Category: Poem

The Dream of Gilgamesh: Mourning the Loss of the Rock from the Sky

The Epic of Gilgamesh: Gilgamesh and Enkidu, No. 6 (ink and gouache on paper, 1966) by Dia Al-Azzawi (Iraqi, b. 1939).

The Epic of Gilgamesh and its related ancient tales have long been a source of inspiration for me, often woven into my prose. Earlier this week, I had the pleasure of reading an essay by Andrew George, written in 2012, which I highly recommend to your attention: The Mayfly on the River: Individual and Collective Destiny in the Epic of Gilgamesh. As with all of George’s works, this essay is masterful, and it resonated with much of my recent work. By coincidence, his reference to the mayfly aligned perfectly with a sub-theme of a monograph I have been developing over the past several weeks.

Inspired by these reflections and my own experience with the loss of close friends, I chose to explore The Epic of Gilgamesh through poetry, marking a departure from my usual prose. Below, I offer a poem that captures a dream in which Gilgamesh contemplates the profound absence of Enkidu, his friend and companion, who met death as punishment for the transgressions he and Gilgamesh committed against the gods. The timeless relationship between Gilgamesh and Enkidu seemed to me a fitting metaphor for the sorrow that accompanies the loss of friends and the enduring nature of their memory.

An Audio Recitation of Donald S. Yarab’s The Dream of Gilgamesh

The Dream of Gilgamesh

In the shadows of my sleep, you came,
Enkidu, my brother, carved from the heavens,
The rock that fell to earth and struck me whole.
But now the earth has claimed you,
Silent is the storm of your breath,
Felled like the great cedar, your might is no more.
I reach for you, yet grasp but dust.

The gods whisper through the winds,
Enkidu, you are beyond my reach,
Though I call, your name echoes
Through the empty halls of Uruk,
A soundless shadow, a memory unmade.

In the dream, I see you on the plain,
Your laughter rolls like thunder once more,
Yet it is distant, swallowed by the sky.
I run to you, but the earth swallows my feet,
The horizon stretches and bends,
And you fade, a shadow of stars,
Leaving me to wrestle with the night.

Oh, Enkidu, my companion, my rock from the heavens,
In life, you steadied me, made my heart whole.
Now the world is too wide,
The journey too long.
What joy can be found in Uruk’s walls,
Without your hand upon my shoulder?
You lie beneath the river stones,
And I am left to wander the desolate road alone.

Exploring the Eternal Now: Past Present Future in Poetic Form

Time Transfixed (La Durée poignardée) is a 1938 oil on canvas by Belgian surrealist René Magritte (1898-1967), now part of the permanent collection of the Art Institute of Chicago. The title translates literally as Ongoing Time Stabbed by a Dagger. Magritte reportedly expressed dissatisfaction with the widely accepted English translation, Time Transfixed. The translation issue resonates with the theme of the poem Past Present Future? Which is Now?

Inspired by Where is Am I? and viewing poetry as akin to musical composition, I felt it fitting to create a follow-up variation on a theme. In truth, it took only moments to pen the opening line/title: Past Present Future? Which is Now? How could this not spring readily to mind, given the intense reading, writing, and research I have been immersed in for so long—scientific and philosophical alike? The line is a distillation of a significant part of my existential quest, an attempt to more deeply explore what I have long referred to as the eternal now.

Past Present Future? Which is Now? captures the tension between how we subjectively experience time and the idea that all moments—past, present, and future—are fixed and unchanging. In this static view, consciousness perceives each moment as now, while in reality, every moment already exists. This concept aligns with the philosophical idea of the eternal now, where all of time is present within each instant, even if our perception fragments it. The poem seeks to capture this interaction: the way awareness encounters different moments in time, while time itself remains constant and unchanging. It reflects my broader philosophical inquiries into the nature of reality, consciousness, and time’s interconnectedness.

Where is Am I? and Past Present Future? Which is Now? function as variations on a shared theme, much like movements in a musical composition. While they differ in focus—one on the search for identity, the other on the nature of time—they resonate with one another through recurring imagery and ideas. Both explore existential uncertainty, employing motifs of light and shadow, echoes and breath, to reflect the fragmented nature of consciousness and experience.

Where is Am I? is an introspective meditation on the self’s disjointed sense of being, while Past Present Future? extends this reflection, asking whether time—past, present, and future—exists as distinct moments or as a continuous whole. In this way, the second poem builds on the first, expanding the inquiry into personal identity toward a larger philosophical investigation of time. Together, the two poems form a stylistic and thematic unity, with the second poem deepening the existential questions introduced in the first, offering a more expansive vision of the human experience or, at least, my experience.

Past Present Future? Which is now?

Past whispers in the corners of my mind,
its shadow folded into the fabric of now—
but is it gone, or does it still breathe,
echoing in the present’s fleeting pulse?

The future calls, a distant tremor,
its promise threaded through each thought.
Yet does it truly wait, or is it here already,
quietly draped over the moment’s edge?

Past, present, future—are they separate streams,
or one river coursing through the self,
an unbroken thread of light,
where time is nothing but a veil? Which is now?
All and none—each breath dissolves the question,
as yesterday, tomorrow, and today
collapse into the eternal now.

