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 INTERVIEW WITH ALI KHAGHANI

 

  

John LeKay: Can you please tell me a little about your background and upbringing and how you came to the US?

Ali Khaghani:  Born in Iran, and rooted in Persian heritage. An early victim of circumstance, yet determined to reap the rewards of the consequence, I’d begin my quest early. My family and my life as I’d come to know would be torn apart, and uprooted by the 1978 revolution. Soon thereafter, a bloody decade of war would make vagabonds of us all. Neo-gypsies, we’d wander about the globe in search of a safe haven to call home.  The journey would proffer me the intimate insights unto multi-cultural virtues, values, and an acute sense of global awareness. After brief stay in Austria and Germany, we’d arrive in Boston, and U.S. to keep.

 

Iran a nation rich in poetry, the culture fraught with creativity would leave enduring impressions on my personal development. The sublime tapestry laced with internationally revered wordsmiths such as; Rumi, Hafes, Attar, and Khayyam.


My youthful memories would be rich in abundance, and vast in variety. The kind exclusively harvested by adversities. These events; either consciously or subconsciously have invariably impacted my poetry. But perhaps even more profound has been the influence on my own personal independence in spirituality.

 

To me, poetry’s a tool by which to ordain, and manipulate ordinary semantics into emotional expressions. Essence, energy, emotions, experience, and pneumatics articulated in synesthetic melody, and rhetorical murals. I’m driven to excel, and determined to exceed my own expectations in forging rhythmically transcending words of art.
 

…But I was only eleven

Everyday promised to be the last for me
Everyday I prayed for a little light to see
Everyday sticks and stones bruised my bones
Everyday pestilent words bled my soul
Everyday my heart shed loveless tears
Everyday I inhaled the flames of an inferno within
Everyday your ignorance made me wiser still
Everyday I walked past your hate unblemished
Everyday atop this strained beam I did elevate
Everyday blind and oblivious withstood my pain
Everyday trading pity for your envy I sustained
Everyday inept your apathy granted me strength
So
Today I am here to thank you for all that you’ve
Made me, and apologize for that which you’ve become.

 

 

JL:  At what age did you start writing poetry?

 

Ali Khaghani: I would flirt with poetry early and often, yet never seriously, nor passionately. It took an emotionally traumatic event to trigger my Chi. I began expressing my emotions in poetry at the age of 33.

 

JL: Who was the first poet that you read?

 

Ali Khaghani: Early in school I studied Hafez, Khayam, Attar, and Rumi in Iran. But Emily Dickenson was my first voluntary read, and later Edgar Allen Poe.

 

JL: Can you tell me about this trauma that triggered you to write?
 

Ali Khaghani: In both love and friendship; we make sacrifices. But most of all we bare our soul, and disarm our flesh, thus become vulnerable to betray. We are all subjects of circumstance, but what separates people is what we choose to take from the experience. We are products of consequence, and not the victims of circumstance far too many assume. If life’s betrayals harden one’s heart and make us callous, it is only ourselves we have to blame. No one is above pain and despair, but those who choose to gain from the suffering always stand head and shoulder above the rest. The time I speak of was fraught with hardship, loss, and despair. Not merely from a single source, but as they often say when it rains it pours. Instead of getting into all, and in rhetorical conversation I will offer just one of the many simultaneous events in verse/prose.

 

I remembered you today

 Yeah I thought of you today; damned for entertaining
Nostalgia, alas pestilent proved the notion; for
In tuned to my own requiem I’d watch without the
Chaser of tangible pain; the old tragedy spawned

Again through my misty eyes, vivid as yesterday
The memories slide show fresh as a hand picked bouquet
Of lilies and lilacs to intoxicate me with their aromatic
Entropy
Eager and naive I’d run up to accept them, but only

Imposters, remnants of an expired life; for I no longer feel

Your soft skin or press my kiss against your full lips

The slow hands that softly slaughtered me, the silence

That grew bold in me, somber throes, the evening woes

The melees, and all the malaise

Hence today they merely stalk me, your laughter haunts

Me with your rain, your grief awaits me around every

Corner; inside dark corridors of my mind, behind every

Closed door of my heart, always ready to pounce on the

Prey

 

Today I recalled the forsaken day when I almost

Killed you, heh yeah; now you’d always interject;

”Oh yeah, which one?”

