Loving you

Minnie Ripperton

Lyrics:

Lovin’ you is easy, ’cause you’re beautiful
Makin’ love with you is all I wanna do
Lovin’ you is more than just a dream come true
And everything that I do is out of lovin’ you
La-la-la-la-la, la-la-la-la-la
La-la-la-la-la, la-la, la-la-la
Dodin-dodin-do-do, ah-ah-ah-ah-ah
No one else can make me feel the colors that you bring
Stay with me while we grow old, and we will live each day in springtime
‘Cause lovin’ you has made my life so beautiful
And every day of my life is filled with lovin’ you
Lovin’ you, I see your soul come shinin’ through
And every time that we-, ooh, I’m more in love with you
La-la-la-la-la, la-la-la-la-la
La-la-la-la-la, la-la, la-la-la
Dodin-dodin-do-do, ah-ah-ah-ah-ah
No one else can make me feel the colors that you bring
Stay with me while we grow old, and we will live each day in springtime
‘Cause lovin’ you is easy, ’cause you’re beautiful
And every day of my life is filled with lovin’ you
Lovin’ you, I see your soul come shinin’ through
And every time that we-, ooh, I’m more in love with you
La-la-la-la-la, la-la-la-la-la
La-la-la-la-la, la-la, la-la-la
Dodin-dodin-do-do, ah-ah-ah-ah-ah
Na, ooh-ooh
La-la-la-la-la, la-la, la-la-la
Dodin-dodin-do-do, bi-do-bi-do-bni-do
My, my-a, my, my-a
My, my-a, my-a, my-a
La, la, la-la, bi-do-bi-do-ooh-do-do

Seyyed Hossein Nasr

Translation

I Am So Drunk From Thy Love That I No Longer Know Myself,
I Am In Wonderment In This Drunkenness And Yet Remain Silent.
Being Away From Thee Is Not Possible, Nor Is Thy Embrace Full Of Love,
Yet Bewildered Am I From The Perfume Of Thy Black Hair.
Unveil Thy Face, O Saki, For My Soul Is In Quest.
Give A Gulp Of That Wine That Will Remove My Breath And Mind.
In This Monastery Full Of Affliction I Have Accepted Much Suffering
With This Thought—That One Day I Would Drink The Wine Of Gnosis.
In This World I Have Thee, I Have Thee Alone.
Union With Thee Is The Goal Of My Life; I Continue To Strive On This Path.

The Fervor For Meeting Thee Burns Within Me Like Fire,
I Continue To Burn In This Fire Though I Am Annihilated And Silent.

 

Original:

زعشقت آنچنان مستم که دیگر خود نمی دانم

در این مستی بوَم حیران و با این حال خاموشم

 

نه دوریت بوَد  ممکن نه آغوش پر از مهرت

ز بوی زلف مشکینت ولی همواره مدهوشم

 

رُخت بگشای ای ساقی که جانم در طلب باشد

بده یک جرعه زان باده برَد هم دم وَ هم هوشم

 

در این دیر پر از محنت بسی سختی پذیرفتم

به این اندیشه تا روزی شراب معرفت نوشم

 

در این عالم ترا دارم تو را دارم به تنهایی

وصالت غایت عمرم در این ره همچنان کوشم

 

بوَد شور لقائت همچو آتش در درون من

در این آتش همی سوزم ولی فانی و خاموشم

The qibla of love

Qu’ran 2:144

We have seen the turning of thy face to heaven. And now verily We shall turn you toward a qibla [direction of prayer] which is dear to thee. So turn thy face toward the Inviolable Place of Worship, and ye, wheresoever ye may be, turn your faces toward it. Lo! Those who have received the Scripture know that is the Truth from their Lord. And Allah is not unaware of what they do.

Qur’an 10:87

We revealed to Moses and his brother, “Appoint houses for your people in Egypt and make your houses a qibla [direction of prayer], and establish worship. And give good news to the believers.”

 

Qur’an 2:155

To god belong the East and West, and wheresoever you turn, there is the face of God.

 

“Do you think my qibla is only here [before me]? By God, your bowing and prostrating are not concealed from me; I can see you even though you are behind my back.”

-Hadith

 

Rumi

Since the qibla of the soul has been hidden

everyone has turned his face to a different corner

(Masnavi 5:328-337)

Original:

قبله‌ی جان را چو پنهان کرده‌اند
هر کسی رو جانبی آورده‌اند

 

 

The Kaaba of Gabriel and the celestial spirits is a Lote-tree;
the glutton’s qibla is a cloth laden with dishes of food.
The qibla of the Knower is the light of union with God;
the qibla of the philosopher’s mind is fantasy.
The qibla of the ascetic is God, the Gracious;
the qibla of the flatterer is a purse of gold.
The qibla of the spiritual is patience and long-suffering;
the qiblah of form-worshippers is an image of stone.
The qibla of those who live in the inward is the Bounteous One;
the qibla of those who worship the outward is a woman’s face.
(Masanvi 6, 1896–1900)

 

Original:

کعبه‌ی جبریل و جانها سدره‌ای ** قبله‌ی عبدالبطون شد سفره‌ای
قبله‌ی عارف بود نور وصال  ** قبله‌ی عقل مفلسف شد خیال
قبله‌ی زاهد بود یزدان بر ** قبله‌ی مطمع بود همیان زر
قبله‌ی معنی‌وران صبر و درنگ ** قبله‌ی صورت‌پرستان نقش سنگ
قبله‌ی باطن‌نشینان ذوالمنن ** قبله‌ی ظاهرپرستان روی زن

 

By virtue of that Light the calf becomes a qibla of (Divine) grace;
without that Light the qibla becomes (a symbol of) infidelity and an idol.
The licence that comes from self-will is error;
the licence that comes from God is perfection.
In that quarter where the illimitable Light has shone,
infidelity has become faith and the Devil has attained unto Islam.

 

Original:
عجل با آن نور شد قبله‌ی کرم ** قبله بی آن نور شد کفر و صنم
هست اباحت کز هوای آمد ضلال ** هست اباحت کز خدا آمد کمال
کفر ایمان گشت و دیو اسلام یافت ** آن طرف کان نور بی‌اندازه تافت

(Masnavi 6: 2073)

 

 

Within the Ka‘ba the rule of the qibla does not exist:
what matter if the diver has no snow-shoes?
Do not seek guidance from the drunken:
why dost thou order those whose garments are rent in pieces to mend them?
The religion of Love is apart from all religions:
for lovers, the (only) religion and creed is—God.

 

Original:

در درون کعبه رسم قبله نیست ** چه غم ار غواص را پاچیله نیست‏
تو ز سر مستان قلاووزی مجو ** جامه چاکان را چه فرمایی رفو
تو ز سر مستان قلاووزی مجو ** جامه چاکان را چه فرمایی رفو

(Masnavi 6:1768-1770)

 

 

Since the Hand of God has made the Qibla manifest,
henceforth deem searching to be disallowed.
Hark, avert your face and head from searching,
now that the Destination and Dwelling-place has come into view.
If you forget this Qibla for one moment, you will become in thrall to every worthless qibla (object of desire).
When you show ingratitude to him that gives you discernment, the thought that recognises the Qibla will dart away from you.

 

Original:

قبله را چون کرد دست حق عیان ** پس تحری بعد ازین مردود دان
هین بگردان از تحری رو و سر ** که پدید آمد معاد و مستقر
ک زمان زین قبله گر ذاهل شوی ** سخره‌ی هر قبله‌ی باطل شوی
چون شوی تمییزده را ناسپاس ** بجهد از تو خطرت قبله‌شناس

 

 

 

Amīr Khusrow

Every sect has a faith, a  Qibla to which they turn,
I have turned my face towards the crooked cap (of Nizamudin Aulia)
The whole world worships something or the other,
Some look for God in Mecca, while some go to Kashi (Banaras),
So why can’t I, Oh wise people, fall into my beloved’s feet?
Every sect has a faith, a Qibla.

 

Original:

هر قوم راست راهي، ديني و قبله گاهي

من قبله راست كرديم ،‌بر سمت كج كلاهي

 

Transliteration:
Har qaum raast raahay, deen-e wa qibla gaahay,
Mun qibla raast kardam, bar samt kajkulaahay.
Sansaar har ko poojay, kul ko jagat sarahay,
Makkay mein koyi dhoondhay, Kaashi ko koi jaaye,
Guyyian main apnay pi kay payyan padun na kaahay.
Har qaum raast raahay, deen-e wa qibla gaahay…

 

Mirza Ghālib

The one to whom I bow is beyond senses’ boundaries

The qiblah itself’s a pointer for those who can see

 

Original:

ہے پرے سرحدِ ادراک سے اپنا مسجود

قبلے کو اہلِ نظر قبلہ نما کہتے ہیں

 

 

 

Ibn ‘Arabi:

Contemplate the house: for sanctified hearts,
its lights shine openly
They look at it through God, without a veil,
and its august and sublime secret appears to them.

