Life of a Poet Khalil Gibran

Khalil Gibran

Gibran is the third best-selling poet of all time, behind Shakespeare and Lao-Tzu.[
Almost thirty years ago I was at a yard sale and saw a copy of The Prophet, (1923) that was printed during world war two. If my memory serves me there was a printing of a quote that was not necessarily attributed to Gibran . "Words are weapons in the war on ignorance"
"Gibran was born in the town of Bsharri (in modern day northern Lebanon) to the daughter of a Maronite priest.[5] His mother Kamila was thirty when he was born; his father, also named Khalil, was her third husband.[6] As a result of his family's poverty, Gibran received no formal schooling during his youth. However, priests visited him regularly and taught him about the Bible, as well as the Arabic and Syriac languages. Gibran's father initially worked in an apothecary but, with gambling debts he was unable to pay, he went to work for a local Ottoman-appointed administrator." Gibran is very deep and I will never master his debth or artistic skill, but I have enjoyed attempting to convert his style to a lyrical western folk such as pioneered by artist such Bob Dylan and others who were connected somehow to New York and thought to have a mystical understanding of the challenges faced by society. I highly recommend that poets that wish to get a feel for mystical poetry at least read a portion of "The Prophet "

A special thanks to Nana, who speaks Arabic, for even giving me a deeper understanding of his work

Excellent ! Perhaps someone could share what they believe Gibran was aimig for before I share what it brings to my mind.

Ahhh now I realize why that name is so familiar... I read The Prophet a couple years ago. Yay :)

Hellon, what does that short story mean to you? It confuses me.

I pretty much look to Khalil Gibran as the word of God.

The Scarecrow likes feeling macho. He likes the feeling of power and control. He gets off on feeling better than others as he is something to be feared. He is built to be that way.
He is made of straw. He's just full of stuffing, nothing more.
With wisdom, he learnt that all that his tough-guy attitude achieves is empty isolation, resentment, and misrepresentation of things. He has now made peace with those who feared him, and he has found friends, even in a lonely field.

What did you get from it, anyone?

Thanks for making that clear. I think I read it wrong the first time around. Cool.

I reckon Gibran is a cool individual.

BAHAHA.

His eloquent self would love you for saying that.

I came across this and found it quite interesting.

A Poet's Death and his Life IV

The dark wings of night enfolded the city upon which Nature had spread a pure white garment of snow; and men deserted the streets for their houses in search of warmth, while the north wind probed in contemplation of laying waste the gardens. There in the suburb stood an old hut heavily laden with snow and on the verge of falling. In a dark recess of that hovel was a poor bed in which a dying youth was lying, staring at the dim light of his oil lamp, made to flicker by the entering winds. He a man in the spring of life who foresaw fully that the peaceful hour of freeing himself from the clutches of life was fast nearing. He was awaiting Death's visit gratefully, and upon his pale face appeared the dawn of hope; and on his lops a sorrowful smile; and in his eyes forgiveness.

He was poet perishing from hunger in the city of living rich. He was placed in the earthly world to enliven the heart of man with his beautiful and profound sayings. He as noble soul, sent by the Goddess of Understanding to soothe and make gentle the human spirit. But alas! He gladly bade the cold earth farewell without receiving a smile from its strange occupants.

He was breathing his last and had no one at his bedside save the oil lamp, his only companion, and some parchments upon which he had inscribed his heart's feeling. As he salvaged the remnants of his withering strength he lifted his hands heavenward; he moved his eyes hopelessly, as if wanting to penetrate the ceiling in order to see the stars from behind the veil clouds.

And he said, "Come, oh beautiful Death; my soul is longing for you. Come close to me and unfasten the irons life, for I am weary of dragging them. Come, oh sweet Death, and deliver me from my neighbors who looked upon me as a stranger because I interpret to them the language of the angels. Hurry, oh peaceful Death, and carry me from these multitudes who left me in the dark corner of oblivion because I do not bleed the weak as they do. Come, oh gentle Death, and enfold me under your white wings, for my fellowmen are not in want of me. Embrace me, oh Death, full of love and mercy; let your lips touch my lips which never tasted a mother's kiss, not touched a sister's cheeks, not caresses a sweetheart's fingertips. Come and take me, by beloved Death."

Then, at the bedside of the dying poet appeared an angel who possessed a supernatural and divine beauty, holding in her hand a wreath of lilies. She embraced him and closed his eyes so he could see no more, except with the eye of his spirit. She impressed a deep and long and gently withdrawn kiss that left and eternal smile of fulfillment upon his lips. Then the hovel became empty and nothing was lest save parchments and papers which the poet had strewn with bitter futility.

Hundreds of years later, when the people of the city arose from the diseases slumber of ignorance and saw the dawn of knowledge, they erected a monument in the most beautiful garden of the city and celebrated a feast every year in honor of that poet, whose writings had freed them. Oh, how cruel is man's ignorance!

"A year passed, during which the scarecrow turned philosopher."

I tend to give philosophers a lot of credit, haha.

...I really like your take, but I still don't get how the philosopher bit works? I saw crows building nests as a sign of trust.

Many philosophers gain power by scaring or intimidating intruders from their field. After a while the scared see that it is a mind with empty rational thoughts that has kept them from searching deep into their soul and their hearts to become brave and exploit the subject for thier own purpose.