Well you could always make me laugh, I know I know

You couldn’t hear me through the inert cries, tears

Which never seemed to cease, forever falling conversely

Within me, and yet I could never cry-out all the pain

Inside your eyes
Baby I’m sorry, sorry for I’m afraid your superman

 

Failed you, how excruciatingly fitting, ergo you
Said there was nothing I couldn’t do, yet I’ve failed

At the only thing I would have given my life to see

Through


The one argument I’d gladly concede, different it couldn’t

Have ever been, for such love the world’s never seen

Such love could have dissolved the entire hateful humanity

Just by the impressions of beauty left in all the suffering

By the extracts of venom blown through your precious lips

Into the thick toxic air
Six years of absorbing, and still the immanent light

Waiting at the end of this tunnel proved to be the old

Familiar freight train heading dead for our hopes and dreams

Years of this tug-of-war with love burdened by guilt

You pushing and pushing, only to pull me back each time as I

Turned to walk away, well now my love I commend you

It’d seem you have finally succeeded, congratulations
For you have at last seen something through, oh how much

More ironic can it be, after all the tears and the broken years

It’s now me you’ve seen through to the end, now then please

Tell me your going to Disneyland, tell me; have the flames of

Depravity been well fed else have they run ramped through

Your tiny world of lies and hypocrites

 

Are you now the righteous having pushed me to safety and

Away from your tryst’s calamity

Do you suffer less without me there to share your misery

Always pushing and pushing yet with only love tearing from

Your sullen cries, pushing hands and arms, pulling and

Pleading with your eyes, heart begging for remorse, shoving

Me just to cry-out for my love from afar, calling out my name

Taunted and lame you’d come crawling back in vein

My frightened damaged pretty doll, I wont ever forget

Your dreaded calls, all through dead of nights, piercing

My heart, like a dagger

 

No warranties, no returns they always said; “as is” was this

Exchange, so loud so clear those voices shall forever mock me

As you stood by weeping without cease, always crying, tears

Hailed to drench my sanity, drowning my serenity

In nightmares I still hold their regards, always waking me

Midst the silent night, stillness only interrupted by the
Chatter of my teeth, as they fight and grind in thirst of

Your silhouette

I sought answers high and low, pleading all to help me mend

Your precious heart, begged on my knees, reduced to the

Mercy of fools, just for a drop of remorse for my love, asked

Each and everyone, disgusted and perturbed they looked down

On us apathetically time after time, searched all through the

Righteous souls of heaven everyday, traveled the seven gates

Of hell nightly, no answers did they offer, I found no pulse

No beating heart

 

You have saved me from yourself; I hate you for it, as always

I’ve sunk in dismay, distracted for it was on the day that

I mentioned, yes on that day, I remember Richard was there,
He watched shamefully, in shock as you suffered an episode

Enraged, attacked me kicking, biting, punching, and scratching

Hate drooled from your eyes, though I knew it was not meant

For me; he’d not seen your better side, like a demon detainee

Possessed by the devil himself, struggling to fend off your

Blows I tripped, we both collapsed to the floor, instinctively

I fended off the fall with an elbow, but unfortunately your

Head got in the way, I crashed flush on your beautiful skull

My weight pursued, for one moment I feared you dead; you

Laid there motionless, emotionless, hate-less, free of them all

Never before had you looked more beautiful, for a second I

Found myself fighting joy, alas the moment passed and you

Did not         

I threw you out, but a foolish act of ignorance for it took one

Glimpse of your eyes and I knew I couldn’t......

 

Yeah babe, today I thought of you, now the day has passed

As it watched me do nothing all through, apprehended by the

Pain, bleeding your thoughts, such that I couldn’t fake a smile

Couldn’t get to work, I couldn’t....., couldn’t even lie to myself

Long enough to quit thinking....

 

When I’d finally endured the last remnants of this trying time, in retrospect I’d find great strength, and this sublime gift to help me tell it all in art. This was my first experience with the gift, as surreal as it may sound, this is no fiction, I inked it as it happened.