 

and famously:

My heart has become receptive to every form
A meadow for gazelles, and a cloister for the monks
A house for the idols, and the pilgrim’s Ka’aba
The tablets of the Torah, pages of the Qur’an
My religion is love’s own and wheresoever turn
Her caravan, that love is my religion and my faith
We have an example in Bishr, lover of Hind and her sister,
And Qays and Layla, and Mayya and Ghaylan*

 

Original:
لقدْ صارَ قلبي قابلاً كلَّ صورة ٍ                فمَرْعًى لغِزْلاَنٍ وديرٌ لرُهْبانِ
وبَيْتٌ لأوثانٍ وكعبة ُ طائفٍ،                 وألواحُ توراة ٍ ومصحفُ قرآنِ
أدينُ بدينِ الحبِّ أنَّى توجَّهتْ                   رَكائِبُهُ فالحُبُّ ديني وإيماني
لنا أُسْوَة ٌ في بِشْرِ هندٍ وأُخْتِهَا               وقيسٍ وليلى ، ثمَّ مي وغيلانِ

 

Also see:

P | A | Chodkiewicz: The Paradox of the Ka‘ba

and

O Lovers, O Lovers

 

Several of Rumi’s most musical ghazals begin with this refrain

Translation:

O Lovers, O lovers, the time has come to leave this world

In my soul’s ears resound the traveling drums from Heaven

Behold, the driver has risen and made ready the files of camels,
And begged us to acquit him of blame: why, O travelers, are you asleep ?
These sounds before and behind are the din of departure and of the camel-bells;
With each moment a soul and a spirit is setting off into the Void.
From these stars like inverted candles, from these blue awnings of the sky
There has come forth a wondrous people, that the mysteries may be revealed.
A heavy slumber fell upon thee from the circling spheres:
Alas for this life so light, beware of this slumber so heavy!
O soul, seek the Beloved, O friend, seek the Friend,
O watchman, be wakeful: it behooves not a watchman to sleep.
On every side is clamor and tumult, in every street are candles and torches,
For to-night the teeming world gives birth to the world everlasting.
Thou wert dust and art spirit, thou wert ignorant and art wise;
He who has led thee thus far will lead thee further also.
How pleasant are the pains he makes thee suffer while he gently draws thee to himself!
His flames are as water. Do not frown upon him.
To dwell in the soul is his task, to break vows of penitence is his task;
By his manifold artifice these atoms are trembling at their core.
O ridiculous puppet that leapest out of thy hole, as if to say, ‘I am the lord of the land,’
How long wilt thou leap? Abase thyself, or they will bend thee like a bow.
Thou didst sow the seed of deceit, thou didst indulge in derision,
Thou didst regard God as nothing: see now, O miscreant!
O ass, thou wert best with straw; thou art a caldron: thou wert best black;
Thou wert best at the bottom of a well, O disgrace of thy house and family!
In me there is Another by whom these eyes sparkle;
If water scalds, it is by fire; understand this.
I have no stone in my hand, I have no quarrel with anyone,
I deal harshly with none, because I am sweet as a garden of roses.
Mine eye, then, is from that source and from another universe;
Here a world and there a world: I am seated on the threshold.
On the threshold are they alone whose eloquence is mute;
It is enough to utter this intimation: say no more, draw back thy tongue.

 

(trans. R.A. Nicholson)

Original:

ای عاشقان ای عاشقان هنگام کوچ است از جهان
در گوش جانم می رسد طبل رحیل از آسمان
نک ساربان برخاسته قطارها آراسته
از ما حلالی خواسته چه خفته‌اید ای کاروان
این بانگ‌ها از پیش و پس بانگ رحیل است و جرس
هر لحظه‌ای نفس و نفس سر می کشد در لامکان
زین شمع‌های سرنگون زین پرده‌های نیلگون
خلقی عجب آید برون تا غیب‌ها گردد عیان
زین چرخ دولابی تو را آمد گران خوابی تو را
فریاد از این عمر سبک زنهار از این خواب گران
ای دل سوی دلدار شو ای یار سوی یار شو
ای پاسبان بیدار شو خفته نشاید پاسبان
هر سوی شمع و مشعله هر سوی بانگ و مشغله
کامشب جهان حامله زاید جهان جاودان
تو گل بدی و دل شدی جاهل بدی عاقل شدی
آن کو کشیدت این چنین آن سو کشاند کش کشان
اندر کشاکش‌های او نوش است ناخوش‌های او
آب است آتش‌های او بر وی مکن رو را گران
در جان نشستن کار او توبه شکستن کار او
از حیله بسیار او این ذره‌ها لرزان دلان
ای ریش خند رخنه جه یعنی منم سالار ده
تا کی جهی گردن بنه ور نی کشندت چون کمان
تخم دغل می کاشتی افسوس‌ها می داشتی
حق را عدم پنداشتی اکنون ببین ای قلتبان
ای خر به کاه اولیتری دیگی سیاه اولیتری
در قعر چاه اولیتری ای ننگ خانه و خاندان
در من کسی دیگر بود کاین خشم‌ها از وی جهد
گر آب سوزانی کند ز آتش بود این را بدان
در کف ندارم سنگ من با کس ندارم جنگ من
با کس نگیرم تنگ من زیرا خوشم چون گلستان
پس خشم من زان سر بود وز عالم دیگر بود
این سو جهان آن سو جهان بنشسته من بر آستان
بر آستان آن کس بود کو ناطق اخرس بود
این رمز گفتی بس بود دیگر مگو درکش زبان

 

“The time of meeting and union has come”

Translation:
O Lovers, O Lovers the time of union and meeting has come
A call came from heaven proclaiming
“Moon-faced beauties, come hither
The fiery wine has come, O demon of grief, go sit in a corner!
O death-pondering soul, you too go! O immortal Saqi, come now!
O drunk ones, O drunk ones, The enraptured whirling one has come
The chains of his locks have captured us and our heart’s yearning has captured him
O you on which the seven heavens are drunk
We are but a bead in your hands
O you from whose being ours is
A hundred greetings, welcome!
O sound of the reed with sweet stories
In your sound is the taste of sugar
From your sound comes the fragrance of faithfulness
night and day!
Begin again and tune those notes
Open those veils
for all good souls
O sun of our happy meeting
Be quiet, don’t tear the veil, drink the bowl of the silent
be a concealer (sattar), be a concealer (sattar), get used to God’s clemency

 

 

 

 

Original:

ای عاشقان ای عاشقان آمد گه وصل و لقا
از آسمان آمد ندا کای ماه رویان الصلا
ای سرخوشان ای سرخوشان آمد طرب دامن کشان
بگرفته ما زنجیر او بگرفته او دامان ما
آمد شراب آتشین ای دیو غم کنجی نشین
ای جان مرگ اندیش رو ای ساقی باقی درآ
ای هفت گردون مست تو ما مهره‌ای در دست تو
ای هست ما از هست تو در صد هزاران مرحبا
ای مطرب شیرین نفس هر لحظه می‌جنبان جرس
ای عیش زین نه بر فرس بر جان ما زن ای صبا
ای بانگ نای خوش سمر در بانگ تو طعم شکر
آید مرا شام و سحر از بانگ تو بوی وفا
بار دگر آغاز کن آن پرده‌ها را ساز کن
بر جمله خوبان ناز کن ای آفتاب خوش لقا
خاموش کن پرده مدر سغراق خاموشان بخور
ستار شو ستار شو خو گیر از حلم خدا

 

 

“I am an ancient lover”

This is a popular Afghan song attributed to Rumi, but I haven’t found it in a written collection, so it may be part of the oral tradition:

Translation:
O Lovers, O lovers, I am an ancient lover
O honest ones, O honest one, I am an ancient lover
At that time when the light of my love passed through the heavenly world
I myself was all there, I am an ancient lover
Adam was not, but I was; the world was not, but I was
Before all the worlds, I was, I am an ancient lover
I was with Noah in the ark, I was with Joseph in the well
In the fire with Abraham I was, I am an ancient lover.

 

Original:
ای عاشقان ای عاشقان من عاشق دیرینه ام
ای صادقان ای صادقان من عاشق دیرینه ام
این دم که نور عشق من از عالم علوی گذشت
آنجا همه خود من بودم ، من عاشق دیرینه ام
آدم نبود و من بودم ، عالم نبود و من بودم
پيش از همه عالم بودم ، من عاشق دیرینه ام
با نوح در كشتي بودم با يوسف اندر چاه بودم
در نار بودم با خليل من عاشق ديرينه ام

 

 

 

 

“O Lovers, I turn dust into gems”

Translation:

O Lovers, O Lovers, I turn dust into gems

O singers, O singers, I fill your drums with gold

“Oh thirsty souls! Oh thirsty souls! Today I am giving water to drink!

I will transform this dustbin into paradise, a celestial pool.”

“Oh helpless men! Oh helpless men! Relief has come! Relief has come! I turn everyone with a wounded and aching heart into a sultan, a Sanjar.

“Oh helpless men! Oh helpless men! Relief has come! Relief has come! I turn everyone with a wounded and aching heart into a sultan, a Sanjar.

Oh elixir! Oh elixir! Look at me, for I transmute a hundred monasteries into mosques, a hundred gallows into pulpits!

Oh unbelievers! Oh unbelievers! I unfasten your locks! For I am the absolute ruler: I make some people believers, others unbelievers!

Oh sir! Oh sir! You are wax in my hands! If you become a sword, I will make you a cup; if you become a cup, I will make you into a sword.

You were a sperm-drop and became blood, then you gained this harmonious formcome to me, oh son of Adam! I will make you even more beautiful.

I turn grief into joy and guide the lost, I make the wolf into Joseph and poison into sugar!

Oh sakis! Oh sakis! I have opened my mouth in order to marry every dry lip to the lip of the cup!

Oh rosegarden! Oh rosegarden! Borrow roses from my rosery! Then I will place your sweet herbs next to the lotus. Oh heaven! Oh heaven! You will become even more bewildered than the narcissus when I make dust into ambergris, thorns into jasmine.

“Oh Universal Intellect! Oh Universal Intellect! Whatever you say is true. You are the ruler, you are munificentlet me stop my speaking.”

Translation From: William Chittick’s Sufi Path of Love

 

Original:
ای عاشقان ای عاشقان من خاک را گوهر کنم
وی مطربان ای مطربان دف شما پرزر کنم
ای تشنگان ای تشنگان امروز سقایی کنم
وین خاکدان خشک را جنت کنم کوثر کنم
ای بی‌کسان ای بی‌کسان جاء الفرج جاء الفرج
هر خسته غمدیده را سلطان کنم سنجر کنم
ای کیمیا ای کیمیا در من نگر زیرا که من
صد دیر را مسجد کنم صد دار را منبر کنم
ای کافران ای کافران قفل شما را وا کنم
زیرا که مطلق حاکمم مؤمن کنم کافر کنم
ای بوالعلا ای بوالعلا مومی تو اندر کف ما
خنجر شوی ساغر کنم ساغر شوی خنجر کنم
تو نطفه بودی خون شدی وانگه چنین موزون شدی
سوی من آ ای آدمی تا زینت نیکوتر کنم
من غصه را شادی کنم گمراه را هادی کنم
من گرگ را یوسف کنم من زهر را شکر کنم
ای سردهان ای سردهان بگشاده‌ام زان سر دهان
تا هر دهان خشک را جفت لب ساغر کنم
ای گلستان ای گلستان از گلستانم گل ستان
آن دم که ریحان‌هات را من جفت نیلوفر کنم
ای آسمان ای آسمان حیرانتر از نرگس شوی
چون خاک را عنبر کنم چون خار را عبهر کنم
ای عقل کل ای عقل کل تو هر چه گفتی صادقی
حاکم تویی حاتم تویی من گفت و گو کمتر کن

 

 

 

Another one not found in the books,

“I am found”

Translation:

O Lovers, O Lovers, I am found, I am found!

