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Learning to Pray: A Book of Longing
Lababidi’s new volume brings a dynamic flow to his subject that is both timeless and very contemporary; his insights summon us to a spiritual but entirely undogmatic journey.
—Abdal Hakim Murad, author of Travelling Home and Dean of Cambridge Muslim College
*
Learning to Pray is a masterpiece. Yahia Lababidi is a lyrical genius touched by the genies. I wonder how he is able, time after time, to work such miracles—authentic and truly beautiful.
—Peter Zsoldos, Ambassador of the Slovak Republic and poetry translator
*
Despite its insistence that the mystic “swoons, / defenseless / in the face of beauty,” the real mysticism of Lababidi’s book of longing is not private but the speaker swoons, and leaves the reader defenseless in the face of beauty.
—H. L. Hix, American poet, academic and editor
*
In lean, luminescent verse, Lababidi has created a portal into quiet worlds, guiding us to be our best selves. He reminds us of the richness of the stilled and savored. In difficult times, his poems help the reader to summon courage and beauty.
—Carla Power, author of Prodigal Son and former Newsweek correspondent
*
Lababidi believes that there is a common denominator between the philosopher and the poet, both of whom struggle to build a bridge between two worlds, the world of the visible and the world of the invisible, and here writing becomes a form of prayer.
—Osama Esber, Syrian poet, publisher and translator
—Abdal Hakim Murad, author of Travelling Home and Dean of Cambridge Muslim College
*
Learning to Pray is a masterpiece. Yahia Lababidi is a lyrical genius touched by the genies. I wonder how he is able, time after time, to work such miracles—authentic and truly beautiful.
—Peter Zsoldos, Ambassador of the Slovak Republic and poetry translator
*
Despite its insistence that the mystic “swoons, / defenseless / in the face of beauty,” the real mysticism of Lababidi’s book of longing is not private but the speaker swoons, and leaves the reader defenseless in the face of beauty.
—H. L. Hix, American poet, academic and editor
*
In lean, luminescent verse, Lababidi has created a portal into quiet worlds, guiding us to be our best selves. He reminds us of the richness of the stilled and savored. In difficult times, his poems help the reader to summon courage and beauty.
—Carla Power, author of Prodigal Son and former Newsweek correspondent
*
Lababidi believes that there is a common denominator between the philosopher and the poet, both of whom struggle to build a bridge between two worlds, the world of the visible and the world of the invisible, and here writing becomes a form of prayer.
—Osama Esber, Syrian poet, publisher and translator
- GenresPoetry
126 pages, Paperback
Published October 16, 2021
About the author
Yahia Lababidi
25 books102 followersYahia Lababidi is an Arab-American writer of Palestinian heritage and the author of more than a dozen books of poetry, aphorisms, essays, and conversations. His work places Islamic mysticism in conversation with Western philosophy, exploring enduring questions of love, conscience, suffering, and spiritual awakening.
His forthcoming book Wherever You Are: Essays from East to West (Ayin Press, 2026) is now available for pre-order. A cross-cultural meditation on art, faith, and moral imagination, it moves between figures such as Nietzsche, Kafka, Rumi, Ghazali, and the poets of Palestine.
Recent books include On the Contrary: Wilde and Nietzsche (Fomite Press, 2025), a playful meditation on two kindred contrarians, and What Remains to Be Said (Wild Goose Publications, 2025), a gathering of aphorisms written across three decades. Poetry from his collection Palestine Wail (Daraja Press, 2024) was twice nominated for a Pushcart Prize and translated into multiple languages.
Lababidi’s writing has appeared in Liberties, Salmagundi, The Threepenny Review, Sojourners, World Literature Today, The New Arab, and DAWN, and has been featured on PBS NewsHour, NPR, and On Being. A five-time Pushcart Prize nominee, he has spoken at Oxford University and served as a juror for the Neustadt International Prize for Literature and the PEN/Heim Translation Fund.
His work has been translated into numerous languages and read at literary festivals across the United States, Europe, the Middle East, and India.
