Kubla Khan Completed

Same Vision Dreamt Twice (Sanaullah Kuchay)!

The poem Kubla Khan or “Vision in Dream” was initially written by Samuel Taylor Coleridge in 1797, on dreaming a vision under effect of opium. On waking, he expected to write a poem of 200-300 lines, but after writing 54 lines he got disturbed by some friend from Porlock, who took his attention for one hour or so. When Coleridge took pen and paper back in hand, he found all images gone, leaving this wonderful poem unfinished. Knowing that it was a fragment of the full vision and would not any way represent his envisioned experience to perfection, Coleridge did not want to publish Kubla Khan. Finally compelled by Lord Bryon he accepted to publish this poem in 1816. Though incomplete with 54 lines, yet Kubla Khan remains a master piece of poetry in whole English literature. Since its publication this poem became an open subject for critics. Hundreds of explanations have been published, some treating it a master piece of poetic imagery, still others and Coleridge himself as a glimpse of psycho-philosophical dimension of self realization. It is possible that many readers of this poem may not be able to understand it to perfection being a fragment of the full vision. Also it must be appreciated that understanding of any psycho-philosophical phenomenon demands experience of the reference state as a valid means of understanding. Though psycho-philosophical experiences differ in real character yet their representative essence remains same. Thus to have a similar vision as that of Coleridge (which he failed to get during rest part of his life) remains the only way to complete Kubla Khan.

Kubla Khan (Sanaullah Kuchay) 

On 1st June 2016, my high school teacher (Mr. M A Kaloo) visited my health care clinic, seeking a medical advice. He introduced the poem Kubla Khan as a mysterious and unfinished poem written for a vision in dream. Without knowing about the poem or the poet, I said, "Sir, I can complete this poem!” He got excited to say, "It will be a service to literature". Knowing that understanding of English poetry is difficult for me, I requested him for a copy of poem along with explanations, aiming to make it possible for me to complete its actual theme in prose. After a gap of a week on 8th June 2016, I went to bed as usual at 11.30 pm. I was tired of days over work and wanted to have sleep as soon as possible. Usually it takes me three to five minutes to get sleep but though tired I felt it very difficult to relax. In a restless state, tossing up for long (may be up to 1 hour) I picked up mobile phone, searched for Kubla Khan in Google and downloaded the poem with explanations. I went through all 54 lines but failed to understand the poem. In fascination I went for second look. I had just finished reading a few lines (first 5 lines actually) that imagination started coming, without giving me time to read any further. Without any delay I kept writing (in notes folder using same mobile) till 01.45 am, when I received a phone call from my close friend and neighbor (Mr. Farhat Rasool), seeking medical consultation for his ailing child. Even after talking to him on phone for some minutes my imagination persisted for ten to fifteen minutes up to 2 am, when the door bell rang and I stopped writing. Relieving my friend, his wife and the child, I went back after approximately 40 to 45 minutes to restart writing. Unable to continue the theme any further I realized all imagination is gone! Yet some ecstasy was in my thought to write some 26 lines relating to the actual post vision effect. During subsequent revisions and editing I added 40 lines from my unpublished poetry book “Contained Cry”. Twenty four lines were added for the ‘Song of Mount Abora” and 16 lines for the ecstatic song sung by Kubla Khan. Thus a total of 233 lines were written in prose or poetry I don’t know. Yet a poetic rhythm got crafted which may not fit present day meters of English poetry. Being intuitional in nature that too for completing a theme dreamt 200 years before, present day reader needs to go back in history to appreciate strange style of my lines and same is true about the theme. It must be appreciated that both theme and style of English poetry have changed altogether over last two centuries. Being intuitional I did not go for any poetic instruct of my manuscript fearing it may change the actual representative theme of my vision.

Kubla Khan Completed:

               After I completed editing of my lines, I could easily understand Coleridge’s Kubla Khan. With a vision of similar nature (not of similar strength) it became quite easy for me to fill the vacant gaps in his master piece only to perfection of my imagined experience. Knowing that my part of Kubla Khan is a revision and extension of that of Coleridge’s theme, it will always be nearly impossible for the reader to understand my lines without going through the actual poem of 54 lines by S T Coleridge. I am sure, readers will judge the importance of combining these two poems, written some 200 years apart, yet augmenting better understanding to each other, despite maintaining own real character and altogether varied style of expression. Though both poems can be treated as individual in nature yet I feel it necessary for the reader to combine the representative theme so that actual message hidden in “Kubla Khan” reaches the reader. I must confess of having no experience of reading or writing English poetry, except for transmuting my philosophical poetry into English under title name “Contained Cry". (Publication postponed in fear of touching sensitive affairs, thus demanding too exhaustive foot notes and explanations…under process).

