A Reading of Bushrui's Kahlil Gibran: Man and Poet
Kahlil Gibran: Man and Poet[1] is a befitting title for a book that primarily attempts to offer a new biography of the Lebanese-American author. The book also attempts on numerous occasions to dwell on specific issues related to Gibran’s career, though it chooses to hastily cover certain other topics that the authors for some reason or another have deemed either too obvious or unworthy of further discussion. On the whole, the book offers deep insights into Gibran’s world as both a man and an artist and is written in language that is artistic, articulate and easy to read.
As you journey through the book, you get a sense of anxiety building up. The authors, by casting hints here and there about Gibran’s failing health, prepare you early on to expect a dramatic ending. Gibran’s death was in fact an early departure for a man who ceaselessly worked even until the last day of his life and who described work to be nothing less than love made visible. The description is so vivid and the narration is so captivating that you can almost envision Gibran at work in his studio. The poet does not waste any time. He seizes every living moment to write or to paint, as if he knew that his years were limited. Gibran had this inherent feeling of his imminent death, although he never seemed to dread it or lament his ill health because he was ever faithful to his spiritual beliefs that death is by no means the end of our earthly journey but rather a bridge to an everlasting life.
As you approach the final chapter, you are overtaken by a sense of loss and sadness. You begin to expect the artist’s life to come to a sudden end and the hero of this unique saga of human existence to disappear from the scene. Amid the bewilderment and the tragedy, you cannot but admire the man, for even until the end when he became fully aware of the seriousness and incurability of his disease, his mind remained as sharp as ever, his will to live strong, and his creativity aflame. Up to his very last day he was still planning new books and new paintings, never afraid or shaken and certainly not expecting sympathy or betraying self-pity.
This new and comprehensive biography focuses on Gibran the man in his continuous and determined strife to reach the ultimate goal of his life and career and to rise above what is less human in him. The book tries to remain an honest representation of the journey of an extraordinary person. It does not attempt to color certain events in Gibran’s life, nor does it seek to deify him. However, the authors’ treatment of some major events in Gibran’s life, as well as certain concepts in his philosophy, remain lacking in details. Take, for example, the Gibran-Rodin connection. Without any further explanation or discussion, the authors readily accept the argument that in Paris Gibran “met Rodin who introduced him to the art and poetry of William Blake.” In another chapter they sum up the meeting by simply stating that “Rodin talked to Gibran about William Blake...”. Although they want us to understand that this was a very special encounter for the young artist because, as they confirm, “memories of his meeting with Rodin would remain with Gibran to the rest of his life...”, nevertheless they do not indulge in any discussion that sheds new light on the events leading to this most memorable incident in Gibran’s artistic career. How did the two meet, and why did Rodin talk to Gibran about Blake? We are not told. Was it a private meeting, a public meeting or a tutoring session? Again, Bushrui and Jenkins do not provide any clues. All that is confirmed is that this encounter happened in Rodin’s studio. From Gibran’s letters, and by the authors own admission, it becomes evident that Rodin was obviously a very special and important person for Gibran as an artist. It is also clear, especially in Huwayyik’s memoires, that Gibran’s meeting with Rodin in Paris was undoubtedly a major climax and a crucial encounter if not the supreme highlight of Gibran’s experience in the “City of Light.”
A biographical study of this magnitude dealing with important events in Gibran’s life should have given such a high moment of paramount consequences its due attention. The meeting in itself and the circumstances surrounding it definitely merit a more thorough discussion and research. From the authors’ argument we seem to discern that the meeting with Rodin as an event in itself is not crucial, but what resulted from it was. And this was, they submit, Gibran’s “awakening to the majestic figure of Blake that was to prove cathartic.” The authors seem to agree with my previously published argument that the meeting with Rodin in Paris was not the occasion for Gibran’s first reading of Blake, that he had already been introduced to Blake’s work in Boston in the 1890’s but his knowledge of Blake at that time was neither deep nor complete. The authors also agree with my conclusion that in Paris Gibran was reintroduced to Blake and that this turn of events ultimately reestablished Blake as the most enduring and profound influence on the Lebanese poet. In their new biography, we read that Rodin was Gibran’s “artistic mentor.” Yet the authors make no argument as to whether Gibran actually studied under Rodin or was simply coached by him. The door is left open to speculate that this mentorship could have been nothing more than a brief and impersonal encounter.
With respect to reincarnation, a major doctrine in Gibran’s philosophy and religion, the authors attempt to provide a list of possible references on the different sources that influenced Gibran’s firm belief in this concept. However, they do not specifically mention the influence of Hinduism and Buddhism, and neither do they point out that Gibran had understood certain verses of the Holy Qur’an to have spoken about reincarnation. They fail to appreciate that in Gibran’s mind, every religion and every belief that he held sacred (Hinduism, Buddhism, the Druze’s beliefs, the Transcendentalist Movement and Emerson’s philosophy, the Qur’an as he interpreted some of its verses to mean, Sufism and Jesus as Gibran envisioned Him) spoke about reincarnation.
The Bushrui and Jenkins biography makes an obvious effort to trace the reincarnation theme as it spreads in most of Gibran’s works from the earliest books in Arabic up to the Earth Gods. It tries to show systematically that the concept of reincarnation was with Gibran since a very early age. The book even offers an explanation of Gibran’s views and beliefs in this doctrine crucial to his thinking and writings. After all, not only his heroes and heroines believe in and speak about reincarnation but most importantly his “Prophet” and “Jesus the Son of Man” preach it as does Gibran in many of his discussions and letters to Mary Haskell. He had told Mary that The Prophet had been with him since he was sixteen years old. In a letter to Mary quoted in this book, Gibran says: “I have the Arabic original of it, in elementary form, that I did when I was sixteen years old. It is full of the sacredness of my inner life. It’s been always in me, but I couldn’t hurry it. I couldn’t do it earlier.” Again, this Prophet, Gibran told May Ziadah “...had already ‘written’ me before I attempted to ‘write’ him, had created me before I created him...” The Prophet, Gibran’s masterpiece, was obviously written in a rough draft form in 1899, when Gibran was back in Lebanon studying at al-Hikmah School in Beirut. The fate of the original Arabic manuscript is still unknown and the present biography does not offer any clues as to whether this manuscript is in existence or not. The young poet showed the draft of his poem to his mother. Wise and intelligent as she was, she gently advised him to keep working on it until it became ready some time in the future when he would be more mature. That time would come when Gibran reached his thirties. And so it was that in his late thirties, he was still putting the final touches on The Prophet.
This having been pointed out, another interesting observation about Gibran and reincarnation is worth mentioning. Bushrui and Jenkins, who at length discuss the concept of reincarnation as it permeates Gibran’s works early on, and who admit that it was “the poet’s lifelong conviction...”, also submit in the same paragraph that “...Gibran’s references to reincarnation usually lacked conceptual depth...”. Elsewhere they hasten to explain that the “emotional force” behind this conviction made it burst “through in both his correspondence and in his works.” Whether the authors intend it or not, their readers could be led to believe that for Gibran, reincarnation was only a passion rather than an intellectual and spiritual conviction that he firmly embraced over the course of his lifetime. The authors argue that in Gibran’s early works his “references to reincarnation...portray a romantic view of rebirth -- the stories concealing the precise nature of his own views.” They add that in other instances “he failed to elucidate exactly what he meant.” This is an ironic conclusion to an otherwise basic concept in Gibran’s philosophy and thought, especially since reincarnation was the one belief that he did not share with William Blake, whose influence on Gibran remained second only to the Bible.
When the authors list the influences on Gibran’s belief in reincarnation, next to the Druze’s influence, which they consider “most immediate,” they single out the Sufi poet Jalal al-Din Rumi. Since the first Arabic draft of The Prophet was possibly prepared in Lebanon during Gibran’s stay at al-Hikmah School, it is very likely that it is there where Gibran was reawakened to the Druze’s belief in reincarnation, a concept that he had already read in Emerson’s and Whitman’s works while in Boston. Because there is no direct reference to indicate that Gibran at age twelve, when he left Lebanon the first time, was already steeped in this belief through his knowledge of the Druze’s faith, it is highly likely that the combination of the two sources (Emerson’s and the Druze’s) gave this doctrine supreme eminence in his thinking. As for Rumi’s role that is described as “influential,” when we review the list of books that Gibran was to have read as recommended to him by his teacher in Beirut, we do not find Rumi’s works among these books. Furthermore, as the Bushrui and Jenkins biography indicates, neither the Arabic syllabus at al-Hikmah School when Gibran studied there nor the list of “great Sufi poets” whom he read at the School include Rumi’s poetry as a subject matter, which compels us to conclude that Rumi was not as “influential” as we are led to believe.
This new study presents Gibran, the poet and the artist, caught in the web of his own humanity. It describes the human being with all his weaknesses and frailty. At the same time, it also highlights his determination and strength and celebrates his victories, successes and above all his genius.