His forthcoming book Wherever You Are: Essays from East to West (Ayin Press, 2026) is now available for pre-order. A cross-cultural meditation on art, faith, and moral imagination, it moves between figures such as Nietzsche, Kafka, Rumi, Ghazali, and the poets of Palestine.
Recent books include On the Contrary: Wilde and Nietzsche (Fomite Press, 2025), a playful meditation on two kindred contrarians, and What Remains to Be Said (Wild Goose Publications, 2025), a gathering of aphorisms written across three decades. Poetry from his collection Palestine Wail (Daraja Press, 2024) was twice nominated for a Pushcart Prize and translated into multiple languages.
Lababidi’s writing has appeared in Liberties, Salmagundi, The Threepenny Review, Sojourners, World Literature Today, The New Arab, and DAWN, and has been featured on PBS NewsHour, NPR, and On Being. A five-time Pushcart Prize nominee, he has spoken at Oxford University and served as a juror for the Neustadt International Prize for Literature and the PEN/Heim Translation Fund.
His work has been translated into numerous languages and read at literary festivals across the United States, Europe, the Middle East, and India.
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Displaying 1 - 7 of 7 reviews
August 22, 2022
This is a wonderful book. The introduction alone I have re-read and gained so much from (including being introduced to the poet Jack Gilbert who ashamedly I was not aware of). It is a moving reflection on the changing role of literature, beauty, organized religion and spirituality in arguably a post-religion age. This book is also the first time I have read aphorisms and I recommend if new to aphorisms Yahia Lababidi's interview with Meredith Lake on ABC's Soul Search (https://www.abc.net.au/radionational/...). This interview was my first introduction to Lababidi's work. I have kept returning to the aphorism "Always act as if you are being watched: where the surveillance state and spiritual state agree" - there is so much to unpack in that one observation on our current geopolitical state. But it was the poetry that I was particularly drawn to - these poems are deeply spiritual but in a way that includes or invites in all genuine seekers of meaning, rather than excluding any particularly faith or tradition. These poems express the beauty (and struggle) inherent in the search, rather than limiting the gaze to what's found. The collection is the evidence for one of the opening lines in the introduction: "for some, poetry is how we pray for now". I wanted to quote from some of my favourite poems here but it does not do them justice to present in dissections. There's much to reflect on in these poems about the nature of hope, love, surrender, artistry, belief and much more. Despite my reluctance to quote, the final poem "Gestation" includes the line "as my soul is rewritten" - I feel this collection encourages some rewriting of the soul for all readers, and that can only be a good thing.
August 31, 2022
Lababidi’s collection “Learning to Pray” is the result of his dormant desire to publish “a volume of prayerful writing, a sort of unconscious spiritual autobiography,” as he describes in the preface. It contains approximately 60 poems and several hundred aphorisms, some new, others specially selected from old collections. Lababidi has drawn inspiration from the great Sufi writers like Rumi, Hafiz, Omar Khayyam, and Al-Ghazali, and he himself may be the most prominent bearer of this tradition known in the West today.
The best poetry tends to be about timeless themes and ideas, uniquely expressed. For a Sufi mystic, one of the biggest of these recurring themes is silence. Lababidi has much to say about this. Take the following three aphorisms from his collection:
Silence is golden, since it’s the native tongue of the Spirit.
Aphorisms respect the wisdom of silence by disturbing it, briefly.
Chasing silence is like embarking on a whale hunt. If one catches up with this creature of the depths, there is the danger of being swallowed whole.
The first of these statements is straightforward and requires no commentary. The second one, a reflection on the function of craft (about which, more later). The third is the most enigmatic. Mysticism is an obsession, and spiritual Ahabs need to pursue their goal with caution.
The other side of being swallowed by silence is to vanish in verboseness. In the short poem, “Since,” Lababidi reflects on this frustration:
I have lost my silences
I have lost my Voice...
peddling an Eternal currency
in life’s bustling marketplace
irrepressible song springs up
and is strangled, unsung.
