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    Between Night and Morn
    Between Night and Morn
    Between Night and Morn
    Ebook87 pages1 hour

    Between Night and Morn

    By Kahlil Gibran

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    About this ebook

    A selection of early works by bestselling author Kahlil Gibran offers an accessible introduction to his beautiful language and inspiring worldview  The prolific writings of Kahlil Gibran, author of The Prophet, continue to inspire a devoted international following and have transformed modern Arabic literature. In this volume of early writings, Gibran’s simple yet lyrical style crosses from prose to poetry and yields insight into his dedication and inner vision of beauty, including the tale of a strange hermit in “The Tempest,” the discovery of love lost to war in “The Mermaids,” and the long voyage of sea and soul in the prose poem “Between Night and Morn.”   From scathing indictments against worldly wrongs to tender spiritual exultations, Between Night and Morn powerfully evokes the mood and magnetism of Gibran.  
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherPhilosophical Library Open Road
    Release dateDec 20, 2011
    ISBN9781453228494
    Between Night and Morn
    Author

    Kahlil Gibran

    Poet, philosopher, and artist, Kahlil Gibran (1883 - 1931) was born in Lebanon. The millions of Arabic-speaking peoples familiar with his writings in that language consider him the genius of his age and he was a man whose fame and influence spread far beyond the country of his birth. His poetry has been translated into more than twenty languages and his drawings and paintings have been exhibited in the great capitals of the world and compared by Auguste Rodin to the work of William Blake.

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      Between Night and Morn - Kahlil Gibran

      The Tempest

      The Tempest

      PART I

      YUSIF EL FAKHRI was thirty years of age when he withdrew himself from society and departed to live in an isolated hermitage in the vicinity of Kedeesha Valley in North Lebanon. The people of the nearby villages heard various tales concerning Yusif; some related that his was a wealthy and noble family, and that he loved a woman who betrayed him and caused him to lead a solitary life, while others said that he was a poet who deserted the clamourous city and retired to that place in order to record his thoughts and compose his inspiration; and many were sure that he was a mystic who was contented with the spiritual world, although most people insisted that he was a madman.

      As for myself, I could not draw any conclusion regarding the man, for I knew that there must be a deep secret within his heart whose revelation I would not trust to mere speculation. I had long hoped for the opportunity to meet this strange man. I had endeavoured in devious ways to win his friendship in order to study his reality and learn his story by inquiring as to his purpose in life, but my efforts were in vain. When I met him for the first time, he was walking by the forest of the Holy Cedars of Lebanon, and I greeted him with the finest choice of words, but he returned my greeting by merely shaking his head and striding off.

      On another occasion I found him standing in the midst of a small vineyard by a monastery, and again I approached and greeted him, saying, It is said by the villagers that this monastery was built by a Syriac group in the Fourteenth Century; do you know anything of its history? He replied coldly, I do not know who built this monastery, nor do I care to know. And he turned his back to me and added, Why do you not ask your grandparents, who are older than I, and who know more of the history of these valleys than I do? Realizing at once my utter failure, I left him.

      Thus did two years pass, and the bizarre life of this strange man preyed on my mind and disturbed my dreams.

      PART II

      One day in Autumn, as I was roaming the hills and knolls adjacent to the hermitage of Yusif El Fakhri, I was suddenly caught in a strong wind and torrent rain, and the tempest cast me here and there like a boat whose rudder has been broken and whose masts have been torn by a gale in a rough sea. I directed my steps with difficulty toward Yusif’s place, saying to myself, This is an opportunity I have long sought, and the tempest will be my excuse for entering, while my wet clothes will serve as good reason for lingering.

      I was in a miserable plight when I reached the hermitage, and as I knocked on the door, the man whom I had been longing to see opened it. He was holding in one hand a dying bird whose head had been injured and whose wings had been broken. I greeted him saying, I beg your forgiveness for this annoying intrusion. The raging tempest trapped me while I was afar from home. He frowned, saying, There are many caves in this wilderness in which you might have taken refuge. However, he did not close the door, and the beat of my heart quickened in anticipation, for the realization of my great wish was close at hand. He commenced to touch the bird’s head gently and with the utmost care and interest, exhibiting a quality important to my heart. I was surprised over the two opponent characteristics I found in that man—mercy and cruelty at the same time. We became aware of the strained silence. He resented my presence, I desired to remain.

      It seemed as if he felt my thought, for he looked up and said, The tempest is clean, and declines to eat soured meat. Why do you seek to escape from it? And with a touch of humour, I responded, The tempest may not desire salted or soured things, but she is inclined to chill and tender all things, and undoubtedly she would enjoy consuming me if she grasped me again. His expression was severe when he retorted, The tempest would have bestowed upon you a great honour, of which you are not worthy, if she had swallowed you. I agreed, Yes, Sir, I fled the tempest so I might not be awarded an honour which I do not merit. He turned his face from me in an effort to choke his smile, and then motioned toward a wooden bench by the fireplace and invited me to rest and dry my raiment. I could scarcely control my elation.

      I thanked him and sat down while he seated himself opposite, on a bench carved of rock. He commenced to dip his finger tips into an earthenware jar containing a kind of oil, applying it softly to the bird’s head and wings. Without looking up he said, The strong winds have caused this bird to fall upon the rocks between Life and Death. I replied, rendering comparison, "And the strong winds have sent me, adrift, to your door, in time to prevent

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