Kubla Khan

(Samuel Taylor Coleridge)

In Xanadu did Kubla Khan

A stately pleasure-dome decree:

Where Alph, the sacred river, ran

Through caverns measureless to man

Down to a sunless sea

So twice five miles of fertile ground

With walls and towers were girdled round:

And there were gardens bright with sinuous rills,

Where blossomed many an incense-bearing tree;

And here were forests ancient as the hills,

Enfolding sunny spots of greenery

But oh! That deep romantic chasm which slanted

Down the green hill athwart a cedarn cover!

A savage place! As holy and enchanted

As e'er beneath a waning moon was haunted

By woman wailing for her demon-lover!

And from this chasm, with ceaseless turmoil seething,

As if this earth in fast thick pants were breathing,

A mighty fountain momently was forced:

Amid whose swift half-intermitted burst

Huge fragments vaulted like rebounding hail,

Or chaffy grain beneath the thresher's flail:

And 'mid these dancing rocks at once and ever

It flung up momently the sacred river.

Five miles meandering with a mazy motion

Through wood and dale the sacred river ran,

Then reached the caverns measureless to man,

And sank in tumult to a lifeless ocean

And 'mid this tumult Kubla heard from far

Ancestral voices prophesying war!

The shadow of the dome of pleasure

Floated midway on the waves;

Where was heard the mingled measure

From the fountain and the caves

It was a miracle of rare device,

A sunny pleasure-dome with caves of ice!

In a vision once I saw:

A damsel with a dulcimer

It was an Abyssinian maid,

And on her dulcimer she played,

Singing of Mount Abora

Could I revive within me?

Her symphony and song,

To such a deep delight 'twould win me,

That with music loud and long,

I would build that dome in air,

That sunny dome! Those caves of ice!

And all who heard should see them there,

And all should cry, Beware! Beware!

His flashing eyes, his floating hair!

Weave a circle round him thrice,

And close your eyes with holy dread,

For he on honey-dew hath fed,

And drunk the milk of Paradise

                                                     (54)

Kubla Khan

(Sanaullah Kuchay)

Kubla drank from sunless Sea,

Cups of elixir, as if tea!

Drunk in joy KUBLA ran,

Here and there, like superman!

In his decree, he didn’t see,

Pleasure or sorrow, whatever per se

Death to the strongest head of clan,

By glimpse of his magical chain

Yet life to a dying and fragile man,

To beautiful a child, he caused pain!

Stretching hand to desert across,

Growing flowers lily, pansy, and floss

In his decree for heavenly home

KUBLA attained pleasure dome

To the song of Abyssinian maid

KUBLA lost his human state.

Away from tastes of what he said

And what he ate.

Her music had a magical touch

It healed pain, to pleasure as much

Echoing back from walls so tall,

Sounding like dreamy water fall

Whosoever that music heard,

Soul escaped as caged bird.

Dancing maids sigh and cry!

Watching their souls fly!

On the throne of crowned state,

KUBLA envisioned horrific fate!

I'm the King,

King of Kings,

Master of the heavenly rings

And, my decrees never fail,

Beyond unseen I can sail!

Lost in ire,

Kubla traversed Alph River,

And there,

Met a frightening KUBLA!

His flashing gaze and floating hair

Got him fatal shiver!

I'm Kubla!

No!

He is Kubla!

Who is he?

And!

Who am I?

For years and years he was lost,

Stone emerging from ancient frost

Where has gone that magical hand?

Stretching from here to far off land

And my wish to kill and reign,

Alas! My decrees fail in vain

Seven years of incessant drought,

Alph lost its waters to naught.

Unrelenting and scorching heat,

Kubla could not, anyway defeat

All the trees and gardens lost,

Incense became odour overcast.

Sacred hail from magical game,

All turned to burning flame.

Barren fields with burnt tree trunks,

Some burnt fully, some burning in shame!

Xanadu turned ugly in despair,

Crumbled to pieces, beyond repair

Water! Water! Water!

No where! No where! No where!

Not a drop to quench one’s thirst,

Deadly thirst made chests burst!

Watching heavenly kingdom fall

Kubla’s heart grew very small

Kubla screamed a “Contained Cry”

Alas! What a fall! Why not die?

Five slaves and foster brother,

Made an evil plan

They caught Kubla as prisoner,

Trapped in his lawn

Kubla got a bolt from the blue

He fell down, all wisdom flew

Xanadu became a sinister hell,

A twice five yard jailed cell.

From wall to wall,

He crawled like paralyzed jackal,

For flights very high,

Very big is the fall.

For ages he got trapped in jail,

Tricks to escape doomed to fail.

Impatience brought him endless torture,

He couldn’t escape by any venture

All his heavenly visions lost,

He became blind and outcast.

He couldn’t see, he couldn’t talk

He couldn’t hear, he couldn’t walk

Caught in gloom Kubla wept,

Account of tears he never kept.

In hopeless and despair state,

Kubla strived in vain, till late

All his courage ceased to remain,

He was dead though living man!

Just like an ordinary man,

He got sense of touch and pain.

“What can I do? To relieve this pain”

He puzzled, again, again and again!

Ruined fell down his crowned state

Abyssinian maid met unmet fate.

Song of Mount Abora was lost,

Dulcimer became forgotten past.

