Keats and the Sufis

Posted on May 11, 2016 by sulaymanibnqiddees

these poems by John Keats pair nicely with the following poems by Ibn al-Farid and Hafez

John Keats

“Fill for me a brimming bowl”

What wondrous beauty! From this moment I efface from my mind all women.

Terrence, Eunuch, II.3.296

Fill for me a brimming bowl
And in it let me drown my soul:
But put therein some drug, designed
To Banish Women from my mind:
For I want not the stream inspiring
That fills the mind with–fond desiring,
But I want as deep a draught
As e’er from Lethe’s wave was quaff’d;
From my despairing heart to charm
The Image of the fairest form
That e’er my reveling eyes beheld,
That e’er my wandering fancy spell’d.
In vain! away I cannot chace
The melting softness of that face,
The beaminess of those bright eyes,
That breast–earth’s only Paradise.
My sight will never more be blest;
For all I see has lost its zest:
Nor with delight can I explore,
The Classic page, or Muse’s lore.
Had she but known how beat my heart,
And with one smile reliev’d its smart
I should have felt a sweet relief,
I should have felt “the joy of grief.”
Yet as the Tuscan mid the snow
Of Lapland dreams on sweet Arno,
Even so for ever shall she be
The Halo of my Memory.

Ibn al-Farid

Translation:

Pass round the remembrance the one I love, even in reproach

for tales about the beloved are my wine

Let my hearing witness the one I love, though she be far

through specters of reproach, not those of dreams!

Her remembrance delights me in every form

even when my reproachers mingle it with strife

It is as if my reproacher brought me news of union

when I had not even hoped for a response to a greeting

My soul is hers, for whose Iove I destroyed my soul

death came to me before the day of my death

For her sake I relish my disgrace and wallow

in rejection and shame when once my rank was high

After my piety, because of her, dissolution

casting off restraint and committing sins are sweet to me

I pray, singing when I recite remembrance of her

and I am enraptured in the mihrab, for she is my Imam

On hajj, when I don the pilgrim’s robes I call her name

and when I break my fast, it is from her that I refrain

My tear ducts flow due to my state and gush

because of what has passed, and my laments convey my inner fire

At night my heart is driven mad with longing,

at dawn my eyes are pouring in their grief

my heart and eyes are stricken, one afflicted by the meaning

of her beauty, the other tempted by her tender poise

My sleep is lost, my morning too—may you be spared!—

ever present is my wakefulness and still my longing grows

My bond and my covenant have never been undone or changed

my love remains my love and passion is my passion

So wasted is my body that its secrets are made plain

and meaning is disclosed therein through my withered bones

Felled by love’s pain, with wounded heart

and wounded eyelids ever bleeding,

Yet true to love, I have become ethereal like air

with breaths of dawn breeze my only company

Sound I am, yet sick; seek me then from the morning breeze

for my withering has decreed that it is my home

So wasted I am that I have vanished from wasting itself

and from cure to my sickness and coolness for my burning thirst

Love has left nothing of me save grief

sorrow, torment and grave illness

No one I know knows my place save love

nor the concealment of my secrets nor my bond’s custody

And of passion, patience and solace

it has left nothing for me but the names

Whoever is free of my love, may he be saved with his soul

in one piece; O soul of mine, go in peace

“Forget her!” my blamer said to me, fanatically

blaming me. I said, “forget your blaming of me!”

If I sought consolation, who would be there to be my guide

when in love, every leader follows my lead?

In my every limb is every yearning for her

and every longing tugs at my reins

As she bends, I imagine every hip she moves

to be a branch in a sand dune topped by the full moon

Mine is every limb filled with every inner core

wherein, when she glances, is embedded every arrow

And if she dissolved my body she would find every atom

every heart inhabited by every human love

In union with her, a year to me is but an instant,

an hour’s separation like a year.

When we met at nightfall, as the twin straight paths

between her dwelling and my tents brought us together,

We moved away a little from the tribe,

avoiding spies and slanderers with their deceitful talk

I spread my cheek upon the ground for her to walk upon

and she said, “Good news, now you may kiss my veil.”

But this my soul did not permit me, jealously

shielding her from me, for higher is my purpose

We passed the night in hope as my wish decreed

and I saw the world my kingdom and time itself my slave.

Translation modified from Stefan Sperl’s in Stefan Sperl, C. Shackle, Qasida Poetry in Islamic Asia and Africa, Brill 1996, p. 106-111

John Keats

“The day is gone, and all its sweets are gone!”

The day is gone, and all its sweets are gone!

Sweet voice, sweet lips, soft hand, and softer breast,

Warm breath, light whisper, tender semi-tone,

Bright eyes, accomplish’d shape, and lang’rous waist!

Faded the flower and all its budded charms,

Faded the sight of beauty from my eyes,

Faded the shape of beauty from my arms,

Faded the voice, warmth, whiteness, paradise –

Vanish’d unseasonably at shut of eve,

When the dusk holiday – or holinight

Of fragrant-curtain’d love begins to weave

The woof of darkness thick, for hid delight,

But, as I’ve read love’s missal through to-day,

He’ll let me sleep, seeing I fast and pray.

Hafez

Translation:

The breath of the zephyr will become musk-diffusing

and the old world will grow young again

The Judas-tree will give a cornelian cup to the lily,

and the eye of the narcissus will me anxious for the anemone.

The nightingale after all that pain of separation,

will roaringly dash all the way to the pavilion of the rose

If I went from mosque to tavern, do not carp

the preaching was too long, and time was passing

O heart if you postpone today’s pleasure until tomorrow,

who will guarantee a lasting life for you?

In the month of Sha’ban do not neglect the cup of wine

this sun will be out of sight until the ‘Eid of Ramadan

The rose is precious, appreciate its company

It came into the garden this way, and will go out through that

O minstrel, this is the intimates’ assembly, sing a song

How long should you say: “Passed like this, and like that will pass?”