From the face of that love I myself became enflamed with love, enflamed with love

The beloved says go and be disgraced in our love

I will be ashamed of asceticism, I will be disgraced, disgraced

My friend, if it becomes scary, I will put a belt around my waist

In infidelity, if I am sincere, I will be half-afraid, afraid

From the water of mercy, drops fall on me until I leave

How long will I be like that? I became the sea, the sea

The Saqi gives such wine, that from its dregs I am afflicted with pain

The taverns have all become wine, I’ve become wine

I am lost because for a while like a particle in his sun

Each particle of me became the sun, I am found, I am found.

 

 

Original:
ای عاشقان ای عاشقان پیدا شوم پیدا شوم
بر روی آن مهروی خود شیدا شوم شیدا شوم
معشوقه گر گوید برو در عشق ما رسوا شوی
من زهد را یکسو نهم رسوا شوم رسوا شوم
یارم اگر ترسا شود زنار بندم بر میان
در کفر اگر صادق نیم ترسا شوم ترسا شوم
زان آب رحمت قطره یی بر من فشان تا وا رهم
تا کی صدف باشم چنین؟ دریا شوم دریا شوم
ای عاشقان ای عاشقان پیدا شوم پیدا شوم
بر روی آن مه روی خود شیدا شوم شیدا شوم
معشوقه گر گوید برو در عشق ما رسوا شوی
من زهد را یکسو نهم رسوا شوم رسوا شوم
ساقی چنین می میدهد زان دُرد درد آلوده ام
میخانه ها را سر بسر صهبا شوم صهبا شوم
شد مدتی گم گشته ام چون ذره در خورشید او
هر ذره ام خورشید شد پیدا شوم پیدا شوم

 

 

“We’ve fallen into a whirlpool”

Translation:

O Lovers, O Lovers, today we and you have fallen into a whirlpool—who knows how to swim?

Though the world’s torrent should overflow and every wave become like a dromedary, why shall the waterfowl worry? It is the bird of the air that should be anxious.

Our faces are lighted up with gratitude, schooled as we are in wave and sea, inasmuch as ocean and flood are life-increasing to the fish.

Elder, hand us a towel; water, let us plunge into you; Moses son of ‘Imr ̄an, come, smite the water of the sea with your staff!

This wind concocts in every head a different passion; let my passion be for yonder cupbearer, and you may have all the rest!

Yesterday yon saki on the way snatched the caps of the drunkards; today he is giving yet more wine, preparing to strip us of our robes.

O envy of the Moon and of Jupiter, with us, yet hidden from sight like a peri, gently, gently you are drawing me on—will you not say whither?

Wherever you go, you are with me still, you who are my eyes and my brightness; if you will, draw me to drunkenness, if you will, transport me to annihilation.

Know that the world is like Mount Sinai, and we like Moses

are seekers; every moment an epiphany arrives and cleaves the mountain asunder.

One portion becomes green, one portion becomes narcissus- white; one portion becomes a pearl, one portion ruby and amber.

You who seek to behold Him, gaze upon this mountain chain of His. O mountain, what wind has blown upon you? We have become intoxicated with the echo.

O gardener, gardener, why have you come to grapple with us? If we have carried off your grapes, you have carried off our purse!

 

Translation from: Arberry, Mystical Poems of Rumi

 

Original:

ای عاشقان ای عاشقان امروز ماییم وشما
افتاده در غرقابه‌ای تا خود که داند آشنا
گر سیل عالم پر شود هر موج چون اشتر شود
مرغان آبی را چه غم تا غم خورد مرغ هوا
ما رخ ز شکر افروخته با موج و بحر آموخته
زان سان که ماهی را بود دریا و طوفان جان فزا
ای شیخ ما را فوطه ده وی آب ما را غوطه ده
ای موسی عمران بیا بر آب دریا زن عصا
این باد اندر هر سری سودای دیگر می‌پزد
سودای آن ساقی مرا باقی همه آن شما
دیروز مستان را به ره بربود آن ساقی کله
امروز می در می‌دهد تا برکند از ما قبا
ای رشک ماه و مشتری با ما و پنهان چون پری
خوش خوش کشانم می‌بری آخر نگویی تا کجا
هر جا روی تو با منی ای هر دو چشم و روشنی
خواهی سوی مستیم کش خواهی ببر سوی فنا
عالم چو کوه طور دان ما همچو موسی طالبان
هر دم تجلی می‌رسد برمی‌شکافد کوه را
یک پاره اخضر می‌شود یک پاره عبهر می‌شود
یک پاره گوهر می‌شود یک پاره لعل و کهربا
ای طالب دیدار او بنگر در این کهسار او
ای کُه چه باد خورده‌ای ما مست گشتیم از صدا
ای باغبان ای باغبان در ما چه درپیچیده‌ای
گر برده‌ایم انگور تو تو برده‌ای انبان ما

 

“Whoever sees his face”

Translation:

Lovers, lovers, whoever sees His face, his reason becomes distraught, his habit confounded.

He becomes a seeker of the Beloved, his shop is ruined, he runs headlong like water in his river.

He becomes in love like Majnun, head spinning like the sky; whoever is sick like this, his remedy is unobtainable.

The angels prostrate before him who became God’s dust, the Turk of heaven becomes the servant of him who has become His Hindu [slave].

His love places the aching heart on his hand and smells it; how did not that rejoice which has become His.

Many a breast He has wounded, many a sleep He has barred; that magical glance of His has bound the hand of the magicians.

Kings are all His beggars, beauties clippings of His [beauty], lions drop their tail on the earth before His street-dogs.

Glance once at heaven, at the fortress of the spiritual ones, so many lamps and torches on His towers and battlements.

The keeper of His fortress is Universal Reason, that king without drum and tabor; he alone climbs that fortress who no longer possesses his own ownness.

Moon, have you seen His face and stolen beauty from Him? Night, have you seen His hair? No, no, not one hair of Him.

This night wears black as a sign of mourning, like a black- robed widow whose husband has gone into the earth.

Night makes a pretense and imposture; secretly it makes merry, its eye closes no eye, its brow is set awry.

Night, I do not believe this lamenting of yours; you are running like a ball before the mallet of fate.

He who is struck by His mallet carries the ball of happiness, he runs headlong like the heart about His street.

Our cheeks are like saffron through love of His tulip bed, our heart is sunk like a comb in His hair.

Where is love’s back? Love is all face, back and face belong to this side, His side is only face.

He is free of form, His business is all form-fashioning. O heart, you will never transcend form because you are not single with Him.

The heart of every pure man knows the voice of the heart from the voice of clay; this is the roaring of a lion in the form of His deer.

What is woven by the hand of the One becomes revealed, becomes revealed from the workmanship of the weaver and his hand and shuttle.

O souls His shuttle, O our qibla His street, heaven is the sweeper of this street, this earth its mistress.

My heart is burning with envy for Him, my eyes have be- come His water bags: how should He be wet with tears, while the sea is up to His knees?

This love has become my guest, struck a blow against my soul; a hundred compassions and a hundred blessings to his hand and arm!

I flung away hand and foot and had done with searching; my searching is dead before His searching.

Often I said, “O heart, be silent to this heart’s passion”; my ha is useless when my heart hears His hu.

 

Translation from Arberry, Mystical Poems of Rumi

Original:

ای عاشقان ای عاشقان آن کس که بیند روی او
شوریده گردد عقل او آشفته گردد خوی او
معشوق را جویان شود دکان او ویران شود
بر رو و سر پویان شود چون آب اندر جوی او
در عشق چون مجنون شود سرگشته چون گردون شود
آن کو چنین رنجور شد نایافت شد داروی او
جان ملک سجده کند آن را که حق را خاک شد
ترک فلک چاکر شود آن را که شد هندوی او
عشقش دل پردرد را بر کف نهد بو می‌کند
چون خوش نباشد آن دلی کو گشت دستنبوی او
بس سینه‌ها را خست او بس خواب‌ها را بست او
بسته‌ست دست جادوان آن غمزه جادوی او
شاهان همه مسکین او خوبان قراضه چین او
شیران زده دم بر زمین پیش سگان کوی او
بنگر یکی بر آسمان بر قلعه روحانیان
چندین چراغ و مشعله بر برج و بر باروی او
شد قلعه دارش عقل کل آن شاه بی‌طبل و دهل
بر قلعه آن کس بررود کو را نماند اوی او
ای ماه رویش دیده‌ای خوبی از او دزدیده‌ای
ای شب تو زلفش دیده‌ای نی نی و نی یک موی او
این شب سیه پوش است از آن کز تعزیه دارد نشان
چون بیوه‌ای جامه سیه در خاک رفته شوی او
شب فعل و دستان می‌کند او عیش پنهان می‌کند
نی چشم بندد چشم او کژ می‌نهد ابروی او
ای شب من این نوحه گری از تو ندارم باوری
چون پیش چوگان قدر هستی دوان چون گوی او
آن کس که این چوگان خورد گوی سعادت او برد
بی‌پا و بی‌سر می‌دود چون دل به گرد کوی او
ای روی ما چون زعفران از عشق لاله ستان او
ای دل فرورفته به سر چون شانه در گیسوی او
مر عشق را خود پشت کو سر تا به سر روی است او
این پشت و رو این سو بود جز رو نباشد سوی او
او هست از صورت بری کارش همه صورتگری
ای دل ز صورت نگذری زیرا نه‌ای یک توی او
داند دل هر پاک دل آواز دل ز آواز گل
غریدن شیر است این در صورت آهوی او
بافیده ی دست احد پیدا بود پیدا بود
از صنعت جولاهه‌ای وز دست وز ماکوی او
ای جان ما ماکوی او ، وی قبله ی ما کوی او
فراش این کو آسمان وین خاک کدبانوی او
سوزان دلم از رشک او گشته دو چشمم مشک او
کی ز آب چشم او تر شود ای بحر تا زانوی او
این عشق شد مهمان من زخمی بزد بر جان من
صد رحمت و صد آفرین بر دست و بر بازوی او
من دست و پا انداختم وز جست و جو پرداختم
ای مرده جست و جوی من در پیش جست و جوی او
 من چند گفتم های دل خاموش از این سودای دل
سودش ندارد های من چون بشنود دل هوی او