The authors introduce Gibran the adolescent as one who consciously glorified his past mainly to feed the passion and fuel the imagination of those elite and decadent Bostonians who adopted this young man as their hero from a mysterious and exotic land overseas. According to the authors, Gibran also occasionally succumbed to sexual temptations, although scholarly documentation is still lacking to support such a bold claim. Continuing in this vein, the authors describe the man who habitually gave in to heavy smoking and in later years to drinking so as to alleviate the pain that was becoming a daily visitor and inevitable friend. There is frank talk about Gibran the human, making mistakes yet continuously striving for perfection and constantly reexamining his spiritual progress.
The new biography tries to paint a detailed picture of the extraordinary life of a self-made man and genius. It attempts to amplify the wealth of Gibran’s experiences and to present the inner struggle that he lived through on his journey towards the “universal man”, which he was trying to become. It sheds more light on the multifaceted personality of Gibran: the immigrant, the poor poet, the son, the brother, the tireless artist at work, the Lebanese nationalist, the friend and lover, and the hermit and the philosopher. In the midst of all this, the authors succeed in making us feel the poet’s constant attempt to achieve a balance between the “contraries” that permeated his life. Their new book, more than any other before it, widely expands our knowledge of Gibran’s experience in Lebanon during his return to study at al-Hikmah School. It is also a rich source of information on other vital areas of Gibran’s life, including especially his early years in Boston and his relationship with Mary Haskell.
Across the pages of this odyssey, we encounter Gibran the immigrant simultaneously living in two different worlds, that of his native land and that of his adopted country. We also see him continuously trying to reconcile the immense differences between the East and the West. In the end, we are left with the triumphant feeling that although still yearning for the “isles of his birth”, he was able to harmonize the opposites and emerge as a citizen of the world. We also meet him as the poor young Lebanese artist-poet determined to cut his way through the thorns of life by totally devoting himself to writing and painting without having to compromise his ideals.
As the narration unfolds we see Gibran the son, whose relationship with his father was always precarious. “He called out the fighter in me,” Gibran once said about his father. Since his early boyhood, Gibran’s relationship with him was stormy and “difficult.” The impressionable, sensitive boy “never felt very close to this autocratic, temperamental man who was hostile to his artistic nature and was not a loving person.” What the biography could have pointed out but did not is that the boy throughout his formative years and later on as a young man lacked the image of the father as a positive role model whom he could admire and emulate, and with whom he could find comfort and solace. His mother, on the other hand, who “evoked in the child feelings of deeper affection and admiration”, inflamed in the boy both his imagination and his ambition. She remained the most moving and ever-positive force in his life. He would speak of her with tenderness and emotion. Always encouraging and understanding, she was his teacher, guide and comforter even after she had crossed to the other world. Notwithstanding all of this, the Bushrui and Jenkins biography should have stressed the fact that Gibran still sought a male figure to embrace and love; hence, his everlasting fascination of, and strong identification and unique relationship with, the personality of Jesus, the father, the brother and the friend.
1902 and 1903 were not good years for Gibran. He already did not feel close to his father and was trying to establish himself in a foreign country. Then suddenly tragedy struck. In addition to facing poverty, alienation and exile, Gibran had to deal with death in his family. In 1902 his sister, Sultanah, died at age fourteen. Gibran was on his way back from Lebanon at the time. He arrived two weeks after Sultanah’s death. It had been more than three years since he had seen her last. That same year Gibran was to suffer another great loss, that of his only stepbrother whom he loved dearly. At age twenty-five, Boutros died “with Kahlil at his side.” Before the young poet had a chance to catch his breath or attempt to recover from his loss, he was to be visited once more with the mighty shadow of death. This blow was the hardest. His sick mother passed away minutes before he returned home to check on her. Gibran immediately “fainted.”
In 1921 during the peak period of his finalizing his work on The Prophet, Gibran painted a picture of his mother. He strived to capture her countenance and features. He called his picture of Kamileh “Towards the Infinite.” It was a “stunning” portrait of his mother, as Gibran intended it to be “at the last moment of her life here and the first moment of her life over there.” He said to Mary Haskell, “To me she was and still is a mother of spirit. I feel her nearness, her influence and her succour more than I ever did before she passed away, and in a way which is quite unparalleled.”
Within the span of twelve months, Gibran had lost three of the dearest and closest people to his heart. Although wounded and bleeding, the artist in Gibran was determined to overcome the tragedy. In an effort of pure self-preservation and instinctively trying to prevent the wheels of tragedy from crushing him, Gibran focused his energy on his art work and sought the comforting company of an old friend: Josephine Peabody. He shared his paintings and poetry with Josephine. He certainly felt that she was less judgmental and more understanding than his own countrymen who would have preferred that he get a job or keep the family store and give up his pen and brush. During this dark period of his life, the poet’s choice was clear: either surrender to despair and collapse under the heavy load of this tragic calamity or accept the inevitable catastrophic fate, carry his cross, and continue his procession regardless of the wounds and the scars. The Bushrui and Jenkins biography brilliantly recounts these agonizing moments in Gibran’s life. It also celebrates his will to survive and his determination to succeed. Here the authors do not compare Gibran to Blake, although the similarities between the two are striking. The artist, shielded by a tremendous faith in the continuity of life and trying to rise above personal loss, went on transforming his agony into poems and his suffering into pictures. He, like Blake, is one of those rare individuals who, above all, believed in the sanctity of his mission, in the holiness of his poetic gift and in the sacredness of his artistic talent. For Gibran, writing was neither a hobby nor a form of entertainment; it was absolutely a serious responsibility, a glorious recording of a message that he as a poet-prophet was uniquely destined to receive from a higher source and then deliver to us so that we may be redeemed. He was but the messenger, the transmitter, the oracle through which the message was dictated and brought to life.
Throughout the Bushrui and Jenkins study we observe Gibran the tireless and dedicated worker, whose “punishing working habits” in the end take a toll on his health. He painted all day and wrote all night sipping his strong Arabic coffee and smoking almost twenty cigarettes a day while hardly eating. He would just nibble on a few pistachio nuts, seeds and maybe an orange.
As we progress in the story, we can identify with Gibran the Lebanese nationalist suffering tremendously when his country and its citizens succumbed under the yoke of the Ottoman Empire. He spent restless times desperately trying to form a relief committee and to raise money to help his countrymen. We also feel the deep and genuine concern of Gibran the brother remaining until the end of his life worried about the welfare of his only surviving sister. He did not rest until he had secured her financial future.
Gibran the friend and lover is another major aspect of the artist’s personality covered by Bushrui and Jenkins. The account of his friendship with men like Naimy, Huwayyik, Farris, Rihani and others, in addition to the members of “Arrabitah”, speaks above all of his true devotion to his friends and of their admiration for, and respect and recognition of, his genuine nature and superior intellect. As for women, we see that Gibran also had distinguished relationships with many who were his companions, friends, and admirers, such as Josephine Peabody, Micheline, Barbara Young, Gertrude Stein, Mary Haskell, May Ziadah and others. He had both an emotional and a physical bond with some of these women, although this does not necessarily mean that he had sexual intercourse with any of them. Bushrui and Jenkins do point out that Mary Haskell wrote “at times ‘Kahlil takes me so near: without intercourse he yet gives me the joy of being desired, loved, caressed,’ with ‘a new completeness of touch.” Mary also recorded “ how he kissed her ‘with a tenderness beyond dreams, as God might kiss a child in his arms.” Bushrui and Jenkins state that Gibran specifically told Mary that “he had no desire to conceal their friendship but did not want it to be called ‘a mistress-and-lover-affair”. All critics admit that Gibran never had sex with Mary Haskell. However, many critics including Bushrui and Jenkins also lead us to believe that Gibran did have sex with other women, and yet such a claim has not been substantiated by any decisive evidence or irrefutable proof.
Perhaps the two most distinguished relationships that Gibran had with women were with May Ziadah and Mary Haskell. Through correspondence, Gibran maintained a special relationship with May in Egypt, although they were destined never to meet. Meanwhile, his relationship with Mary was undoubtedly the single most influential event that enhanced his life and career. Gibran met Mary Haskell in May of 1904. He was twenty-one years old. She was to become his sponsor and most ardent supporter. In spite of the fact that the issue of “money” was continuously a source of discomfort and frustration for him, his strong relationship with Mary generally transcended any insecurities he had concerning the material gifts she gave him or the financial arrangement they had. Throughout the Bushrui and Jenkins book, we rightfully feel the sincere and deep struggle of a sensitive soul trying to reconcile the necessity for material needs with a deep sense of pride that was overwhelming and at times damaging.
At one point in their relationship, Mary came to the understanding that “during his youth he had experienced few sexual liaisons. He offered to tell Mary how many, but she declined.” She may have declined because of her pride or jealousy or both, but in any event this has left the door wide open for speculation until today. However, other than Gibran’s statement to Mary, which remained unanswered, no authentic document has yet been published that proves that Gibran was a man interested in a succession of liaisons and frequently occupied in romance and illicit affairs.