Hafez came into the realm of existence for your sake

take a step for his farewell, for he will soon pass.

translation from Reza Saberi, The Divan of Hafez, p. 196

Original:

نفس باد صبا مشک فشان خواهد شد
عالم پیر دگرباره جوان خواهد شد
ارغوان جام عقیقی به سمن خواهد داد
چشم نرگس به شقایق نگران خواهد شد
این تطاول که کشید از غم هجران بلبل
تا سراپرده گل نعره زنان خواهد شد
گر ز مسجد به خرابات شدم خرده مگیر
مجلس وعظ دراز است و زمان خواهد شد
ای دل ار عشرت امروز به فردا فکنی
مایه نقد بقا را که ضمان خواهد شد
ماه شعبان منه از دست قدح کاین خورشید
از نظر تا شب عید رمضان خواهد شد
گل عزیز است غنیمت شمریدش صحبت
که به باغ آمد از این راه و از آن خواهد شد
مطربا مجلس انس است غزل خوان و سرود
چند گویی که چنین رفت و چنان خواهد شد
حافظ از بهر تو آمد سوی اقلیم وجود
قدمی نه به وداعش که روان خواهد شد

Translation:

I don’t see any companionship. What happened to the companions?

when did friendships end? What happened to the friends?

the water of life darkened. Where is the auspicious Khezr?

The rose lost colour. What happened to the spring wind?

None says that a friend has the right of friendship.

what happened to the grateful ones and the companions?

This was the city of friends and the site of kind people

when did kindness end? What happened to the city of friends?

Years past and no ruby came out of the mine of generosity

what happened to the work of rain, the sun, and the wind?

The polo-ball of success and liberality is cast into the field.

None enters the arena. What happened to the horsemen?

A hundred thousand roses blossomed, but no bird sang.

what happened to the nightingales and the starlings?

Venus plays no more happy tunes. Did its lute burn?

no one yearns for drunkenness. What happened to the drinkers?

Silence, Hafez! Divine mysteries are not known to anyone.

whom do you ask, “what happened to the cycle of days?”

translation modified from Reza Saberi’s in The Divan of Hafez p. 203

Original:

یاری اندر کس نمی‌بینیم یاران را چه شد

دوستی کی آخر آمد دوستداران را چه شد

آب حیوان تیره گون شد خضر فرخ پی کجاست

خون چکید از شاخ گل باد بهاران را چه شد

کس نمی‌گوید که یاری داشت حق دوستی

حق شناسان را چه حال افتاد یاران را چه شد

لعلی از کان مروت برنیامد سال‌هاست

تابش خورشید و سعی باد و باران را چه شد

شهر یاران بود و خاک مهربانان این دیار

مهربانی کی سر آمد شهریاران را چه شد

گوی توفیق و کرامت در میان افکنده‌اند

کس به میدان در نمی‌آید سواران را چه شد

صد هزاران گل شکفت و بانگ مرغی برنخاست

عندلیبان را چه پیش آمد هزاران را چه شد

زهره سازی خوش نمی‌سازد مگر عودش بسوخت

کس ندارد ذوق مستی میگساران را چه شد

حافظ اسرار الهی کس نمی‌داند خموش

از که می‌پرسی که دور روزگاران را چه شد

Nightingale: Keats and Hafez

Posted on March 11, 2016 by sulaymanibnqiddees

Hafez sang:

بلبلى خون جگر خورد و گلى حاصل كرد
باد غيرت به صادش خار پريشان دل كرد
طوطيى را به خيال شكرى دل خوش بود
ناگهش سيل فنا نقش امل باطل كرد

Gertrude Bell’s translation:

The nightingale with drops of his heart’s blood
Had nourished the red rose, then came a wind,
And catching at the boughs in envious mood,
a hundred thorns about his heart entwined.
Like to the parrot crunching sugar, good
Seemed the world to me who could not stay
The wind of Death that swept my hopes away.

Compare with this beautiful recitation of Keats’ Ode to a Nightingale:

Ode to a Nightingale

My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains

My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk,

Or emptied some dull opiate to the drains

One minute past, and Lethe-wards had sunk:

‘Tis not through envy of thy happy lot,

But being too happy in thine happiness,—

That thou, light-winged Dryad of the trees

In some melodious plot

Of beechen green, and shadows numberless,

Singest of summer in full-throated ease.

O, for a draught of vintage! that hath been

Cool’d a long age in the deep-delved earth,

Tasting of Flora and the country green,

Dance, and Provençal song, and sunburnt mirth!

O for a beaker full of the warm South,

Full of the true, the blushful Hippocrene,

With beaded bubbles winking at the brim,

And purple-stained mouth;

That I might drink, and leave the world unseen,

And with thee fade away into the forest dim:

Fade far away, dissolve, and quite forget

What thou among the leaves hast never known,

The weariness, the fever, and the fret

Here, where men sit and hear each other groan;

Where palsy shakes a few, sad, last gray hairs,

Where youth grows pale, and spectre-thin, and dies;

Where but to think is to be full of sorrow

And leaden-eyed despairs,

Where Beauty cannot keep her lustrous eyes,

Or new Love pine at them beyond to-morrow.

Away! away! for I will fly to thee,

Not charioted by Bacchus and his pards,

But on the viewless wings of Poesy,

Though the dull brain perplexes and retards:

Already with thee! tender is the night,

And haply the Queen-Moon is on her throne,

Cluster’d around by all her starry Fays;

But here there is no light,

Save what from heaven is with the breezes blown

Through verdurous glooms and winding mossy ways.

I cannot see what flowers are at my feet,

Nor what soft incense hangs upon the boughs,

But, in embalmed darkness, guess each sweet

Wherewith the seasonable month endows

The grass, the thicket, and the fruit-tree wild;

White hawthorn, and the pastoral eglantine;

Fast fading violets cover’d up in leaves;

And mid-May’s eldest child,

The coming musk-rose, full of dewy wine,

The murmurous haunt of flies on summer eves.