 

Close encounters

 

Breathe slow and deep

Inhale

The magic transcending

The beauty I see before

Me

 

Again

Slow as I breathe you in

And I’m drunk, intoxicated

By the purity, alas such is the

Deific grace in even the pain

You now lovingly cause me

 

What love is this?

Okay

Alright I’ll let go of the

Pen and allow you to guide

Me; so where were we? Ah

Yes back to the breathing

 

It is to stand on the

Edge

Of the universe

And shout deliriously

For even there you’d know

No boundary could ever hold

Your soar; oh yes to be free

I

Know you crave it ferociously

For the sublime sensation never

Leaves one completely, hence here

Once and for all; I promise and give

You my word; free we shall again be

 

Now

Then just focus

On this here inherited

Dream

The language I’ve delivered

You through centuries; lyrical

Artistry, the greatest wordsmiths

Gathered to forge this pen here to be

Delivered to you personally, and no

No do not ask, you’ll know in time

Be grateful of the silence I keep

 

Thus

All you’re asked in return

Is to give from your gift freely

Deliver thou art to lift the hearts

Of mankind and grant fruition

Of love in calloused hearts

To portray the lucidity

Of truth in shadowed

Reveries

Of your translucent

Ink.

 

 

 

 
JL:  What do you think it is about traumatic experiences that can have this kind of effect?

Ali Khaghani: I believe they push us past the threshold of our own tolerance, and give us a new perspective on just how much more we can be. In my intimate relations with the Guru within me, I have archived many chapters of the phenomena, such as;

 

 
 
Narrow Pass

 

…He then stared at

Me through blind eyes

For thirty days and thirty

Nights I’d endured infinity

When at last the old man

Took my hand and led

Me to treacherous

Peak of eternity

 

Where a narrow beam

Bridged the gap between

Here to forever, patient he’d

Reach-out and precisely locate

Destiny:

“To keep balanced midst arrogance

And humility; one must regard his

Proximity with utmost confidence

In his progression; alas humbly

Acknowledge just how much

Further stands the elusive

Apex of possibilities.

 

 

The effects of great trauma are always either tragically irreversible, or absolutely liberating.

 

JL: I would like to ask you about your new book, To Know the Fire You Must Touch the Flame.  Many of these poems are about love and making love.  Would you consider some of these poems erotic?

 

Ali Khaghani: There’s a real thin line between the eroticism in my work, and what most consider erotic. The essential separation is in the intent, direction, and conclusion as suppose to language, and temperature. I never initiate a piece with erotic intentions, it is merely a byproduct of love and seduction. As it is in reality; well the emotionally intact folk’s norm. Those disfigured by perversion seem to covet lust above love, and their love is often even defined by the lust. Unfortunately for them like all climax, be it love or lust or as they claim both, it is fleeting, and can only be so. Sex, passion, lust, loss, heartbreak, tragedy, and even a healthy dose of perversion are gifts of true love. Loveless they may never be lasting, nor fulfilling. Thus I never merely tamper with joys without the love, hence the great divide.

To Know The Fire, You Must Touch The Flame

 JL:  When did you begin working on this book and how did this book come to you?

 

Ali Khaghani: I decided to use this book, and it’s topic as a break from the more complicated, and at times grim and trying contents of the previous book and the proceeding book. The previous work; “together, alone” deals exclusively with matters of self. 400+pages of introspective can wear one out mentally and emotionally. The next book is nearly 600 pages of outrospective, a critical study of society, culture, religions, and politics. So I chose to do matters of the heart in between, for my sake and the readers. The inspiration for the words is the love in my heart, and I’ve found no greater source of epiphany.

 

 JL; Another thing that came to mind is Tantra and the art of love and how these ancient traditions see and practice love in everything. How making love is much more of a spiritual process than a physical manifestation.  I find it interesting how the West is so engrossed with the body and the East the spirit.

 

What are your thoughts on this? 

 

Ali Khaghani: It’s a great point you touched on, let me first address it in verse;

 

What’s made Me

I.

