Blow winds, blow

Ḥallāj:

 

Translation (a bit of license taken):

O wind of the dawn, I say to the gazelle
it only makes me thirstier, the water of this well
I have a beloved whose love lives within me
And if she likes, she walks on my cheeks as well
Her spirit is my spirit and my spirit is her spirit
If she wills, I want, and if I want, she wills

hallajpoem

Original:

يا نَسيمَ الريح قولي لِلرَشا              لَم يَزِدني الوِردُ إلا عَطشا
لي حَبيبٌ حُبُّهُ وَسطَ الحَشا           إِن يَشَأ يَمشي عَلى خَدّي مَشى
روحُهُ روحي وَروحي روحُهُ              إِن يَشَأ شِئتُ وَإِن شِئتُ يَشا

 

Ibn ‘Arabi:

Lyrics from Ibn ‘Arabi’s tarjuman al-ashwaq:

ألا يا نسيم الريح بلغ مها نجد      بأني على ما تعلمون من العهد
فان كان حقا ما تقول و عندها    إليّ من الشوق المبرّح ما عندي
إليها ففي حرّ الظهيرة نلتقي    بخيمتها سرا على أصدق الوعد

 

Translation:
O Morning breeze, go tell the gazelles of Najd
   that, “I’m true to the vow you know of”
And if what she says is true and she
   has for me the desperate longing I have
for her, then in the heat of noon we’ll meet
   in her tent secretly, with the most sincere promise

 

Hafez:

Translation:

The dawn breeze of your curling tress keeps me drunk constantly
the magic of your charming eyes keeps me wasted always

 

After so many night vigils, O Lord, will I ever be able to light
the candle of my sight at the mihrab of your eyebrow?

 

The black of the tablet of my vision is precious to me
Because, for my soul, it is a copy of your black mole

 

If you want to adorn the whole world forever
Tell the morning wind to lift the veil from your face for a while

 

If you want to banish all traces of fidelity from the world
Let down your hair, and let thousands of souls fall from every strand

 

The morning wind and I are two poor, hopeless wanderers
I from the magic of your intoxicating eyes, and he from the scent of your hair

 

How great is Hafez’s focus! For nothing in this world or the next
appeared in his eye save for the dust of your street.

 

Original:
مدامم مست مي دارد نسيم جعد گيسويت
خرابم مي کند هر دم فريب چشم جادويت
پس از چندين شکيبايي شبي يا رب توان ديدن
که شمع ديده افروزيم در محراب ابرويت
سواد لوح بينش را عزيز از بهر آن دارم
که جان را نسخه اي باشد ز لوح خال هندويت
تو گر خواهي که جاويدان جهان يک سر بيارايي
صبا را گو که بردارد زماني برقع از رويت
و گر رسم فنا خواهي که از عالم براندازي
برافشان تا فروريزد هزاران جان ز هر مويت
من و باد صبا مسکين دو سرگردان بي حاصل
من از افسون چشمت مست و او از بوي گيسويت
زهي همت که حافظ راست از دنيي و از عقبي
نيايد هيچ در چشمش بجز خاک سر کويت

 

 

Translation:
O dawn breeze, where is the friend’s place of rest?
Where is the home of that lover-slaying beauty?

 

Original:
ای نسیم سحر آرامگه یار کجاست
منزل آن مه عاشق کش عیار کجاست

 

Translation:

All night I hope that the the dawn breeze will caress
this friend with a message from the friends

 

Original:
همه شب در این امیدم که نسیم صبحگاهی
به پیام آشنایان بنوازد آشنا را
Rumi:
 Coleman Barks’ “Translation”:

 

No one knows what makes the soul wake up
 so happy! Maybe a dawn breeze
has blown the veil from the face of God.

 

A thousand new moons appear.
Roses open laughing.
Hearts become perfect rubies
 like those from Badakshan.

 

The body turns entirely spirit.
 Leaves become branches in this wind.
Why is it now so easy to surrender,
even for those already surrendered?

 

There’s no answer to any of this.
No one knows the source of joy.
A poet breathes into a reed flute,
and the tip of every hair makes music.

 

Shams sails down clods of dirt from the roof,
and we take jobs as doorkeepers for him.