Darkling I listen; and, for many a time

I have been half in love with easeful Death,

Call’d him soft names in many a mused rhyme,

To take into the air my quiet breath;

Now more than ever seems it rich to die,

To cease upon the midnight with no pain,

While thou art pouring forth thy soul abroad

In such an ecstasy!

Still wouldst thou sing, and I have ears in vain—

To thy high requiem become a sod.

Thou wast not born for death, immortal Bird!

No hungry generations tread thee down;

The voice I hear this passing night was heard

In ancient days by emperor and clown:

Perhaps the self-same song that found a path

Through the sad heart of Ruth, when, sick for home,

She stood in tears amid the alien corn;

The same that oft-times hath

Charm’d magic casements, opening on the foam

Of perilous seas, in faery lands forlorn.

Forlorn! the very word is like a bell

To toll me back from thee to my sole self!

Adieu! the fancy cannot cheat so well

As she is fam’d to do, deceiving elf.

Adieu! adieu! thy plaintive anthem fades

Past the near meadows, over the still stream,

Up the hill-side; and now ’tis buried deep

In the next valley-glades:

Was it a vision, or a waking dream?

Fled is that music:—Do I wake or sleep?

Hafez

Translation:

Weep, O Nightingale, if you wish to be my friend

For we are two helpless lovers, whose work is weeping

In that land where the breeze blows from the beloved’s locks

what room is there for boasting of the musk of Tartar?

Bring wine so we can dye our cloak of hypocrisy

We are drunk form the cup of arrogance and we call it sobriety

Cherishing the thought of your hair is not for the novice

going under the chain is the way of the elite

There is a hidden subtlety that gives rise to love

whose name is neither ruby lip nor auburn cheek’s down

A person’s beauty is not in the eye nor face, nor cheek, nor hair

there are a thousand fine points in this work of beauties

The Qalandars of Truth do not buy, for half a barley corn,

the silk robe of the person who is without art

It is difficult to reach your doorstep

ascension to the heaven of joy is difficult

At dawn I dreamt of the seductive glance of your eye

Ah, some stages of sleep are better than being awake…

Do not harm his heart with your wailing, hush now Hafez

For eternal salvation lies in doing the least harm

Original:

بنال بلبل اگر با منت سر یاریست
که ما دو عاشق زاریم و کار ما زاریست

در آن زمین که نسیمی وزد ز طره دوست
چه جای دم زدن نافه‌های تاتاریست

بیار باده که رنگین کنیم جامه زرق
که مست جام غروریم و نام هشیاریست

خیال زلف تو پختن نه کار هر خامیست
که زیر سلسله رفتن طریق عیاریست

لطیفه‌ایست نهانی که عشق از او خیزد
که نام آن نه لب لعل و خط زنگاریست

جمال شخص نه چشم است و زلف و عارض و خال
هزار نکته در این کار و بار دلداریست

قلندران حقیقت به نیم جو نخرند
قبای اطلس آن کس که از هنر عاریست

بر آستان تو مشکل توان رسید آری
عروج بر فلک سروری به دشواریست

سحر کرشمه چشمت به خواب می‌دیدم
زهی مراتب خوابی که به ز بیداریست

دلش به ناله میازار و ختم کن حافظ
که رستگاری جاوید در کم آزاریست

japansingnightingale

Translation:

At dawn, the nightingale complained to the breeze, saying:

“Oh the things that loving the rose’s face has done to me…”

It pulled off the veil of the rose and brushed away the tress of the hyacinth

and opened the knot of the cord of the bud’s robe

The lover nightingale cried out in all directions

But it was the breeze that was blessed from this

Blessed be the morning breeze that

remedied the pain of those who stay awake at night

No more will I complain of strangers

for any wrong to me was done my that dear one

If I coveted a favor from the sultan, it was a mistake

If I sought faithfulness from the beloved, she was cruel.

I am the slave of the generous spirit of that dear one

Who did good deeds without pretension and hypocrisy

take the good news to the winesellers’ street

That Hafez repented of pretentious abstinence

Original:

سحر بلبل حکایت با صبا کرد

که عشق روی گل با ما چه‌ها کرد

از آن رنگ رخم خون در دل افتاد

وز آن گلشن به خارم مبتلا کرد

غلام همت آن نازنینم

که کار خیر بی روی و ریا کرد

من از بیگانگان دیگر ننالم

که با من هر چه کرد آن آشنا کرد

گر از سلطان طمع کردم خطا بود

ور از دلبر وفا جستم جفا کرد

خوشش باد آن نسیم صبحگاهی

که درد شب نشینان را دوا کرد

نقاب گل کشید و زلف سنبل

گره بند قبای غنچه وا کرد

به هر سو بلبل عاشق در افغان

تنعم از میان باد صبا کرد

بشارت بر به کوی می فروشان

که حافظ توبه از زهد ریا کرد

chinesenightingale

Translation:

I went to the garden one morning to pick a rose

and suddenly heard a nightingale’s song.

Like me, the poor bird had fallen in love with a rose

and in the field, raised a commotion with his cries.

And as I walked through that field and garden

I thought on that rose and nightingale.

The rose befriended beauty, and the nightingale, love

neither showed any signs of changing.

As the song of the nightingale entered my heart,

it got to the point where I could stand it no longer.

Many roses bloom in this garden, but

none plucks a rose without the pain of a thorn.

Hafez, harbor hope of deliverance from this cycle of existence

It has a thousand flaws and not one redeeming virtue.

Original:

رفتم به باغ صبحدمی تا چنم گلی

آمد به گوش ناگهم آواز بلبلی

مسکین چو من به عشق گلی گشته مبتلا

و اندر چمن فکنده ز فریاد غلغلی

می‌گشتم اندر آن چمن و باغ دم به دم

می‌کردم اندر آن گل و بلبل تاملی

گل یار حسن گشته و بلبل قرین عشق

آن را تفضلی نه و این را تبدلی

چون کرد در دلم اثر آواز عندلیب

گشتم چنان که هیچ نماندم تحملی

بس گل شکفته می‌شود این باغ را ولی

کس بی بلای خار نچیده‌ست از او گلی

حافظ مدار امید فرج از مدار كون

دارد هزار عیب و ندارد تفضلی

Translation:

“Ask for wine and throw flowers. What else do you want from time?”

