Un sentiment français


Ne me quitte pas






Ne me quitte pas
Il faut oublier
Tout peut s’oublier
Qui s’enfuit déjà
Oublier le temps
Des malentendus
Et le temps perdu
A savoir comment
Oublier ces heures
Qui tuaient parfois
A coups de pourquoi
Le coeur du bonheur
Ne me quitte pas
Ne me quitte pas
Ne me quitte pas
Ne me quitte pas

Moi je t’offrirai
Des perles de pluie
Venues de pays
Où il ne pleut pas
Je creuserai la terre
Jusqu’après ma mort
Pour couvrir ton corps
D’or et de lumière
Je ferai un domaine
Où l’amour sera roi
Où l’amour sera loi
Où tu seras reine
Ne me quitte pas
Ne me quitte pas
Ne me quitte pas
Ne me quitte pas

Ne me quitte pas
Je t’inventerai
Des mots insensés
Que tu comprendras
Je te parlerai
De ces amants là
Qui ont vu deux fois
Leurs coeurs s’embraser
Je te racont’rai
L’histoire de ce roi
Mort de n’avoir pas
Pu te rencontrer
Ne me quitte pas
Ne me quitte pas
Ne me quitte pas
Ne me quitte pas

On a vu souvent
Rejaillir le feu
De l’ancien volcan
Qu’on croyait trop vieux
Il est paraît-il
Des terres brûlées
Donnant plus de blé
Qu’un meilleur avril
Et quand vient le soir
Pour qu’un ciel flamboie
Le rouge et le noir
Ne s’épousent-ils pas
Ne me quitte pas
Ne me quitte pas
Ne me quitte pas
Ne me quitte pas

Ne me quitte pas
Je ne vais plus pleurer
Je ne vais plus parler
Je me cacherai là
À te regarder
Danser et sourire
Et à t’écouter
Chanter et puis rire
Laisse-moi devenir
L’ombre de ton ombre
L’ombre de ta main
L’ombre de ton chien
Ne me quitte pas
Ne me quitte pas
Ne me quitte pas
Ne me quitte pas

Don’t leave me now
We must forget
All can be forgotten
It escapes already
Forget the time
The misunderstandings
And the moments lost
We must know how
Forget those hours
Which killed at times
With each thrust of why
The heart of happiness
Don’t leave me now
Don’t leave me now
Don’t leave me now
Don’t leave me now

Me I’ll offer you
Pearls of rain
That come from a country
Where rain never falls
I would mine the earth
‘Til after my death
To cover your body
With gold and with light
I’ll make a kingdom
Where love shall be king
Where love shall be law
Where you shall be queen
Don’t leave me now
Don’t leave me now
Don’t leave me now
Don’t leave me now

Don’t leave me now
I’ll invent for you
Such nonsense words
That you’ll understand
I’ll speak to you
Of those lovers there
Who have seen two times
their hearts all ablaze
I will recount for you
The story of that king
Dead for not having
the chance to meet you
Don’t leave me now
Don’t leave me now
Don’t leave me now
Don’t leave me now

We have often seen
Fire gush out
From an ancient volcano
We thought was too old
There are, it seems
Some scorched fields
That yield more wheat
Than the best of April
And when evening comes
So that the sky is ablaze
The black and the red
Do they not wed
Don’t leave me now
Don’t leave me now
Don’t leave me now
Don’t leave me now

Don’t leave me now
I’ll no longer cry
I’ll no longer speak
I’ll hide right there
Just to look at you
Watch you dance and smile
And listen to you
As you sing and laugh
Let me become
The shadow of your shadow
The shadow of your hand
The shadow of your hound
Don’t leave me now
Don’t leave me now
Don’t leave me now
Don’t leave me now

Translation from:  http://tracingwind.livejournal.com/25933.html


Hier Encore (Yesterday when I was young)



