range in the south end of the pasture. How he escaped was never known; there are ways and ways in a cow country.<br />
At daybreak the round-up moved into the next pasture, the wagons, cut and saddle horses following. The special inspector was kept so busy for the next week that he never had time to look over the winter drift and strays, which now numbered nearly two thousand cattle. When the work ended the inspector missed the line-back steer. He said nothing, however, but exercised caution enough to take what cattle he had gathered up into Kansas for pasturage.<br />
When the men who had gone that year on the round-up on the western division returned, there was a man from Reece's camp in the Strip, east on Black Bear, who asked permission to leave about a dozen cattle in the Pool. He was alone, and, saying he would bring another man with him during the shipping season, he went his way. But when Reece's men came back after their winter drift during the beef-gathering season, Bold Richard Larkin bantered the one who had left the cattle for a poker game, pitting the line-back three-year-old against a white poker cow then in the Pool pasture and belonging to the man from Black Bear. It was a short but spirited game. At its end the bar-circle-bar steer went home with Reece's man. There was a protective code of honor among rustlers, and Larkin gave the new owner the history of the steer. He told him that the brand was of record in McMullen County, Texas, warned him of special inspectors, and gave him other necessary information.<br />
The men from the Coldwater Pool, who went on the eastern division of the round-up next spring, came back and reported having seen a certain line-back poker steer, but the bar-circle-bar had somehow changed, until now it was known as the<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span><i>pilot wheel</i>. And, so report came back, in the three weeks' work that spring, the line-back pilot-wheel steer had changed owners no less than five times. Late that fall word came down from Fant's pasture up west on the Salt Fork to send a man or two up there, as Coldwater Pool cattle had been seen on that range. Larkin and another lad went up to a beef round-up, and almost the first steer Bold Richard laid his eyes on was an under-bit, line-back, once a bar-circle-bar but now a pilot-wheel beef. Larkin swore by all the saints he would know that steer in Hades. Then Abner Taylor called Bold Richard aside and told him that he had won the steer about a week before from an Eagle Chief man, who had also won the beef from another man east on Black Bear during the spring round-up. The explanation satisfied Larkin, who recognized the existing code among rustlers.<br />
The next spring the line-back steer was a five-year-old. Three winters in that northern climate had put the finishing touches on him. He was a beauty. But Abner Taylor knew he dared not ship him to a market, for there he would have to run a regular gauntlet of inspectors. There was another chance open, however. Fant, Taylor's employer, had many Indian contracts. One contract in particular required three thousand northern wintered cattle for the Fort Peck Indian Reservation in northeast Montana. Fant had wintered the cattle with which to fill this contract on his Salt Fork range in the Cherokee Strip. When the cowman cast about for a foreman on starting the herd for Fort Peck, the fact that Abner Taylor was a Texan was sufficient recommendation with Fant. And the line-back beef and several other poker steers went along.<br />
The wintered herd of beeves were grazed across to Fort Peck in little less than three months. On reaching the agency, the cattle were in fine condition and ready to issue to the Indian wards of our Christian nation. In the very first allotment from this herd the line-back beef was cut off with thirty others. It was fitting that he should die in his prime. As the thirty head were let out of the agency corral, a great shouting arose among the braves who were to make the kill. A murderous fire from a hundred repeaters was poured into the running cattle. Several fell to their knees, then rose and struggled on. The scene was worthy of savages. As the cattle scattered several Indians singled out the line-back poker steer. One specially well-mounted brave ran his pony along beside him and pumped the contents of his carbine into the beef's side. With the blood frothing from his nostrils, the line-back turned and catching the horse with his horn disemboweled him. The Indian had thrown himself on the side of his mount to avoid the sudden thrust, and, as the pony fell, he was pinned under him. With admirable tenacity of life the pilot-wheel steer staggered back and made several efforts to gore the dying horse and helpless rider, but with a dozen shots through his vitals, he sank down and expired. A destiny, over which he had no seeming control, willed that he should yield to the grim reaper nearly three thousand miles from his birthplace on the sunny Nueces.<br />
Abner Taylor, witnessing the incident, rode over to a companion and inquired: "Did you notice my line-back poker steer play his last trump? From the bottom of my heart I wish he had killed the Indian instead of the pony."</span></span></div>Adminhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11895344328863160229noreply@blogger.com0