Rafiq Kathwari, the first non-Irish recipient of the Patrick Kavanagh Poetry Award, obtained his MFA from Columbia University and an M.A. in political science from the New School. His recent poetry collection is My Mother's Scribe (YodaPress); his translations from the Urdu of selected poems of Muhammed Iqbal (1877-1938), many individually published here at 3QD, are forthcoming soon. He divides his time between New York, Dublin, and Kashmir where he was born a Scorpio at midnight. Email: rafiqkathwari [at] gmail.com
Website: https://www.rafiqkathwari.com
BETTER A DOG THAN YOUNGER BROTHER —Persian proverb When did I start seeing him father-figure?It wasn’t an endearment shining shoesfor my older brother. Himalayasshaped his character. I couldn’t call out his name. “We don’t address our fatherusing first name, Harry the shrink said.“He can’t help but see you as kid brotherbut, remember, he gets into…
after Iqbal Stars, and beyond the stars other worldsLove faces more trials Not lifeless this speckled skyHundreds of caravans trail here Earth’s scent and shade are not enoughThere are many gardens, many nests If one home is lost, why grieveThere are other vales wailing You are a falconFly Gone the days I was alone in…
by Rafiq Kathwari After Iqbal via Nietzsche My stuff is so vile. I am less than dust. Your gleam rends the heart’s mirror. My darkness lights the chafing dish Before I am incinerated. A miner’s boot Tramples my head, covering me with ashes. Do you know the gist of my life? A condensed sliver of…
APPETITES For Ravi Shankar He will bring you croissants in bedCome to you as cloudsGradually discover the moonUnstring you knot by knotFeast with you on the roofWeave you out of yourselfUncork your drunkennessInto cups made from skullsWrap you in a robe of wordsChew on your spicy locksAs sometimes in the madhouseMen gnaw on their chains…
WEDDING PROPOSALS I. She circles the room, the two men cross-legged on woven flowers, her kohl-lined eyes downcast to the fringe of their shining loafers the fluted foot of a samovar, henna petals on her toes. “Look, my child has no flaws, no need to give ear to rumors,” her father tells the intended father-in-law…
After Mohammed Iqbal Unveil your face A star is witness Stop flickering Blaze Illuminate Be How long will you beg like Moses on the mountain? Fan the flame within you Create a new Mecca with every speck of your embers Rid yourself of idolatry Observe the limits in this temple Even if you want to…
A WALK IN THE SKY I walked alone, the bewildered stars, past day and night, circled my journey’s secret. I left the old order. What can I tell you about Paradise, desire’s horizon? Birds in olive trees, houris unveiled, goblets clinking. Beyond Paradise, a place so dark even Layla’s curls would…
by Rafiq Kathwari HIMALAYA After Iqbal O Himalaya, tell of that time when man first layin your lap. O let me imagine that dawnunstained by red. Run backward, circle ofday and night, ancient eras a moment in your lifetime.You are a poem whose first verse is the sky.Your bright turbans dazzle the Pleiades.Lightning across your…
PASSIVITY Two Birds of ParadiseOn the Tree of LifeDazzle the wall aboveHis king-size bed He names the female birdAfter my cousin SofiaHeartless tease at fourteenI too fancy her Feigning sleep in his bedroomOn a corner chaiseMy fingers trembleAbove combed fringes Perched on a branchThe male yearns for flightHis one-eyed gaze fixedUpon Grandfather’s hand Fondling Sofia…
by Rafiq Kathwari As a boy, I stole into grandpa’s study. An art merchant, he loved books with gilded edges, Aristotle to Zola all stuck together in the humidity. I snuck Lo out to his black Chevy, rifled for dirty bits, steering her away for a spin, teen tunes swirling in my head. ‘I want…
after Mohammed Iqbal “Why didn't you make me eternal?”Beauty asked God one day, who replied: “The world's fictionis carved from nothingness. In changing colors you were born:true beauty is ephemeral.” The moon overheard this dialogue,beamed it to the morning star who woke the dawn, whispering sky's secretto the dewdrop, earth's guardian. Dew drenched the rose…
LOST IN TRANSLATION “Dye,” Mother saystouching her silver hair. Harry the shrink strokes his gray beard,“I'm proud of it.” “Operation Doctor Sahib,” she points to the mole on her nose. “God’s gift,” he says. She shows him her ulna, fractured in a recent fall. “Make it as it was.” Harry the shrink shows his bruised…
On Seeing Bahadur Shah ZafarThe Last Mughal Emperor1775 – 1862 The king is a subject—A worldReversed Son of a pig—A viceroy will take pleasureIn a king exposed Bolstered on a charpoy—Gaunt in white kurta;Block-printed pajamas? Long stem of a hookah—A humid verandahA garrison in Rangoon Exiled—O, Delhi,The Red Fort Yesterday –seems ages ago–Court painters paintedHis…
Geography Where are you from? I’m often asked.Kashmir, I answer. Is that where wool comes from?Sometimes, I play it straight: 1-95 Exit 16. Hang a left. In the HimalayasMy roads diverged. Outsider in a land of outsidersOccupy all. Not, where are you from But, where are we goingTogether? Rafiq Kathwari is a guest poet at…
TWO WOMEN OUT FOR A STROLL ON NEW YEAR’S DAY One had a Doberman;The other a Chihuahua. (This is a Found Poem.) Look, there’s a bar open. Let’s go in. Have a drink, Doberwoman said. We can't.We've got dogs,Chihuahuawoman said. Just watch me. Do as I do,Doberwoman said. She put on her D&G shades,Walked boldly…
IN ANOTHER COUNTRY In Kashmir, half-asleep, Mother listens to the rain In Manhattan, I feel her presence in the rain A rooster precedes the Call to Prayer at Dawn God is a name dropper: All names at once in the rain Forsythia shrivel in a vase on her nightstand On my windowsills wilted petals, a…
STARTING MY DESCENT After a bomb rips the baggage claimI sprout wings running on the tarmac.Single file khakis blurring smashedGold of mustard flowers. My legs Collapse. I roar over tips of Poplars, followThe Jhelum upstream where MotherKneeling at the river’s source tears openA pomegranate with bare hands. “Rubies From my dowry stolen by the in-laws.”…
WHAT HAPPENED TO A WORLD My mother cross-leggedOn the verandah rugScent of mustard oilHer glistening hairFat cook on bikeMidday tiffin to Father I open my jaw to MaaPurse my lips to mooFleece white as snow on K2Bathe my lamb MaamooIn an oval tin tubUnder the grand oak Eid al-AdhaDay of sacrificeThe cook ropes Maamoo’s legsMother…
IMy sister latched the door:A tube of light through the panestunned the cement floor. My kid brother and I satnaked near a bucket,a canister to scoop water Lifebuoy soap on chipped saucer,a cylindrical container poised on bricks,faucet crudely soldered to hem. Under the container,nuggets glowed on a charcoal burnerheating up the water. Let’s be clear…
After Sir Mohammed (Iqbal) Twist your curls to an even fiery radianceBreak a few hearts, shatter all the senses When passion is revealed, can beauty be concealed?Unveil yourself I’m a shell, my luster tarnished; am a shard of potteryBut I can be a royal pearl You’re a vast ocean, not merely a brook like me—To…