The rose said this at dawn, O nightingale, what do you say?

Take your seat in the rose garden so that you may kiss

the beauty and the Saqi on the lip and cheek and drink wine and smell roses

Upon whom will your smiling bud bestow its fortune

O elegant rose, for whose sake do you grow?

Each bird comes to the king’s rose garden with a tale

The nightingale with his song and Hafez with his prayer.

Original:

می خواه و گل افشان کن از دهر چه می‌جویی

این گفت سحرگه گل بلبل تو چه می‌گویی

مسند به گلستان بر تا شاهد و ساقی را

لب گیری و رخ بوسی می نوشی و گل بویی

تا غنچه خندانت دولت به که خواهد داد

ای شاخ گل رعنا از بهر که می‌رویی

هر مرغ به دستانی در گلشن شاه آمد

بلبل به نواسازی حافظ به غزل گویی

Camaron

Translation:

Step into that corner
where the gnats do not bite
I do not care about anyone
but you, my little dear

In the Moorish quarter
Juanola le puso el cura
Juanola pa to la vía.

I saw the flowers cry
when you entered the garden,
because the flowers would all like
to look like you.

Keep away from the people
who do not know our love,
the farther you are from the saint,
the closer to devotion.

And the day you were born
all the flowers bloomed
and at the baptismal font
nightingales sang.

nightgalepersianmin

Original:

Lerelere lele…aay

Métete en aquel rincón
donde las mosquitas no te coman
cuenta yo no le doy a nadie
primita de tu persona.

De la morería
Juanola le puso el cura
Juanola pa to la vía.

Al verte las flores lloran
cuando entras tu al jardín,
porque las flores quisieran
toítas parecerse a ti.

Retírate que la gente
no conozca nuestro amor,
contra más lejos esté el santo
más cerca la devoción.

Y el día que tú naciste
nacieron toítas las flores
y en la pila de bautismo
cantaron los ruiseñores.

nightingale

I carry your heart

Posted on March 6, 2016 by sulaymanibnqiddees

This lovely poem by e.e. cummings sounds like it could have been written by Rumi:

[i carry your heart with me(i carry it in]

by e.e. cummings

i carry your heart with me(i carry it in

my heart)i am never without it(anywhere

i go you go,my dear;and whatever is done

by only me is your doing,my darling)

i fear

no fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)i want

no world(for beautiful you are my world,my true)

and it’s you are whatever a moon has always meant

and whatever a sun will always sing is you

here is the deepest secret nobody knows

(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud

and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows

higher than soul can hope or mind can hide)

and this is the wonder that’s keeping the stars apart

i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)

Rumi

Translation:

Stealthily as the soul, you are going in the midst of my soul; O luster of my garden, you are my gracefully moving cypress.

When you go, go not without me; soul of my soul, go not without my body, and depart not out of my sight, O my blazing torch.

I tear up the seven heavens and pass beyond the seven seas, when lovingly you gaze into my giddy soul.

Since you came into my bosom, infidelity and faith are my servitors, O you whose vision is my religion, whose face is my faith.

You have made me headless and footless, you have made me sleepless and foodless;

enter drunken and laughing, O my Joseph of Canaan.

Through your grace I have become soul-like and have become hidden from myself,

O you whose being has become hidden in my hidden being.

The rose rends its garment because of you, O you with whom the narcissus’ eye is intoxicated, of whom the branches are pregnant, O you my infinite garden.

One moment you brand me, the next you draw me into the garden; you draw me before the lamp so that my eyes may be opened.

O soul before all souls, O mine before all mines, O moment before all moments, O my very own, O my very own!

Our resting place is not earth; though the body crumbles, it matters not. My thought is not the skies, O you, union with whom is my heaven.

The grave of mariners is the sea forevermore; in the water of life where is death, O you, my Sea, my Ocean?

O you whose scent is in my sigh, whose sigh is my fellow traveler, in the hope of my Emperor color and scent have become distraught with me.

My soul, since like a mote in the air it has become separated from all heaviness, why should it be without you, O origin of my four elements?

O my king Ṣalāh al-Dīn, you who know my way and see my way, you who are free of concern with my little dignity, loftier than my potentiality.

Original:

دزدیده چون جان می روی اندر میان جان من
سرو خرامان منی ای رونق بستان من
چون می روی بی‌من مرو ای جان جان بی‌تن مرو
وز چشم من بیرون مشو ای شعله تابان من
هفت آسمان را بردرم وز هفت دریا بگذرم
چون دلبرانه بنگری در جان سرگردان من
تا آمدی اندر برم شد کفر و ایمان چاکرم
ای دیدن تو دین من وی روی تو ایمان من
بی‌پا و سر کردی مرا بی‌خواب و خور کردی مرا
سرمست و خندان اندرآ ای یوسف کنعان من
از لطف تو چو جان شدم وز خویشتن پنهان شدم
ای هست تو پنهان شده در هستی پنهان من
گل جامه در از دست تو ای چشم نرگس مست تو
ای شاخ‌ها آبست تو ای باغ بی‌پایان من
یک لحظه داغم می کشی یک دم به باغم می کشی
پیش چراغم می کشی تا وا شود چشمان من
ای جان پیش از جان‌ها وی کان پیش از کان‌ها
ای آن پیش از آن‌ها ای آن من ای آن من
منزلگه ما خاک نی گر تن بریزد باک نی
اندیشه‌ام افلاک نی ای وصل تو کیوان من
مر اهل کشتی را لحد در بحر باشد تا ابد
در آب حیوان مرگ کو ای بحر من عمان من
ای بوی تو در آه من وی آه تو همراه من
بر بوی شاهنشاه من شد رنگ و بو حیران من
جانم چو ذره در هوا چون شد ز هر ثقلی جدا
بی‌تو چرا باشد چرا ای اصل چار ارکان من
ای شه صلاح الدین من ره دان من ره بین من
ای فارغ از تمکین من ای برتر از امکان من

Bright Night, Dark Day

Posted on February 19, 2016 by sulaymanibnqiddees

Shabistari

The Rose Garden of Mystery (verses 122-130)

Reason’s light applied to the Essence of Lights

is like the eye of the head looking at the brilliance of the Sun

when the object seen is very close to the eye

The eye is darkened so that it cannot see it

This blackness, if you know it, is the very light of Being

in the land of darkness is the fountain of life

Since the darkness destroys the light of vision

Give up loooking, for this is no place for looking

What connection has dust with the pure world?