Yesterday when I was young
The taste of life was sweet as rain upon my tongue,
I teased at life as if it were a foolish game
The way the evening breeze may tease a candle flame.
The thousand dreams I dreamed, the splendid things I planned
I always built, alas, on weak and shifting sand,
I lived by night and shunned the naked light of day
And only now I see how the years ran away.
Yesterday when I was young
So many drinking songs were waiting to be sung,
So many wayward pleasures lay in store for me
And so much pain my dazzled eyes refused to see.
I ran so fast that time and youth at last ran out
I never stopped to think what life was all about,
And every conversation I can now recall
Concerned itself with me, me, and nothing else at all.
Yesterday the moon was blue
And every crazy day brought something new to do,
I used my magic age as if it were a wand
And never saw the waste and emptiness beyond.
The game of love I played with arrogance and pride
And every flame I lit too quickly, quickly died.
The friends I made all seemed, somehow, to drift away
And only I am left on stage to end the play.
There are so many songs in me that won’t be sung,
I feel the bitter taste of tears upon my tongue.
The time has come for me to pay for yesterday
When I was young… young… young



Hier encore
J’avais vingt ans
Je caressais le temps
Et jouais de la vie
Comme on joue de l’amour
Et je vivais la nuit
Sans compter sur mes jours
Qui fuyaient dans le temps

J’ai fait tant de projets
Qui sont restés en l’air
J’ai fondé tant d’espoirs
Qui se sont envolés
Que je reste perdu
Ne sachant où aller
Les yeux cherchant le ciel
Mais le coeur mis en terre

Hier encore
J’avais vingt ans
Je gaspillais le temps
En croyant l’arrêter
Et pour le retenir
Même le devancer
Je n’ai fait que courir
Et me suis essoufflé

Ignorant le passé
Conjuguant au futur
Je précédais de moi
Toute conversation
Et donnais mon avis
Que je voulais le bon
Pour critiquer le monde
Avec désinvolture

Hier encore
J’avais vingt ans
Mais j’ai perdu mon temps
A faire des folies
Qui ne me laissent au fond
Rien de vraiment précis
Que quelques rides au front
Et la peur de l’ennui

Car mes amours sont mortes
Avant que d’exister
Mes amis sont partis
Et ne reviendront pas
Par ma faute j’ai fait
Le vide autour de moi
Et j’ai gâché ma vie
Et mes jeunes années

Du meilleur et du pire
En jetant le meilleur
J’ai figé mes sourires
Et j’ai glacé mes pleurs
Où sont-ils à présent
A présent mes vingt ans?



White Doves

Pombas Brancas


White doves
Flying high
Scratching the shadows
Of the large clouds
There they go
Doves that do not return

They bring within
Their wings
In rosy beaks
Scattered clouds
On the sea
Doves of my singing

Merely singing
Various recollections
Coming on the paths
Nobody knows
Where they go
The Doves that do not return



Pombas brancas
Que voam altas
Riscando as sombras
Das nuvens largas
Lá vão
Pombas que não voltam

Trazem dentro
Das asas prendas
Nas bicos rosas
Nuvens desfeitas
No mar
Pombas do meu cantar

Canto apenas
Lembranças várias
Vindas das sendas
Que ninguém sabe
Onde vão
Pombas que não voltam

Lyrics and Translation from LyricsTranslate.com


Eye Adaba



The day has dawned, the day has dawned upon me
In this land, the day has dawned, I see hope


White Dove, White Dove
That flies high, high above the sky
Come land on me
The Day has dawned, I see hope


Speak so we can hear you


White Dove, White Dove
That flies high, high above the sky
Come land on me
The Day has dawned, I see hope




Oju mo ti mo
Oju mo ti mo mi
Ni le yi o o
Oju mo ti mo – mo ri re o 

Eye abada
Eye adaba
Eye adaba ti n fo l’oke l’oke ori orun
Wa ba le mi o o
Oju mo ti mo mo ri re o


E wi ki’n gbo se


Eye abada
Eye adaba
Eye adaba ti n fo lo ke lo ke
Wa ba le mi o o
Oju mo ti mo, mo ri re o

Gentle Now, Doves of the Thicket



Gentle now,
doves of the thornberry and moringa thicket,
don’t add to my heart-ache
your sighs.

