fvafa

This blog post is a synthesis of weeks 4 and 5.  In week 5, during lecture, we discussed the differences between Sunnis and Shia Islam.  The split occurred when the question of post-prophetic authority arose.  Who was to inherit the Prophet’s authority and lead the people?  Who was to succeed him?  Eventually, two major branches arose: Sunni Islam, and Shia Islam.  The Sunnis believed in either the caliphate, or the alim (learned scholar), while the Shias believed in the Imams, direct descendants of the Prophet.  This split occurred after the assassination of Ali, who was not only the fourth caliph, but also the first Imam.  In other words, Ali was respected by both Sunnis, and Shias.  As the closest living relative of the Prophet, and his cousin, and his son-in-law, Ali was held in great esteem by Shias.  That he was a man of great piety and character only heightened the respect that Shias felt towards him.  In fact, among the Shias, he is almost as revered as the Prophet himself.  Stories about Ali, and what he said, similar to the hadith, are greatly valued.

In week 4, in the section readings we read about poems written in praise of the Prophet.  Given this background about Ali, that he was almost as respected as the Prophet, it would be natural that among Shias there would be poems about him.  Many poems have been written about Ali and his stories; in particular, you find many such poems in Rumi’s Masnavi, an epic narrative in a sense.  For this blog post, I decided to write my own poem in veneration of Ali, which is below:

Anonymous, and shrouded in moonlight

Humble, our first Imam acted in right

Visited and gave coins to those in need

His generosity teach us it might.

The poem that I wrote takes the form of a rubaiyat, a quatrain with a rhyme scheme, generally AABA, utilized by Omar Khayyam, an eminent 11^th century Persian poet and mathematician.  My poem was about the generosity of Ali, a story that I had heard about.  It would serve not only as a tribute to Ali, but also as a reminder about the value of generosity.  He gave not in order to be recognized or acknowledged, but to simply give and be recognized in the eyes of God.  Generosity is a value that is quite important in Islam, and its significance is reflected in the well-known five pillars of Islam, where one of the pillars is to give to charity.  Islam teaches us to give to those who are less fortunate than us, and I hoped to convey that message through the poem.

In this week, week 9, we discussed the representation of Islamic themes in poetry.  In the readings, we focused on ghazals, a poetic style popular in the Islamic context.  Ghazals consist of rhymed couplets with a refrain, known as the radif, each set to the same meter.  Also common is the qafiyah, where the last syllable before the radif also rhymes, and the takhallus, where the poet in the last couplet inserts his own name.  The content of these poems is always love, and in general the love for the lover, or the beloved, can be interpreted as the love for God.

The poem that I chose to recite is the first verse of Saadi’s Golestan.

The translation by M. Aryanpoor is below:

Human beings are members of a whole,
In creation of one essence and soul.
If one member is afflicted with pain,
Other members uneasy will remain.
If you’ve no sympathy for human pain,
The name of human you cannot retain!

Notice that this poem is neither a ghazal, nor a love poem for God.  However, it is about love for humans.  We are humans, connected together by our humanity.  This sense of unity, and sameness, is reflected in another major theme of the course: Islam vs. islam.  The difference is that islam means “submission to God”, while Islam is the name of the religion practiced by Muslims.  Islam with a lowercase “i” is not limited to just Muslims; it is also applied to and extends to Jews, Christians, etc.  The point is that in the eye of God, as long as we believe in Him, then it is irrelevant what we call ourselves.  Similarly, although there might be distinct differences between us, such as ethnicity, gender, age, etc., the important fact is that we are really the same, and thus we should help each other.

In week 8, we discussed Sufi music and dance, but in this blog post, I will focus on the music aspect.  To begin with, Sufism is considered to be the mystical aspect of Islam, and Sufis can be found among both Sunni and Shia Muslims.  We learned that in the Sufi tradition, among most groups music is taken seriously, considered to be sacred.  Sufis do not listen to music for the sake of aesthetic pleasure, but instead use music as another avenue to reach and connect with God.  A term used by Sufis that is relevant to our discussion is sama’, which literally means listening.  In this context, it refers to the listening of chanted or recited poetry that could be accompanied by musical instruments.  Thus the emphasis was on the act of listening, not so much the act of performing itself. To me, it appears that Sufism is based entirely on experience, i.e., that it is an experiential religion. It involves developing and enhancing your connection to God through intimate experiences shared by and known to only you and God.  In my own way, I wanted to experience this myself, if not directly, than at least understand analogously.  In order to listen to music, however, I had to first produce it. For my music selection, I decided to play some classical Persian music on the santoor, a traditional, old, Persian stringed instrument.

My santoor teacher, M. Abtahi, accompanied on the tonbak a Persian hand drum. Images for both instruments  are below:

Scales in Persian music are called dastgah, and I played in the first dastgah, called shur.  The first segment was an example of chahr mizrab, a classic, rhythmic piece that is generally accompanied by the tonbak. The second segment, which directly followed and continued the music, was an example of avaz, which literally means “song”, improvisation music. However, I disagree with the idea that the act of performance is unimportant.  It is important.  When you listen to what you produce, you truly appreciate the music, since you know how much effort and time and dedication is required.  You understand the music, and thus feel it moving through your body, moving you, freeing your mind so that it can focus on the more important task of attaining the high level of spirituality that is possible in a trance-like state.  I feel that this experience is not dissimilar to that felt by Sufis when they listen to music.  When I play, I search for the visceral moment that my heart takes control of the instrument, guiding me on a transcendental journey into the unknown.