 

“Enjoy every moment of life”

 

Original:

عیش‌هاتان نوش بادا هر زمان ای عاشقان
وز شما كان شكر باد این جهان ای عاشقان
نوش و جوش عاشقان تا عرش و تا كرسی رسید
برگذشت از عرش و فرش این كاروان ای عاشقان
از لب دریا چه گویم لب ندارد بحر جان
برفزوده‌ست از مكان و لامكان ای عاشقان
ما مثال موج‌ها اندر قیام و در سجود
تا بدید آید نشان از بی‌نشان ای عاشقان
گر كسی پرسد كیانید ای سراندازان شما
هین بگوییدش كه جان جان جان ای عاشقان
گر كسی غواص نبود بحر جان بخشنده است
كو همی‌بخشد گهرها رایگان ای عاشقان
این چنین شد وان چنان شد خلق را در حقه كرد
بازرستیم از چنین و از چنان ای عاشقان
ما رمیت اذ رمیت از شكارستان غیب
می جهاند تیرهای بی‌كمان ای عاشقان
چون ز جست و جوی دل نومید گشتم آمدم
خفته دیدم دل ستان با دلستان ای عاشقان
گفتم ای دل خوش گزیدی دل بخندید و بگفت
گل ستاند گل ستان از گلستان ای عاشقان
زیر پای من گل است و زیر پاهاشان گل است
چون بكوبم پا میان منكران ای عاشقان
خرما آن دم كه از مستی جانان جان ما
می نداند آسمان از ریسمان ای عاشقان
طرفه دریایی معلق آمد این دریای عشق
نی به زیر و نی به بالا نی میان ای عاشقان
تا بدید آمد شعاع شمس تبریزی ز شرق
جان مطلق شد زمین و آسمان ای عاشقان

 

 

And this poem by Amir Hushang Ebtahaj that begins in the same way:

 

 

 

Original:

ای عاشقان، ای عاشقان پیمانه ها پر خون کنید
وز خون دل چون لاله ها رخساره ها گلگون کنید
آمد یکی آتش سوار، بیرون جهید از این حصار
تا بردمد خورشید نو شب را ز خود بیرون کنید
آن یوسف چون ماه را از چاه غم بیرون کشید
در کلبه ی احزان چرا این ناله ی محزون کنید
از چشم ما آیینه ای در پیش آن مه رو نهید
آن فتنه ی فتانه را برخویشتن مفتون کنید
دیوانه چون طغیان کند زنجیر و زندان بشکند
او زلف لیلی حلقه ای در گردن مجنون کنید
دیدم به خواب نیمه شب خورشید و مه را لب به لب
تعبیر این خواب عجب، ای صبح خیزران، چون کنید؟
نوری برای دوستان، دودی به چشم دشمنان
من دل بر آتش می نهم، این هیمه را افزون کنید
زین تخت و تاج سرنگون تا کی رود سیلاب خون؟
این تخت را ویران کنید، این تاج را وارون کنید
چندین که از خم در سبو خون دل ما می رود
ای شاهدان بزم کین پیمانه ها پرخون کنید

 

I am the smoke of a blown out candle

Another beautiful death poem, so good it deserves its own post

 

Poetry by Ali Akbar Natiq, sung by Ustad Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan

Translation by A. Changezi:

I am the smoke of a blown out candle, returning to my source
My heart’s desires erased, I now efface my existence
Last night, your lost remembrance came into my heart
Like the silent arrival of spring in the wilderness
Like the soft movement of the morning breeze in the desert
Like an ailing man finding stillness, without a reason
How You have changed, like the times
Whenever we have met, as if for the first time
Should I call it your cruelty – or your favor, this?
That even grief comes to me like a precious souvenir
When the fires of sorrow were stoked in the heart
We cried the way water bursts from the sky
What offerings could we have made to your Beauty?
There is only this one life, received like charity
I am the smoke of a blown out candle, returning to my source
My heart’s desires erased, I now efface my existence
Solely to see Your face, I bring forth images of idols
That I may collect their various splendours, into a likeness of You
I have hidden myself in a shroud, so trouble Yourself not with concealment
In creating a cloak for myself, it is your Veil that I lift
There, You have already departed home – here, my breath is departing
Lord, what is this calamity? You approach just as I am leaving
Love is man’s nature – where is the possibility of abandoning it?
The more I try to forget, the more You are present in my remembrance
“Here I am” on every tongue, on every breath – my brow in prostration at every step
You travel to the home of idols, Naatiq, as if you were journeying to the House of God
Original:

بجھی ہوئی شمع کا دھواں ھوں اور اپنے مرکز کو جا رہا ھوں
کہ دل کی حسرت تو مٹ چکی ھے اب اپنی ہستی مٹا رہا ھوں

تیری ہی صورت کے دیکھنے کو بتوں کی تصویریں لا رہا ھوں
کہ خوبیاں سب کی جمع کر کے تیرا تصور جما رہا ھوں

کفن میں خود کو چھپا لیا ھے کہ تجھ کو پردے کی ھو نہ زحمت
نقاب اپنے لیے بنا کر حجاب تیرا اٹھا رہا ھوں

ادھر وہ گھر سے نکل پڑے ہیں ادھر میرا دم نکل رہا ہے
الہی کیسی ہے یہ قیامت وہ آ رہیں ہیں میں جا رہا ہوں

محبت انسان کی ھے فطرت کہاں ھے امکان ترک الفت
وہ اور بھی یاد آ رہے ہیں میں ان کو جتنا بھلا رھا ھوں

زبان پہ لبیک ہر نفس میں جبیں پہ سجدہ ہے ہر قرم پہ
یوں جا رہا بت کدے کو ناطق کہ جیسے کعبے کو جا رہا ہوں

بجھی ہوئی شمع کا دھواں ھوں اور اپنے مرکز کو جا رہا ھوں
کہ دل کی حسرت تو مٹ چکی ھے اب اپنی ہستی مٹا رہا ھوں

Death Poems

Mīr Dard

Translation:

My friends, we have seen enough of this play
We are going home, you can stay

 

Original:

دوستو، دیکها تماشا یاں کا بس
تُم رہو خوش ہم تو اپنے گھر چلے

 

(From: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Khwaja_Mir_Dard)

 

Kozan Ichikyo

Translation:

Empty-handed I entered this world
Barefoot I leave it
My coming and my going
two simple happenings
that got entangled

 

Original:

来時は空手、去時は赤脚。一去一来、単重交折

Raiji wa karate kyoji wa sekkyaku ikkyoichirai tanjuu sekkou

 

(From: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Death_poem)

 

Mīrzā ‘abd al-Qādir Bīdil

Translation:

A mere waking between two slumbers, we are
The dust of dreams between mirages we are
From the crash of two waves, a bubble emerges
That is, a talisman written on water we are

 

Original:

بیدارئ میان دو خواب است هستیم
گرد تخیل دو سراب است هستیم
از لطمهٔ دو موج حبابی دمیده است
یعنی طلسم نقش بر آبست هستیم

 

 

Ibn al-Ḥaddād

Translation:

People are like bubbles
Time, depths beyond sounding
One world floats in foam
One world’s light is drowning

 

Original:

الناس مثل حباب         والدهر لجّة ماء
فعالَمٌ  في طفُوًّ       وعالَمٌ  في آنطفاء

 

(see https://mobile.twitter.com/ClassyArabic/status/1481605037646561284 for an alternate translation)

 

 

Mīr Taqī Mīr

 

My life is like a bubble
This world is like a mirage

 

Original:

ہستی اپنی حباب کی سی ہے
یہ نمائش سراب کی سی ہے
Hasti apni habab ki si hai
Yeh numaish ik saraab ki si hai

 

Gerard Manley Hopkins: Spring and Fall

Márgarét, áre you gríeving
Over Goldengrove unleaving?
Leáves like the things of man, you
With your fresh thoughts care for, can you?
Ah! ás the heart grows older
It will come to such sights colder
By and by, nor spare a sigh
Though worlds of wanwood leafmeal lie;
And yet you wíll weep and know why.
Now no matter, child, the name:
Sórrow’s spríngs áre the same.
Nor mouth had, no nor mind, expressed
What heart heard of, ghost guessed:
It ís the blight man was born for,
It is Margaret you mourn for.

 

(From: https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/44400/spring-and-fall)

 

Hafez

 

Translation:

Where’s the good news of union that from this life I rise?
I am a holy bird, from this world’s net I arise
And I swear by your love, that if you call me your slave
that up from the world’s sovereignty and rank I will arise
O Lord, from the cloud of your guidance, let rain fall
Before the time when, from the midst, dust-like I will arise
Sit beside my grave with a musician and with wine
So that with your scent dancing from the tomb I will arise
Rise and show your stature, O idol of sweet moves
So that from this life and world, dancing I arise
Although I’m old, hold me tight in your arms for one night
So that at morning light, young, from your embrace I’ll arise
On the day of my death, take a break to visit me
So that Hafez, from this life and this world, will arise

 

Original:

مژده وصل تو کو کز سر جان برخیزم
طایر قدسم و از دام جهان برخیزم
به ولای تو که گر بنده خویشم خوانی
از سر خواجگی کون و مکان برخیزم
یا رب از ابر هدایت برسان بارانی
پیشتر زان که چو گردی ز میان برخیزم
بر سر تربت من با می و مطرب بنشین
تا به بویت ز لحد رقص کنان برخیزم
خیز و بالا بنما ای بت شیرین حرکات
کز سر جان و جهان دست فشان برخیزم
گر چه پیرم تو شبی تنگ در آغوشم کش
تا سحرگه ز کنار تو جوان برخیزم
روز مرگم نفسی مهلت دیدار بده
تا چو حافظ ز سر جان و جهان برخیزم

 

Moriya Sen’an

Translation:

Bury me when I die
beneath a wine barrel
in a tavern.
With luck,
the cask will leak.