Gentle now,
or your sad cooing
will reveal the love I hide
the sorrow I hide away.

I echo back, in the evening,
in the morning, echo,
the longing of a love-sick lover,
the moaning of the lost.

In a grove of tamarisks
spirits wrestled,
bending the limbs down over me,
passing me away.

They brought yearning,
breaking of the heart,
and other new twists of pain,
putting me through it.

Who is there for me in Jám’,
and the Stoning-Place at Miná,
who for me at Tamarisk Grove,
or at the way-station of Na’mān?
Hour by hour
they circle my heart
in rapture, in love-ache,
and touch my pillars with a kiss.

As the best of creation
circled the Ka’ba,
which reason with its proofs
called unworthy,

And kissed the stones there –
and he was the Natiq!
And what is the house of stone
compared to a man or a woman?

They swore, and how often!
they’d never change – piling up vows.
She who dyes herself red with henna
is faithless.

A white-blazed gazelle
is an amazing sight,
red-dye signalling,
eyelids hinting,

Pasture between breastbones
and innards.
a garden among the flames!

My heart can take on
any form:
a meadow for gazelles,
a cloister for monks,

For the idols, sacred ground,
Ka’ba for the circling pilgrim,
the tables of the Torah,
the scrolls of the Qur’án.

I profess the religion of love;
wherever its caravan turns along the way,
that is the belief,
the faith I keep.

Like Bishr,
Hind and her sister,
love-mad Qays and his lost Láyla,
Máyya and her lover Ghaylán.

-Ibn ‘Arabi

(trans. Michael Sells)

from: http://www.ibnarabisociety.org/articles/poemtarjuman11.html



ألا يا حَماماتِ الأراكَة ِ والبَانِ                   ترَفّقْنَ لا تُضْعِفْنَ بالشجوِ أشجاني
ترَفّقْنَ لا تُظهرنَ بالنّوح والبُكا                     خفيَّ صباباتي ومكنونَ أحزاني
أُطارحُها عند الأصيلِ وبالضحى                        بحنَّة ِ مشتاقٍ وأنَّة ِ هيمانِ
تَنَاوَحَتِ الأرواحُ في غَيضَة ِ الغَضا                       فمالتْ بأفنانٍ عليَّ فأفناني
وجاءتْ منَ الشَّوقِ المبرَّحِ والجوى                   ومن طُرَفِ البَلْوَى إليّ بأفْنانِ
فمَن لي بجمعٍ والمحصَّب مِن مِنًى             ومَنْ لي بِذاتِ الأثْلِ مَنْ لِي بنَعْمان
تطوفُ بقلبي ساعة ً بعدَ ساعة ٍ                         لوَجدٍ وتبريحٍ وتَلثُمُ أركاني
كما طاف خيرُ الرُّسلِ بالكعبة ِ التي                  يقولُ دليلُ العقْلِ فيها بنُقصَانِ
وقبّلَ أحجاراً بها، وهو ناطقٌ                        وأينَ مَقامُ البيتِ من قدرِ إنسانِ
فكَم عَهِدَتْ أن لا تحولَ وأقسمتْ                      وليس لمخضوبٍ وفاءٌ بأيمانِ
ومنْ أعجبِ الأشياءِ ظبى ُ مبرقعُ                      يشيرُ بعنَّابٍ ويومي بأجفانِ
ومَرعاهُ ما بينَ التّرائِبِ والحَشَا                ويا عَجَباً من روضة ٍ وَسَطَ نيرانِ
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


Rabi’ al-awwal: Burda and Fiyashiyyah


A beautiful performance of two of the most beautiful poems from the North African tradition.  The first is from the first lines of the famous Qasidah al-Burda of Shaykh al-Busiri, while the second is from the beloved Fiyashiyyah of Sidi Bahloul Cherki.

Listen to them back to back, the transition is lovely.