An alternative title for this might be, “Mystic in the Marketplace.” During a job interview, one needs to talk about utilitarian value. Would Elijah have succeeded in such an environment? Unlikely.
Most of the poems in the collection are more positive in tone. Not to say that they are “inspirational” in the sense in which that word is usually used today to signify obligatory cheerfulness. But, in Lababidi’s case, one might speak of a “mute optimism” that does not feel the need to call attention to itself or go on a motivational speaking tour.
Another poem, “Summary,” points to the functional organs underlying faith:
The hands were made to clasp
the knees designed to bend
the body created to pray.
What else is there to say?
The mouth was shaped to gasp
the eyes drawn to attend
the soul commanded to obey.
What else is there to say?
The memory was wired to lapse
the heart fashioned to rend
the will inclined to betray
What else is there to say?
Here, the mouth does no more than inhale in pain or astonishment. But though language ultimately fails, writings of praise and longing, in order to be effective, must fail in particular ways: choices of diction must convey the emotions of awe, wonder, and pathos that are the necessary concomitant to the silent reflection on higher things that follows after the piece has been read. Imagery that is too voluptuous or picturesque risks trapping us in the world of the senses; language that is too stark or mundane also is not capable of rising to the heights of sublimity. Going beyond particularities of diction, prayerful language is also better expressed by some thinking styles than others.
A powerful aphoristic statement is one way that language can “fail” here in the right direction. Unlike a logical argument that seeks to convince one of a perspective or belief, an aphorism relies on intuition, formulated as a generalized truth statement and leaving premises beneath the surface. The Book of Proverbs is full of such types of sayings, as Psalms is full of worshipful descriptive imagery. As Lababidi says, “Logical interpretations are the Miracle’s modesty.”
Aphorisms are bridges between the islands of poetry and philosophy. Many of the best literary philosophers, couching their ideas in aphorisms rather than syllogisms, were also notable poets. Plato famously wrote poetry before burning it and switching to dialogues. Emerson wrote poems and essays, but put down his thoughts in aphoristic form. While Nietzsche’s poetry is not ranked as highly as Goethe’s, Schiller’s, Holderlin’s, or Heine’s, he is still admired today in Germany for his verses.
Lababidi’s poetry is immensely quotable. Since he is also an aphorist, this makes sense. In my previous essay on him, I observed that many of his poems are full of aphorisms that have been chopped up and arranged into lines. Take this one that opens “The Opposite of Virtue”:
One might say, a vice is a vise
never mind if its metal or moral,
it’s basically the same device
Or take the first two lines of “Start, Again”:
Sunset is a gentle master to all that are stricken
patiently, teaching us how to melt a bruise away
Since free verse poetry cannot rely on meter or rhyme to smooth its message with an elegant overlay, content becomes all important. A line of free verse poetry that has nothing meaningful to say cannot be said to be a good line, in the way a formal line could that is shallow in content but melodious to the ear. The rest of “Start, Again,” shows Lababidi at his best with other literary devices as well:
Watch how, with a silver whisk, that cracked egg
of a setting sun is majestically stirred, and put to rest
The sun’s yoke spreading about the sky and mixed with other ingredients of colors makes for a striking visualization. The poem continues:
Violent violet, pining pink, and yelling yellow
all agitated, then muted, their differences reconciled
Until all that remains is a faint tattoo of quiet hurt
pearlescent wisps of smoke from a sighing flame
that night, stealthily, smothers and hushes away...
The “violent,” “pining,” “yelling” wordplay of the respective colors, the imagery of the “faint tattoo of quiet hurt,” and unusual diction of “pearlescent” wisps all combine to evoke reverential feelings regarding this most owned-upon of poetical subjects. It is a testament to skill when a writer can have a fresh take on an age-old theme without resorting to cliché.
To return to the art of aphorizing, as an occasional practitioner of the form myself I often stopped to marvel (in silence, of course) at the almost impossibly high quality of Lababidi’s sayings:
In the spiritual dimension, versus the merely literary, one cannot produce a masterpiece before they become one.