The Bushrui and Jenkins biography quotes Mary Haskell as saying: “women naturally long for him...each wants to appropriate, to become the chief object of his attention.” Yet Gibran asserts that he is not like other men “inclined, to indulge in sexual athletics...”, because, as the authors rightly state, his “life revolved around his work...” and “the type of woman physically attractive to him was rare... There had been times when women had approached him sexually but his physical reserve and sense of privacy had made these sexual approaches unwelcome.” In spite of these points, Bushrui and Jenkins seem at times to cast shadows of doubt about Gibran’s “fastidious reserve”, leaving the reader to conclude that Gibran’s “liaisons” were perhaps sexual in nature. Equally suggestive, the authors also submit that during his youth and before his relationship with Mary Haskell, Gibran admitted four women (Josephine Peabody, Micheline and two unnamed older women) into his life. Although he could have allowed these four women into his life during the dark years in Boston marked with death, poverty, frustration, alienation and neglect, this would have been for companionship and support. Of the four women, perhaps Micheline was relatively close in age to Gibran. Josephine Peabody considered herself to be “Gibran’s muse” and “angel”, and described her relationship with Gibran in “mystical terms”. She even wrote a poem about him in which she changed the title from “His Boyhood” to “The Prophet”. Josephine Peabody and the other two women were much older than he, which confirms that he was always seeking an older and more mature woman, perhaps someone like his mother. Because of his emotional insecurity, he was in search of a loving mother figure who could satisfy his emotional and spiritual needs rather than his physical desires. Hence his unique type of relationship with Josephine Peabody and especially with Mary Haskell. For a fifteen-year-old boy coming from a conservative and reserved background in Lebanon, Gibran’s references to Mary Haskell about his “initiation into manhood” and “sexual liaisons” could simply have meant physical intimacy such as a kiss, an embrace or a touch. These terms do not necessarily mean sexual intercourse, which is what the Bushrui and Jenkins biography leads us to believe. Statements such as the one about the older woman “who initiated him into manhood”, or the one about how at age fifteen he “found himself being seduced by an older woman”, remain ambiguous and open to interpretation. The woman who was trying to seduce Gibran and the other who intended to “initiate him into manhood” probably have less to do with reality than with the notion of an epic temptress who would lure the epic hero in an attempt to possess him. Neither one of these women has left any written documents that would lead us to believe or speculate that either one, whoever she might be, indeed had a sexual relationship with Gibran. Furthermore, Gibran himself, as the authors admit, revealed to Mary Haskell how he “was painfully aware of people’s preconceptions of him, and how because he is ‘passionate’, they considered him to be ‘full of affairs”. Based on this, it becomes more difficult to accept the Bushrui and Jenkins claim that Gibran’s mother hastened his return to Lebanon in order to “shield him from further ‘sin and temptation”. The authors state that Gibran’s mother was extremely supportive, loyal and encouraging of “Kahlil in his endeavors” despite the family’s financial limitations. It is therefore unlikely that she would have wanted Gibran to withdraw himself entirely from the circle of those writers, poets and artists who frequented Day’s studio in Boston. Day’s studio was described as a whirlwind of activity. Kamileh, who was already fully aware of her son’s genius and gift, and who knew that her limited means and contacts prevented her from exposing Gibran to the literary and cultural milieu of Boston that he needed in order to flourish, would not have forced him to sever his ties with such an elite group. She was certainly anxious to have him return to his “roots” in order to “be enriched by a deeper understanding of his own heritage...and develop his knowledge of the Arabic language and its great literature.” This would have been her first and foremost reason for sending the fifteen-year-old boy back to Lebanon, and not a fear of “his experiences with the American woman”, as if he had been a reckless and irresponsible teenager blinded by lust and whom his mother had to send away as a form of protection.
At age twenty-three, in 1906, two years after he had met Mary Haskell and two years before he went to Paris, Gibran met Gertrude Barrie, an Irish Protestant pianist who happened to live right in Gibran’s neighborhood. According to the Bushrui and Jenkins biography, Gibran met Barrie through an acquaintance, Salim Sarkis, and immediately was led “into a liaison” with this twenty-six-year-old woman. The authors elaborate: “the petite...pianist and the diminutive Christian Arab poet immediately felt a strong attraction to each other and soon became lovers.” Just like that! The “intensity” of their affair lasted until 1908, after which time they became friends and “very occasionally” corresponded for sixteen years until “Gertrude married the Italian violinist Hector Bazzinello.” Without sufficient documentation and irrefutable proof, it is simply too difficult to imagine Gibran being involved in such an illicit sexual relationship. Most of the conclusions that imply sexual impropriety on Gibran’s part are based on one source -- Naimy’s book on Gibran; and yet Bushrui and Jenkins themselves admit that Naimy’s book “was never meant to be a definitive and objective biography, least of all by Naimy himself.” Furthermore, the extent of Gibran’s correspondence and relationship with Ms. Barrie has not yet been fully explored so as to allow the conclusion advanced by Bushrui and Jenkins.
At age twenty-five, in 1908 as he was supposedly finding his way out of the labyrinth of his “moon-struck love” with Ms. Barrie, Gibran according to the Bushrui and Jenkins biography, falls in love again. This time the object of his affection was Micheline, an aspiring young actress. Simultaneously, Gibran was trying to know Mary Haskell better, to overcome the formalities of a newly developing relationship and to build a lasting impression on her. By this time Mary began to realize that “Gibran was by far the most talented of her protégés...” , and so he started to occupy large spaces in her journal. She was recording “every aspect of his life” and using expressions like “There is a rapt, spiritual quality about him...the gentleness of a child, the nobility of a prince, the order of flame...” All this was happening quickly and Gibran was becoming keenly aware of his deepening relationship with Mary. She was “by now captivated by Gibran” and, wanting to further his artistic career, “offered to send him to Paris to study art” at her own expense. Gibran was “ecstatic at the offer” and told his editor, Ameen Guraieb, that “the presence of a she-angel” opened such doors for him. Right at the time he and Mary collaborated on the first translation of his poem “The Beauty of Death,” which Gibran dedicated to Mary and which “marked the beginning of a collaboration that would be of increasing significance over the years.”
It was at this critical moment in Gibran’s life, when his relationship with Mary seems to have reached a turning point that the poet met Micheline, a “beautiful, intelligent and popular” young French teacher who worked at Mary Haskell’s school and was also Mary’s friend. Both Gibran and Micheline were Mary’s friends and protégés, and Micheline became Gibran’s “first model.” Right under Mary’s nose, “The artist and the model felt a strong attraction and fell in love”, according to Bushrui and Jenkins. We are made to understand that it was not because of Gibran’s decency and respect for Mary, whose relationship with Gibran was growing deeper and more serious, but rather “because of their respective ambition” that Gibran and Micheline “realized that ultimately...any affair could not last.” Yet “despite this awareness, their relationship was a passionate and caring one, inspiring Gibran to write a piece called “The Beloved” in which he describes “The First Kiss.” Micheline is described as “conscious of her beauty” and confident in her future as an actress. She was never satisfied with “her new love affair in Boston” and had her eyes set “for the fame of Broadway.” A few months later, when Gibran arrived in Paris, he “was fortunate in meeting up again with Micheline.” She had just returned for a visit and took some time to show him around and find a place to stay. Obviously, according to this version of the story, the two had not had enough of each other; and full of excitement, “the lovers devoured the sights of Paris before Micheline left to visit relatives...” Again, it was “their burning ambition” that brought them to the realization that a lasting relationship between them was impossible: “The couple, though still in love, knew in their heart...Their inevitable parting in Paris marked the end of their love affair.” Soon after Micheline left, and “despite” her “departure,” Gibran sat down to write to Mary about his excitement for being in Paris and how “thirsty” he was “for work, work, work.” This confirms that Gibran was a serious artist who was more concerned with his work than with pursuing a fleeting love affair that would have distracted him from his purpose for being in Paris.
From 1910 on, the shadow of involvement with women other than Mary Haskell fades away and no longer becomes a significant issue for scholarly debate. After Mary marries Jacob Florence Minis, Gibran permitted Barbara Young to become his secretary. Much later he allowed “an office worker in the garment business” to live with him, but out of necessity: he was sick and tired all the time and truly needed assistance. It is rather shocking to the reader that Bushrui and Jenkins, who describe Gibran at this point in his life (1930) as “desolate and overpowered by his illness”, even a “dying man” with practically no life in his body, conclude that he “succumbed to his desires and let a young woman ...into his life.” They submit that “despite his wariness... passionate love could be a quenchless thirst.” According to the authors, this was the reason why the “ailing poet” was attracted to the intelligent, young woman in her late twenties, and why even though “she was by no means a soulmate...an intense relationship developed.” Whatever the precise implications of such statements are, this remains an unfair assessment of Gibran’s last days especially considering the fact that he was already bed-ridden and dependent upon the generous nature of Anna Johansen, the wife of the janitor of the building in which he lived in New York City. Anna kept an eye on the ailing poet during these difficult days.
