Arabic poetry for start...

http://www.admin.northpark.edu/dkoeller/Classes/Sources/ArabPoetry.html - http://www.admin.northpark.edu/dkoeller/Classes/Sources/Arab Poetry.html

Mevlana Celaleddin Rumi was Turkish and he was a man.

I think Ottoman "Divan Edebiyatý" has the best examples of Islamic literature and poetry. It uses a language synthesis of Turkish, Arabic and Persian. I dont understand anything from it because of the enormous number of foreign words and usage in it, but it sounds pretty cool...

So, 'Islamic poetry' is the latest manifestation of the muddy thinking process rampart in the contemporary West.

How much sense would it make if someone asked what 'Christian poetry' is like? You'd ask, 'which language do you have in mind?' So, Arabic poetry, Persian poetry, Turkish poetry exist, 'Islamic poetry' does not exist. Unless, of course, you were talking about religious poetry (Sufi poetry, etc.) which is actually about religion. But you unfortunately aren't.

Ramin - You seem to feel that - to be considered Islamic - literature must be written in Arabic?  I disagree - there is a long tradition of literature in several countries that do not use Arabic as a principle language - Persia and Turkey have already been mentioned, Mogul literature is another example.  A quick web search also found Islamic poetry and literature being written today in languages as diverse as Swahili and bahasa Indonesia.

Beylerbeyi - you are seeing monsters under the bed again.  In a few short sentences you have hijacked a thread with the potential to expose folks to some of the best, and least known literature that the world has to offer and turned the discussion into a diatribe against the "evil West"?  What a positive and productive outlook.

In the english language the convention is to use the term Islamic as an adjective describing both the cultures and the products of the cultures of the period from the growth of Islam through the decline of the Ottoman Empire - hence - "Islamic Art"  "Islamic Literature" and yes - even here at AE, the subcategory "Islamic World". 

An article from Cornell and a syllabus with links from an old Berkeley course in World Civilization.

http://www.library.cornell.edu/colldev/mideast/islamlit.htm - http://www.library.cornell.edu/colldev/mideast/islamlit.htm

http://www-learning.berkeley.edu/wciv/ugis55a/readings/islam.html - http://www-learning.berkeley.edu/wciv/ugis55a/readings/islam .html

I respect your point and intent, but I don't agree with your assessment of what's positive and productive. The reason is, by agreeing with this nonsense you are propagating it. 

Your convention is nonsense in many ways. 'Islamic World' as a pre-modern term is indeed meaningful. One can similarly talk about 'Christendom', and make sense. 'Islamic art' is semi-meaningful, because Islam, being a iconoclastic religion, restricts certain visual art forms, causing an increase of interest in others. 'Islamic literature' is, on the other hand, is quite meningless, unless you are talking about literature about Islam itself. It makes far more sense to discuss poetry in terms of language. Also, since you use the term 'Islamic' as relating to politics and culture as distinct from religion, as in 'Islamic poetry produced by cultures from the growth of Islam to the decline of the Ottoman Empire', I wish you good luck in convincing the Greeks and Bulgarians and Serbs and many others that their poetry under the Ottomans was 'Islamic'.  

Thank you. And it belongs in this thread, which is called 'Islamic poetry'.   

Very true. This is because 'islamism' appeared as a reaction to western orientalism, which lumps the muslims from all over the planet into one fictitious category. Anti-western (and at the time anti-imperialist) traditionalists actually liked the idea and adopted it. This is a modern phenomenon.

I don't Understand too why do you think He was Turk , If he was, Why he didn't use turkish Language, & why there is no turkish word in his poems &....

You know him turk because his shrine located at Ghonie

Molana was Aryan as me & all of his compatriot & whose that his book was elected as most favorite book in US few months ago
 

My Beloved

My peace, O my brothers and sisters, is my solitude,
And my Beloved is with me always,
For His love I can find no substitute,
And His love is the test for me among mortal beings,
Whenever His Beauty I may contemplate,
He is my "mihrab", towards Him is my "qiblah"
If I die of love, before completing satisfaction,
Alas, for my anxiety in the world, alas for my distress,
O Healer (of souls) the heart feeds upon its desire,
The striving after union with Thee has healed my soul,
O my Joy and my Life abidingly,
You were the source of my life and from Thee also came my ecstasy.
I have separated myself from all created beings,
My hope is for union with Thee, for that is the goal of my desire.