Every day we are offered this world or the next; but we cannot be myopic and farsighted, at once.
Pity atheists their pitilessness. They are like persons hurt in love, who vow: Never, again.
All who are tormented by an Ideal must learn to make an ally of failure.
Just how does he do it? And why do I wrack my own brain so much when sitting before the computer?
The ascetic ideal speaks, thus: indulge, and forego Vision.
To mate with the sublime, sublimate.
Know your Muse, and its diet.
Ah, there it is. As I wipe my fingers of Cheetos flavoring to return to typing, I am cognizant of my own shortcomings. But keeping in mind that,
Wings are, always, on loan
I wish he would pass his feathers my way for a bit.
The best poetry tends to be about timeless themes and ideas, uniquely expressed. For a Sufi mystic, one of the biggest of these recurring themes is silence. Lababidi has much to say about this. Take the following three aphorisms from his collection:
Silence is golden, since it’s the native tongue of the Spirit.
Aphorisms respect the wisdom of silence by disturbing it, briefly.
Chasing silence is like embarking on a whale hunt. If one catches up with this creature of the depths, there is the danger of being swallowed whole.
The first of these statements is straightforward and requires no commentary. The second one, a reflection on the function of craft (about which, more later). The third is the most enigmatic. Mysticism is an obsession, and spiritual Ahabs need to pursue their goal with caution.
The other side of being swallowed by silence is to vanish in verboseness. In the short poem, “Since,” Lababidi reflects on this frustration:
I have lost my silences
I have lost my Voice...
peddling an Eternal currency
in life’s bustling marketplace
irrepressible song springs up
and is strangled, unsung.
An alternative title for this might be, “Mystic in the Marketplace.” During a job interview, one needs to talk about utilitarian value. Would Elijah have succeeded in such an environment? Unlikely.
Most of the poems in the collection are more positive in tone. Not to say that they are “inspirational” in the sense in which that word is usually used today to signify obligatory cheerfulness. But, in Lababidi’s case, one might speak of a “mute optimism” that does not feel the need to call attention to itself or go on a motivational speaking tour.
Another poem, “Summary,” points to the functional organs underlying faith:
The hands were made to clasp
the knees designed to bend
the body created to pray.
What else is there to say?
The mouth was shaped to gasp
the eyes drawn to attend
the soul commanded to obey.
What else is there to say?
The memory was wired to lapse
the heart fashioned to rend
the will inclined to betray
What else is there to say?
Here, the mouth does no more than inhale in pain or astonishment. But though language ultimately fails, writings of praise and longing, in order to be effective, must fail in particular ways: choices of diction must convey the emotions of awe, wonder, and pathos that are the necessary concomitant to the silent reflection on higher things that follows after the piece has been read. Imagery that is too voluptuous or picturesque risks trapping us in the world of the senses; language that is too stark or mundane also is not capable of rising to the heights of sublimity. Going beyond particularities of diction, prayerful language is also better expressed by some thinking styles than others.
A powerful aphoristic statement is one way that language can “fail” here in the right direction. Unlike a logical argument that seeks to convince one of a perspective or belief, an aphorism relies on intuition, formulated as a generalized truth statement and leaving premises beneath the surface. The Book of Proverbs is full of such types of sayings, as Psalms is full of worshipful descriptive imagery. As Lababidi says, “Logical interpretations are the Miracle’s modesty.”
Aphorisms are bridges between the islands of poetry and philosophy. Many of the best literary philosophers, couching their ideas in aphorisms rather than syllogisms, were also notable poets. Plato famously wrote poetry before burning it and switching to dialogues. Emerson wrote poems and essays, but put down his thoughts in aphoristic form. While Nietzsche’s poetry is not ranked as highly as Goethe’s, Schiller’s, Holderlin’s, or Heine’s, he is still admired today in Germany for his verses.