The Burda:

02 Muwal Al Burda


Is it from remembering the neighbors at Dhu Salam that you mingle with blood tears shed from your eyes

Or has the wind blown from before Kāẓimah, and lightning flashed in the darkness of Iḍam

What ails your eyes, that when you bid them cease they weep still more? What ails your heart, that when you bid it wake, it wanders

Reckons the lovelorn that his love may be concealed, when part of him’s a torrent, and the other is a blaze?

But for passion, you wouldn’t weep at an abandoned camp, nor lie awake at night recalling the willow and the mountain

So how can you deny your love, when the witness of tears and sickness have testified against you?

Love has carved upon your cheeks two tracks of tears like yellow spice and red ‘Anam fruit

Yes, my loved one’s spirit haunted me, and denied me my sleep. For love ever obstructs pleasures with pain.

You who blame me for this chaste love: I seek your pardon! Yet had you judged fairly, you would not have blamed me at all.

May you be spared my state! my secret not hidden from the haters—my sickness will not leave me

You offer me advice, but I hear it not. The lover is to all reproachers deaf

I suspect the advice of even the white-haired in their censure, even though their advice is far from suspicion



أمن تذكــــــر جيــــــرانٍ بذى ســــــلم مزجت دمعا جَرَى من مقلةٍ بـــــدم

َمْ هبَّــــت الريـــــحُ مِنْ تلقاءِ كاظمــةٍ وأَومض البرق في الظَّلْماءِ من إِضم

فما لعينيك إن قلت اكْفُفاهمتـــــــــــــــا وما لقلبك إن قلت استفق يهـــــــــم

أيحسب الصب أن الحب منكتـــــــــــم ما بين منسجم منه ومضطــــــــرم

لولا الهوى لم ترق دمعاً على طـــــللٍ ولا أرقت لذكر البانِ والعلــــــــــمِ

فكيف تنكر حباً بعد ما شـــــــــــــهدت به عليك عدول الدمع والســـــــــقمِ

وأثبت الوجد خطَّيْ عبرةٍ وضــــــــنى مثل البهار على خديك والعنــــــــم

نعم سرى طيف من أهوى فأرقنـــــــي والحب يعترض اللذات بالألــــــــمِ

يا لائمي في الهوى العذري معـــــذرة مني إليك ولو أنصفت لم تلــــــــــمِ

عدتك حالي لا سري بمســــــــــــــتتر عن الوشاة ولا دائي بمنحســـــــــم

محضتني النصح لكن لست أســـــمعهُ إن المحب عن العذال في صــــــممِ

إنى اتهمت نصيح الشيب في عـــــذلي والشيب أبعد في نصح عن التهـــتـمِ

في التحذير من هوى النفس

translation from :

Khanqah E Shaikh Zakariya





I don’t have any cares

What could cares have to do with me?

Why worry about my livelihood,

While Creator provides it for me?

I am a servant of my Lord, His is the Power

Before which every difficulty vanishes.

Although I am weak servant,

My Lord is powerful over everything.

In the darkness of the womb,

He formed me from a drop,

And started all kinds of blessings for me.

Having nothing but my nakedness,

Not knowing this from that

The Bountiful God covered me

And made the earth a bed for me

Earth he made my bed, and the sky a solid roof.

My heart, do not worry about anything,

Leave them for the Inward,

Fate is decreed, look at its traces and providential blessings

He who lives by the heart’s strength

Is happy in this world.

I, my friend, I have a doctor whose medicine cures me.

My heart follows after the beloved, my lord, the Messenger of God.