Love in itself

 

At last faint I heard her
Whisper: “Come-on angel

Let

Me steal the moment from you

Now”

Still drunk on her breath, sedated and subdued

Precocious her lips forced my surrender, liberated
I’d soar free through the flames, captive of her eyes

Drenched

Inside her gaze, I’d drown below her rain, yet only to

Discover; I could breathe the air beneath the waves

Careless to ride upon the tempest on a cloudy day

Far above the blue ocean sky

My
Heart cried-out; “let’s exchange
The experience, come-on angel
Let me steal this moment
From you now…”…

 

 

The Hurting

II

She left me on that blissful day
forever smeared over my memory

Like the glitter lipstick on my kiss

Trista-Pena
This cruel gift of her beauty, a taste of
Bittersweet infinity, dominion mocked

By exclusivity, here we endure a life on

Lease

All the tears, and footprints merely

Wash away invariably by the rain

 

Left in adoration, like blood on

Thorns of wild roses, treasured

Memories to keep as souvenir

Morning peeked through
The blinds to wake me alone
Wrapped in satin drenched by

Her tears, streaks of saline lace

The impressions of her beauty on

The sheets, and still the delicate

Scent of ecstasy
Suffocates the air to disarm me

And as soft the shine poured

The laurels of throe over

Me

My will would cave

 

In

Undone I’d fall

Falling blind

I

Fell, and fell

 

 

 

...And then there was ... me
III


Falling seamless through
Archives of love and loss, I

Heard

The word, lost it all, and found

Me

Then and there, naked and complete

 

A harvest of pain, forged in flames
As love and hate dissolved in clarity
Slow to step outside myself, and face

My shadow, eye to eye, a glimpse of

I
To savor that which none may

Again take from me: this love

Which justifies me, without

It

Forever I’d fall like a spiritless
Tree alone in an empty forest, for

Loveless, not even I could ever hear

Me

Just an empty void, dandelions blossom

Torn apart by the wind, petals stripped by

The autumn breeze, left cold, bare, and alone
To die still nursing this ache; never, no never

Again.

 

 

Having written before I ever truly read. I had the pleasure of discovering such synergy on this subject with the likes of Rumi, and Hafez.  But I have found little of this “love in itself” in the pages of western writers. The quest for the love within, and not just the love without. You will find romance lacing the new book from cover to cover, but I have found very few who realize most of the romance does not involve a man and a woman;

 

Transcend

 

Under a blood red Moon

Beneath this ruptured sky

Something seamless in the

Way you enfold about me

Breathless; I allow the

Flood to fill my eyes

 

Fingertips softly

Caress my lips

As careless I

Drown

Below the waves

No tears ever heard

Through the rain, alas

Your song exudes my

Breath

 

Something fearless in

This smile you painted

On my face; so I wore

The courage without

Shame, and calmly

Inhaled the magic

Nestled amongst

The flames; it was

Then when I opened

My

Eyes and found myself

Still inside your bracing

Arms to watch you again

Move right through me.

 

 

Breathe me In

 

Tonight as sirens hush
The breakers and the rain
Swells my eyes; I’ll again
Slide beneath the waves
And allow the flood
In to consume me

…And when the
Wind rounds-up the
Herd beneath the shelter
Of buried dreams, I’ll come
Calling on hurricane wings
To see the beloved tempest
Carry back my ashes and
Let the rain gently erase
Me

But as thunder roars
In despair; listen to the
Moon whisper my name
Hear the stars chant the
 Charm of reincarnation
And follow the trail of
Autumn tears to this
Juncture there after
Lift
Twilight’s refrain to
Find me again nestled
In flames, embrace the
Magic and taste the
 Flood on my lips.

 

 

Without intimacy with this “love in itself”, we find a loving relationship with others merely impossible, but a fable. Hence the depreciation of love, and a loveless era we are all witness to today. Forever busy seeking love all about, rather in their own heart. As the cliché goes; “You must love yourself before you may love another.”  The love with the self is the foundation of all spirituality.

 

 

JL:  Can you tell me about your creative process and how you work and how often you write?