Its perception is the inability to perceive perception

…

What shall I say? since this saying is fine,

“A bright night in the midst of a dark day”

In this place of witnessing, which is the light of manifestation

I have much to say, but silence is best.

Original:

بود نور خرد در ذات انور به سان چشم سر در چشمه خور
چو مبصر با بصر نزدیک گردد بصر ز ادراک آن تاریک گردد
سیاهی گر بدانی نور ذات است به تاریکی درون آب حیات است
سیه جز قابض نور بصر نیست نظر بگذار کین جای نظر نیست
چه نسبت خاک را با عالم پاک که ادراک است عجز از درک ادراک
سیه رویی ز ممکن در دو عالم جدا هرگز نشد والله اعلم
سواد الوجه فی الدارین درویش سواد اعظم آمد بی کم و بیش
چه می‌گویم که هست این نکته باریک شب روشن میان روز تاریک
در این مشهد که انوار تجلی است سخن دارم ولی نا گفتن اولی است

Ibn al-Fāriḍ

Translation:

If he should visit one day, o my heart, tear yourself to shreds in love for him

and if he should leave, o eye, pour out tears

But there is no harm in distance, for the one I love is with me

For if he be absent from the pupil of my eye, yet still he is in me

Original:

إنْ زارَ، يوماً ياحَشايَ تَقَطَّعي، كَلَفاً بهِ، أو سارَ، يا عينُ اذرِفي
ما للنّوى ذّنْبٌ، ومَنْ أهوى مَعي، إنْ غابَ عنْ إنسانِ عيني فهوَ في

namibdesert2

Shakespeare

Sonnet 43

When most I wink, then do mine eyes best see,
For all the day they view things unrespected;
But when I sleep, in dreams they look on thee,
And darkly bright, are bright in dark directed.
Then thou, whose shadow shadows doth make bright,
How would thy shadow’s form form happy show
To the clear day with thy much clearer light,
When to unseeing eyes thy shade shines so!
How would, I say, mine eyes be blessed made
By looking on thee in the living day,
When in dead night thy fair imperfect shade
Through heavy sleep on sightless eyes doth stay!
All days are nights to see till I see thee,
And nights bright days when dreams do show thee me.

Like a Candle…

Posted on March 16, 2014 by sulaymanibnqiddees

from Figs and Thistles: First Fig

BY EDNA ST. VINCENT MILLAY

My candle burns at both ends;

It will not last the night;

But ah, my foes, and oh, my friends—

It gives a lovely light!

Source: Poetry (June 1918).

Hafez

Translation:

In faithfulness to your love, I am famous like the candle

In the street of the rends, I burn all night like the candle

Day and night, sleep slips away, from my grief-stricken eyes

Sick from separation, my red eyes weep like the candle

The mountain of my patience melted like wax in your grief’s hand

Since I began to burn and melt in your love like the candle

My string of patience’s cut by the scissors of your hair

But still, in your love’s fire, I am smiling like the candle

If the horse of my rosy tear had not been so swift

How could my secret shine out everywhere just like the candle?

As ever, my poor desperate heart is occupied with you

Shedding tears of water and of flame just like the candle

Without your world-adorning beauty, my day is like the night

Within your love’s perfection, I am fading like the candle

Honor me with union for one night, o wild one

and with your visit, brighten up my house like the candle

Like the morning, your coming is just a breath away

Show your face, so I can give my soul up like the candle

In exile’s night, send me a promise of union, or else

With this fire, I’ll burn down the whole world like the candle

It’s amazing how your love lit Hafez all on fire

How can I quench my heart’s fire with tears, like the candle?

Original:

دروفایعشقتومشهورخوبانمچوشمـع
شبنشینکویسربازانورندانمچوشمع
روزوشبخوابمنمی‌آیدبهچشمغمپرست
بـسکهدربیماریهجرتوگریانمچوشمع

کوهصبرمنرمشدچونمومدردستغمـت
تادرآبوآتشعشقتگدازانمچوشـمـع
رشتـهصـبرمبهمقراضغمتببریدهشد
همـچـناندرآتشمهرتوسوزانمچوشمع
گرکـمیتاشـکگلگونمنـبودیگرمرو
کیشدیروشنبهگیتیرازپنهانمچوشمع
درمیانآبوآتشهمچنانسرگرمتوسـت
ایندلزارنزاراشـکبارانـمچوشـمـع
بیجمالعالمآرایتوروزمچونشباست
باکمالعشقتودرعیننقصانمچوشمـع
سرفرازمکنشبیازوصـلخوداینازنین
تامـنورگرددازدیدارتایوانمچوشـمـع
همـچوصبحمیکنفسباقیستبادیدارتو
چـهرهبنمادلبراتاجانبرافشانمچوشمع
درشـبهجرانمراپروانهوصلیفرسـت
ورنهازدردتجهانیرابسوزانمچوشمـع
آتـشمـهرتوراحافظعجبدرسرگرفت

Ibn al-Fāriḍ

If not for my sighs, these tears would drown me

If not for these tears, my sighs would scorch me

ولولا زفيري ٔاغرقتني ٔادمعي

ولولا دموعي ٔاحرقتني زفرتي

John Donne

Hero and Leander

Both robb’d of air, we both lie in one ground ;
Both whom one fire had burnt, one water drown’d

A Burnt Ship

Out of a fired ship, which by no way

But drowning could be rescued from the flame,

Some men leap’d forth, and ever as they came

Near the foes’ ships, did by their shot decay;

So all were lost, which in the ship were found,

They in the sea being burnt, they in the burnt ship drown’d.