 

Original:
مگر این دم سر آن زلف پریشان شدهاست
که چنین مشک تتاری عبرافشان شده است
مگر از چهره او باد صبا پرده ربود
که هزاران قمر غیب درخشان شده است
هست جانی که ز بوی خوش او شادان نیست
گر چه جان بو نبرد کو ز چه شادان شده است
ای بسا شاد گلی کز دم حق خندان است
لیک هر جان بنداند ز چه خندان شده است
آفتاب رخش امروز زهی خوش که بتافت
که هزاران دل از او لعل بدخشان شده است
عاشق آخر ز چه رو تا به ابد دل ننهد
بر کسی کز لطفش تن همگی جان شده است
مگرش دل سحری دید بدان سان که وی است
که از آن دیدنش امروز بدین سان شده است
تا بدیده است دل آن حسن پری زاد مرا
شیشه بر دست گرفته است و پری خوان شده است
بر درخت تن اگر باد خوشش می‌نوزد
پس دو صد برگ دو صد شاخ چه لرزان شده است
بهر هر کشته او جان ابد گر نبود
جان سپردن بر عاشق ز چه آسان شده است
از حیات و خبرش باخبران بی‌خبرند
که حیات و خبرش پرده ایشان شده است
گر نه در نای دلی مطرب عشقش بدمید
هر سر موی چو سرنای چه نالان شده است
شمس تبریز ز بام ار نه کلوخ اندازد
سوی دل پس ز چه جان‌هاش چو دربان شده است

 

Carminho

Translation of lyrics:

I wrote your name in the wind
Convinced that I was writing it
Upon the page of oblivion
That was lost in the wind (x 2)
And when I  saw it still buried
In the dust of the road
I thought my heart was free
From the bonds of your affection (x 2)
Poor me, I had no idea
That just like me
The wind would fall in love
With that name of yours
And as the wind tosses and turns
so does my torment
I want to forget you, believe me
But there is more and more wind

 

Me:
O wind of the dawn
Blow into my breast
Make the embers of my heart
Rise up from their death

 

O wind of the dawn
Blow into my breast
Sway my veins and let them shake
Love’s birds out from their nests

 

O wind of the dawn
Blow into my breast
Make my blood ripple
your reflection with your breath
O wind of the dawn
my heart’s caught in your grasp
your spirit’s within
whirling round inside it trapped

 

You can’t hold it in
and I can’t give it back
whisper something in my ear
take my soul with each gasp

 

 

Ibn ‘Arabi, Hallaj, and Carminho

peekouteautwindow

 

When my Beloved appears,
with what eye do I see Him?
With His eye not with mine;
for no one sees Him except Himself.

-Ibn ‘Arabi

Original:

إذا تجلى حبيبي
بأي عين تراه
بعينه لا بعيني
فما يراه سواه

 

Hallaj:

 

 

I saw my Lord with the eye of my Heart,
I said, “Who are thou?”  He answered, “Thou.”
Thus where no where hath, as from Thee,
Nor is there, as to Thee, a where.
Thous giv’st imagining no image
For it to imagine where Thou art.
Thou art He who hath filled all where,
and beyond all where.  Where art Thou then?

 

Translation: Martin Lings.  Sufi Poems

 

Original:

رَأَيـتُ رَبّـي بِـعَينِ قَلبي فَـقُلتُ مَـن أَنتَ قالَ أَنتَ

فَـلَيسَ لِـلأَينِ مِـنكَ أَيـنٌ وَلَـيسَ أَيـنٌ بِـحَيثُ أَنتَ

أَنـتَ الَّـذي حُزتَ كُلَّ أَينٍ بِـنَحوِ لا أَيـن ثـم أَنـتَ

فَـفي فَـنائي فَـنا فَـنائي وَفـي فَـنائي وُجِدتَ أَنتَ

في مَحو اِسمي وَرَسمِ جِسمي سَـأَلتُ عَـني فَـقُلتُ أَنتَ

أَنـتَ حَـياتي وَسِـرُّ قَلبي فَـحَيثُما كُـنتُ كُـنتَ أَنتَ

فَـمُـنَّ بِـالعَفوِ يـا إِلَـهي فَـلَيسَ أَرجـو سِواكَ أَنتَ

 

Carminho:

My Sweetheart

He is going to possess me
Not possess me
In some corner
It is like water flowing,
Flowing to the end,
It is so much that he wants me.
My sweetheart
My sweetheart
My home
Is where you want to live.

He is going to illuminate me
Not illuminate me
A shortcut at least.
I know that he is going to lead me
Leading softly
Along the way that I want to go.
My sweetheart
My sweetheart
My home is where you want to live.

I see my darling with his eyes
And it is with my eyes
That my darling sees me

My sweetheart
My sweetheart
My home
Is where you want to live.