انا ما لي في اش         أش عليّ مني
نقلق من رزقي لاش      والخالق يرزقني


انــا عبـــد رب لــه قــــــــدرة          يهـون بها كـل امر عسيـر

فان كـنت عبدا ضعيف القوى        فربي على كل شيء قديـر

في ظلمة الارحام                 صورني من نطفة

و بدا لي بالانعام                 نعـم مـن كـل صنفـا

ما زدت الا عريان                 ما نعرف ذا من ذا

ستر الله المنان            جعل لي الارض فراش

جعل لي الارض فراش              و السماء سقفا مبني

يا قلبي لا تهتم                و اترك هم الباطن

المقدور محتم               شوف اثرا و انعاين

من قوى قلب عاش              في الدنيا متهني

*و انا سيدي عندي الطبيب       وعلجني بدوان

قلبي متوال بالحبيب       سيدي رسول الله



other versions:






Love and Beauty, Unity and Multiplicity, Realization and Reason

Three of my favorite verses of Arabic poetry (the last of which is from Ibn al-Farid) form a lovely meditation on these three topics (Love, Unity, and Truth), when taken together. 


“Various positions have those who love from (mere) passion
But I have a unique place, in which I dwell alone.”



مذاهب شتى للمحبّين في الهوى            و لي مدهب فرد أعيش به وحدي


Our expressions our many,
and your beauty is one
And it is to your beauty
that all of them allude

عباراتنا  شتّى و حسنك واحد      و كلّ إلى ذاك الجمال يشير


How often argument creates disputes amongst the clever
and how often beauty mediates between the lovers


فكم بين حذاق الجدال تنازع                وما بين عشاق الجمال تنازع


When she begins to sway — لمّا بدا يتثنى

Another gem from al-Andalus:






Translation (of the most common version, in Arabic below):

When she began to sway
my Love’s beauty entranced me
With a glance, she captured me
the branch bends when it sways
O my promise, O my wonder,
None can console my complaint
of love and my sufferings
except the queen of beauty



لما بدا يتثنى
حبي جماله فتنا


او ما بلحظه أسرنا 
غصنٌ ثنا حين مال


وعدي ويا حيرتي
من لي رحيم في شكوتي
بالحب من لوعتي
إلا مليكُ الجمال


Compare with the famous opening of Rumi’s Mathnawi:





1. Listen to the reed how it narrates a tale,
A tale of all the separations of which it complains.

2. Ever since they cut me from the reed-bed,
Men and women bemoaned my lament.

3. How I wish in separation, a bosom shred and shred,
So as to utter the description of the pain of longing.

4. Whoever becomes distanced from his roots,
Seeks to return to the days of his union.

5. I joined every gathering uttering my lament,
Consorting with the joyous and the sorrowful.

6. Everyone befriended me following his own opinion,
No one sought the secrets from within me.

7. My secret is not far away from my lament,
Yet, eye and ear do not possess that light.

8. Body is not hidden from soul, nor soul from body,
Yet, none has the license to see the soul.


–Translation by Seyyed Hossein Nasr. From “The Lament of the
Reed: Rumi,” translated and recited by Seyyed Hossein Nasr,
music directed by Suleyman Ergunerm, 2000.



بشنو از نی چون حکایت می کند
از جدایی ها شکایت می کند


کز نیستان تا مرا ببریده اند
از نفیرم مرد و زن نالیده اند


سینه خواهم شرحه شرحه از فراق
تا بگویم شرح درد اشتیاق


هر کسی کو دور ماند از اصل خویش
بازجوید روزگار وصل خویش


من به هر جمعیتی نالان شدم
جفت بدحالان و خوشحالان شدم


هر کسی از ظن خود شد یار من
از دورن من نجست اسرار من


سر من از نالهٔ من دور نیست
لیک چشم و گوش را آن نور نیست


تن ز جان و جان ز تن مستور نیست
لیک کس را دید جان دستور نیست



Sidi Qaddur al-‘Alami: Qasida-Pleading | سيدي عبد القادر العلمي : قصيدة التوسل

Muwwál Modo Zerga -Casida _El Perdón


Mine is not the power, nor the effort, nor the strength
Neither mastery of fate nor any chance is mine
From me, the request alone, from him, the acceptance
And in this matter, there’s no turning back
The one who commands me to be patient and to trust
Eases my sufferings, if not my strength
By God, I swear this plea didn’t seem proper
Until I was sure of your majestic power



ما يلبي قوة و لا يلى جهد و لا حول       و لا يلى تدبير في القضا و لا حيلة

من عندي أنا الدعا و من عنده القبول            و الحاجة ما تكون فيها تعطيلة

من أمرني بالصبر و التوكل             هو يسرى هموم ذاتي لو حيلة

و الله ما بديت هذا التوسل             حتى تيقنت من قدرتك الجليلة






You who knows the troubles of my pleading heart
Rejoice!  However great my pains, they have ended


There is no room in my heart for sorrow
I reached the Union that was my goal.