 

Original:

我死なば
酒屋の瓶の下にいけよ
もしや雫の
もりやせんなん
Ware shinaba
sakaya no kame no
shita ni ikeyo
moshi ya shizuku no
mori ya sen nan

 

(note the pun on the poet’s name “Moriya Sen’an” and the last line:
“with luck the cask will leak”—”mori ya sen nan”)

 

 

Hafez

 

Translation:

One whose heart has been revived by love can never die
Our everlastingness is engraved upon the cosmic scroll

 

Original:

هرگز نمیرد آن که دلش زنده شد به عشق                ثبت است بر جریده عالم دوام ما

 

 

Translation:

When I am dead, open my grave and see
The cloud of smoke that rises round thy feet:
In my dead heart the fire still burns for thee;
Yea, the smoke rises from my winding-sheet!

 

Original:

بگشای تربتم را بعد از وفات و بنگر

کز آتش درونم دود از کفن برآید

 

Translation: Gertrude Bell

 

Me

Lips scalded by love’s tongues of flame
Can never taste death’s bitter pain

 

Emily Dickinson

Unable are the Loved to die
For Love is Immortality
Nay, it is Deity—

 

Unable they that love—to die
For Love reforms Vitality
Into Divinity

 

Macedonio Fernández-Creíyo Yo

Translation:

Love’s reach does not to everything extend, for
it cannot shake or break the stab of Death.
Yet little can Death take
if in a loving heart the fear of it subsides.
Nor can Death much take at all, for it cannot
drive its fear into the heart where Love resides.
That if Death rule over Life, Love over Death.

 

Original:

No a todo alcanza Amor, pues que no puede
romper el gajo con que Muerte toca.
Mas poco Muerte logra
si en corazón de Amor su miedo muere.
Mas poco Muerte logra, pues no puede
entrar su miedo en pecho donde Amor.
Que Muerte rige a Vida; Amor a Muerte.

(From: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cre%C3%ADa_yo)

Rumi

Translation:

When my bier moveth on the day of death
Think not my heart is in this world.
Do not weep for me and cry “woe, woe!”
Thou wilt fall in the devil’s snare: that is woe
When thou seest my hearse, cry not, “gone, gone!”
Union and meeting are mine in that hour
If thou commit me to the grave, say not “Farewell, farewell”
For the grave is a curtain hiding the communion of paradise
After beholding descent, consider resurrection
Why should setting be injurious to the sun and moon?
To thee it seems a setting, but ’tis a rising’
Tho’ the vault seems a prison, ’tis the release of a soul
What seed went down into the earth but it grew?
Why this doubt of thine as regards the seed of man?
What bucket was lowered but it came out brimful?
Why should the Joseph of the Spirit complain of the well?
Shut thy mouth on this side, and open it beyond
For in placeless air will by thy triumphal song.

(From R.A. Nicholson, Selected Poems form the Divani Shamsi Tabriz, p. 94-96)

 

Original:

به روز مرگ چو تابوت من روان باشد
گمان مبر که مرا درد این جهان باشد
برای من مگری و مگو دریغ دریغ
به دوغ دیو درافتی دریغ آن باشد
جنازه‌ام چو ببینی مگو فراق فراق
مرا وصال و ملاقات آن زمان باشد
مرا به گور سپاری مگو وداع وداع
که گور پرده جمعیت جنان باشد
فروشدن چو بدیدی برآمدن بنگر
غروب شمس و قمر را چرا زبان باشد
تو را غروب نماید ولی شروق بود
لحد چو حبس نماید خلاص جان باشد
کدام دانه فرورفت در زمین که نرست
چرا به دانه انسانت این گمان باشد
کدام دلو فرورفت و پر برون نامد
ز چاه یوسف جان را چرا فغان باشد
دهان چو بستی از این سوی آن طرف بگشا
که های هوی تو در جو لامکان باشد

 

Clare Harner

Do not stand
By my grave, and weep.
I am not there,
I do not sleep—
I am the thousand winds that blow
I am the diamond glints in snow
I am the sunlight on ripened grain,
I am the gentle, autumn rain.
As you awake with morning’s hush,
I am the swift, up-flinging rush
Of quiet birds in circling flight,
I am the day transcending night.
Do not stand
By my grave, and cry—
I am not there,
I did not die.

(From: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Do_Not_Stand_at_My_Grave_and_Weep)

 

al-Ghazali

Translation:

Say unto brethren when they see me dead,
And weep for me, lamenting me in sadness:
“Think ye I am this corpse ye are to bury?
I swear by God, this dead one is not I.
I in the Spirit am, and this my body
My dwelling was, my garment for a time.
I am a treasure: hidden I was beneath
This talisman of dust, wherein I suffered.
I am a pearl; a shell imprisoned me,
But leaving it, all trials I have left.
I am a bird, and this was once my cage;
But I have flown, leaving it as a token.
I praise God who hath set me free,
and made For me a dwelling in the heavenly heights.
Ere now I was a dead man in your midst,
But I have come to life, and doffed my shroud.”

(Translation by Martin Lings)

 

Original:

قل لإخوان رأوني ميتا            فبكوني ورثوني حزنا
أتظنون بأني ميتكم           ليس هذا الميت والله أنا
أنا في الصور وهذا جسدي       كان لباسي وقميصي زمنا
أنا در قد حواني صدف         طرت عنه وبقى مرتهنا
أنا عصفور وهذا قفصي       كان سجني فتركت السجنا
أشكر الله الذي خلصني        وبنا لي في المعالي وطنا
كنت قبل اليوم ميتا بينكم            فحييت وخلعت الكفنا

 

 

Zheng Ting

Translation:

Illusion appears, illusion ceases
The biggest illusion among all is our body
Once a pacified heart finds its place
There’s no such body to look for

 

Original:

幻生還幻滅
大幻莫過身
安心自有處
求人無有人

 

John Donne-“Death, Be Not Proud”

Death, be not proud, though some have called thee
Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so;
For those whom thou think’st thou dost overthrow
Die not, poor Death, nor yet canst thou kill me.
From rest and sleep, which but thy pictures be,
Much pleasure; then from thee much more must flow,
And soonest our best men with thee do go,
Rest of their bones, and soul’s delivery.
Thou art slave to fate, chance, kings, and desperate men,
And dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell,
And poppy or charms can make us sleep as well
And better than thy stroke; why swell’st thou then?
One short sleep past, we wake eternally
And death shall be no more; Death, thou shalt die.

Although it is night…

Lovely poem of San Juan de la Cruz, set to music by Enrique Morente

 

Translation:

Song of the Soul that /delights in knowing God through Faith

How well I know the spring, that flows and runs
Although it is in the night

 

That eternal spring is hidden
How well I know where it has its refuge
Although it is in the night

 

In the darkened night of this life,
How well I know, by faith, the cold spring
Although it is in the night

 

I do not know its beginning, for it has none
But I know that all beginnings come from it
Although it is in the night,

 

I know that there cannot be a thing so beautiful,
And that the heavens and earth drink from it
Although it is in the night

 

I know well that it is not found in the soil
And that no one can wade through it
Although it is in the night

 

Its clarity is never darkened
And all light is coming from it,
Although it is in the night

 

And its streams are so abundant,
That it waters the heavens, hells, and the people
Although it is in the night

 

The current that is born from this spring,
I know well that it is so capable and so powerful
Although it is in the night

 

The current that proceeds from these two
I know that neither of them precede it
Although it is in the night

 

Here all the creatures are being called
And from this water, they are sated, though in the dark
Because it is in the night

 

In this living fountain that I yearn for,
In it, I see the bread of life
Although it is in the night

 

In this eternal fountain it is hidden
In this bread that gives me life
Although it is in the night

Original:

Cantar del alma que se huelga de conoscer a Dios por fe.

Que bien sé yo la fonte que mana y corre
aunque es de noche.

Aquella eterna fonte está ascondida,
que bien sé yo do tiene su manida,
aunque es de noche.

Su origen no lo sé, pues no le tiene,
mas sé que todo origen della viene,
aunque es de noche.

Sé que no puede ser cosa tan bella,
y que cielos y tierra beban della,
aunque es de noche.

Bien sé que suelo en ella no se halla,
y que ninguno puede vadealla,
aunque es de noche.

Su claridad nunca es escurecida,
y sé que toda luz della es venida,
aunque es de noche.

Sé ser tan caudalosas sus corrientes,
que infiernos, cielos riegan, y las gentes,
aunque es de noche.

El corriente que nace desta fuente
bien sé que es tan capaz y tan potente,
aunque es de noche.

El corriente que de estas dos procede

sé que ninguna de ellas le precede,

aunque es de noche.

Aquesta Eterna fuente está escondida
en este vivo pan por darnos vida,
aunque es de noche.

Aquí se está llamando a las criaturas
porque desta agua se harten aunque a oscuras,
porque es de noche.

Aquesta viva fuente que deseo
en este pan de vida yo la veo,
aunque es de noche.