It is disappointing to see implications being made of Gibran shuffling in and out of these “affairs”. There is not a single published document attesting to this, whether from Gibran or from any of the women in question. Also, what any of the women may have said after Gibran’s death remains one-sided. It is equally disturbing to see such insinuations being allowed and included in a new and otherwise very informative biography of the Lebanese genius. If all of the mentioned “liaisons” are true, is it not ironic that Paris, the city that at that particular moment in history was sizzling with artistic freedom and moral permissiveness, was the one place in which all critics seem to agree that the young and handsome Gibran did not have any “liaisons?” It is also crucial to point out that Gibran was a man who was deeply concerned with his reputation and with building his image as a poet-prophet. In Boston he was well-known by a large number of people in both the American and Lebanese communities. It is not reasonable to assume that Gibran would have seriously endangered his reputation by engaging in “liaisons” and running the risk of being caught in a web of sexual avarice. Such “maneuvers” would have easily been detected by the close-knit Lebanese community. Gibran was adamant about his spiritual convictions and like Blake believed that sex is a form of energy that he preferred to preserve and redirect into creativity through poetry and art, as he confided to Mary Haskell. Gibran was polite, reserved, compassionate, a good listener, a women’s advocate, and a positive spiritual guide. This is why, I believe, women enjoyed his company and felt such a close bond to him.
As we continue to make our way through the revealing biography by Bushrui and Jenkins, we come across another paradox in Gibran's personal life. We experience the one side of him that wants to reach out and be the teacher and the reformer, the side of the sociable persona who said, “I love people entirely without discrimination or preference”, but we also experience the other side that is obsessed with an overpowering need for privacy. Here we walk silently with Gibran the hermit who cherished his studio and willingly spent his days and nights alone hunting after the absolute, painting pictures and writing poems and stories alone, but never lonely, accompanied by a vivid vision, an ever creative imagination and a tireless will. We also live through the immense struggle of Gibran the poet who still thinks in his native Arabic almost until the end while working to master the English language through theBible and the writings of Blake and Shakespeare. Here is a man who, like no one else before him or since, succeeded in blending together the melody of Arabic verse, the maturity of Islamic philosophy, the spirituality of Sufism, Baha’ism, Hinduism and Buddhism, the majesty of the King James’s Bible, and the teachings of Jesus and Mohammed, ancient mythology, the Romantics, Blake, Nietzsche, Keats, Yeats, Whitman, Emerson and many others. He was uniquely qualified to create a universal message of love and brotherhood.
Throughout their book, Bushrui and Jenkins try to remain conscious that it is a biography they are writing and not an analytical study of Gibran’s works. Nevertheless, they could not help delving into the critical and analytical side of some major concepts that they deemed necessary to help shed more light on Gibran the poet. When discussing The Madmen, The Prophet, The Earth Gods, The Wanderer, and Jesus the Son of Man, for example, they attempt a deliberate and detailed analysis of Gibran’s mind and philosophy. Hence, although Kahlil Gibran: Man and Poet is essentially a biography, it oscillates between history, literary criticism and biography.
The reader cannot help but be impressed with the volume of sources and references consulted during the preparation of this major study. In spite of this, however, it is worth mentioning that two rather important sources were noticeably missing from the list of references, namely, those of Karam and Brax. I mention these two books specifically because their authors are two prominent literary figures. Also both of their studies focus on the biographical side and present deep insights into the life and times of Gibran. They were written in Arabic and published in Cairo and Beirut respectively. Professor Antoine Ghattas Karam’s was a series of lectures on Gibran addressing issues related to his life, work and influences and later published in 1964 as Muhadarat fi Gibran Kahlil Gibran. Professor Ghazy Brax’s study was one of the earliest psychological profiles of Gibran viewing his life and works under the light of modern psychoanalytical concepts. This extensive work entitled Gibran Kahlil Gibran: Fi Dirasa tahliliya tarkibiya was published in 1973 and is still considered one of the outstanding and most serious analyses of Gibran’s life as a spiritual quest towards the ultimate fulfillment of man’s deep-rooted psychological need to unite with the absolute and the infinite.
Brax argued that, based on Gibran’s life, his ideals and ethical positions, and because of the spiritual laws that he adopted and employed to measure his psychological progress, Gibran could not possibly have allowed himself to deviate from the high standards that he had set for himself. Furthermore, a detailed and thorough psychological examination of his drawings as well as his writings in both Arabic and English illustrates that he could not conceivably have succumbed to such degrading sexual affairs as the rumors circulated by certain sources would want us to believe. Both within the conscious and the subconscious realms of his personality, Gibran was continuously striving to transcend the physical and the material worlds in order to arrive at a pure spiritual state, which he ultimately reached and which necessitated the total denial of such sexual desires and liaisons.
Professor Brax focused on two main dynamic themes in Gibran’s writings and drawings, namely, those of motherhood and the personality of Jesus. He concluded that both of these themes were the most dominating factors that governed not only Gibran’s thinking, writings and art but ultimately his behavior and the code of ethics that he abided by throughout his life. Hence, his constant attempts to perfect his spiritual ascendance towards the allegorical state of being that he modeled his life after. Brax also argued that such bodily energies that Gibran had were successfully transformed into creative fluids that went into enriching his poetry and art. Brax points out that since his childhood, Gibran was driven towards the mother image that he idealized and projected onto the majority of the women who became important figures in his adult life. The centrality of this dynamic theme does not limit itself to women like Hala Daher, Sultana Tabit, Micheline, Mary Haskell, Mary Khoury, May Ziadah and Barbara Young, whom Gibran identifies with his mother figure, but also -- Brax explains -- goes well beyond human figures to include mother nature in the duality of her two features (the land and the sea) as well as the homeland, which Gibran would address as an angry child might address a stubborn mother, or as a passionate child might express love towards an ill mother. Concerning the women whom Gibran knew, Brax argues that they were known more as “mother figures” than as lovers. .
Kahlil Gibran: Man and Poet tries to present Gibran as he really was, a man always concerned with his native country and proud of his Lebanese and Arab heritage. It also reveals the sincere and dedicated author to whom writing was rather a necessity like breathing. Gibran did not write to make money or to receive praise. Whenever he did make money or receive praise because of his writing, he always felt awkward, uncomfortable, and rather shy. Any time that he tried to play the businessman, he failed. Any investments he made other than in what served to enrich his poetic or artistic talents proved to be a total disaster both materially and financially.
Although the issue that Gibran was an escapist and a loner, a claim made by other critics of Gibran, was not directly addressed in the new, updated and comprehensive biography by Bushrui and Jenkins, we find in the study ample evidence to argue otherwise. Clearly, Gibran emerges as very much a part of his environment and surroundings, whether on the social, literary, or political scenes. He was not the poet of the ivory tower, but rather a man who valued his aloneness because creativity demands concentration and artistic vision requires a certain distance from mundane obligations.
A quick survey of some of the topics that Gibran concerned himself with throughout his career is sufficient to convince the skeptic that the author of The Prophet was a man very much of his age and times. Topics like freedom, justice, unity of religion, war, peace, social inequality, the right of women, marriage, love, nature, imagination, the city, the rich, the poor, art, poetry, fanaticism, the politics of peace, alienation, universality, equality between man and social reform, to mention but a few, were priorities on his list of concerns. Additionally, the countless friends he had, and especially the artists, poets or people of influence whom he either sketched or corresponded with, provide additional testimony to Gibran’s widespread circle of contacts. Moreover, Gibran was on many occasions invited to give lectures on Whitman, Emerson, poetry and art, or simply to read from his own works. Such invitations were extended by churches, universities, tour organizers and the Poetry Society of America, not to mention by the countless art galleries where he displayed his paintings and drawings. He also served on the board of some distinguished literary magazines, formed the Syrian-Lebanese Relief Committee and established and headed “Arrabitah,” the literary association that transformed the degraded sick condition of Arabic poetry and pumped new blood and energy into its veins. With this Gibran occupies an especially prominent place in modern Arabic literature. He is the leader of a new revolution in modernizing the otherwise stagnated Arabic language, literature and thought. His influence was far-reaching and permanent. He remains uniquely qualified to stand out as the poetic genius who was able to address the East with the language and the issues that the East understood. At the same time, he had the credibility, knowledge and presence to speak the language of the West and offer the spiritual message that the West hungered for.
As we try to come to terms with the tragic ending of the story of a man whom Kahlil Gibran: Man and Poet portrays as the poet of peace and ecology and a champion of women’s rights, we are comforted with a sense of completion. The cycle of this wanderer’s life finally reached its ultimate destination. Gibran comes full circle from Bisharri to New York and back to Bisharri again. Everything in between was a lesson that he had to learn, a station on his journey toward the infinite.
The authors try to justify Gibran’s place in Western and American literature. The Lebanese author's works have not been included in surveys of American literature, they argue, because of the critics’ inability to liberate themselves from the traditional terms of reference. Gibran is a world master. His literature as well as his message are neither American nor Arabic but rather universal. It takes a special critic to evaluate Gibran’s works. His philosophy and poetry are neither purely Western nor totally Eastern, but a fortunate and happy marriage that wedded the optimism, spirituality, and mysticism of the East to the materialism, empiricism, and existentialism of the West. The authors conclude that to apply a purely Anglo-American standard of literary criticism is to encompass only half of the totality of Gibran’s vision and his manner of expressing that vision.
Undoubtedly, this extensive biography will remain a major source of information on Gibran. Its comprehensiveness and wealth of detail shed new light on the man’s life and world. It certainly fills a vacuum in Gibran scholarship.
Refrences:
[1]Bushrui, Suheil and Jenkins, Joe, Kahlil Gibran: Man and Poet, A New Biography, Oxford, Oneworld Publication, 1998. All quotations are taken from this text.
