BEIRUT: Born 1207 in the Persian province of Balkh, part of modern-day Afghanistan, the poet Rumi became a surprise best seller in America at the end of the 1990s – several years before the Anglo-American invasion of his homeland – thanks to the lauded translations of Coleman Barks.

Rumi’s popularity was affirmed with ayurvedic guru Deepak Chopra’s 1998 album, “The Way of Love,” which set Rumi’s love poems to music with the help of celebrity pals, among them Madonna, Martin Sheen and Demi Moore.

Given that Rumi advocates music and dancing as twin paths to spiritual union, it may come as no surprise that he counts choreographers, as well as pop stars and actors, among his contemporary fans.

The writings of Rumi form the basis of “Vertical Road,” the latest production of Akram Khan Company, performed at Masrah al-Madina Tuesday and Wednesday as part of the Beirut International Platform of Dance, courtesy of the British Council.

“Vertical Road” might also describe Akram Khan’s meteoric rise to the dizzy peaks of international choreography.

Trained as a child in the art of kathak, a classical dance form of north India, Khan was spotted at the age of 14 by legendary theater director Peter Brook, then casting for his 1987 production of Sanskrit epic the “Mahabharata.”

After training in contemporary dance, Khan won renown for his solo works in the late 1990s, which blended kathak traditions with contemporary technique.

Recent years have seen Khan move away from solo work to collaborative projects, incorporating an impressive roster of multidisciplinary talents into his productions. Sculptor Anthony Gormley, writer Hanif Kureshi and rapper Dizzee Rascal have all found themselves sucked into Khan’s orbit.

Not all these projects have borne compelling fruit. A daring collaboration with actress Juliette Binoche and artist Anish Kapoor, 2008’s “In-I” proved a stretch too far. Binoche valiantly battled through the dancing and Khan tried a spot of acting, but the result was clumsy.

“Vertical Road” marks a return to form. Following the spiritual quest of tousle-haired Egyptian dancer Salah al-Brogy, Khan provides an invigorating spectacle replete with striking imagery.

Stationed behind a translucent curtain at the rear of the stage, Brogy butted his head and swiped his arms against the fabric, like a vacuum-packed vegetable making a bid for escape.

In front of the curtain, the remaining seven dancers of the company stood stock still, heads bowed. Attired in ruched tunics and covered in white dust, the dancers resembled a gaggle of ossified deities.

A wind from some blasted heath screeched out of the sound system as Brogy picked his way gingerly through the stationary corps. Then, a thwacking beat, played at ear-bleeding volume, brought the stony figures to life.

As though the terracotta army of Qin Shi Huang had been spirited into motion, the dancers flung their bodies into a sequence of jerky, aggressive movements, seemingly impelled by the beat as much as responding to it, sending clouds of dust into the audience.

Indian-British composer Nitin Sawhney is responsible for the soundtrack of “Vertical Road,” a somewhat heavy-handed effort that frequently resorted to howling winds and apocalyptic violins.

Like a Greek chorus, the corps moved in an ever-mutating array as different dancers stepped out of formation into a solitary sequence or a physical encounter.

At its best, “Vertical Road” saw complex arrays of activity unfold on stage: Dancers variously kneeling in supplication, juddering in trance-like states, doing tai-chi style battle, or whirling like, well, dervishes.

There were periodic longueurs, however, when the corps ossified once more and Brogy was left to pad balefully among them, as puzzled as his audience.

Often, the dancers seemed part of a pedagogical vision for Brogy’s benefit. Eulalia Ayguade Farro repeatedly materialized before Brogy, but every time he reached out, she melted away.

Then Brogy witnessed a chastening vision of sexual fulfillment as Farro writhed across the stage along with Andrej Petrovic.

In its later stages, the performance began to lose its way. There was a sense of big ideas being wrestled with that, frustratingly, remained opaque to the audience.

A formation of book-shaped wooden blocks at the front of the stage were periodically knocked over by dancers and righted again, like spiritual dominoes – though to what end it was difficult to make out.

A final gorgeous image brought the audience back on side. Brogy was left alone in front of the pellucid screen, which was suffused with a lambent orange glow. Ranged behind, his colleagues held their silhouetted hands up against the fabric. As Brogy touched these tentacle-like shapes, they vanished and then slowly reappeared, like the heads of sea anemones.

Then, Brogy literally brought the curtain down. The huge translucent screen slithered to the floor. He was finally at one with whatever lies behind.

BIPOD continues April 29 with an appearance from Norway’s Panta Rei Danseteater. For further details, visit www.maqamat.org/bipod2011 or call +961 1 343 834.