 

In Jerusalem…

Mahmoud Darwish

In Jerusalem

TRANSLATED BY FADY JOUDAH
In Jerusalem, and I mean within the ancient walls,
I walk from one epoch to another without a memory
to guide me. The prophets over there are sharing
the history of the holy … ascending to heaven
and returning less discouraged and melancholy, because love
and peace are holy and are coming to town.
I was walking down a slope and thinking to myself: How
do the narrators disagree over what light said about a stone?
Is it from a dimly lit stone that wars flare up?
I walk in my sleep. I stare in my sleep. I see
no one behind me. I see no one ahead of me.
All this light is for me. I walk. I become lighter. I fly
then I become another. Transfigured. Words
sprout like grass from Isaiah’s messenger
mouth: “If you don’t believe you won’t be safe.”
I walk as if I were another. And my wound a white
biblical rose. And my hands like two doves
on the cross hovering and carrying the earth.
I don’t walk, I fly, I become another,
transfigured. No place and no time. So who am I?
I am no I in ascension’s presence. But I
think to myself: Alone, the prophet Muhammad
spoke classical Arabic. “And then what?”
Then what? A woman soldier shouted:
Is that you again? Didn’t I kill you?
I said: You killed me … and I forgot, like you, to die.
From : https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/52551/in-jerusalem
Original:

في القدس، أَعني داخلَ السُّور القديمِ،
أَسيرُ من زَمَنٍ إلى زَمَنٍ بلا ذكرى
تُصوِّبُني. فإن الأنبياءَ هناك يقتسمون
تاريخَ المقدَّس… يصعدون إلى السماء
ويرجعون أَقلَّ إحباطاً وحزناً، فالمحبَّةُ
والسلام مُقَدَّسَان وقادمان إلى المدينة.
كنت أَمشي فوق مُنْحَدَرٍ وأَهْجِسُ: كيف
يختلف الرُّواةُ على كلام الضوء في حَجَرٍ؟
أَمِنْ حَجَر ٍشحيحِ الضوء تندلعُ الحروبُ؟
أسير في نومي. أَحملق في منامي. لا
أرى أحداً ورائي. لا أرى أَحداً أمامي.
كُلُّ هذا الضوءِ لي. أَمشي. أخفُّ. أطيرُ
ثم أَصير غيري في التَّجَلِّي. تنبُتُ
الكلماتُ كالأعشاب من فم أشعيا
النِّبَويِّ: ((إنْ لم تُؤْمنوا لن تَأْمَنُوا)).
أَمشي كأنِّي واحدٌ غيْري. وجُرْحي وَرْدَةٌ
بيضاءُ إنجيليَّةٌ. ويدايَ مثل حمامتَيْنِ
على الصليب تُحلِّقان وتحملان الأرضَ.
لا أمشي، أَطيرُ، أَصيرُ غَيْري في
التجلِّي. لا مكانَ و لا زمان . فمن أَنا؟
أَنا لا أنا في حضرة المعراج. لكنِّي
أُفكِّرُ: وَحْدَهُ، كان النبيّ محمِّدٌ
يتكلِّمُ العربيَّةَ الفُصْحَى. ((وماذا بعد؟))
ماذا بعد؟ صاحت فجأة جنديّةٌ:
هُوَ أَنتَ ثانيةً؟ أَلم أَقتلْكَ؟
قلت: قَتَلْتني… ونسيتُ، مثلك، أن أَموت.

 

Tamim Al-Barghouti

In Jerusalem:
(Translated by Houssem Ben Lazreg in Transference 5(1) Fall 2017:61-65)

We passed by the home of the beloved
but the enemy’s laws and wall turned us away
I said to myself, “Maybe, that is a blessing”
What will you see in Jerusalem when you visit?
You will see all that you can’t stand
when her houses become visible from all sides When meeting her beloved, not every soul rejoices Nor does every absence harm
If they are delighted when meeting before departure such joy cannot remain kindled
For once your eyes have seen Jerusalem
You will only see her, wherever you look.
In Jerusalem, a greengrocer from Georgia,
annoyed with his wife,
thinks of going on vacation or painting his house
In Jerusalem, a middle-aged man from Upper Manhattan holds a Torah and teaches Polish boys its commandments In Jerusalem, an Ethiopian policeman
seals off a street in the marketplace,
A machine gun hangs from the shoulder of a teenage settler, A person wearing a yarmulke
bows at the Wailing Wall,
Blonde European tourists who don’t see Jerusalem at all but spend most of the time taking pictures of each other

beside a Palestinian woman selling radishes in public squares all day long

In Jerusalem, there are walls of basil
In Jerusalem, there are barricades of concrete
In Jerusalem, the soldiers marched with heavy boots over the clouds
In Jerusalem, we were forced to pray on the asphalt

In Jerusalem, everyone is there but you.
And History turned to me and smiled:
“Have you really thought that you would overlook them
and see others?
Here they are in front of you;
They are the text while you are the footnote and margin
O son, have you thought that your visit would remove, from the city’s face, the thick veil of her present, so that you may see what you desire?
In Jerusalem, everyone is there but you.
Jerusalem is the wandering deer
As fate sentenced it to departure
You still chase her since she bid you farewell
O son, calm down for a while, I see that you began to faint” In Jerusalem, everyone is there but you.
O historian, wait,
The city has two timelines:
One foreign, serene, with steady steps as if it is walking asleep

The other wears a mask and walks secretly with caution
And Jerusalem knows herself,
Ask the people there, everyone will guide you
Everything in the city
has a tongue which, when you ask, will reply
In Jerusalem, the crescent becomes more curved like an embryo

Bending towards other crescents over the domes
And over the years, their relation developed to be like a father to a son

In Jerusalem, the stones of the buildings are quoted from the Bible and the Quran
In Jerusalem, beauty is octagonal and blue

On top of it, lies a golden dome
that looks like, I think, a convex mirror

Reflecting the face of the heavens
Playing with it, drawing it near
Distributing the sky, like aid in a siege for those in need

If people appeal to God after Friday sermon
In Jerusalem, the sky is shared by everyone,

We protect it and it protects us
And we carry it on our shoulders
If time oppresses its moons.
In Jerusalem, the marble columns are dark
as though their veins were smoke
Windows, high in mosques and churches,
took dawn by hand, showing him how to paint with colors

He says, “like this”
but the windows reply, “no, like this”
And after long debate, they compromise
as the dawn is free when outside the threshold

But if he wants to enter through God’s Windows

He has to abide by their rules
In Jerusalem there’s a school built by a Mameluke who came from beyond the river,
was sold at a slave market in Isfahan
to a merchant from Baghdad, who traveled to Aleppo,
and gave the Mameluke to Aleppo’s Prince
Fearing the blueness in the Mameluke’s left eye,
the Prince gave him to a caravan heading for Egypt
where soon, he became the vanquisher of the Moguls and the Sovereign Sultan
In Jerusalem, the scent of Babylon and India
are at an herbalist’s shop in Khan El Zeit
I swear, it is a scent with a language that you will understand if you listen;

It says to me
when tear gas canisters are being fired
“Don’t worry”
And as the gas wanes, that scent fills the air again and says:
“You see?”
In Jerusalem, contradictions get along, and wonders cannot be denied

People check them out like pieces of old and new fabric
and miracles there are tangible.
In Jerusalem, if you shake hands with an old man or touch a building you will find, engraved on your palm, my friend, a poem or two
In Jerusalem, despite successive calamities
a breeze of innocence and childhood fills the air
And you can see doves fly high
announcing, between two shots, the birth of an independent state

In Jerusalem, the rows of graves
are the lines of the city’s history while the book is the soil
Everyone has passed through
For Jerusalem welcomes all visitors, whether disbelievers or believers

Walk through, and read the headstones in all languages
You will find the Africans, the Europeans, the Kipchaks, the Slavs, the Bosniaks, the Tatars, the Turks, the believers, the disbelievers,
the poor and the rich, the hermits, and the miscreants
Here lie all sorts of people that ever walked the earth
They were the footnotes of the book, now they are the main text before us.
Is it just for us that the city has become too small?
Oh chronicler! What made you exclude us?
Re-write and think again, for I see that you made a grave mistake
The eyes close, then look again
The driver of the yellow car heads north, away from the city’s gates. And now Jerusalem is behind us
I could glance at her through the right wing-mirror
Her colors have changed before the sunset
Then, a smile sneaked onto my face
and said to me when I looked close and careful,
“Oh you who weep behind the wall, are you a fool?
Have you lost your mind?
Do not weep because you were excluded from the main text
O Arab, do not weep, and know for sure
that whomever is in Jerusalem
It is only you I see.”

Original:
مَرَرْنا عَلــى دارِ الحبيب فرَدَّنا
عَنِ الدارِ قانونُ الأعادي وسورُهافَقُلْتُ لنفســي رُبما هِيَ نِعْمَةٌ
فماذا تَرَى في القدسِ حينَ تَزُورُها
تَرَى كُلَّ ما لا تستطيعُ احتِمالَهُ
إذا ما بَدَتْ من جَانِبِ الدَّرْبِ دورُهاوما كلُّ نفسٍ حينَ تَلْقَى حَبِيبَها تُـسَرُّ
ولا كُلُّ الغـِيابِ يُضِيرُهافإن سـرَّها قبلَ الفِراقِ لِقاؤُه
فليسَ بمأمـونٍ عليها سـرُورُهامتى تُبْصِرِ القدسَ العتيقةَ مَرَّةً
فسوفَ تراها العَيْنُ حَيْثُ تُدِيرُها***
في القدسِ، بائعُ خضرةٍ من جورجيا برمٌ بزوجته
يفكرُ في قضاءِ إجازةٍ أو في في طلاءِ البيتْفي القدس، توراةٌ وكهلٌ جاءَ من مَنْهاتِنَ العُليا يُفَقَّهُ فتيةَ البُولُونِ في أحكامها
في القدسِ شرطيٌ من الأحباشِ يُغْلِقُ شَارِعاً في السوقِ..
رشَّاشٌ على مستوطنٍ لم يبلغِ العشرينَ،
قُبَّعة تُحَيِّي حائطَ المبكَىوسياحٌ من الإفرنجِ شُقْرٌ لا يَرَوْنَ القدسَ إطلاقاً
تَراهُم يأخذونَ لبعضهم صُوَرَاًمَعَ امْرَأَةٍ تبيعُ الفِجْلَ في الساحاتِ طُولَ اليَومْفي القدسِ دَبَّ الجندُ مُنْتَعِلِينَ فوقَ الغَيمْفي القدسِ صَلَّينا على الأَسْفَلْتْ
في القدسِ مَن في القدسِ إلا أنْتْ!***
وَتَلَفَّتَ التاريخُ لي مُتَبَسِّماً
أَظَنَنْتَ حقاً أنَّ عينَك سوفَ تخطئهم،! وتبصرُ غيرَهم
ها هُم أمامَكَ، مَتْنُ نصٍّ أنتَ حاشيةٌ عليهِ وَهَامشٌ