Rumi

A candle is made to become entirely flame.

In that annihilating moment

it has no shadow.

It is nothing but a tongue of light

describing a refuge.

Look at this

just-finishing candle stub

as someone who is finally safe

from virtue and vice,

the pride and the shame

we claim from those.

(Coleman Barks’ “translation”)

There is a candle in the heart of man, waiting to be kindled.

In separation from the Friend, there is a cut waiting to be stitched.

O, you who are ignorant of endurance and the burning fire of love–

Love comes of its own free will, it can’t be learned in any school.

THE SHIP SUNK IN LOVE

Should Love’s heart rejoice unless I burn?
For my heart is Love’s dwelling.
If You will burn Your house, burn it, Love!
Who will say, ‘It’s not allowed’?
Burn this house thoroughly!
The lover’s house improves with fire.
From now on I will make burning my aim,
From now on I will make burning my aim,
for I am like the candle: burning only makes me brighter.
Abandon sleep tonight; traverse for one night
the region of the sleepless.
Look upon these lovers who have become distraught
and like moths have died in union with the One Beloved.
Look upon this ship of God’s creatures
and see how it is sunk in Love.

Mathnawi VI, 617-623
The Rumi Collection, Edited by Kabir Helminski

O light, from seeing your beauty, my soul became candle-like

Turn my fortune so I can shed myself candle-like

The promise of the morning breeze, of joining Thee day and night

Burning, yellow, shaking, crying and humble, candle-like.

Thy flowing hair, like scissors sheer my soul at its height

In this fire of separation burn me no more, candle-like.

Pearls overflowing from the sea of my eye, fill my bosom in delight

My burning heart sent its flames blazing upward, candle-like.

Solar flares set in the celestial lantern, sooth the sight

Every morn dam my tears and shed no more, candle-like.

Thy face is spring-like, thy fire sorrows fight

How long burn in this solstice of separation, candle-like?

From the memory of thy light, every night flames take flight

If only my heart’s fire would burn my soul candle-like.

How long burn thyself Shams-e Tabrizi, thy love beaming bright?

We know of nothing other than this burning, candle-like.

(trans. by Shahriar Shahriari)

Original:

ای منور از جمالت دیده ی جانم چو شمع
از در بختم درآ تا جان بر افشانم چو شمع

از هوای خنده ی صبح وصالت روز و شب
زرد و لرزان و گدازان زار و گریانم چو شمع

زلف چون مقراض بر كش رشته جانم ببر
بیش از این در آتش هجران مسوزانم چو شمع

آستین و دامنم پر در شد از دریای عشق
تا علم زد آتش دل از گریبانم ، چو شمع

آتش خورشید را ، در مشعل سبز فلك
هر سحر از آبگیر دیده ، بنشانم چو شمع

ای رخت نوروز عالم زآتش ، جانسوز شمع
چند سوزی در شب یلدای هجرانم چو شمع

آفتاب از خاطرم ، شعله فروزد هر شبی
آتش دل گر بسوزد ، رشته ی جانم چو شمع

چند سوزی خویشتن را شمس تبریزی ز عشق
ماورای سوختن ، كاری نمیدانم چو شمع

Ana Moura

Translation:

My eyes are two candles
Casting a sad light on my face
Your eyes are two candles
Casting a sad light on my face

Marked by the pains
Of longing and grief

When I hear the ringing of the bells
And the afternoon is coming to an end

I pray, out of longing for you
An “Our Father” for me

But you do not know how to pray
Nor how to ache with longing

Why do you disturb me so
Why do I want you so much?

For my despair you are like
The clouds that fly high

Every day I wait for you
Every day you stand me up

Original:

Os meus olhos são dois círios
Dando luz triste ao meu rosto
Os teus olhos são dois círios
Dando luz triste ao meu rosto
Marcado pelos martírios
Da saudade e do desgosto.

Quando oiço bater trindades
E a tarde já vai no fim

Eu peço às tuas saudades
Um padre nosso por mim.Mas não sabes fazer preces
Não tens saudades nem pranto

Por que é que tu me aborreces
Por que é que eu te quero tanto?

És para meu desespero
Como as nuvens que andam altas

Todos os dias te espero
Todos os dias me faltas.

From http://lyricstranslate.com/

Maranâus

I am not happiness, but only

The tragic substance that produces it.

In the great darkness, I am a burning flambeau

And I don’t see my own light.

Original:

Eu não sou a alegria, mas apenas

A trágica matéria que a produz.

Na grande escuridão, sou facho a arder

E não avisto minha própria luz!

(Pascoaes, 1920, p.216)

Flee

Posted on March 16, 2014 by sulaymanibnqiddees

❊ ففرّوا الى الله ❊

So flee to God… (Qur’an 51:50)

اعوذ بك منك

I seek refuge in You from You (Hadith)

Rumi

Flee to God’s Qur’an, take refuge in it
there with the spirits of the prophets merge.
The Book conveys the prophets’ circumstances
those fish of the pure sea of Majesty.

I long to escape the prison of my ego

and lose myself in you.

There is no salvation for the soul
but to fall in Love.
Only lovers can escape
out of these two worlds.
This was ordained in creation.
Only from the heart
can you reach the sky:
The Rose of Glory
can grow only from the heart.

Hafez

( the poem inscribed on his tomb)

مژده‌ى وصل تو كو كز سر جان برخيزم

طاير قدسم و از دام جهان برخيزم

Where are the tidings of union with you, so that from life I may rise?