Lababidi’s poetry is immensely quotable. Since he is also an aphorist, this makes sense. In my previous essay on him, I observed that many of his poems are full of aphorisms that have been chopped up and arranged into lines. Take this one that opens “The Opposite of Virtue”:
One might say, a vice is a vise
never mind if its metal or moral,
it’s basically the same device
Or take the first two lines of “Start, Again”:
Sunset is a gentle master to all that are stricken
patiently, teaching us how to melt a bruise away
Since free verse poetry cannot rely on meter or rhyme to smooth its message with an elegant overlay, content becomes all important. A line of free verse poetry that has nothing meaningful to say cannot be said to be a good line, in the way a formal line could that is shallow in content but melodious to the ear. The rest of “Start, Again,” shows Lababidi at his best with other literary devices as well:
Watch how, with a silver whisk, that cracked egg
of a setting sun is majestically stirred, and put to rest
The sun’s yoke spreading about the sky and mixed with other ingredients of colors makes for a striking visualization. The poem continues:
Violent violet, pining pink, and yelling yellow
all agitated, then muted, their differences reconciled
Until all that remains is a faint tattoo of quiet hurt
pearlescent wisps of smoke from a sighing flame
that night, stealthily, smothers and hushes away...
The “violent,” “pining,” “yelling” wordplay of the respective colors, the imagery of the “faint tattoo of quiet hurt,” and unusual diction of “pearlescent” wisps all combine to evoke reverential feelings regarding this most owned-upon of poetical subjects. It is a testament to skill when a writer can have a fresh take on an age-old theme without resorting to cliché.
To return to the art of aphorizing, as an occasional practitioner of the form myself I often stopped to marvel (in silence, of course) at the almost impossibly high quality of Lababidi’s sayings:
In the spiritual dimension, versus the merely literary, one cannot produce a masterpiece before they become one.
Every day we are offered this world or the next; but we cannot be myopic and farsighted, at once.
Pity atheists their pitilessness. They are like persons hurt in love, who vow: Never, again.
All who are tormented by an Ideal must learn to make an ally of failure.
Just how does he do it? And why do I wrack my own brain so much when sitting before the computer?
The ascetic ideal speaks, thus: indulge, and forego Vision.
To mate with the sublime, sublimate.
Know your Muse, and its diet.
Ah, there it is. As I wipe my fingers of Cheetos flavoring to return to typing, I am cognizant of my own shortcomings. But keeping in mind that,
Wings are, always, on loan
I wish he would pass his feathers my way for a bit.
October 21, 2021
“The contemplative life is not a passive one.” Of all the aphorisms and poems in Yahia Lababidi’s “Learning to Pray: a book of longing,” that line shines as bright and energizing as a sunbeam breaking through the clouds. It sounds paradoxical to think of the quiet thinker in the corner of the room as the most active person there, but to the avid reader, daydreamer, poet, or philosopher, it makes perfect sense.
Also, just look at the cover of this book, that stunning, vivid image of the Sufi dancer in red, a “whirling dervish” if you will. All that energy, all that vitality, all that passion and joy: How do you judge a book of “longing” by its cover when it conveys such a glorious sense of motion, such a visual feast of ecstasy?
You don’t.
You don’t “judge” the book; you embrace it. You drink the words as a parched flower takes in rainwater. You internalize the insights of that quiet, contemplative poet whose inner life is as rich and ebullient as the “outer” life of that dancer on the cover.
“Poor rational mind, it would sooner accept a believable lie than an incredible truth.” Yababidi nails the cause of my conundrum before I can pin it down in my mind. His grasp of duality and the seemingly paradoxical brings to mind Walt Whitman’s "Do I contradict myself? Very well then I contradict myself, (I am large, I contain multitudes)" in “Leaves of Grass.”
Lababidi illuminates another paradox in the preface: “Mysteriously, certain strains of literary art are capable of using words to lose words—ushering us to the threshold of that quiet capital of riches: Silence. After all, it is in silent contemplation that difficulties patiently unfurl and entrust us with their secrets.” There it is again, that sense of so much happening, so many problems solved, in the mind of that seemingly inactive person—and there it is again, that sense of paradox: tuning out words to hear secrets revealed in silence? Writers who sing the praises of silence—what is this? Nietzsche knew: “The author must keep his mouth shut when his work starts to speak.” At some point, after unleashing those busy little beings known as words, the author steps aside. This, Yahia manifests, too.