أَحَسبتَ أنَّ زيارةً سَتُزيحُ عن وجهِ المدينةِ، يا بُنَيَّ، حجابَ واقِعِها السميكَ
لكي ترى فيها هَواكْ
في القدسِ كلًّ فتى سواكْ

وهي الغزالةُ في المدى، حَكَمَ الزمانُ بِبَيْنِها
ما زِلتَ تَرْكُضُ إثْرَهَا مُذْ وَدَّعَتْكَ بِعَيْنِها
رفقاً بِنَفسكَ ساعةً إني أراكَ وَهَنْتْ
في القدسِ من في القدسِ إلا أَنْتْ

***
يا كاتبَ التاريخِ مَهْلاً، فالمدينةُ دهرُها دهرانِ

دهر أجنبي مطمئنٌ لا يغيرُ خطوَه وكأنَّه يمشي خلالَ النومْ
وهناك دهرٌ، كامنٌ متلثمٌ يمشي بلا صوتٍ حِذار القومْ

والقدس تعرف نفسها..
إسأل هناك الخلق يدْلُلْكَ الجميعُ
فكلُّ شيء في المدينة
ذو لسانٍ، حين تَسأَلُهُ، يُبينْ

في القدس يزدادُ الهلالُ تقوساً مثلَ الجنينْ
حَدْباً على أشباهه فوقَ القبابِ
تَطَوَّرَتْ ما بَيْنَهم عَبْرَ السنينَ عِلاقةُ الأَبِ بالبَنينْ

في القدس أبنيةٌ حجارتُها اقتباساتٌ من الإنجيلِ والقرآنْ

في القدس تعريفُ الجمالِ مُثَمَّنُ الأضلاعِ أزرقُ،
فَوْقَهُ، يا دامَ عِزُّكَ، قُبَّةٌ ذَهَبِيَّةٌ،
تبدو برأيي، مثل مرآة محدبة ترى وجه السماء مُلَخَّصَاً فيها
تُدَلِّلُها وَتُدْنِيها

تُوَزِّعُها كَأَكْياسِ المعُونَةِ في الحِصَارِ لمستَحِقِّيها
إذا ما أُمَّةٌ من بعدِ خُطْبَةِ جُمْعَةٍ مَدَّتْ بِأَيْدِيها

***

وفي القدس السماءُ تَفَرَّقَتْ في الناسِ تحمينا ونحميها
ونحملُها على أكتافِنا حَمْلاً إذا جَارَت على أقمارِها الأزمانْ

في القدس أعمدةُ الرُّخامِ الداكناتُ
كأنَّ تعريقَ الرُّخامِ دخانْ

ونوافذٌ تعلو المساجدَ والكنائس،
أَمْسَكَتْ بيدِ الصُّباحِ تُرِيهِ كيفَ النقشُ بالألوانِ،

وَهْوَ يقول: ?لا بل هكذا?،
فَتَقُولُ: ?لا بل هكذا?،

حتى إذا طال الخلافُ تقاسما
فالصبحُ حُرٌّ خارجَ العَتَبَاتِ لَكِنْ
إن أرادَ دخولَها
فَعَلَيهِ أن يَرْضَى بحُكْمِ نوافذِ الرَّحمنْ

***
في القدس مدرسةٌ لمملوكٍ أتى مما وراءَ النهرِ،
باعوهُ بسوقِ نِخَاسَةٍ في أصفهانَلتاجرٍ من أهلِ بغدادٍ
أتى حلباً فخافَ أميرُها من زُرْقَةٍ في عَيْنِهِ اليُسْرَى،
فأعطاهُ لقافلةٍ أتت مصراً
فأصبحَ بعدَ بضعِ سنينَ غَلاَّبَ المغولِ وصاحبَ السلطانْ

في القدس رائحةٌ تُلَخِّصُ بابلاً والهندَ في دكانِ عطارٍ بخانِ الزيتْ
واللهِ رائحةٌ لها لغةٌ سَتَفْهَمُها إذا أصْغَيتْ

وتقولُ لي إذ يطلقونَ قنابل الغاز المسيِّلِ للدموعِ عَلَيَّ: ?لا تحفل بهم?
وتفوحُ من بعدِ انحسارِ الغازِ، وَهْيَ تقولُ لي: ?أرأيتْ!?

في القدس يرتاحُ التناقضُ، والعجائبُ ليسَ ينكرُها العِبادُ،
كأنها قِطَعُ القِمَاشِ يُقَلِّبُونَ قَدِيمها وَجَدِيدَها،
والمعجزاتُ هناكَ تُلْمَسُ باليَدَيْنْ

في القدس لو صافحتَ شيخاً أو لمستَ بنايةً
لَوَجَدْتَ منقوشاً على كَفَّيكَ نَصَّ قصيدَةٍ
يا بْنَ الكرامِ أو اثْنَتَيْنْ

في القدس، رغمَ تتابعِ النَّكَباتِ، ريحُ براءةٍ في الجوِّ، ريحُ طُفُولَةٍ،
فَتَرى الحمامَ يَطِيرُ يُعلِنُ دَوْلَةً في الريحِ بَيْنَ رَصَاصَتَيْنْ

***
في القدس تنتظمُ القبورُ، كأنهنَّ سطورُ تاريخِ المدينةِ والكتابُ ترابُها
الكل مرُّوا من هُنا

فالقدسُ تقبلُ من أتاها كافراً أو مؤمنا
أُمرر بها واقرأ شواهدَها بكلِّ لغاتِ أهلِ الأرضِ

فيها الزنجُ والإفرنجُ والقِفْجَاقُ والصِّقْلابُ والبُشْنَاقُ
والتتارُ والأتراكُ، أهلُ الله والهلاك، والفقراءُ والملاك، والفجارُ والنساكُ،
فيها كلُّ من وطئَ الثَّرى

كانوا الهوامشَ في الكتابِ فأصبحوا نَصَّ المدينةِ قبلنا

يا كاتب التاريخِ ماذا جَدَّ فاستثنيتنا
يا شيخُ فلتُعِدِ الكتابةَ والقراءةَ مرةً أخرى، أراك لَحَنْتْ

العين تُغْمِضُ، ثمَّ تنظُرُ، سائقُ السيارةِ الصفراءِ، مالَ بنا شَمالاً نائياً عن بابها
والقدس صارت خلفنا

والعينُ تبصرُها بمرآةِ اليمينِ،
تَغَيَّرَتْ ألوانُها في الشمسِ، مِنْ قبلِ الغيابْ

إذ فاجَأَتْني بسمةٌ لم أدْرِ كيفَ تَسَلَّلَتْ للوَجْهِ
قالت لي وقد أَمْعَنْتُ ما أَمْعنْتْ

يا أيها الباكي وراءَ السورِ، أحمقُ أَنْتْ؟
أَجُنِنْتْ؟

لا تبكِ عينُكَ أيها المنسيُّ من متنِ الكتابْ
لا تبكِ عينُكَ أيها العَرَبِيُّ واعلمْ أنَّهُ

في القدسِ من في القدسِ لكنْ
لا أَرَى في القدسِ إلا أَنْت.

June Jordan

Apologies to All the People in Lebanon

Dedicated to the 600,000 Palestinian men, women, and children who lived in Lebanon from 1948-1983.

I didn’t know and nobody told me and what
could I do or say, anyway?
They said you shot the London Ambassador
and when that wasn’t true
they said so
what
They said you shelled their northern villages
and when U.N. forces reported that was not true
because your side of the cease-fire was holding
since more than a year before
they said so
what
They said they wanted simply to carve
a 25 mile buffer zone and then
they ravaged your
water supplies your electricity your
hospitals your schools your highways and byways all
the way north to Beirut because they said this
was their quest for peace
They blew up your homes and demolished the grocery
stores and blocked the Red Cross and took away doctors
to jail and they cluster-bombed girls and boys
whose bodies
swelled purple and black into twice the original size
and tore the buttocks from a four month old baby
and then
they said this was brilliant
military accomplishment and this was done
they said in the name of self-defense they said
that is the noblest concept
of mankind isn’t that obvious?
They said something about never again and then
they made close to one million human beings homeless
in less than three weeks and they killed or maimed
40,000 of your men and your women and your children
But I didn’t know and nobody told me and what
could I do or say, anyway?
They said they were victims. They said you were
Arabs.
They called      your apartments and gardens      guerrilla
strongholds.
They called      the screaming devastation
that they created       the rubble.
Then they told you to leave, didn’t they?
Didn’t you read the leaflets that they dropped
from their hotshot fighter jets?
They told you to go.
One hundred and thirty-five thousand
Palestinians in Beirut and why
didn’t you take the hint?
Go!
There was the Mediterranean: You
could walk into the water and stay
there.
What was the problem?
I didn’t know and nobody told me and what
could I do or say, anyway?
Yes, I did know it was the money I earned as a poet that
paid
for the bombs and the planes and the tanks
that they used to massacre your family
But I am not an evil person
The people of my country aren’t so bad
You can expect but so much
from those of us who have to pay taxes and watch
American TV
You see my point;
I’m sorry.
I really am sorry.
From : https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/48757/apologies-to-all-the-people-in-lebanon
Lisa Suhair Majaj
https://beladi.org/2021/05/21/conversation-a-poem-by-lisa-suhair-majaj/
Yehuda Ha-Levi:
My Heart Is In The East
Translated by A.Z. Foreman
My heart is in the east, and the rest of me at the edge of the west.
How can I taste the food I eat? How can it give me pleasure? 
How can I keep my promise now, or fulfill the vows I’ve made
While Zion remains in the Cross’s reign1, and I in Arab chains? 
With pleasure I would leave behind all the good things of Spain,
If only I could gaze on the dust of our ruined Holy Place.
Original:
לִבִּי בְמִזְרָח וְאָנֹכִי בְּסוֹף מַעֲרָב
אֵיךְ אֶטְעֲמָה אֵת אֲשֶׁר אֹכַל וְאֵיךְ יֶעֱרָב
אֵיכָה אֲשַׁלֵּם נְדָרַי וָאֱסָרַי, בְּעוֹד
צִיּוֹן בְּחֶבֶל אֱדוֹם וַאֲנִי בְּכֶבֶל עֲרָב
יֵקַל בְּעֵינַי עֲזֹב כָּל טוּב סְפָרַד, כְּמוֹ
יֵקַר בְּעֵינַי רְאוֹת עַפְרוֹת דְּבִיר נֶחֱרָב.
1-The Crusaders had taken Jerusalem (1099) at the time of the poem’s composition and forbidden Jews to live there.
http://poemsintranslation.blogspot.com/2014/08/yehuda-halevi-my-heart-is-in-east-from.html