Where is Am I? – A Poetic Reflection

A prehistoric footprint at White Sands National Park in New Mexico, approximately 23,000 years old. Photograph by Dan Odess, courtesy of the National Park Service.

Inspiration for poetry often arises from the most innocuous moments. The following poem emerged after I entered a room and, in a moment of confusion (more and more frequent, sadly), questioned why I had entered the room—but in my muddled state, I bungled the question. Struck by my mangled verbs, I realized the existential weight of what I had inadvertently asked myself. It instantly became clear that I should craft a short poem exploring existential uncertainty and fragmented consciousness based on what I had asked in my muddled state, and thus Where is Am I? was born.

Where is Am I?

Where is Am I?
Caught between the breath and thought,
a question turning circles
in the hollow of my chest.
I seek the ground, yet find the sky—
or is it neither, just the haze
of dreams long folded into day?

Am I the echo,
or the voice that trembles back?
The shadow of a shadow,
a footfall lost to time’s soft track?

Where is Am I?
A fragment drifting through the hour,
a flicker in the endless light,
unsure if I was ever whole
or if the pieces were ever mine to find.

The Marvel of Dragonflies: Symbolism and Beauty

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

This sunny July morning, a dragonfly graced my backyard, flitting about in the sun. These creatures are truly marvelous, appearing as if crafted eons ago with a design that defies flight. They are unequivocally my favorite insect. Their ability to hover, dart, and flit brings me endless delight, matched only by their enthralling colors.

Facts worth knowing: Before they take flight as dragonflies, living for only about six months, they spend anywhere from two months to five years or more as larvae in the water. Their remarkable flying abilities are considered by some to symbolize poise and elegance. According to the beliefs of others, encountering a dragonfly flitting around you signifies impending change, while one landing on your person is seen as a sign of good fortune. Exploring the dragonfly’s symbolism online or at the library reveals countless interpretations, both auspicious and inauspicious.

Stenciled Velvet, c. 1902–10. Tiffany Studios. (America, New York, 1902–1932) Designer, Dorothy Marshall Hornblower (American, 1886–1968). Cleveland Museum of Art.

For my part, I hold the dragonfly in such high regard that I have included it in my personal emblem, preferring it over more traditional images, such as lions and crosses. This preference stems from its ability to achieve flight—an improbable feat given its construction. For me, the dragonfly represents not only the triumph of grace over physics but also the boundless possibilities inherent in life if only one dares to try.

Inspired by the dragonfly I saw earlier, I attempted the following poem:

Dragonfly with Wings of Sheen

In morning’s golden light it flies,
A creature from ancient skies,
Dragonfly, with wings of sheen,
In hues of emerald and marine.

Born of water, from nymph to winged sprite,
To dance on air, in pure delight,
With grace that mocks the laws of earth,
They flit and dart, in joyous mirth.

Their eyes, like gems, do catch the sun,
As through the reeds they deftly run,
A world of beauty in their flight,
A fleeting glimpse of pure delight.

O dragonfly, in summer’s glow,
Your dance of life, a magic show,
A whisper from a distant age,
With every wingbeat, nature’s sage.

So fragile yet so strong and free,
A marvel of biology,
In every swoop, in every leap,
A secret of the waters deep.

Fly on, dear dragonfly, so grand,
Across the waters, o’er the land,
In every glint, we see in you,
A symbol of resilience true.

Poetic Reflections: Exploring the Fortress of the Mind

In “L’attente (Waiting) [2004]” by Gao Xingjian, the author finds an appropriate artwork to illustrate his reflections on retreating into a world of words as a sanctuary from the harsh external world, but also as a form of self-imposed isolation. The poem expresses the duality of words as both protection and confinement, shaping the author’s existence, reflecting a life intertwined with letters, sheltered yet constrained by the fortress of his mind.In “L’attente (Waiting) [2004]” by Gao Xingjian, the author finds an appropriate artwork to illustrate his reflections on retreating into a world of words as a sanctuary from the harsh external world, but also as a form of self-imposed isolation. The poem expresses the duality of words as both protection and confinement, shaping the author’s existence, reflecting a life intertwined with letters, sheltered yet constrained by the fortress of his mind.

L’attente (Waiting) [2004] by Gao Xingjian (b. 1940).

As I am confounded by life now, as I was in my youth, I retreat, as always, into a world of words, written on pages and assembled in books. These books surround me, forming walls that at times serve as battlements, the fortifications protecting me from the external perils of an incomprehensible, harsh, and hostile world, or so I tell myself. In other moments, however, these same walls are the confines of a cell, isolating me in solitude, depriving me of the air, sustenance, and human interactions necessary to life and sanity. Thus, the world of words is both my sanctuary and prison.

Of course, playing the poet much of late, and a bad one at that, I transmogrified the above thoughts, into the following:

I retreat, as always, into words,
Pages inked and bound in books,
Encircled by these silent guards,
My fortress walls, my quiet nooks.

At times they stand as battlements,
Shielding me from the world’s disdain,
A citadel where reason reigns,
Against the chaos, fear, and pain.

Yet oft they turn to prison walls,
Confines of a solitary cell,
Where air and sustenance are scarce,
And human warmth does not dwell.

This paradox my soul sustains,
A life in letters intertwined,
Sheltered by and yet constrained,
By the fortress of my mind.