Kahlil Gibran: Man and Poet[1] is a befitting title for a book that primarily attempts to offer a new biography of the Lebanese-American author. The book also attempts on numerous occasions to dwell on specific issues related to Gibran’s career, though it chooses to hastily cover certain other topics that the authors for some reason or another have deemed either too obvious or unworthy of further discussion. On the whole, the book offers deep insights into Gibran’s world as both a man and an artist and is written in language that is artistic, articulate and easy to read.
As you journey through the book, you get a sense of anxiety building up. The authors, by casting hints here and there about Gibran’s failing health, prepare you early on to expect a dramatic ending. Gibran’s death was in fact an early departure for a man who ceaselessly worked even until the last day of his life and who described work to be nothing less than love made visible. The description is so vivid and the narration is so captivating that you can almost envision Gibran at work in his studio. The poet does not waste any time. He seizes every living moment to write or to paint, as if he knew that his years were limited. Gibran had this inherent feeling of his imminent death, although he never seemed to dread it or lament his ill health because he was ever faithful to his spiritual beliefs that death is by no means the end of our earthly journey but rather a bridge to an everlasting life.
As you approach the final chapter, you are overtaken by a sense of loss and sadness. You begin to expect the artist’s life to come to a sudden end and the hero of this unique saga of human existence to disappear from the scene. Amid the bewilderment and the tragedy, you cannot but admire the man, for even until the end when he became fully aware of the seriousness and incurability of his disease, his mind remained as sharp as ever, his will to live strong, and his creativity aflame. Up to his very last day he was still planning new books and new paintings, never afraid or shaken and certainly not expecting sympathy or betraying self-pity.
This new and comprehensive biography focuses on Gibran the man in his continuous and determined strife to reach the ultimate goal of his life and career and to rise above what is less human in him. The book tries to remain an honest representation of the journey of an extraordinary person. It does not attempt to color certain events in Gibran’s life, nor does it seek to deify him. However, the authors’ treatment of some major events in Gibran’s life, as well as certain concepts in his philosophy, remain lacking in details. Take, for example, the Gibran-Rodin connection. Without any further explanation or discussion, the authors readily accept the argument that in Paris Gibran “met Rodin who introduced him to the art and poetry of William Blake.” In another chapter they sum up the meeting by simply stating that “Rodin talked to Gibran about William Blake...”. Although they want us to understand that this was a very special encounter for the young artist because, as they confirm, “memories of his meeting with Rodin would remain with Gibran to the rest of his life...”, nevertheless they do not indulge in any discussion that sheds new light on the events leading to this most memorable incident in Gibran’s artistic career. How did the two meet, and why did Rodin talk to Gibran about Blake? We are not told. Was it a private meeting, a public meeting or a tutoring session? Again, Bushrui and Jenkins do not provide any clues. All that is confirmed is that this encounter happened in Rodin’s studio. From Gibran’s letters, and by the authors own admission, it becomes evident that Rodin was obviously a very special and important person for Gibran as an artist. It is also clear, especially in Huwayyik’s memoires, that Gibran’s meeting with Rodin in Paris was undoubtedly a major climax and a crucial encounter if not the supreme highlight of Gibran’s experience in the “City of Light.”
A biographical study of this magnitude dealing with important events in Gibran’s life should have given such a high moment of paramount consequences its due attention. The meeting in itself and the circumstances surrounding it definitely merit a more thorough discussion and research. From the authors’ argument we seem to discern that the meeting with Rodin as an event in itself is not crucial, but what resulted from it was. And this was, they submit, Gibran’s “awakening to the majestic figure of Blake that was to prove cathartic.” The authors seem to agree with my previously published argument that the meeting with Rodin in Paris was not the occasion for Gibran’s first reading of Blake, that he had already been introduced to Blake’s work in Boston in the 1890’s but his knowledge of Blake at that time was neither deep nor complete. The authors also agree with my conclusion that in Paris Gibran was reintroduced to Blake and that this turn of events ultimately reestablished Blake as the most enduring and profound influence on the Lebanese poet. In their new biography, we read that Rodin was Gibran’s “artistic mentor.” Yet the authors make no argument as to whether Gibran actually studied under Rodin or was simply coached by him. The door is left open to speculate that this mentorship could have been nothing more than a brief and impersonal encounter.
With respect to reincarnation, a major doctrine in Gibran’s philosophy and religion, the authors attempt to provide a list of possible references on the different sources that influenced Gibran’s firm belief in this concept. However, they do not specifically mention the influence of Hinduism and Buddhism, and neither do they point out that Gibran had understood certain verses of the Holy Qur’an to have spoken about reincarnation. They fail to appreciate that in Gibran’s mind, every religion and every belief that he held sacred (Hinduism, Buddhism, the Druze’s beliefs, the Transcendentalist Movement and Emerson’s philosophy, the Qur’an as he interpreted some of its verses to mean, Sufism and Jesus as Gibran envisioned Him) spoke about reincarnation.
The Bushrui and Jenkins biography makes an obvious effort to trace the reincarnation theme as it spreads in most of Gibran’s works from the earliest books in Arabic up to the Earth Gods. It tries to show systematically that the concept of reincarnation was with Gibran since a very early age. The book even offers an explanation of Gibran’s views and beliefs in this doctrine crucial to his thinking and writings. After all, not only his heroes and heroines believe in and speak about reincarnation but most importantly his “Prophet” and “Jesus the Son of Man” preach it as does Gibran in many of his discussions and letters to Mary Haskell. He had told Mary that The Prophet had been with him since he was sixteen years old. In a letter to Mary quoted in this book, Gibran says: “I have the Arabic original of it, in elementary form, that I did when I was sixteen years old. It is full of the sacredness of my inner life. It’s been always in me, but I couldn’t hurry it. I couldn’t do it earlier.” Again, this Prophet, Gibran told May Ziadah “...had already ‘written’ me before I attempted to ‘write’ him, had created me before I created him...” The Prophet, Gibran’s masterpiece, was obviously written in a rough draft form in 1899, when Gibran was back in Lebanon studying at al-Hikmah School in Beirut. The fate of the original Arabic manuscript is still unknown and the present biography does not offer any clues as to whether this manuscript is in existence or not. The young poet showed the draft of his poem to his mother. Wise and intelligent as she was, she gently advised him to keep working on it until it became ready some time in the future when he would be more mature. That time would come when Gibran reached his thirties. And so it was that in his late thirties, he was still putting the final touches on The Prophet.
This having been pointed out, another interesting observation about Gibran and reincarnation is worth mentioning. Bushrui and Jenkins, who at length discuss the concept of reincarnation as it permeates Gibran’s works early on, and who admit that it was “the poet’s lifelong conviction...”, also submit in the same paragraph that “...Gibran’s references to reincarnation usually lacked conceptual depth...”. Elsewhere they hasten to explain that the “emotional force” behind this conviction made it burst “through in both his correspondence and in his works.” Whether the authors intend it or not, their readers could be led to believe that for Gibran, reincarnation was only a passion rather than an intellectual and spiritual conviction that he firmly embraced over the course of his lifetime. The authors argue that in Gibran’s early works his “references to reincarnation...portray a romantic view of rebirth -- the stories concealing the precise nature of his own views.” They add that in other instances “he failed to elucidate exactly what he meant.” This is an ironic conclusion to an otherwise basic concept in Gibran’s philosophy and thought, especially since reincarnation was the one belief that he did not share with William Blake, whose influence on Gibran remained second only to the Bible.
When the authors list the influences on Gibran’s belief in reincarnation, next to the Druze’s influence, which they consider “most immediate,” they single out the Sufi poet Jalal al-Din Rumi. Since the first Arabic draft of The Prophet was possibly prepared in Lebanon during Gibran’s stay at al-Hikmah School, it is very likely that it is there where Gibran was reawakened to the Druze’s belief in reincarnation, a concept that he had already read in Emerson’s and Whitman’s works while in Boston. Because there is no direct reference to indicate that Gibran at age twelve, when he left Lebanon the first time, was already steeped in this belief through his knowledge of the Druze’s faith, it is highly likely that the combination of the two sources (Emerson’s and the Druze’s) gave this doctrine supreme eminence in his thinking. As for Rumi’s role that is described as “influential,” when we review the list of books that Gibran was to have read as recommended to him by his teacher in Beirut, we do not find Rumi’s works among these books. Furthermore, as the Bushrui and Jenkins biography indicates, neither the Arabic syllabus at al-Hikmah School when Gibran studied there nor the list of “great Sufi poets” whom he read at the School include Rumi’s poetry as a subject matter, which compels us to conclude that Rumi was not as “influential” as we are led to believe.
This new study presents Gibran, the poet and the artist, caught in the web of his own humanity. It describes the human being with all his weaknesses and frailty. At the same time, it also highlights his determination and strength and celebrates his victories, successes and above all his genius.