 

Ali Khaghani: Oh boy, I’ve been hemorrhaging words without cease for nearly a decade. Needless to say I am grateful of this prolific gift, and would never wish for a tourniquet. It has been consuming. The process manifested in a teacher student relationship. The streams of conscience tendered the lessons, awed I would try and emulate the art as I could. Early I realized the talent was much more than a mere gift, it carried a responsibility. It was my duty to elevate my skills in order to redeem the talent. Ever since it has been a relentless effort to hone every aspect of my skills, alas each time my ego precedes me, the old man is always quick to put me back in humility. Much like meditation, which when asked about my form and discipline I humbly try to entail as merely effortless, and needless of rituals to me, so far I’ve been blessed with such seamless procedure in creation. 

 

JL:  What inspires you to write and how would you describe where these thoughts and ideas come from?

 

Ali Khaghani: I will first express my views on inspiration, and the phenomena of “writer’s block” which I have yet to understand in verse;

 

Writer’s Block

 

…Slow I stepped into the garden of

Eden with soft feet, and found

A poem on every fallen leaf

-Embellished upon every tragedy

--Etched into the rocks and trees

---Sprinkled over snowflakes

----Tendered on every drop of rain

-----Surrendered by defiance

------Compromised by deceit

-------Convicted for hypocrisy

--------Outraged by conformity

---------Serenaded by songbirds

----------Submitted compassionately

 

A poem

Dangled from the strains of soma

-Intoxicated by drunken seers

--Whispered from lips of lover’s

---Cast upon the pale halo

----Draped over the horizon

-----Cascade upon rainbows

------Shimmering over virile field of lilies

-------Gently wafting over the reeds

--------Reflected on the obsidian shawl

---------Shone upon the eye of the sun

----------Receding amongst twilight’s fade

 

A poem

Spilled in blood of innocence

-Emblazed by war

--Branded by hate

---Ached by tears of sorrow

----Broken again by loss

-----Shattered by memories

------Sinned through moral deeds

-------Embezzled by greed        

--------Dependant on every need

---------Disguised by masks of kin

----------Born to carnal seeds, and

Atoned by the love we bleed

 

A poem

Blossomed from every tomb

-Fallen bomb after bomb

--Sunk by embattled ships

---Decimated by deceit

----Veiled behind the curtain of night

-----Drowning below the waves

------Soaring on an eagle’s wings

-------Sealed by lover’s kiss

--------Sold like a cheap hooker

---------Solicited by books of faith

----------Rejuvenated again by hope

---------Proven by science-fiction

--------Debated by logic

-------Theorized by philosophers

------Fabled by romance

-----Fantasized by passionate minds

----Immortality crowned

---Condemned for blasphemy

--Accused of plagiarism

-Worshipped by blind visionaries

And banished by fanatic end believers

 

…So now I wander the uninhibited scenery

And wonder with such sublime inspiration

Abound just how could any ever run out of ink.

 

One can safely divide all my work in two categories. A- Cognitive/Cerebral/Thought driven; which involves an observation or philosophy that I place at the center of a creative theme wrought to achieve maximum impact in expressing my intended criticism, philosophy, or inquiry. B- Emotional streams of conscience; the process of which reduces my efforts to merely holding the pen. These episodes often produce precision artistry. The results always appear surreal at first and demand patience and research to reveal the underlying theme. Their decipher demands time and effort, but they always reveal a fortune in depth and enlightenment.

 

JL:  So do you edit this stream of consciousness?

 

Ali Khaghani: I edit, revise, and rewrite everything. I have yet to complete a poem, as long as I evolve, learn, and cultivate my skills; all my work may be improved and optimized still. That is one of the reasons I spend so much time learning from “him”, so I may better touch his words, and when time comes to edit, my intervention does not in any way corrupt the original emotion or malign the meaning.

 

JL: Can you turn it off and on at will, or are you at its mercy?

 

Ali Khaghani: Oh I’d never think of turning it off. Our relationship is one of mutual love and respect. I’d sooner wish to lose my life than spend a day without “him” in my life. In us all there are many divides, perhaps more than we’ll ever fully recognize. What is important is to give each of those we do get to know equal love and attention as all the rest. ~example; mind, body, and soul~ Let me try to elaborate in verse;

 

 

 

Truce

 

…There we were; hardly balanced

On falling rocks, tight I held her to

Helplessly watch him and his

Shadow face-off with loaded guns

 

The fatal duel upon hallowed grounds

A melee between my tired mind and

A broken soul, fiercely consumed

By animosity, both rabid with pride

 