Why didn't you tell meeeeeeeeee about thissssssssssssss

I ADORE him..you got to read the untranslated work by Gibran..I WILL translate something that I ADORE
and post it up asap* :)

To Michael, and others who swear by this guy:

I've never really read anything by him. What is it that gives you that strong connection? What do you find in his poems to grasp onto? Why do you love it?

"All our words are but crumbs that fall down from the feast of the mind. "
Khalil Gibran

Gibran ,to me, is were the dogma meets the challenge ,the east meets the west. and in a more timeless depth even dirty meets pretty . Just off the top of my head Gibran said it could not lead a spirit were it could not already go . Or reveal anything that was not already buried in the mind of his readers. Even people like concrete Kevin appreciated the artistic abstract concepts Gibran could deliver while seeming to have a firm grasp on reality . He pointed to identifying the ills of society, before letting his connection to a higher power flow though himself as if the remedy is in all of us. He had a way with words that touched the emotions of most of the readers that took the time to explore his depth

"Faith is a knowledge within the heart, beyond the reach of proof."
Khalil Gibran

When it is day with thee, my friend, it is night with me; yet even then I speak of the noontide that dances upon the hills and of the purple shadow that steals its way across the valley; for thou canst not hear the songs of my darkness nor see my wings beating against the stars - and I fain would not have thee hear or see. I would be with night alone.

When thou ascendest to thy Heaven I descend to my Hell - even then thou callest to me across the unbridgeable gulf, "My companion, my comrade," and I call back to thee, "My comrade, my companion" - for I would not have thee see my Hell. The flame would burn thy eyesight and the smoke would crowd thy nostrils. And I love my Hell too well to have thee visit it. I would be in Hell alone.

Thou lovest Truth and Beauty and Righteousness; and I for thy sake say it is well and seemly to love these things. But in my heart I laugh at thy love. Yet I would not have thee see my laughter. I would laugh alone.

My friend, thou art good and cautious and wise; nay, thou art perfect - and I, too, speak with thee wisely and cautiously. And yet I am mad. But I mask my madness. I would be mad alone.

My friend, thou art not my friend, but how shall I make thee understand? My path is not thy path, yet together we walk, hand in hand."

- Kahlil Gibran, "My Friend," from the book "The Madman"

So, after two posts, I am turned into a Madman!

"My friends, thou art not my friends, but how shall I make thee understand? My path is not your path, yet together we walk hand in hand."
Kahil Gibran

so, after long thought, on this scarecrow!

a man(scarecrow), looks into a lonely field(his mind)and sees a stuffed scarecrow(himself).
This prompts him(the man)to have a conversation with the Scarecrow(himself).

Because this man's conscience has caught up with him,,, and evidently wants to change!

Once I said to a Scarecrow(himself), " You must be tired of standing in this lonely field."

And (I)he said, "The joy of scaring is a deep and lasting one, and I never tire of it."
Said I, after a minute of thought, "It is true; for I too have known that joy."
Said he(I), "Only those who are stuffed with straw, can know it."
Then I left him(the inner scarecrow), not knowing whether he had complimented or belittled me.

Stay with me here, I(Edward) think it was both belittlement and compliment to himself, "Only those who are stuffed with straw, can know it."

A year passed, during which the Scarecrow(this man) turned Philosopher.
And when I passed by him(Scarecrow)(in his mind again) I saw two crows building a nest under his hat.

It is not such a lonely place anymore, in his mind.
The two crows are the man's conscience and imagination---hence his reason! Building a nest under his hat.
The nest(his brain) incubating an Infinite number of possibilities.

Now that's sticks in my mind, as a Philosopher.

It is not such a lonely place anymore, in his mind.
The two crows are the man's conscience and imagination---hence his reason! Building a nest under his hat.
The nest(his brain) incubating an Infinite number of possibilities.

Now that's sticks in my mind, as a Philosopher

That is very interesting Though I believe the conscience is closely related to the subjective substance of a mental stance, we sometimes see the influence that poets and philosophers can have on a group. Most poets were philosophers. Looking at evolution from an objective point of view we become what we believe . People who follow Karl Marx may be called Marxist but no one was born a Marxist , Capitalist or any other ideology or religion. Some speculate that the monkey see monkey do mentality was the cause of some primates being bipedal

Gibran would have been humble enough to see that mind is in matter and matter is in mind though he is often seen as a mystic that had a greater understanding of heart and soul

If I only had a brain!

Michael, your minds a maze of madness. The way you percieve words,letters,thoughts, amazes me!
I am awed at your prowess as a Poet. Carry on!
Peace and Blessings

Kahlil Gibran I have learned silence from the talkative, tolerance from the intolerant, and kindness from the unkind; yet strangely, I am ungrateful to these teachers

Khalil Jibran is one of Lebanon's Immortal artists.. He was a writer, poet, sculptor, philosopher, and a good flute player... I'm Lebanese, and very proud of him!!!

What is awesome about Jibran is his story.. In Lebanon, they made a series about his life, it was a Lebanese-Syrian production! I've learned so many things about him... I prefer to read his Arabic work, but I think that "The Prophet" was his best juicy work of all time...........

He'd always be my best!

Mmmmmmm..... I love Al-Mawakib aktar shi :P

God, especially the verse "2a3tini lnay wa8anni"
and when Shahid Barmada sang the song of the series, I think she out-did Fairouz :O She has an awesome voice!

Hahahha ma ba3rif leh 7asset her version is better :P