I praise the Lord of Heaven, I prostrate to the qibla
and say: Today I was accepted!


From the sleep of forgetfulness, I awoke to joy
Not fearing the words of the envier or spy




هل يا من دري هموم قلبي يتسلا       مهما يدركو و جاعي و يزول

ما تبقى تقبل على قلبي ذبلا       و القصد اللي طلبت نظفر بوصول

نحمد رب السماء و نسجد للقبلا       ونقول اليوم عاد صادقت قبول

نتيقظ للسرور و من نوم الغفلا       لا حاسد لا رقيب نخشى من قول


سيدي عبد القادر العلمي –

The Virgin Birth



The body is like Mary. Each of us has a Jesus, but so long as no pain appears, our Jesus is not born. If pain never comes, our Jesus goes back to his place of origin on the same secret path he had come, and we remain behind, deprived and without a share of him. 

trans. Annemarie Schimmel. I Am Wind, You are Fire; The Life and Work of Rumi.  Shambhala, Boston 1996. p. 122

If you bathe your soul for one instant in the veil of his love
 Like Mary, from one breath, you’ll see Jesus conceived
If like Mary, you conceive the Messiah without a father
Your face will turn saffron-yellow (from pain)


یک نفس در پرده عشقش چو جانت غسل کرد
همچو مریم از دمی بینی تو عیسی زاییی
چون بزادی همچو مریم آن مسیح بی‌پدر
گردد این رخسار سرخت زعفران سیماییی



Angelus Silesius


The Virgin I must be and bring God forth from me
should ever I be granted divine felicity.


 When God lay hidden in the womb of a young virgin,
It happened that the point fully contained the circle.


God is my center, if I do encompass Him
My circle he becomes, I am enclosed in Him.


The Virgin is a crystal, her son celestial light;
Wholly she is pierced by him, yet unimpaired she shines.


The soul that’s viriginal and naught but God conceives
Can pregnant be with God as often as it pleases.


trans. from Maria Shrady.  Angelus Silesius: The Cherubinic Wanderer.  Paulist Press, 1986.


My heart became…

This amazing poem of Ibn ‘Arabi’s is often interpreted somewhat sentimentally, but the love he writes of is far more than mere sentiment, and the universalism he espouses is much more than mere coexistence.  Among other things, it refers to a profound spiritual transformation in which opposites unite and the limitations of particular existence are swept away by love, the power that animantes the cosmos.


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


Receptive, my heart became, 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*


*Legendary lovers of Arabic literature

Two ghazals of Hafez

No one has seen your face, and yet
Thousands of rivals seek you;
You’re still a bud and yet a hundred
Nightingales entreat you.


However far I am from you
(May no one know that place!)
I cannot help but hope that soon
I’ll be in your embrace;


And it’s not strange that I should choose
Your street in which to wait –
Thousands of strangers in this world
Are in the selfsame state


The loved one doesn’t spare a glance-
The lover must endure it;
And there’s no pain, or if there is
The doctor’s here to cure it.


In love, the Sufi meeting house
And wine-shop are one place;
As are all places where we find
The loved one’s radiant face;


And what the Sufis make a show of
Can be found equally
Among the monks, before their cross
Within a monastery.


Hafez’s cry is not mere nonsense
When all is said and done;
Though it’s a strangely curious tale,
And a perplexing one.