I am a bird of heaven, from the world’s snare I must rise

به ولاى تو كه گر بنده‌ى خويشم خوانى

از سر خواجگى كون و مكان برخيزم

I swear by your love, if you call me your slave

From the mastery of the universe I will rise

يارب از ابر هدايت برسان بارانى

پيشتر زانكه چو گردى ز ميان برخيزم

O Lord, let the cloud of guidance rain

Before that time when, like dust from the earth, I rise

بر سر تربت من با مى و مطرب بنشين

تا ببويت ز لحد رقص‌كنان برخيزم

Sit beside my grave with musician and wine

So from your scent, dancing from the dust, I may rise

خيز و بالا بنما اى بت شيرين‌حركات

كه چو حافظ ز سر جان و جهان برخيزم

O sweetly-moving idol, rise and show me your shape

So, like Hafez, from life and world, dancing, I may rise

گرچه پيرم، تو شبى تنگ درآغوشم كش

تا سحرگه ز كنار تو جوان برخيزم

Though I am old, for one night, in your bosom hold me tight

So when morning comes, young from your embrace, I may rise

Norah Jones

The Beatles

Shakespeare, Shushtari, and the Sultan

Posted on July 9, 2013 by sulaymanibnqiddees

Sonnet 29

When in disgrace with fortune and men’s eyes
I all alone beweep my outcast state,
And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries,
And look upon myself, and curse my fate,
Wishing me like to one more rich in hope,
Featured like him, like him with friends possessed,
Desiring this man’s art, and that man’s scope,
With what I most enjoy contented least;
Yet in these thoughts my self almost despising,
Haply I think on thee, and then my state,
Like to the lark at break of day arising
From sullen earth, sings hymns at heaven’s gate;
For thy sweet love remembered such wealth brings
That then I scorn to change my state with kings.

-William Shakespeare

Translation:

O you present in my heart

Thinking of you, I am glad

If she doesn’t visit my eye

then my heart replaces it

I have not vanished, but my body

is wasting away from weakness

The blamer did not find me

and no watchman sees me

If fate had known me

the people would have come to me

Nothing remains except love

ask it, and it will answer for me

-Abu’l Hasan Shushtari

Original:

يَا حاضِراً في فُؤادي بِالفكرِ فِيكمْ أطيبُ

إِنْ لمْ يزُرْ شخصُ عيني فالقلبُ عِندي ينُوبُ

مَا غِبتُ لَكِنَّ جِسْمي من النُّحول يذوبُ

فَلمْ يَجدْني عذولٌ وَلاَ رآنِي رَقِيبُ

وَلوْ دَرَى الدَّهْرُ عَنِّي جَاءت إِلىَّ شعُوبُ

لَمْ يَبْقَ غَيْرُ غَرامٍ فَسَلهُ عَنِّي يِجُيبُ

Translation of Lyrics:

Strumming the strings of his guitar,
Strumming the strings of his guitar,
A Sultan complained of his Queen.

Two wells of stars, your black eyes,
And a moonless rose, your black hair,
Your black hair, your black hair,
Two wells of stars, your black eyes.

The rosemary bush smells of your body,
The rosemary bush smells of your body,
No jasmine on earth is more tender
No jasmine on earth is more tender.

Although a powerful king, I am a beggar,
Although a powerful king, I am a beggar,
If I lack the flames of your love,
Of your love, of your love,
If I lack the fire of your love.

Do not mess with me anymore,
Do not mess with me anymore,
Because you know too well
Because you tease me
Because you tease me.

Original:

Rasgueando las cuerdas de su guitarra,
Rasgueando las cuerdas de su guitarra,
Un sultán se quejaba de su sultana.

Son dos pozos de estrellas tus ojos negros,
Y una rosa sin luna tu pelo negro,
Tu pelo negro, tu pelo negro,
Son dos pozos de estrellas, tus ojos negros.

A mata de romero huele tu cuerpo,
A mata de romero huele tu cuerpo,
No hay en la tierra mora jazmin mas tierno

No hay en la tierra mora jazmin mas tierno

Siendo un rey poderoso soy un mendigo,
Siendo un rey poderoso soy un mendigo,
Si me faltan las llamas de tu cariño,
De tu cariño, de tu cariño,
Si me faltan las llamas de tu cariño.

No te metas más conmigo,
No te metas más conmigo,
Porque de sobra tú sabes
Que tú roneas conmigo,
Que tú roneas conmigo.

Compasses

Posted on March 15, 2013 by sulaymanibnqiddees

Abu Sa’īd Abu’l Khayr

(10th-11th C)

Translation:

You and I, my love, are a pair of compasses

though divided in twain, in body we are one

We circle on a point, anon like compasses

at the end we bring our heads together as one.

Translation: Reza Ourdoubadian. The Poems of Abu Sa’id Abu’l Kheyr. Ibex, 2010

Original:

جانا من و تو نمونه پرگريم

سر گر چه دو كردهايم يك تن داريم

بر نقطه روانيم كنون خون پرگار

در آخر كار سر بهم باز آريم

Hafez

(14th-11th C)

Translation:

For years, we pawned our book for wine

The wealth of the tavern was our lesson and prayer

See my Master’s grace with us drunks

His eye saw goodness in whatever we did

The book of my knowledge, you washed it all away with wine

I saw the heavens searching for a heart that was wise

Seek that beauty from the idols, O knowing heart

Said the one who knew the art of the wandering gaze

My heart, like a compass, spun round in all directions

I’m lost in that circle, with foot firmly on the ground

From the pain of love, the minstrel improvised sad songs

so sad that bloody tears fell from the eyes of the worldly-wise

My heart bloomed with joy, like a flower by the stream

under the shadow of the cypress tree of my beloved

My rosy Master, would hear no evil about his blue-robed disciples

otherwise, what stories there would have been!