The Troubadour of Love

 

Translation:
The troubadour of love has such a wonderful voice and song
      Every melody in his repertoire has a path to a place
May the world never be empty of the cry of lovers
      Because it has a sweet and joyful voice
Although our dreg-draining Pir has neither gold nor power,
     He has a sin-forgiving and fault-concealing God
My heart should respect this sugar-worshipping fly
     Since You became his desire, he has the splendor of the Homa
It is not far from justice, if he asks around,
     that king who has a beggar for a neighbor
I showed my bloody tears to the physicians, they said:
     “It’s love’s pain and the burning of the liver has the cure”
Learn tyranny from flirtatiousness, for in the religion of Love
      Every action has a reaction, and every deed, a repercussion
How pithy was the word of the idol of a young Christian wine-worshipper:
      “Enjoy the happiness on the face of a pure one”
O Great King!  Hafiz, a member of your court, recites the Fatiha
     And desires a prayer from your tongue

 

Original:
          مطرب عشق عجب ساز و نوایی دارد
 نقش هر نغمه که زد راه به جایی دارد
                    عالم از ناله عشاق مبادا خالی
که خوش آهنگ و فرح بخش صدايى دارد
     پیر دردی کش ما گر چه ندارد زر و زور
 خوش عطابخش و خطاپوش خدایی دارد
             محترم دار دلم کاین مگس قندپرست
 تا هواخواه تو شد فر همایی دارد
             از عدالت نبود دور گرش پرسد حال
 پادشاهی که به همسایه گدایی دارد
               اشک خونین بنمودم به طبیبان گفتند
 درد عشق است و جگرسوز دوایی دارد
         ستم از غمزه میاموز که در مذهب عشق
 هر عمل اجری و هر کرده جزایی دارد
           نغز گفت آن بت ترسابچه باده فروش
 شادی روی کسی خور که صفایی دارد
 خسروا حافظ درگاه نشین فاتحه خواند
 و از زبان تو تمنای دعایی دارد

 

Rumi-Looking for a true human

 

Translation:

Show your face, for the orchard and rose garden is what I long for
Open your lips, for heaps of sugar are what I long for
O Sun of beauty, come out of the cloud for a moment
For that shining, radiant face is what I long for
From your air, I heard the sound of the falcon-drum
I returned, for the sultan’s arm is what I long for
You said flirtatiously, “Stop bothering me, get lost!”
That “stop bothering me” of yours is what I long for
Your refusal, “Be gone, the king is not at home”
and the aloofness and sternness of the doorkeeper are what I long for
In the hand of everyone that is, there are scraps of goodness
It is the mine of elegance and that quarry that I long for
The bread and water of heaven’s wheel are like a treacherous torrent
I am a fish, a whale, [the sea of] Oman is what I long for
Like Jacob, I cry alas, alack!
Seeing the fair face of Joseph of Canaan is what I long for
By God, without you, the city is a prison for me
Wandering out in the mountains and desert is what I long for
My heart is tired of these weak-spirited companions
The Lion of God and Rostam of Dastan are whom I long for
My soul is sick of Pharaoh and his oppression
the light of the face of Moses the son of Imran is what I long for
I’m tired of these crybabies always complaining
that ranting and raving of drunks is what I long for
I am more eloquent than the nightingale, but because of common envy
there’s a seal on my tongue and mourning is what I long for
Last night the shaykh went around the city, lamp in hand, crying
“I am tired of devils and beasts, a true human is what I long for.”
They said, “He is not be found, we too have searched”
He said “He who is not found is whom I long for.”
Though I am broke, I will not accept a small carnelian
For that rare, precious carnelian is what I long for
Hidden from every eye, while all things seen are from Him
that hidden One manifest in works is whom I long for
My state has gone beyond every desire and longing
From being and place to the foundations is what I long for
My ear heard the tale of belief and became drunk
What of sight’s portion? The image/face of belief is what I long for
In one hand, the winecup, in the other, the Beloved’s curl
to dance so much in the middle of the square is what I long for
That guitar says, “I am dying of expectation
the hand and pick of ‘Uthman are what I long for”
I am Love’s guitar and Love is the guitarist
these graces of the picking of the All-Merciful are what I long for
The rest of this ghazal, o clever singer
continue it on in this style, for this style is what I long for
Show your face, Shams (Sun), the pride of Tabriz, from the East
I am the hoopoe, the presence of Solomon is what I long for

Modified from A.J. Arberry’s translation in his 1968 Mystical Poems of Rumi, Number 51,

 

 

Original:

بنمای رخ که باغ و گلستانم آرزوست
بگشای لب که قند فراوانم آرزوست
ای آفتاب حسن برون آ دمی ز ابر
کآن چهره مشعشع تابانم آرزوست
بشنیدم از هوای تو آواز طبل باز
باز آمدم که ساعد سلطانم آرزوست
گفتی ز ناز بیش مرنجان مرا برو
آن گفتنت که بیش مرنجانم آرزوست
وآن دفع گفتنت که برو شه به خانه نیست
وآن ناز و باز و تندی دربانم آرزوست
در دست هر که هست ز خوبی قراضه‌هاست
آن معدن ملاحت و آن کانم آرزوست
این نان و آب چرخ چو سیل است بی وفا
من ماهیم نهنگم عمانم آرزوست
یعقوب وار وا اسفاها همی‌زنم
دیدار خوب یوسف کنعانم آرزوست
والله که شهر بی تو مرا حبس می‌شود
آوارگی و کوه و بیابانم آرزوست
زین همرهان سست عناصر دلم گرفت
شیر خدا و رستم دستانم آرزوست
جانم ملول گشت ز فرعون و ظلم او
آن نور روی موسی عمرانم آرزوست
زین خلق پرشکایت گریان شدم ملول
آن های هوی و نعره مستانم آرزوست
گویاترم ز بلبل اما ز رشک عام
مهر است بر دهانم و افغانم آرزوست
دی شیخ با چراغ همی‌گشت گرد شهر
کز دیو و دد ملولم و انسانم آرزوست
گفتند یافت می‌نشود جسته‌ایم ما
گفت آنک یافت می‌نشود آنم آرزوست
هر چند مفلسم نپذیرم عقیق خرد
کان عقیق نادر ارزانم آرزوست
پنهان ز دیده‌ها و همه دیده‌ها از اوست
آن آشکار صنعت پنهانم آرزوست
خود کار من گذشت ز هر آرزو و آز
از کان و از مکان پی ارکانم آرزوست
گوشم شنید قصه ایمان و مست شد
کو قسم چشم؟ صورت ایمانم آرزوست
یک دست جام باده و یک دست جعد یار
رقصی چنین میانه میدانم آرزوست
می‌گوید آن رباب که مردم ز انتظار
دست و کنار و زخمه عثمانم آرزوست
من هم رباب عشقم و عشقم ربابی است
وآن لطف‌های زخمه رحمانم آرزوست
باقی این غزل را ای مطرب ظریف
زین سان همی‌شمار که زین سانم آرزوست
بنمای شمس مفخر تبریز رو ز شرق
من هدهدم حضور سلیمانم آرزوست

Between you and me…

 

al-Ḥallāj

Translation:

Is it you or me? In this there are two gods

yet You forbid, You forbid affirming duality

Your selfhood is in my negation eternally

My all clothes the all in two respects

So where is your self [hidden] from me when I see?

For my self became clear where there’s no where for me

So where is your face, the goal of my gaze?

in the the heart’s interior or the glance of the eye

Between me and you, my “I-ness” torments me

So lift, with your “I-ness,” my “I-ness” from in between

 

Original:

أَأَنتَ أَم أَنا هَذا في إِلَهَينِ
حاشاكَ حاشاكَ مِن إِثباتِ اِثنَينِ
هُوِيَّةٌ لَكَ في لائِيَّتي أَبَداً
كُلّي عَلى الكُلِّ تَلبيسُ بِوَجهَينِ
فَأَينَ ذاتُكَ عَنّي حَيثُ كُنتُ أرى
فَقَد تَبَيَّنَ ذاتي حَيثُ لا أَيني
فَأَينَ وَجهُكَ مَقصوداً بِناظِرَتي
في باطِنِ القَلبِ أَم في ناظِرِ العَينِ
بَيني وَبَينَكَ إِنِيٌّ يُنازِعُني
فَاِرفَع بِلُطفِكَ إِنِيِّ مِنَ البَينِ

Hafez

Translation:

Come! For last night, the tavern’s unseen voice told me

to be pleased with the divine decree and not to flee from destiny

Between Lover and Beloved there is no barrier

You yourself are your own veil, Hafez. Remove yourself!

 

Original:

بیا که هاتف میخانه دوش با من گفت
که در مقام رضا باش و از قضا مگریز
میان عاشق و معشوق هیچ حائل نیست
تو خود حجاب خودی حافظ از میان برخیز

Translation:

When the bubble fills its head with the air of arrogance
It blows its head off as it rises to the top of the wine
You are the obstacle on the road, Hafez, get out of the way!
Blessed is he who walks on this road without obstacle.

 

Original:

حباب را چو فتد باد نخوت اندر سر
کلاه داریش اندر سر شراب رود
حجاب راه تویی حافظ از میان برخیز
خوشا کسی که در این راه بی‌حجاب رود