Deceit embellished his lurid grin as

He laughed aloud:

“This battle I shall win; for only I

Hold the key, I can unlock this mystery”

 

Despondent the shadow shook his

Head in dismay:

“Fool only I know the way; without

Me, forsaken you’d be lost forever

I am the lock and the key; so now

Go on fire away”

 

In a distance at the mocking jubilee

Murphy’s sadistic giggle could faintly

Be heard, alas the profound moment

Was suddenly caught in the gridlock

Of time, so we checked the evening’s

Pulse and paid the silent night the toll

Yet no exit was to be found from the

Binding arms of destiny

Hence lifetimes would expire in vain

As the tug of war struggled on to persist

 

At last the stalemate was seized, as

I realized only I held the “key”:

“Now look; I will only say this once

And never again expect me to remind

You of my sovereignty;

You see here in my hand is the only

Key and if you like I will hand it to

Thee, alas sadly neither of you can

Drive, so now lower your guns and

Just maybe I'll allow you both to tag

Along”.

 

To achieve synchronicity and harmony; one must be loved and respected by all parts. To do so you must be loving yet decisive in your authority. Understanding the simple fact that all the beings we’ve been misled to recognize as autonomous are merely inside us ~angels/demons/devils~, are merely essential parts to a fulfilled human being, is absolutely vital in any spiritual progress. Allow me to shed a lil light;

 

You are what you eat

Sat atop the cliff

To eavesdrop on a couple

Of hungry predators; when

Another emerged from the

Rocky terrain:

“You two ready for some

Grub?”

 

Hardly aroused the first

Vehement beast lifted his

Head to hiss disenchantment:

“Garcon;

What’s on the menu?”

 

Wicked wore the other silly

As he growled back:

“We’ve got an angel with a

Broken wing; and a battered

Demon on the lam, what’s your

Pleasure?”

 

Rabid and drooling they

Paused momentarily to

Contemplate:

“Hmmmm well them demons

Are damn good gamers and

Always put up a good fight

Just a bit crusty but once you

Get past the bark quite tasty”

…Alas the quiet one licked his

Paw to interjected:

“On the other hand

All the feathers on them angels get

Stuck in my throat and choke me

Worse than my own coarse hairballs

Yet I must admit; I do greatly fancy

Their taste greatly”

 

Impatient the other peered over

To roll his eyes:

“So what will it be?”

 

The ferocious silence

Calmly bled their famished

Siege; suddenly he rose to

Flash his fangs, exuding such

Ingenious espy:

“Hell; do they not both

Bleed the same color

Blood?”

 

Other two nodded in cohesion

He proceeded:

“Are They not both

Full of shit, flesh

And bones?”

 

Once again all were in

Harmonious compliance

He then calmly rose and

Smiled valiantly to

Conclude:

“Then why pick at

All

We’ll eat’em both”.

 

…So you see I cherish all parts of me, equally. Alas I wouldn’t want a day spent without any, nor would I gag or leash any, we all merely respect the role of one another, without sabotage, envy, contempt, or betrayal. It is an achievement I refer to as becoming “shadow-aligned”.

 

JL: When you talk about "him," "the old man,”  who do you mean exactly?  Do you mean your shadow self in the Jungian sense? Your subconscious, or something else? 

 

Ali Khaghani: Honestly, I never cared to name him, nor define him. He is my best friend, he is my inspiration, my teacher, and my guide. He is shine on light, and the bright dark. He is more than my mind can grasp, and I know that, and I concede, yet I am at the helm, he councils yet I decide. He is my brain/ego’s source of envy, he is the love in my heart. I refer to him in many ways;

 

 

Firewater

He is the Sun; fierce

And divine, I’m the Sea
Transparent and placid, in
Harmony we are lucid and
Sublime, alas conflicted
 Today

Together we’ll rain.

 

 

And

 

Isolate

 

Never lonely, yet

Forever alone in a

Million’s company

 

And a million other shades and colours, he is the sand, he is the air, he is the flame, he is the sea, He is me.

 

For more info visit

 

www.freewebs.com/akhaghani/index.htm

 

 

 

 

 

 


 To Know the Fire, You Must Touch the Flame  

is also available on Amazon Books


 

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