An Ocean without Shore

I marveled at an Ocean without shore,
and at a Shore that did not have an ocean;
And at a Morning Light without darkness,
and at a Night that was without daybreak;
And then a Sphere with no locality
known to either fool or learned scholar;
And at an azure Dome raised over the earth,
circulating 'round its center -- Compulsion;
And at a rich Earth without o'er-arching vault
and no specific location, the Secret concealed . . . .

I courted a Secret which existence did not alter;
for it was asked of me: "Has Thought enchanted you?"
-- To which I replied: "I have no power over that;
I counsel you: Be patient with it while you live.
But, truly, if Thought becomes established
in my mind, the embers kindle into flame,
And everything is given up to fire
the like of which was never seen before!"
And it was said to me: "He does not pluck a flower
who calls himself with courtesy 'Freeborn'."
"He who woos the belle femme in her boudoir, love-beguiled,
will never deem the bridal-price too high!"

I gave her the dower and was given her in marriage
throughout the night until the break of Dawn --
But other than Myself I did not find. -- Rather,
that One whom I married -- may his affair be known:
For added to the Sun's measure of light
are the radiant New Moon and shining Stars;
Like Time, dispraised - though the Prophet (Blessings on him!)
had once declared of your Lord that He is Time.

Fire

O Marvel! a garden amidst the flames.
My heart has become capable of every form:
it is a pasture for gazelles and a convent for Christian monks,
and a temple for idols and the pilgrim's Ka'bah,
and the tables of the Torah and the book of the Qur'an.
I follow the religion of Love: whatever way Love's camels take,
that is my religion and my faith.

Since that which is true in Vision is a major part of Prophecy, we swore our belief in what such Vision confers and conveys of the Favors of the Real (Praised be He!).  For I entered the House of Lights and let down the curtains and the veils, jealously protective of the harem. Then, while I was conversing intimately with the Real in His presence, the attraction of a Mighty One attracted me to him, and the Real installed me in the Station of the 'Ocean' -- the waves of which heave and overflow, one entering into another and rising aloft. And I was in a State which no one can know but he who has borne it, and no one describe but he who has seen it, as has been said:

No one knows Desire except for one who bears it,
nor fervent Longing, but he who suffers from it.

Reality

They promised my heart
they'd return
but what are the promises of a soft girl
but illusions.

They beckoned goodbye,
fingertips dyed with henna,
set tears scattering
and stoked the fire.

They turned
back toward Yemen,
seeking Khawarnaq
then Sadir,

Damn it! I called
as they left.
They answered:
If you want to cry damn it,

Why settle for
a single, lonely damn?
Damn it, damn it,
Damn it all over!

Easy now,
dove of the thorn berry thicket,
her leaving
has sharpened your cry.

Your coo, dove,
stirs the lover
and inflames
the already burning,
Melts the heart,
compounds our longing
and our sigh

Death hovers
over a dove that coos.
We beg of him
a stay.

Maybe a breath
from the East wind
from Hajir
will bring us clouds of rain.

You who pasture the stars
be my drinking companion!
and you, awake-all-night lightning watcher,
my night friend!

And you who'd rather
sleep the night away
before you die
you live entombed

If you'd only loved
a bravesouled beauty
you'd have found in her what you desired
and been satisfied.
You'd be sharing with the belles
intimate drink,
speaking secrets to the sun, and to the moon
whispering nothing

Woman of Mint

by http://www.poetrytranslation.org/poets/Fatena_Al-Gharra - Fatena Al-Gharra

She hauls her desire from the anguish of thorns,
whispering: sunlight abides in you.
She is followed by the aroma of a fleeting moment
which she ignites with the perfume of Spring.
Not once does she gasp for breath.
Only wild nettle sates her desire:
his hair alone will make her easy.

His presence delights the scenery.
He populates vacancy.
He takes the pure mint with the force of his leaves,
scarring her deep inside.
His sting... his victory.
Her breath stopped, as if for eternity.
Then he tickles her elbow with his sting.