At a conference on the Iranian poet Hafez I attended recently, one of the older Persian speakers suddenly leaned forward to the audience and said, "Make your work The Face of the Beloved, and let what you create be her lashes, her mole, her lips." To do that would mean carrying all these gifts, letting the radiance of the World beyond the world shine into each cottage door you come to. Doing so requires both huge strength and the capacity for a kind of visible luminosity, an active principle that can only be born from a great stillness.
Jubilee‚ wasn't it a jubilee!
We were singing out together —
shouting revelries.
Jubilee‚ Lord wasn't it a jubilee!
Jubilee‚ wasn't it a jubilee!
Jubilee‚ wasn't it a jubilee!
We were dancing by the river,
dancing by the sea,
Bouncing all the babies,
up and down upon our knees,
Laughing out happy,
crying out free;
Jubilee‚ wasn't it a jubilee!
We were banging on the banjos,
picking on guitars,
Blowing out the bass notes,
on the crockery jars,
Sliding on the washboards,
banging spoons upon our knees;
Jubilee, wasn't it a Jubilee!
We came from the valleys,
we came from the towns,
We came to see the paddlewheel
and the show boat clowns,
We came from the farmlands,
we came from the sea;
Jubilee, wasn't it a Jubilee!