The authors introduce Gibran the adolescent as one who consciously glorified his past mainly to feed the passion and fuel the imagination of those elite and decadent Bostonians who adopted this young man as their hero from a mysterious and exotic land overseas. According to the authors, Gibran also occasionally succumbed to sexual temptations, although scholarly documentation is still lacking to support such a bold claim. Continuing in this vein, the authors describe the man who habitually gave in to heavy smoking and in later years to drinking so as to alleviate the pain that was becoming a daily visitor and inevitable friend. There is frank talk about Gibran the human, making mistakes yet continuously striving for perfection and constantly reexamining his spiritual progress.
The new biography tries to paint a detailed picture of the extraordinary life of a self-made man and genius. It attempts to amplify the wealth of Gibran’s experiences and to present the inner struggle that he lived through on his journey towards the “universal man”, which he was trying to become. It sheds more light on the multifaceted personality of Gibran: the immigrant, the poor poet, the son, the brother, the tireless artist at work, the Lebanese nationalist, the friend and lover, and the hermit and the philosopher. In the midst of all this, the authors succeed in making us feel the poet’s constant attempt to achieve a balance between the “contraries” that permeated his life. Their new book, more than any other before it, widely expands our knowledge of Gibran’s experience in Lebanon during his return to study at al-Hikmah School. It is also a rich source of information on other vital areas of Gibran’s life, including especially his early years in Boston and his relationship with Mary Haskell.
Across the pages of this odyssey, we encounter Gibran the immigrant simultaneously living in two different worlds, that of his native land and that of his adopted country. We also see him continuously trying to reconcile the immense differences between the East and the West. In the end, we are left with the triumphant feeling that although still yearning for the “isles of his birth”, he was able to harmonize the opposites and emerge as a citizen of the world. We also meet him as the poor young Lebanese artist-poet determined to cut his way through the thorns of life by totally devoting himself to writing and painting without having to compromise his ideals.
As the narration unfolds we see Gibran the son, whose relationship with his father was always precarious. “He called out the fighter in me,” Gibran once said about his father. Since his early boyhood, Gibran’s relationship with him was stormy and “difficult.” The impressionable, sensitive boy “never felt very close to this autocratic, temperamental man who was hostile to his artistic nature and was not a loving person.” What the biography could have pointed out but did not is that the boy throughout his formative years and later on as a young man lacked the image of the father as a positive role model whom he could admire and emulate, and with whom he could find comfort and solace. His mother, on the other hand, who “evoked in the child feelings of deeper affection and admiration”, inflamed in the boy both his imagination and his ambition. She remained the most moving and ever-positive force in his life. He would speak of her with tenderness and emotion. Always encouraging and understanding, she was his teacher, guide and comforter even after she had crossed to the other world. Notwithstanding all of this, the Bushrui and Jenkins biography should have stressed the fact that Gibran still sought a male figure to embrace and love; hence, his everlasting fascination of, and strong identification and unique relationship with, the personality of Jesus, the father, the brother and the friend.
1902 and 1903 were not good years for Gibran. He already did not feel close to his father and was trying to establish himself in a foreign country. Then suddenly tragedy struck. In addition to facing poverty, alienation and exile, Gibran had to deal with death in his family. In 1902 his sister, Sultanah, died at age fourteen. Gibran was on his way back from Lebanon at the time. He arrived two weeks after Sultanah’s death. It had been more than three years since he had seen her last. That same year Gibran was to suffer another great loss, that of his only stepbrother whom he loved dearly. At age twenty-five, Boutros died “with Kahlil at his side.” Before the young poet had a chance to catch his breath or attempt to recover from his loss, he was to be visited once more with the mighty shadow of death. This blow was the hardest. His sick mother passed away minutes before he returned home to check on her. Gibran immediately “fainted.”
In 1921 during the peak period of his finalizing his work on The Prophet, Gibran painted a picture of his mother. He strived to capture her countenance and features. He called his picture of Kamileh “Towards the Infinite.” It was a “stunning” portrait of his mother, as Gibran intended it to be “at the last moment of her life here and the first moment of her life over there.” He said to Mary Haskell, “To me she was and still is a mother of spirit. I feel her nearness, her influence and her succour more than I ever did before she passed away, and in a way which is quite unparalleled.”
Within the span of twelve months, Gibran had lost three of the dearest and closest people to his heart. Although wounded and bleeding, the artist in Gibran was determined to overcome the tragedy. In an effort of pure self-preservation and instinctively trying to prevent the wheels of tragedy from crushing him, Gibran focused his energy on his art work and sought the comforting company of an old friend: Josephine Peabody. He shared his paintings and poetry with Josephine. He certainly felt that she was less judgmental and more understanding than his own countrymen who would have preferred that he get a job or keep the family store and give up his pen and brush. During this dark period of his life, the poet’s choice was clear: either surrender to despair and collapse under the heavy load of this tragic calamity or accept the inevitable catastrophic fate, carry his cross, and continue his procession regardless of the wounds and the scars. The Bushrui and Jenkins biography brilliantly recounts these agonizing moments in Gibran’s life. It also celebrates his will to survive and his determination to succeed. Here the authors do not compare Gibran to Blake, although the similarities between the two are striking. The artist, shielded by a tremendous faith in the continuity of life and trying to rise above personal loss, went on transforming his agony into poems and his suffering into pictures. He, like Blake, is one of those rare individuals who, above all, believed in the sanctity of his mission, in the holiness of his poetic gift and in the sacredness of his artistic talent. For Gibran, writing was neither a hobby nor a form of entertainment; it was absolutely a serious responsibility, a glorious recording of a message that he as a poet-prophet was uniquely destined to receive from a higher source and then deliver to us so that we may be redeemed. He was but the messenger, the transmitter, the oracle through which the message was dictated and brought to life.
Throughout the Bushrui and Jenkins study we observe Gibran the tireless and dedicated worker, whose “punishing working habits” in the end take a toll on his health. He painted all day and wrote all night sipping his strong Arabic coffee and smoking almost twenty cigarettes a day while hardly eating. He would just nibble on a few pistachio nuts, seeds and maybe an orange.
As we progress in the story, we can identify with Gibran the Lebanese nationalist suffering tremendously when his country and its citizens succumbed under the yoke of the Ottoman Empire. He spent restless times desperately trying to form a relief committee and to raise money to help his countrymen. We also feel the deep and genuine concern of Gibran the brother remaining until the end of his life worried about the welfare of his only surviving sister. He did not rest until he had secured her financial future.
Gibran the friend and lover is another major aspect of the artist’s personality covered by Bushrui and Jenkins. The account of his friendship with men like Naimy, Huwayyik, Farris, Rihani and others, in addition to the members of “Arrabitah”, speaks above all of his true devotion to his friends and of their admiration for, and respect and recognition of, his genuine nature and superior intellect. As for women, we see that Gibran also had distinguished relationships with many who were his companions, friends, and admirers, such as Josephine Peabody, Micheline, Barbara Young, Gertrude Stein, Mary Haskell, May Ziadah and others. He had both an emotional and a physical bond with some of these women, although this does not necessarily mean that he had sexual intercourse with any of them. Bushrui and Jenkins do point out that Mary Haskell wrote “at times ‘Kahlil takes me so near: without intercourse he yet gives me the joy of being desired, loved, caressed,’ with ‘a new completeness of touch.” Mary also recorded “ how he kissed her ‘with a tenderness beyond dreams, as God might kiss a child in his arms.” Bushrui and Jenkins state that Gibran specifically told Mary that “he had no desire to conceal their friendship but did not want it to be called ‘a mistress-and-lover-affair”. All critics admit that Gibran never had sex with Mary Haskell. However, many critics including Bushrui and Jenkins also lead us to believe that Gibran did have sex with other women, and yet such a claim has not been substantiated by any decisive evidence or irrefutable proof.
Perhaps the two most distinguished relationships that Gibran had with women were with May Ziadah and Mary Haskell. Through correspondence, Gibran maintained a special relationship with May in Egypt, although they were destined never to meet. Meanwhile, his relationship with Mary was undoubtedly the single most influential event that enhanced his life and career. Gibran met Mary Haskell in May of 1904. He was twenty-one years old. She was to become his sponsor and most ardent supporter. In spite of the fact that the issue of “money” was continuously a source of discomfort and frustration for him, his strong relationship with Mary generally transcended any insecurities he had concerning the material gifts she gave him or the financial arrangement they had. Throughout the Bushrui and Jenkins book, we rightfully feel the sincere and deep struggle of a sensitive soul trying to reconcile the necessity for material needs with a deep sense of pride that was overwhelming and at times damaging.
At one point in their relationship, Mary came to the understanding that “during his youth he had experienced few sexual liaisons. He offered to tell Mary how many, but she declined.” She may have declined because of her pride or jealousy or both, but in any event this has left the door wide open for speculation until today. However, other than Gibran’s statement to Mary, which remained unanswered, no authentic document has yet been published that proves that Gibran was a man interested in a succession of liaisons and frequently occupied in romance and illicit affairs.
