If you have been pronouncing
the term as gay-zaal (as I did), it's wrong - the actual Arabic is supposed
to sound more like ghuzzle. Ghazal originated in Iran in the 10th century A.D.
The ghazal seldom exceeded twelve stanzas, and generally has five to eight
in its modern form. It is a short poem made up of long-lined couplets in
the same meter. The opening couplet of the ghazal is always a representative
couplet: it sets the mood and tone of the poem and prepares us for its
proper appreciation. The last couplet of the ghazal sometimes includes
the name of the poet, and is more personal than general in its tone and
intent. Here the poet may express his own state of mind. The different
couplets of the ghazal are not bound by the unity and consistency of thought.
Each couplet is a self-sufficient unit, detachable and quotable, generally
containing the complete expression of an idea. The couplets may be united
by meter and rhyme, or by a subtle theme and content; thus each couplet
is intended to constitute a discrete entity - like a pearl in a necklace
or a flower in a garland. ( for example, the star references that run
through both poems by Adrienne
Rich that were originally used to illustrate
this prompt.) They are often titled simply ghazal or the word ghazal appears
as part of the title - such as "Ghazal for a Dry Season", "Green Ghazal."
Although the ghazal deals with the whole spectrum of human experience,
its central concern is love. Ghazal is an Arabic word which literally means
talking to women & is sometimes translated as "the talk of boys &
girls." You'll notice that some poets have chosen to be faithful to the
"rules" (ending each stanza with the same word, or including their name
- perhaps in lower case - in the final stanza and others have taken a freer
approach to the form. Letter of the law, spirit of the law...
Further Reading: read more
about the form in The
Princeton Encyclopedia of Poetry. Adrienne
Rich translated a series of these poems in her book Delos (out of print), as
did Robert Bly in Night
and Sleep and
Coleman
Barks' in his translations of Rumi.
For information on
the classical ghazal form , try
this link.
Late summer an unexpected
crop: beans veiled by hand-shaped leaves.
Around me, threat of storm.
Drums rattle the car stereo:
When the pond is full, a
tranquil surface. Empty these long weeks,
It is raining where you
are. Here damp air lies against my skin,
How am I like the mist?
I am more tangible than air, yet
Take away my garden and
the air and I am a woman
This is how it is:
my car, my house, my son, myself, our pace
Laura
Shovan
If wisdom comes with aging,
why are we so bad
We drink and smoke away
our leisure-time as couch-
We all have learned of power
behind the wheel, but youth -
We have known - while cause
is right - that war is hell;
Though Catherine M. knows
many ways to get to heaven,
Catherine
M. LeGault
The stone that beats beneath
my breast feeds me.
Every autumn, ladybugs,
red and winged, infest the house.
Sometimes the music disappears,
drowned out by the sopranos.
The chameleon confuses both
predators and lovers;
The curtain is too heavy
now to see outside.
Susan
Kaye
Inside a black Jeep S.U.V
Who is your daughter wired
to when
A chorus of strangers laughs
to hear
Why go to see the Broadway
Show?
Over the lake I hear my
voice
Jim
O'Rourke
You could be the girl at
the Pittsburgh wedding,
or you could be the other
girl: Miss Sun Bronze Bikini
If he wears Old Spice, does
this make it better?
He weighs so much -- a hard
ton, and his shoes are undignified.
The waiter serves salt,
nothing libatious.
When the days come at you,
you'll have to understand.
Or you could almost be sad.
Patience could strangle you with her delicate glove.
Mary
DeBow
Dead blazes simmer beneath
the skin of the city.
In a wooden kitchen bowl
butter and sugar cream
Once you lived in the heart
of heat. A cold pilgrim,
I study sycamore, quaking
aspen, and tulip oak;
The ground shall come to
muffle me, cover me, quiet me.
We build a bonfire out of
days and glances. It dances
Margaret
Valentine
Water from the spring runoff
tasting like childhood snow,
She said," I miss you,"
and all I could do
Sweating a copper pipe with
the blue flame,
The votive candle in its
red glass cup consumes the wax,
From the treeline on Kilimanjaro,
my home is beyond
Ken
Ronkowitz
At the waterline, the taste
of salt, sound of water,
The shortening daylight
makes me think
The church bell rings at
noon and I am home
The blue chambray shirt
was lying in the sun.
At dinner, the seasonings
overpower me, I fall
Lianna
Wright
On Mott Street the apples
are unwaveringly sincere.
Outside the girls gather
apples to wear below their hearts.
My heart, my heart, you
are against me again!
The sun is thatch plaited
into flame. Again: flame.
The cardinal flames and
shakes into the dappled green.
Ghazal
I lift one veil: green
leaves, green vine, the bean a hidden lover.
thunderous. A tenor
sings angrily to his lover.
it absorbs each drop of
rain hungrily, as a lover.
a veil of moisture.
Its touch is not unlike a lovers.
I might evaporate in the
warm arms of a lover.
gasping only for ordinary
things, not for her lover.
slow on this long road.
You are the destination, my lover.
Parent Versus Child Ghazal
at passing it to children,
now so madly sad?
potatoes; and we wonder
why our children slouch.
uncouth - has also learned
of death, its other truth.
But still we train all
willing lads in killing well.
she wonders in what ways
she has prepared her seven.
Ghazal for a Hard Heart
I breathe in air, breathe
out lies that circle around me like halos.
I close all doors to too
much luck and vacuum them to death.
I press my hands to my
ears to keep the melody out.
It is caught in a trap,
doesn't know the color of its own skin.
I am taunted by breeze
that pushes at the fabric's edge.
Ghazal
She smiles into her cell
phone.
She keys e-mail to "cyberboy"?
The punch line just before
it comes.
Reviews exhaust the possible.
Coming back in paraphrase.
GHAZAL FOR A PITTSBURGH
WEDDING
the Beer Barrel Polka an
afterthought -- gloomy burp,
adjusting her glittery
thong in the afterglow. Mirror.
Will he sail after you
more discreetly than ever?
Everything hampers him,
his own tongue, the words it laps.
It's all there in the photograph:
your crown.
The crickets do what they
know to be the best bright thing.
Or you could write harder,
harder, until it is.
Ghazal
Icy air numbs the sidewalk
there-- I number my steps.
together. How long
must I wait for sweet surrender?
I begged your eyes to burn
me, and they did, they did.
deciduous all. Not
thinking to end, they blurt out green.
I splash my laughter over
you and weave you a crown of daisies.
and flares, threatens to
purify us, grows to consume us.
Melting Ghazal
I fill my metal Sierra
cup again and again.
was stare into the ice
in her glass.
the solder rushes to fill
the gap and join.
leaving a soft skin and
charred center of sorrow or guilt.
the ken of my vision and
of my understanding.
Ghazal at the Equinox
feel of cold autumn, the
sight of my daughter.
that the plant's turning
sunward is even sadder.
to hear it and stop talking
on the phone.
When I put it on I could
smell you around me.
into you, I awaken with
my tongue parched.
Ghazal for Apples
Their believable rows against
the green tissue in the pine box: a clough bleed.
The fruit labors in preparation
for the rough bleed.
The moon is on fire. The
night translates the sough: bleed.
Doctors, like priests,
transfigure the tough bleed.
All must be riven thus.
To cope is not enough. Bleed.