Translation from: http://lyricstranslate.com

Meu namorado

Ele vai-me possuindo
Não me possuindo
Num canto qualquer
É como as águas fluindo
Fluindo até ao fim
É bem assim que ele me quer
Meu namorado
Meu namorado
Minha morada
É onde tu quiseres morar

Ele vai-me iluminando
Não iluminando
Um atalho sequer
Sei que ele vai-me guiando
Guiando de mansinho
Pelo caminho que eu quiser
Meu namorado
Meu namorado
É onde tu quiseres morar

Vejo meu bem com seus olhos
E é com meus olhos
Que o meu bem me vê

Meu namorado
Meu namorado
Minha morada
É onde tu quiseres morar

yazdcielingwhoa
Ibn ‘Arabi:
Listen, O dearly beloved!
I am the reality of the world, the centre of the circumference,
I am the parts and the whole.
I am the will established between Heaven and Earth,
I have created perception in you only in order to be the
object of my perception.
If then you perceive me, you perceive yourself.
But you cannot perceive me through yourself,
It is through my eyes that you see me and see yourself,
Through your eyes you cannot see me.
Dearly beloved!
I have called you so often and you have not heard me
I have shown myself to you so often and you have not seen me.
I have made myself fragrance so often, and you have not smelled me.
Savorous food, and you have not tasted me.
Why can you not reach me through the object you touch
Or breathe me through sweet perfumes?
Why do you not see me?
Why do you not hear me?
Why? Why? Why?
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Ibn ‘Arabi-Her words bring me to life…

 

 

 

Translation (sung portion in bold):

On the day of parting they did not saddle the full-grown reddish-white camels until they had mounted the peacocks upon them,

Peacocks with murderous glances and sovereign power : thou wouldst fancy that each of them was a Bilqis on her throne of pearls.

When she walks on the glass pavement l thou seest a sun on a celestial sphere in the bosom of Idris.

When she kills with her glances, her speech restores to life, as tho’ she, in giving life thereby, were Jesus.
The smooth surface of her legs is (like) the Torah in brightness, and I follow it and tread in its footsteps as tho’ I were Moses.
She is a bishopess, one of the daughters of Rome, unadorned: thou seest in her a radiant Goodness.
Wild is she, none can tame her; she has gotten in her solitary chamber a mausoleum for remembrance.
She has baffled everyone who is learned in our religion, every student of the Psalms of David, every Jewish doctor, and every Christian priest.
If with a gesture she demands the Gospel, thou wouldst deem us to be priests and patriarchs and deacons.
The day when they departed on the road, I prepared for war the armies of my patience, host after host.

When my soul reached the throat (i.e. when I was at the point of death), I besought that Beauty and that Grace to grant me relief,

And she yielded, may God preserve us from her evil, and may the victorious king repel Iblis !

I exclaimed, when her she-camel set out to depart, “driver of the reddish-white camels, do not drive them away with her!”

translation from R.A. Nicholson’s edition of the Tarjuman al-ashwaq

Original:

ما رحلوا يوم بانوا البزل العيسا — الا وقد حملوا فيها الطواويسا
من كل فاتكة الالحاظ مالكــــــــة — تخالها فوق عرش الدر بلقيسا
اذا تمشت على صرح الزجاج ترى— شمسا على فلك في حجر ادريسا
تُحيي إذا قَتَـلت باللحـظِ , مَنــطِقَها
كأنها عندما تُحيي بهِ عِيسَــــــــى
تَوراتُها لَوحُ ســاقيها ســناً , وأنا

أتلو و أدرُسُها كأنّني مُوســــــــى

أُسْـقُفَة ٌ من بنــاتِ الرّومِ عاطِـلة ٌ
تَرى عليها من الأنوار ناموسَـــــــا
وحشـيّة ٌ ما بِها أُنْسٌ قد اتَّخَــذَتْ
في بيتِ خَلوتِها للذّكر نَاوُوســـــــــا
قـد أعـجَـزَتْ كـلّ عـلاّمٍ بِمـِلـّتـِنَا
وداوُديّاً , و حبراً ثمَّ قِســـّيســــــــا
إن أوْمأتْ تطلبُ الإنجيلَ تحسبُهَا
أقِسّة ً , أوْ بطاريقاً شمامِيســــــــــا

 

 

White Doves

Pombas Brancas

Translation:

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

 

Original:

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

 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-XEKOW51nkc

Translation:
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

 

Original:

 

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.
Marvel,
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

 

Original:

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

 

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.

 

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

 

Translation:
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