The Bushrui and Jenkins biography quotes Mary Haskell as saying: “women naturally long for him...each wants to appropriate, to become the chief object of his attention.” Yet Gibran asserts that he is not like other men “inclined, to indulge in sexual athletics...”, because, as the authors rightly state, his “life revolved around his work...” and “the type of woman physically attractive to him was rare... There had been times when women had approached him sexually but his physical reserve and sense of privacy had made these sexual approaches unwelcome.” In spite of these points, Bushrui and Jenkins seem at times to cast shadows of doubt about Gibran’s “fastidious reserve”, leaving the reader to conclude that Gibran’s “liaisons” were perhaps sexual in nature. Equally suggestive, the authors also submit that during his youth and before his relationship with Mary Haskell, Gibran admitted four women (Josephine Peabody, Micheline and two unnamed older women) into his life. Although he could have allowed these four women into his life during the dark years in Boston marked with death, poverty, frustration, alienation and neglect, this would have been for companionship and support. Of the four women, perhaps Micheline was relatively close in age to Gibran. Josephine Peabody considered herself to be “Gibran’s muse” and “angel”, and described her relationship with Gibran in “mystical terms”. She even wrote a poem about him in which she changed the title from “His Boyhood” to “The Prophet”. Josephine Peabody and the other two women were much older than he, which confirms that he was always seeking an older and more mature woman, perhaps someone like his mother. Because of his emotional insecurity, he was in search of a loving mother figure who could satisfy his emotional and spiritual needs rather than his physical desires. Hence his unique type of relationship with Josephine Peabody and especially with Mary Haskell. For a fifteen-year-old boy coming from a conservative and reserved background in Lebanon, Gibran’s references to Mary Haskell about his “initiation into manhood” and “sexual liaisons” could simply have meant physical intimacy such as a kiss, an embrace or a touch. These terms do not necessarily mean sexual intercourse, which is what the Bushrui and Jenkins biography leads us to believe. Statements such as the one about the older woman “who initiated him into manhood”, or the one about how at age fifteen he “found himself being seduced by an older woman”, remain ambiguous and open to interpretation. The woman who was trying to seduce Gibran and the other who intended to “initiate him into manhood” probably have less to do with reality than with the notion of an epic temptress who would lure the epic hero in an attempt to possess him. Neither one of these women has left any written documents that would lead us to believe or speculate that either one, whoever she might be, indeed had a sexual relationship with Gibran. Furthermore, Gibran himself, as the authors admit, revealed to Mary Haskell how he “was painfully aware of people’s preconceptions of him, and how because he is ‘passionate’, they considered him to be ‘full of affairs”. Based on this, it becomes more difficult to accept the Bushrui and Jenkins claim that Gibran’s mother hastened his return to Lebanon in order to “shield him from further ‘sin and temptation”. The authors state that Gibran’s mother was extremely supportive, loyal and encouraging of “Kahlil in his endeavors” despite the family’s financial limitations. It is therefore unlikely that she would have wanted Gibran to withdraw himself entirely from the circle of those writers, poets and artists who frequented Day’s studio in Boston. Day’s studio was described as a whirlwind of activity. Kamileh, who was already fully aware of her son’s genius and gift, and who knew that her limited means and contacts prevented her from exposing Gibran to the literary and cultural milieu of Boston that he needed in order to flourish, would not have forced him to sever his ties with such an elite group. She was certainly anxious to have him return to his “roots” in order to “be enriched by a deeper understanding of his own heritage...and develop his knowledge of the Arabic language and its great literature.” This would have been her first and foremost reason for sending the fifteen-year-old boy back to Lebanon, and not a fear of “his experiences with the American woman”, as if he had been a reckless and irresponsible teenager blinded by lust and whom his mother had to send away as a form of protection.
At age twenty-three, in 1906, two years after he had met Mary Haskell and two years before he went to Paris, Gibran met Gertrude Barrie, an Irish Protestant pianist who happened to live right in Gibran’s neighborhood. According to the Bushrui and Jenkins biography, Gibran met Barrie through an acquaintance, Salim Sarkis, and immediately was led “into a liaison” with this twenty-six-year-old woman. The authors elaborate: “the petite...pianist and the diminutive Christian Arab poet immediately felt a strong attraction to each other and soon became lovers.” Just like that! The “intensity” of their affair lasted until 1908, after which time they became friends and “very occasionally” corresponded for sixteen years until “Gertrude married the Italian violinist Hector Bazzinello.” Without sufficient documentation and irrefutable proof, it is simply too difficult to imagine Gibran being involved in such an illicit sexual relationship. Most of the conclusions that imply sexual impropriety on Gibran’s part are based on one source -- Naimy’s book on Gibran; and yet Bushrui and Jenkins themselves admit that Naimy’s book “was never meant to be a definitive and objective biography, least of all by Naimy himself.” Furthermore, the extent of Gibran’s correspondence and relationship with Ms. Barrie has not yet been fully explored so as to allow the conclusion advanced by Bushrui and Jenkins.
At age twenty-five, in 1908 as he was supposedly finding his way out of the labyrinth of his “moon-struck love” with Ms. Barrie, Gibran according to the Bushrui and Jenkins biography, falls in love again. This time the object of his affection was Micheline, an aspiring young actress. Simultaneously, Gibran was trying to know Mary Haskell better, to overcome the formalities of a newly developing relationship and to build a lasting impression on her. By this time Mary began to realize that “Gibran was by far the most talented of her protégés...” , and so he started to occupy large spaces in her journal. She was recording “every aspect of his life” and using expressions like “There is a rapt, spiritual quality about him...the gentleness of a child, the nobility of a prince, the order of flame...” All this was happening quickly and Gibran was becoming keenly aware of his deepening relationship with Mary. She was “by now captivated by Gibran” and, wanting to further his artistic career, “offered to send him to Paris to study art” at her own expense. Gibran was “ecstatic at the offer” and told his editor, Ameen Guraieb, that “the presence of a she-angel” opened such doors for him. Right at the time he and Mary collaborated on the first translation of his poem “The Beauty of Death,” which Gibran dedicated to Mary and which “marked the beginning of a collaboration that would be of increasing significance over the years.”
It was at this critical moment in Gibran’s life, when his relationship with Mary seems to have reached a turning point that the poet met Micheline, a “beautiful, intelligent and popular” young French teacher who worked at Mary Haskell’s school and was also Mary’s friend. Both Gibran and Micheline were Mary’s friends and protégés, and Micheline became Gibran’s “first model.” Right under Mary’s nose, “The artist and the model felt a strong attraction and fell in love”, according to Bushrui and Jenkins. We are made to understand that it was not because of Gibran’s decency and respect for Mary, whose relationship with Gibran was growing deeper and more serious, but rather “because of their respective ambition” that Gibran and Micheline “realized that ultimately...any affair could not last.” Yet “despite this awareness, their relationship was a passionate and caring one, inspiring Gibran to write a piece called “The Beloved” in which he describes “The First Kiss.” Micheline is described as “conscious of her beauty” and confident in her future as an actress. She was never satisfied with “her new love affair in Boston” and had her eyes set “for the fame of Broadway.” A few months later, when Gibran arrived in Paris, he “was fortunate in meeting up again with Micheline.” She had just returned for a visit and took some time to show him around and find a place to stay. Obviously, according to this version of the story, the two had not had enough of each other; and full of excitement, “the lovers devoured the sights of Paris before Micheline left to visit relatives...” Again, it was “their burning ambition” that brought them to the realization that a lasting relationship between them was impossible: “The couple, though still in love, knew in their heart...Their inevitable parting in Paris marked the end of their love affair.” Soon after Micheline left, and “despite” her “departure,” Gibran sat down to write to Mary about his excitement for being in Paris and how “thirsty” he was “for work, work, work.” This confirms that Gibran was a serious artist who was more concerned with his work than with pursuing a fleeting love affair that would have distracted him from his purpose for being in Paris.
From 1910 on, the shadow of involvement with women other than Mary Haskell fades away and no longer becomes a significant issue for scholarly debate. After Mary marries Jacob Florence Minis, Gibran permitted Barbara Young to become his secretary. Much later he allowed “an office worker in the garment business” to live with him, but out of necessity: he was sick and tired all the time and truly needed assistance. It is rather shocking to the reader that Bushrui and Jenkins, who describe Gibran at this point in his life (1930) as “desolate and overpowered by his illness”, even a “dying man” with practically no life in his body, conclude that he “succumbed to his desires and let a young woman ...into his life.” They submit that “despite his wariness... passionate love could be a quenchless thirst.” According to the authors, this was the reason why the “ailing poet” was attracted to the intelligent, young woman in her late twenties, and why even though “she was by no means a soulmate...an intense relationship developed.” Whatever the precise implications of such statements are, this remains an unfair assessment of Gibran’s last days especially considering the fact that he was already bed-ridden and dependent upon the generous nature of Anna Johansen, the wife of the janitor of the building in which he lived in New York City. Anna kept an eye on the ailing poet during these difficult days.
