PERSIAN DOG STORY (2/13/96)
OK. So sometimes the best thing in the world to do is just sit back and relax and enjoy the winter, should it be winter, and the summer, should it be summer.
If it is winter, you can curse the summer. likewise, if it is summer, you can curse the winter.
Never, though, curse a dog. They don't understand what you are doing. and they bite, very hard, your leg, which you deserve if your cursing finds itself misdirected towards them.
It's a great deal like people who work so they have a comfortable and air-conditioned place in which to complain.
It is the dog's job to bite. its place in the realm of reason is highly suspect
And so it is as well, in Persian poetry, stated in the following poem, and as metaphor, "The rough man entered the lover's garden."
I like this about the rough man. he enters. Next: he gathers roses, breaks their stems, and they are dry.
He is rough, but perhaps he too is a lover, a Persian lover.
Or a lover of Persian culture. Or a person who loves one Persian in particular: entering the garden like a lover
The poem states that the next person to enter the world is god who closes the crescent eyebrows of the lover
(implication here, nb: dead, rotten. 'we will rot, my beautiful one, 'the unnamed speaker’ speaks.)
Meanwhile the dog is looking for something to do as you sit and read persian poetry. he sniffs a rose, a fine violet shade, and then he chases a boy on a bicycle. Bad dog! Bad dog!
Once he peed on a Persian rug.
And we are not even sure if 'he' is a 'he'
If he (or she, and I prefer it) were to be writing, it would next say the following thing: "Whatever religion you are, I'll worship it too."
This is a dog of fine verse, written after the Persian fashion.
Hail to the rough man entering the garden of the lover, and to all forms, good and bad, and of anarchy in general
Good doggie.
Down boy.
If it is winter, you can curse the summer. likewise, if it is summer, you can curse the winter.
Never, though, curse a dog. They don't understand what you are doing. and they bite, very hard, your leg, which you deserve if your cursing finds itself misdirected towards them.
It's a great deal like people who work so they have a comfortable and air-conditioned place in which to complain.
It is the dog's job to bite. its place in the realm of reason is highly suspect
And so it is as well, in Persian poetry, stated in the following poem, and as metaphor, "The rough man entered the lover's garden."
I like this about the rough man. he enters. Next: he gathers roses, breaks their stems, and they are dry.
He is rough, but perhaps he too is a lover, a Persian lover.
Or a lover of Persian culture. Or a person who loves one Persian in particular: entering the garden like a lover
The poem states that the next person to enter the world is god who closes the crescent eyebrows of the lover
(implication here, nb: dead, rotten. 'we will rot, my beautiful one, 'the unnamed speaker’ speaks.)
Meanwhile the dog is looking for something to do as you sit and read persian poetry. he sniffs a rose, a fine violet shade, and then he chases a boy on a bicycle. Bad dog! Bad dog!
Once he peed on a Persian rug.
And we are not even sure if 'he' is a 'he'
If he (or she, and I prefer it) were to be writing, it would next say the following thing: "Whatever religion you are, I'll worship it too."
This is a dog of fine verse, written after the Persian fashion.
Hail to the rough man entering the garden of the lover, and to all forms, good and bad, and of anarchy in general
Good doggie.
Down boy.
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