۶۳. روی تو کس ندید و هزارت رقیب هست

           روی تو کس ندید و هزارت رقیب هست
در غنچه‌ای هنوز و صدت عندلیب هست
             گر آمدم به کوی تو چندان غریب نیست
چون من در آن دیار هزاران غریب هست
               در عشق خانقاه و خرابات فرق نیست
هر جا که هست پرتو روی حبیب هست
            آن جا که کار صومعه را جلوه می‌دهند
ناقوس دیر راهب و نام صلیب هست
             عاشق که شد که یار به حالش نظر نکرد
ای خواجه درد نیست وگرنه طبیب هست
             فریاد حافظ این همه آخر به هرزه نیست
هم قصه‌ای غریب و حدیثی عجیب هست


At dawn, upon the breeze, I caught
the scent of my beloved’s hair
And once again my crazy heart
was laboring in its old despair


Out of the garden of my breast
I’ve torn her sapling silhouette
Since when my longings for her blossom,
grief is the bitter fruit they set.


Fearing the torment of her love,
I freed my heart from her; but when
My heart dripped blood, the path its drops
marked out…led back to her again


I saw the full moon rise above
his castle’s roof, splendid and bright;
But when her shining sun arose
the moon, for shame, concealed its light.


I took musicians at their word
and always, everywhere, I sought
For messengers who’d traveled love’s
hard road, and all the news they brought.


My lover’s way from end to end,
is good and kind, and little cares
Whether a man tells Muslim beads
or murmurs Christian prayers.


May God forgive her eyebrow’s curve
That’s made me weak and powerless,
Since it can comfort, with a glance
A sick man’s feverish distress


I was amazed to see Hafez
drink wine last night; but then I knew
Better than to object to this-
he drank as secret Sufis do.


۱۴۶. صبا وقت سحر بویی ز زلف یار می‌آورد

      صبا وقت سحر بویی ز زلف یار می‌آورد
دل شوریده ما را به بو در کار می‌آورد
      من آن شکل صنوبر را ز باغ دیده برکندم
که هر گل کز غمش بشکفت محنت بار می‌آورد
      فروغ ماه می‌دیدم ز بام قصر او روشن
که رو از شرم آن خورشید در دیوار می‌آورد
      ز بیم غارت عشقش دل پرخون رها کردم
ولی می‌ریخت خون و ره بدان هنجار می‌آورد
      به قول مطرب و ساقی برون رفتم گه و بی‌گه
کز آن راه گران قاصد خبر دشوار می‌آورد
      سراسر بخشش جانان طریق لطف و احسان بود
اگر تسبیح می‌فرمود اگر زنار می‌آورد
      عفاالله چین ابرویش اگر چه ناتوانم کرد
به عشوه هم پیامی بر سر بیمار می‌آورد
      عجب می‌داشتم دیشب ز حافظ جام و پیمانه
ولی منعش نمی‌کردم که صوفی وار می‌آورد


Translations modified from: Dick Davis.  Faces of Love: Hafez and the Poets of Shiraz.  Mage, 2012

Zen and the snowman

At the peak of my soul’s depths
I sit in silent reverie
The sun above, weather below
The vast blue breathes in, out of me


The Snow Man
by Wallace Stevens

One must have a mind of winter
To regard the frost and the boughs
Of the pine-trees crusted with snow;

And have been cold a long time
To behold the junipers shagged with ice,
The spruces rough in the distant glitter

Of the January sun; and not to think
Of any misery in the sound of the wind,
In the sound of a few leaves,

Which is the sound of the land
Full of the same wind
That is blowing in the same bare place

For the listener, who listens in the snow,
And, nothing himself, beholds
Nothing that is not there and the nothing that is.


Hafez says…

          حافظ سخن بگوی که بر صفحه جهان    

این نقش ماند از قلمت یادگار عمر


But those whose lives are centered on
Your lovely mouth confess
No other thoughts than this, and think
Nothing of Nothingness


                  بيا و هستي حافظ ز پيش او برد
که با وجود تو کس نشنود ز من که منم


Come, and make sure Hafez’s being
will disappear-
Since You exist, no one will hear
Me say, “I’m here.”