Treasured Writings of Kahlil Gibran (71 page)

I was glad to hear that you are coming back Thursday. You have stayed too long away from us, Meesha. In your absence our circle turns into something nebulous, misty, without form or shape.

I was not pleased with your saying, “May Izrael take Mikhail.”
*
In my opinion Mikhail is stronger than Izrael. The first has authority over the second, but the second has no power over the first. There are secrets in names deeper than we imagine; and their symbols are more obvious and more important than that which we think of. Mikhail has been since the beginning more powerful and more exacting than Izrael.

Till we meet again, brother. May God keep you dear to

G
IBRAN

*
May the angel of death take Mikhail.

A glimpse at the following letter will reveal that Gibran was to give two readings from his books: the first from
The Madman
and
The Forerunner,
and the second from
The Prophet.
Since this letter was written in 1922 and
The Prophet
was not published until 1923, it is obvious that the second reading was from the unpublished manuscript of
The Prophet.

The reader will also realize that the money which the Syrians and the Lebanese in Brazil had spent on the gift (the translator does not know what kind) which they sent to the President of the United States was a waste of money. In Gibran's opinion, the money should have been sent to Arrabitah for the revival of
Al-Funoon,
the short-lived Arabic magazine which Gibran founded.

TO MIKHAIL NAIMY

Boston, 1922

Dear Meesha:

Do not say that the climate of Boston so agreed with me that I surrendered myself to relaxation and forgot New York and my comrades and my work and duties in New York. God knows that never in my life did I spend a month more full of difficulties, disasters, problems, and sorrows than the last month. I have asked myself many times if my “djinnee” or my “follower” or my “double” has turned into a devil who opposes me and shuts doors in my face and places obstacles in my way. Since my arrival in this crooked city I have been living in a hell of worldly enigmas. Had it not been for my sister, I would have left everything and returned to my hermitage, dusting the dirt of the world off my feet.

When I received your telegram this morning I felt as if I were awakened from a terrible dream. I remembered the joyful hours we spent together talking about things spiritual and artistic. I forgot that I was in a battle and that my troops were in a critical situation. Then I remembered my past troubles and the coming ones and recalled that I was obliged to remain here to fulfill my promise and carry out my engagements. I am committed, Mikhail, to giving two readings from my books this coming week—the first from
The Madman
and
The Forerunner,
and the second one from
The Prophet,
before a “respectable” audience who likes this kind of thinking and this style of expression. But the things that have kept me in this city, and that will oblige me to remain here ten more days, have nothing to do with what I have written or read, or shall write or read. They have to do with dull and wearisome things, filling the heart with thorns and gall and grasping the soul with an iron hand as rough as a steel file.

I have not forgotten that next Wednesday is the date set for Arrabitah's meeting, but what shall I do when “the eye is far of view and the hand is short of reach?” I hope that you will meet and decide what is useful, and that you will remember me with a kind word, for I am these days in dire need of good wishes from friends, and prayers from the devout. I am in need of a sweet glance from a sincere eye.

The gift from our brethren in Brazil will reach the White House, and the President of the United States will thank them for their generosity and kind intentions. All that shall be arranged in a beautiful manner. But a wave from the sea of oblivion shall submerge the matter from beginning to end. Meanwhile,
Al-Funoon
magazine is still asleep and Arrabitah is poor, and our brethren in Brazil and the United States neither remember the first, nor feel the presence of the second. How strange people are, Meesha, and what strangers we both are among them!

G
IBRAN

Emil Zaidan was editor of
Al-Hilal,
an outstanding Arabic magazine published in Egypt, to which Gibran contributed many articles.

TO EMIL ZAIDAN

In the late

part of 1922

My Brother Emil,

… I have intended to visit Egypt and Lebanon this year, but the indisposition which kept me away from work for twelve months has set me back two years and caused me to postpone those literary and technical treatises which I once talked to you about. I must now remain in this country until my English book
The Prophet
comes out. At the same time I will be finishing some paintings that I promised to complete.

I am already longing for the Orient in spite of what some friends write to me, which sometimes makes me feel discouraged and causes me to prefer expatriation and living among strangers to the exile of living among relatives. Nevertheless, I shall return to my “old home” to see with my own eyes what has become of it.

Remain a dear brother to

G
IBRAN

In introducing Mikhail Naimy, the translator referred to
The Cribble,
a series of critical essays, called
Algourbal
in Arabic.

Naimy and Nasseeb had written a poem together and promised to send it to Gibran. At the same time they must have asked Rasheed and Gibran to write something for publication. Rasheed, however, kept postponing, which made Gibran feel empty-handed also.

TO MIKHAIL NAIMY

Boston,

August 11, 1923

Dear Brother Meesha:

Good morning to you. I was glad to learn that your book
The Cribble
is out. But I do not mind telling you that I did not like for it to come at this time of the year, although I know that the value of the book, which is unique of its kind, has nothing to do with the season or decade. Never mind, whatever is published is published.

I have spent many long hours with Archmandrite Beshir reviewing the translation of
The Madman
and
The Forerunner.
In spite of my rebellion, I was pleased with the man's enthusiasm and determination. When we finished reviewing and correcting he said to me, “I shall submit the translations of the two books to Mikhail Naimy and Nasseeb Arida and ask them to be unmerciful in their criticism.” I liked his tact and I knew that he was truly seeking enlightenment.

I have not done anything worth mentioning since I left New York other than writing down some headings and renovating some old ideas. It seems to me, Meesha, that the orderly life in my sister's home pulls me away from creative writing. It is strange that chaotic living is the best sharpener for my imagination.

I shall be happy to receive your and Nasseeb's new poem, but I shall stand ashamed and empty-handed before both of you. I may not be the only one if Rasheed keeps on postponing. If he keeps this up, I do not know how he is going to have his book of poems published.

Give my salaam and love to our comrades and tell them that life without them is miserable. May God bless you, Meesha, and keep you a dear brother to your brother

G
IBRAN

TO MIKHAIL NAIMY