“In these skeptical times, there still exists an Absolute Literature,” Lababidi tells us in the preface. As a kind of corrective to our fractured world, “more people are reading and writing literature that addresses the life of the spirit,” and the dancing words of the poet take our longing and transform it into a kind of love letter to the Divine. And that brings me back to the image of the Sufi dancer, showing us that “longing” is not the final word. Its companions, conflicting as they may seem, are passion, joy, rapture, and ecstasy. Feeling like exiles is universal, but it’s not the last stage of the journey. If we feel uprooted, the poet can ground us again.
There’s more, much more, including “the worship of beauty as a form of prayer,” but soon I would be copy/pasting the entire Preface here, and all the poems, because every word needs to be heard and shared.
But I must include this: “Reverence for the visible word is not in opposition to the invisible one,” for in that word “opposition,” I see that Lababidi has reconciled the various and many conflicting elements that afflict those who are aware of them.
His poem “The Lighthouse” says it better than I can:
*In the dark, a poet will climb
narrow, unsteady stairs
to gaze past crashing waves
and sing us new horizons*
*Others, less far-sighted, might
be deceived by the encroaching night mistake the black for lasting, but not….*
....Not what? I'm not telling. Want more? Buy the book! It’s packed full of memorable insights and quotable quotes.
But wait. One image (metaphor) is so exquisite, I have to include it here:
*One day, I’ll finally slip out this loosening body bag
Simply sling it over the shoulder of my sturdy spirit.*
I won’t say which poem it’s from, because I hope you will come across it yourself. For me it came at a most needed time: my sister died a month ago, and half of her 63 years were spent in and out of hospitals, in a body that couldn't keep up with her leonine will, so I love the image of her "sturdy spirit" slinging that useless, empty old sack of a body over her shoulder and journeying into infinity. For my own personal reasons, that one poem speaks to me like no other. Again, I'm hearing echoes of Walt Whitman, America's famed Transcendental poet, with that sense of the wise mingling with the whimsical.
There are so many more great lines and images where that came from, and I posted only half of the poem here.
"Sing us new horizons" - yes, yes, you do, and thank you, Mr. Lababidi!
NOTE: Thank you to the author and Kelsay Books, an independent literary press run by Karen Kelsay, for an ARC of this book.
“A poet puts the world into a nutshell”—James Hurnand
Also, just look at the cover of this book, that stunning, vivid image of the Sufi dancer in red, a “whirling dervish” if you will. All that energy, all that vitality, all that passion and joy: How do you judge a book of “longing” by its cover when it conveys such a glorious sense of motion, such a visual feast of ecstasy?
You don’t.
You don’t “judge” the book; you embrace it. You drink the words as a parched flower takes in rainwater. You internalize the insights of that quiet, contemplative poet whose inner life is as rich and ebullient as the “outer” life of that dancer on the cover.
“Poor rational mind, it would sooner accept a believable lie than an incredible truth.” Yababidi nails the cause of my conundrum before I can pin it down in my mind. His grasp of duality and the seemingly paradoxical brings to mind Walt Whitman’s "Do I contradict myself? Very well then I contradict myself, (I am large, I contain multitudes)" in “Leaves of Grass.”
Lababidi illuminates another paradox in the preface: “Mysteriously, certain strains of literary art are capable of using words to lose words—ushering us to the threshold of that quiet capital of riches: Silence. After all, it is in silent contemplation that difficulties patiently unfurl and entrust us with their secrets.” There it is again, that sense of so much happening, so many problems solved, in the mind of that seemingly inactive person—and there it is again, that sense of paradox: tuning out words to hear secrets revealed in silence? Writers who sing the praises of silence—what is this? Nietzsche knew: “The author must keep his mouth shut when his work starts to speak.” At some point, after unleashing those busy little beings known as words, the author steps aside. This, Yahia manifests, too.