It is disappointing to see implications being made of Gibran shuffling in and out of these “affairs”. There is not a single published document attesting to this, whether from Gibran or from any of the women in question. Also, what any of the women may have said after Gibran’s death remains one-sided. It is equally disturbing to see such insinuations being allowed and included in a new and otherwise very informative biography of the Lebanese genius. If all of the mentioned “liaisons” are true, is it not ironic that Paris, the city that at that particular moment in history was sizzling with artistic freedom and moral permissiveness, was the one place in which all critics seem to agree that the young and handsome Gibran did not have any “liaisons?” It is also crucial to point out that Gibran was a man who was deeply concerned with his reputation and with building his image as a poet-prophet. In Boston he was well-known by a large number of people in both the American and Lebanese communities. It is not reasonable to assume that Gibran would have seriously endangered his reputation by engaging in “liaisons” and running the risk of being caught in a web of sexual avarice. Such “maneuvers” would have easily been detected by the close-knit Lebanese community. Gibran was adamant about his spiritual convictions and like Blake believed that sex is a form of energy that he preferred to preserve and redirect into creativity through poetry and art, as he confided to Mary Haskell. Gibran was polite, reserved, compassionate, a good listener, a women’s advocate, and a positive spiritual guide. This is why, I believe, women enjoyed his company and felt such a close bond to him.
As we continue to make our way through the revealing biography by Bushrui and Jenkins, we come across another paradox in Gibran's personal life. We experience the one side of him that wants to reach out and be the teacher and the reformer, the side of the sociable persona who said, “I love people entirely without discrimination or preference”, but we also experience the other side that is obsessed with an overpowering need for privacy. Here we walk silently with Gibran the hermit who cherished his studio and willingly spent his days and nights alone hunting after the absolute, painting pictures and writing poems and stories alone, but never lonely, accompanied by a vivid vision, an ever creative imagination and a tireless will. We also live through the immense struggle of Gibran the poet who still thinks in his native Arabic almost until the end while working to master the English language through theBible and the writings of Blake and Shakespeare. Here is a man who, like no one else before him or since, succeeded in blending together the melody of Arabic verse, the maturity of Islamic philosophy, the spirituality of Sufism, Baha’ism, Hinduism and Buddhism, the majesty of the King James’s Bible, and the teachings of Jesus and Mohammed, ancient mythology, the Romantics, Blake, Nietzsche, Keats, Yeats, Whitman, Emerson and many others. He was uniquely qualified to create a universal message of love and brotherhood.
Throughout their book, Bushrui and Jenkins try to remain conscious that it is a biography they are writing and not an analytical study of Gibran’s works. Nevertheless, they could not help delving into the critical and analytical side of some major concepts that they deemed necessary to help shed more light on Gibran the poet. When discussing The Madmen, The Prophet, The Earth Gods, The Wanderer, and Jesus the Son of Man, for example, they attempt a deliberate and detailed analysis of Gibran’s mind and philosophy. Hence, although Kahlil Gibran: Man and Poet is essentially a biography, it oscillates between history, literary criticism and biography.
The reader cannot help but be impressed with the volume of sources and references consulted during the preparation of this major study. In spite of this, however, it is worth mentioning that two rather important sources were noticeably missing from the list of references, namely, those of Karam and Brax. I mention these two books specifically because their authors are two prominent literary figures. Also both of their studies focus on the biographical side and present deep insights into the life and times of Gibran. They were written in Arabic and published in Cairo and Beirut respectively. Professor Antoine Ghattas Karam’s was a series of lectures on Gibran addressing issues related to his life, work and influences and later published in 1964 as Muhadarat fi Gibran Kahlil Gibran. Professor Ghazy Brax’s study was one of the earliest psychological profiles of Gibran viewing his life and works under the light of modern psychoanalytical concepts. This extensive work entitled Gibran Kahlil Gibran: Fi Dirasa tahliliya tarkibiya was published in 1973 and is still considered one of the outstanding and most serious analyses of Gibran’s life as a spiritual quest towards the ultimate fulfillment of man’s deep-rooted psychological need to unite with the absolute and the infinite.
Brax argued that, based on Gibran’s life, his ideals and ethical positions, and because of the spiritual laws that he adopted and employed to measure his psychological progress, Gibran could not possibly have allowed himself to deviate from the high standards that he had set for himself. Furthermore, a detailed and thorough psychological examination of his drawings as well as his writings in both Arabic and English illustrates that he could not conceivably have succumbed to such degrading sexual affairs as the rumors circulated by certain sources would want us to believe. Both within the conscious and the subconscious realms of his personality, Gibran was continuously striving to transcend the physical and the material worlds in order to arrive at a pure spiritual state, which he ultimately reached and which necessitated the total denial of such sexual desires and liaisons.
Professor Brax focused on two main dynamic themes in Gibran’s writings and drawings, namely, those of motherhood and the personality of Jesus. He concluded that both of these themes were the most dominating factors that governed not only Gibran’s thinking, writings and art but ultimately his behavior and the code of ethics that he abided by throughout his life. Hence, his constant attempts to perfect his spiritual ascendance towards the allegorical state of being that he modeled his life after. Brax also argued that such bodily energies that Gibran had were successfully transformed into creative fluids that went into enriching his poetry and art. Brax points out that since his childhood, Gibran was driven towards the mother image that he idealized and projected onto the majority of the women who became important figures in his adult life. The centrality of this dynamic theme does not limit itself to women like Hala Daher, Sultana Tabit, Micheline, Mary Haskell, Mary Khoury, May Ziadah and Barbara Young, whom Gibran identifies with his mother figure, but also -- Brax explains -- goes well beyond human figures to include mother nature in the duality of her two features (the land and the sea) as well as the homeland, which Gibran would address as an angry child might address a stubborn mother, or as a passionate child might express love towards an ill mother. Concerning the women whom Gibran knew, Brax argues that they were known more as “mother figures” than as lovers. .
Kahlil Gibran: Man and Poet tries to present Gibran as he really was, a man always concerned with his native country and proud of his Lebanese and Arab heritage. It also reveals the sincere and dedicated author to whom writing was rather a necessity like breathing. Gibran did not write to make money or to receive praise. Whenever he did make money or receive praise because of his writing, he always felt awkward, uncomfortable, and rather shy. Any time that he tried to play the businessman, he failed. Any investments he made other than in what served to enrich his poetic or artistic talents proved to be a total disaster both materially and financially.
Although the issue that Gibran was an escapist and a loner, a claim made by other critics of Gibran, was not directly addressed in the new, updated and comprehensive biography by Bushrui and Jenkins, we find in the study ample evidence to argue otherwise. Clearly, Gibran emerges as very much a part of his environment and surroundings, whether on the social, literary, or political scenes. He was not the poet of the ivory tower, but rather a man who valued his aloneness because creativity demands concentration and artistic vision requires a certain distance from mundane obligations.
A quick survey of some of the topics that Gibran concerned himself with throughout his career is sufficient to convince the skeptic that the author of The Prophet was a man very much of his age and times. Topics like freedom, justice, unity of religion, war, peace, social inequality, the right of women, marriage, love, nature, imagination, the city, the rich, the poor, art, poetry, fanaticism, the politics of peace, alienation, universality, equality between man and social reform, to mention but a few, were priorities on his list of concerns. Additionally, the countless friends he had, and especially the artists, poets or people of influence whom he either sketched or corresponded with, provide additional testimony to Gibran’s widespread circle of contacts. Moreover, Gibran was on many occasions invited to give lectures on Whitman, Emerson, poetry and art, or simply to read from his own works. Such invitations were extended by churches, universities, tour organizers and the Poetry Society of America, not to mention by the countless art galleries where he displayed his paintings and drawings. He also served on the board of some distinguished literary magazines, formed the Syrian-Lebanese Relief Committee and established and headed “Arrabitah,” the literary association that transformed the degraded sick condition of Arabic poetry and pumped new blood and energy into its veins. With this Gibran occupies an especially prominent place in modern Arabic literature. He is the leader of a new revolution in modernizing the otherwise stagnated Arabic language, literature and thought. His influence was far-reaching and permanent. He remains uniquely qualified to stand out as the poetic genius who was able to address the East with the language and the issues that the East understood. At the same time, he had the credibility, knowledge and presence to speak the language of the West and offer the spiritual message that the West hungered for.
As we try to come to terms with the tragic ending of the story of a man whom Kahlil Gibran: Man and Poet portrays as the poet of peace and ecology and a champion of women’s rights, we are comforted with a sense of completion. The cycle of this wanderer’s life finally reached its ultimate destination. Gibran comes full circle from Bisharri to New York and back to Bisharri again. Everything in between was a lesson that he had to learn, a station on his journey toward the infinite.
The authors try to justify Gibran’s place in Western and American literature. The Lebanese author's works have not been included in surveys of American literature, they argue, because of the critics’ inability to liberate themselves from the traditional terms of reference. Gibran is a world master. His literature as well as his message are neither American nor Arabic but rather universal. It takes a special critic to evaluate Gibran’s works. His philosophy and poetry are neither purely Western nor totally Eastern, but a fortunate and happy marriage that wedded the optimism, spirituality, and mysticism of the East to the materialism, empiricism, and existentialism of the West. The authors conclude that to apply a purely Anglo-American standard of literary criticism is to encompass only half of the totality of Gibran’s vision and his manner of expressing that vision.
Undoubtedly, this extensive biography will remain a major source of information on Gibran. Its comprehensiveness and wealth of detail shed new light on the man’s life and world. It certainly fills a vacuum in Gibran scholarship.
Refrences:
[1]Bushrui, Suheil and Jenkins, Joe, Kahlil Gibran: Man and Poet, A New Biography, Oxford, Oneworld Publication, 1998. All quotations are taken from this text.
