Two ghazals of Hafez

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

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.

Original:

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.

Original:

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