Hafez’s counterfeit heart was not spent

because this trader sees all hidden flaws

Original:

سال‌ها دفتر ما در گرو صهبا بود

رونق میکده از درس و دعای ما بود

نیکی پیر مغان بین که چو ما بدمستان

هر چه کردیم به چشم کرمش زیبا بود

دفتر دانش ما جمله بشویید به می

که فلک دیدم و در قصد دل دانا بود

از بتان آن طلب ار حسن شناسی ای دل

کاین کسی گفت که در علم نظر بینا بود

دل چو پرگار به هر سو دورانی می‌کرد

و اندر آن دایره سرگشته پابرجا بود

مطرب از درد محبت عملی می‌پرداخت

که حکیمان جهان را مژه خون پالا بود

می‌شکفتم ز طرب زان که چو گل بر لب جوی

بر سرم سایه آن سرو سهی بالا بود

پیر گلرنگ من اندر حق ازرق پوشان

رخصت خبث نداد ار نه حکایت‌ها بود

قلب اندوده حافظ بر او خرج نشد

کاین معامل به همه عیب نهان بینا بود

John Donne

(16th-17th C)

“A Valediction Forbidding Mourning”

AS virtuous men pass mildly away,
And whisper to their souls to go,
Whilst some of their sad friends do say,
“Now his breath goes,” and some say, “No.”

So let us melt, and make no noise, 5
No tear-floods, nor sigh-tempests move ;
‘Twere profanation of our joys
To tell the laity our love.

Moving of th’ earth brings harms and fears ;
Men reckon what it did, and meant ; 10
But trepidation of the spheres,
Though greater far, is innocent.

Dull sublunary lovers’ love
—Whose soul is sense—cannot admit
Of absence, ’cause it doth remove 15
The thing which elemented it.

But we by a love so much refined,
That ourselves know not what it is,
Inter-assurèd of the mind,
Care less, eyes, lips and hands to miss. 20

Our two souls therefore, which are one,
Though I must go, endure not yet
A breach, but an expansion,
Like gold to aery thinness beat.

If they be two, they are two so 25
As stiff twin compasses are two ;
Thy soul, the fix’d foot, makes no show
To move, but doth, if th’ other do.

And though it in the centre sit,
Yet, when the other far doth roam, 30
It leans, and hearkens after it,
And grows erect, as that comes home.

Such wilt thou be to me, who must,
Like th’ other foot, obliquely run ;
Thy firmness makes my circle just, 35
And makes me end where I begun.

Source:
Donne, John. Poems of John Donne. vol I.
E. K. Chambers, ed.
London, Lawrence & Bullen, 1896. 51-52.

And Joy, whose hand is ever at his lips, bidding adieu

Posted on December 18, 2012 by sulaymanibnqiddees

Hafez

Come tell me what it is that I have gained

From loving you,

Apart from losing all the faith I had

And knowledge too?

Though longing for you scatters on the wind

All my life’s work

Still, by the dust on your dear feet, I have

kept faith with you

And even though I’m just a tiny mote

In love’s great kingdom,

I’m one now with the sun, before your face,

In loving you

Bring wine! In all my life I’ve never known

A corner where

I could sit snugly, safely, and enjoy

Contentment too

And, if you’re sensible, don’t ply me with

Adivce; your words

Are wasted on me, and the reason is

I’m drunk; it’s true!

How can I not feel hopeless shame when I

Am near my love?

What service could I offer her?

What could I say or do?

Hafez is burned, but his bewitching love

Has yet to say,

“Hafez I wounded you, and here’s the balm

I send for you.”

From: Dick Davis. Faces of Love: Hafez and the Poets of Shiraz. Mage, 2012

غزل 315- به غیر از آن که بشد دین و دانش از دستم

Original:

بغیــر از آنکـــه بشد دین و دانـش از دستـــــم

بیــا بگــــو که ز عشقت چــــه طرف بربستـم

اگـــر چه خرمن عمـــرم غم تو داد بیـــــــــاد

بخـــاک پای عـــزیزت که عهـــــد نشکستـــم

چـــو ذره گـــر چه حقیـــرم ببین بدولت عشق

که در هــــوای رخت چون به مهــــر پیوستم

بیار باده که عمـــریست تا من از ســــــرا من

به کنج عــــافیت از بهـــــــر عیـش ننشستـــم

اگـــر زمـــردم هشیاری ای نصحیت گـــــــو

سخن بخاک میفکـــن چـــــرا کــــه من مستم

چگونه سر ز خجالت بر آورم بـــــــر دوست

که خـــدمتی به سزا بر نیامــــــــد از دستــــم

بسوخت حافظ و آن یـــــار دلســـــوز نـــگفت

کـــه مـــرهمی بفـــرستم که خاطرش خستـــم

Camaron

Translation:

Life is an illusion

that no one lives without

nor can it be solved

Because it’s like a star

no one has ever reached

When I met you I loved you
I gave you love and warmth
and finally I realized
that was a mistake
that I suffered with you

Original:

La vida es una ilusión
que nadie vive sin ella
y no tiene solución
porque es como una estrella
que jamás nadie alcanzó

Cuando yo a ti te conocí
te di cariño y calor
y al final me convencí
que fue una equivocación
la que yo contigo sufrí

Keats

Two stanzas from “An Ode to Melancholy”:

But when the melancholy fit shall fall
Sudden from heaven like a weeping cloud,
That fosters the droop-headed flowers all,
And hides the green hill in an April shroud;
Then glut thy sorrow on a morning rose,
Or on the rainbow of the salt sand-wave,
Or on the wealth of globed peonies;
Or if thy mistress some rich anger shows,
Emprison her soft hand, and let her rave,
And feed deep, deep upon her peerless eyes.

She dwells with Beauty – Beauty that must die;
And Joy, whose hand is ever at his lips
Bidding adieu; and aching Pleasure nigh,
Turning to poison while the bee-mouth sips:
Ay, in the very temple of Delight
Veil’d Melancholy has her sovran shrine,
Though seen of none save him whose strenuous tongue
Can burst Joy’s grape against his palate fine;
His soul shall taste the sadness of her might,
And be among her cloudy trophies hung.

سليمان ابن قدّيس

Beauty in words, others' and mine

Category Archives: English poetry