“In these skeptical times, there still exists an Absolute Literature,” Lababidi tells us in the preface. As a kind of corrective to our fractured world, “more people are reading and writing literature that addresses the life of the spirit,” and the dancing words of the poet take our longing and transform it into a kind of love letter to the Divine. And that brings me back to the image of the Sufi dancer, showing us that “longing” is not the final word. Its companions, conflicting as they may seem, are passion, joy, rapture, and ecstasy. Feeling like exiles is universal, but it’s not the last stage of the journey. If we feel uprooted, the poet can ground us again.
There’s more, much more, including “the worship of beauty as a form of prayer,” but soon I would be copy/pasting the entire Preface here, and all the poems, because every word needs to be heard and shared.
But I must include this: “Reverence for the visible word is not in opposition to the invisible one,” for in that word “opposition,” I see that Lababidi has reconciled the various and many conflicting elements that afflict those who are aware of them.
His poem “The Lighthouse” says it better than I can:
*In the dark, a poet will climb
narrow, unsteady stairs
to gaze past crashing waves
and sing us new horizons*
*Others, less far-sighted, might
be deceived by the encroaching night mistake the black for lasting, but not….*
....Not what? I'm not telling. Want more? Buy the book! It’s packed full of memorable insights and quotable quotes.
But wait. One image (metaphor) is so exquisite, I have to include it here:
*One day, I’ll finally slip out this loosening body bag
Simply sling it over the shoulder of my sturdy spirit.*
I won’t say which poem it’s from, because I hope you will come across it yourself. For me it came at a most needed time: my sister died a month ago, and half of her 63 years were spent in and out of hospitals, in a body that couldn't keep up with her leonine will, so I love the image of her "sturdy spirit" slinging that useless, empty old sack of a body over her shoulder and journeying into infinity. For my own personal reasons, that one poem speaks to me like no other. Again, I'm hearing echoes of Walt Whitman, America's famed Transcendental poet, with that sense of the wise mingling with the whimsical.
There are so many more great lines and images where that came from, and I posted only half of the poem here.
"Sing us new horizons" - yes, yes, you do, and thank you, Mr. Lababidi!
NOTE: Thank you to the author and Kelsay Books, an independent literary press run by Karen Kelsay, for an ARC of this book.
“A poet puts the world into a nutshell”—James Hurnand
October 19, 2024
Using his gift with words, Lababidi takes bits of sacred and mundane threads and ties them together to create prayers for offering upon the altar of everyday life. Through his blending of bitter and sweet we taste the myriad possibilities of being present to whatever the moment brings. This peek under the skirt of our challenges and difficulties offers a glimpse of the numinous behind each act and circumstance.
Aphorism and poem alike are worthy of being sipped, savored and visited regularly for insight and inspiration.
One final line of a poem asks what may be pleasing to the One. By bringing us to remembrance, this collection is surely most pleasing.
Aphorism and poem alike are worthy of being sipped, savored and visited regularly for insight and inspiration.
One final line of a poem asks what may be pleasing to the One. By bringing us to remembrance, this collection is surely most pleasing.
January 9, 2025
A lovely collection from a poet with a lovely, lyrical eye towards his spiritual life and the everyday. The poems swing from spiritual musings like those in “Ramadan” and “Kneeling in Stages” to beautiful snapshots of the quotidian, like a sunset in “Start, Again,” morning thoughts in “Dawning” and “Morning,” and thoughts on the artist’s vocation in “Fine, Tuning.” Lots of great aphorisms, too--reminded me of Maggie Smith’s Keep Moving.
May 21, 2024
Beautiful collection of verse and little sayings like wisdom bombs or koans that make you go hmm. This book feels ancient and contemporary at the same time. A must-read for anyone interested in the intersection between poetry and prayer.
February 14, 2022
Lababidi never disappoints. His prose is sublime and wrought with wisdom. Take the time to read his work and you will be enriched by the experience.
Displaying 1 - 7 of 7 reviews