Nothing can change this destined fate!

Every happening has a defined date!

Lost in chaos of extant fate

A state, words fail to relate

Kubla heard a mingled measure,

Prophesying heavenly state!

Searching for the Alph River,

Kubla stood up and ran

Only to find a small sewer,

Dirty enough to give him pain!

“How I lost that heavenly state,

And the music, damsel played?”

“Oh! She is singing again!”

“Am I sane or insane?”

(Song of Mount Abora by Abyssinian maid)

My pain of separation is not yet healed!

Does it embrace some honor concealed?

Is it impossible to see you again?

Unfulfilled yet my yearnings remain!

Sadness of loves separation, a craving, fatal one,

And to quench this endless thirst, I find waters none!

O! Where are you hidden my desire less heart!

In search of thee, I gallop through lanes, unknown and apart

Etched on my hearts book, is thy bright image?

And I keep it face to face, watching every page!

Avid striving of days and nights, an unrelenting pain

My bruised heart and battered soul bleed tearful rain

Hidden in my earthy frame, thy radiant waves remain,

And I beseech, test these not, again, again and again

I am afraid but of my own being

My enemies none, yet all fleeing

A death, promising my ever union with thee,

Such an end to my devine life, I beseech to see.

Yet a suspicion pinches my heart, once I unite with thee;

My zeal of searching thee must not changed be!

Drowning deep, into the mirror of my own being

I realize you everywhere! A face to face seeing

In case I am real, then you are just an illusion

Neither am I too real, nor am I in mere delusion.

Listening her song, and dulcimer tune,

Kubla grew mad, sensing March in June

Blowing the trumpet and singing her song

She kissed his lips, with breath so long

Searching for her, from pillar to post,

Kubla found none like sacred ghost

Drinks from sacred Alph River,

Made him hot without fever

In searching for her,

He traversed the Alph River

Hey! My own KUBLA is here,

My dear,

Why should I fear!

I am Kubla,

I am KUBLA!

I am the Kubla,

I am the KUBLA!

Living by His side,

Kubla knew to hide.

Every word a decree,

Let it be!

And it would be!

Kubla saw it happen again,

“You” and “I” ceased to remain

Every step an enchanting tale,

A wonder, not to explain

Kubla sang with drunken heart

To own KUBLA not apart

“With thy radiance glitter my candles,

For unseen heart’s seeing,

Making evident and glowing,

Darkness’s of my being.

With thy union, sheen of my pearl

Emits radiant rays,

In thy absence, my vital heart

Dormant ever stays.

On loosing thee,

Cease to remain bounds of my keen desire

On attaining union with thee,

My finite dimensions expire

But, it is me, who made thee shine,

In this land of my earthy frame,

My prostration of days and nights

Fuels thy radiant flame”

Clouds of hope persisted till last,

Sizzling sun got overcast.

In due came the sacred rain,

Delivered life to Xanadu again

Magical hail from wonder fountain

Emerged 0nce again

Damsel played dulcimer,

To the tunes ever best

Song of Mount Abora,

Passionate Kubla’s nest

Listening dulcimer music made

Kubla reach heavenly state

Hidden in the music maids play

Ways to sacred river lay

All those dancing maids are here

Like my senses in wine so dear

I'm the maid, dulcimer is mine

I’m the Alph with water so fine

I'm the man, I’m the Kubla,

A Super Man! I’m the KUBLA!

Twenty six lines written just after all imagination went off following a consultation to the ailing son of my friend, who came at 02.00 am, midnight on Thursday, 9th June 2016.

Seeds of success, failures bloom

Rays of hope from ever gloom

Diving into the Alph River

Drowning to death, consider

A dip into this freezing water

Strong hearts crumble and shatter

One can neither feel nor explain

Unless cross this river of pain

Who can cross this deadly sea?

Strong as Kubla needs to be.

You can reach this divine state

And then watch your death and fate

Listen to the eternal music and find

Your own KUBLA, loving, so kind

Dulcimer, maid, Alph so long

Realms of the seeker remain

An ear to that heavenly song,

Makes one fly again and again

You can make your maids dance

Only when you dance in rain

Sacred rain comes from skies

But our mind on earth lies

Tasting a drop of that heavenly rain!

Senses take pain, out of pain!

One who does it again and again?

He is the Man, SUPERMAN!

                                               (233)

Is Kubla Khan Completed or Not?

This may fetch a small debate. Coleridge was disturbed by a friend after 54 lines and I was disturbed by a friend after 167 lines! By combining theme of my lines with that of Coleridge, a new understanding of this poem gets crafted and seems complete to my own level of experience. Probably this also fulfils the wish of Coleridge to write a poem of 200-300 lines (54 lines of Coleridge and 233 by me, total 287) for his dreamt vision. I don’t know whether any more part of Kubla Khan remains to be envisioned! Readers may opine something else on this issue but time may decide something else. With this foreword written in humility I present my lines for the readers with a request to forgive my poetic incapability.