The bird that sings the song of pain is love
The courier who knows the tongue of the Unseen is love
The existence that calls you to nonexistence is love
And that which redeems you from you is love
Original:
مرغی که نوای درد راند عشق است
پيکی که زبان غيب داند عشق است
هستی که به نيستيت خواند عشق است
وآنچ از تو ترا باز رهاند عشق است
Translation by Reza Saberi
Rumi
What then is love? The Ocean of Nonexistence.
It is there that the foot of the intellect is broken
Rumi, Mathnawi, ed. Nicholson, III: 4724.
Ibn ‘Arabi
Many mistakes may occur in love. The first of them is that people imagine that the object of love is an existent thing… In fact, love’s object remains forever nonexistent, but most lovers are not aware of this, unless they should be knowers of the realities. (II 337.17)
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
`
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
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.
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.
stillness—
sinking into the rocks,
cicadas’ cry
—Barnhill, Bashō’s Haiku, 94, #392
-Basho
Camaron
Translation:
Don’t sing cicada
silence your chirping,
For I carry a pain in my soul,
A dagger that strikes me
knowing that when I sing
my luck expires sighing
Under the shade of a tree
and the beat of my guitar
This happy song,
because the road has ended
and do not want to die dreaming,
oh, like the cicada died.
Life, life, life is,
is a setback,
life is life.
Oh life is, life is …
Original:
Ya no cantes cigarra,
apaga tu sonsonete,
que llevo una pena en el alma,
que como un puñal se me mete
sabiendo que cuando canto
suspirando va mi suerte.
Bajo la sombra de un árbol
y al compás de mi guitarra
canto alegre este huapango,
porque la vía se acaba
y no quiero morir soñando,
ay, como muere la cigarra.
Ábreme la puerta
que vengo najando,
y los gachés, primita de mi alma,
sí a mí me ven
me la van buscando.
La vida, la vida, la vida es,
es un contratiempo,
la vida, la vida es.
You who took my heart from me, your love stole my senses
You hid me from myself, and in myself, I don’t appear
I’m hidden form my sight, as if I were invisible
So I went out to look for me, maybe I’ll find myself…
Love of the beautiful, o brother, is my art
and my drink is from my own flask
Original:
يا مَن أخَذْ قَلْبي مِنِّي هَواكَ هَيَّمَني
حجَبْتَني عني بِيَّا فَما أظْهَر
وغِبْتُ عن عيْني كأنِّي لم أظْهر
فَصِرتُ أطلُبني لَعلَّ بِي أظْفَر
عِشْقُ المليحْ يا صاحْ فَنِّي وشُرْبي مِنْ دَنِّي
I live in love
Take me with you because I cannot find myself outside of your love
CHORUS
I live in love and for me your kisses
are like the source of my thought
Take me with you because I cannot find myself outside of your love
At dawn, I feels she calls me
like a whirlwind, she wakes up my soul!
I want you to feel as I feel,
to call me during the night in your dreams
to be like the tree which gives you shelter
when you need the shade (x2)
Take me with you because I cannot find myself outside of your love
Chorus x 2
God brought you with Him.
I ask you when
I will go to heaven (x2)
so I may kiss your lips
I love you, I do love you
I am a prisoner of your love (x2)
Que me lleve contigo porque ya no me hallo
fuera de tu cariño…
ESTRIBILLO
Yo vivo enamoraO y para mi tus besos
son como la fuente de mi pensamiento
que me yeve contigo porque ya no me hallo
fuera de tu cariño…
Y al amanecer siento que me yama
como un torbellino despierta mi alma!
quiero q sientas como yo siento
y q me yames de noches en sueños
Ser como el arbol que te acobija
cuando la sombra la necessito( x2)
que me yeve contigo porque ya no me hallo fuera de tu cariño
ESTRIBILLO(x2)
Dios q te yevo con él.
yo le pregunto a usté cuando
me va a subir a los cielos(x2)
para besarte tus labios
Te quiero yo a ti te quiero,
de tu cariño soy prisionero(x2)
The one I love visited me before morning
and made lovely my shame and infamy
He made me drink and said: “sleep and relax
there’s no sin for the one who loves us.”
So pass round the cup, you whom I love and adore
Adoring whom I love is the essence of righteousness
If you poured it for the dead, they’d return to life
It is the joy and repose of the spirits
Original:
زَارني من أُحب قبل الصباحِ فَحَلالي تهَتُّكي وافتِضاحِي
وسقاني وقال نم وتسلَّى ما عَلى مَن أحَبَّنا من جُناحِ
فَأدِر كأس من أُحِبُّ وأهْوى فَهوى من أُحِبُّ عَين صَلاحِ
لوْ سَقاهَا لميِّت عاد حَيًّا فَهي راحى وَراحة الأرْواحِ
The poems of the Andalusian Sufi, Abu’l-Hasan Shushtari (d. 1269) parallel and perhaps indirectly influenced some of my favorite Flamenco lyrics. Compare this pair of songs:
Your love for me is not a fantasy
However much they forbid that I love you,
like a jib to the water I will resist.
Only your tender love I would have for company
I wanted to give you more and more I’d give you,
Because I know that without you I won’t live,
because wherever you are I will follow,
that’s why I love you and dream of you.
Your love for me is not fantasy,
the memory hurts me every day,
I am of your love that abandons me,
and loved me and wanted me.
You and I on the blanket,
you and I under the moon,
your dark eyes were glistening
reflecting the tenderness
A love looks strong,
my heart,
if my eyes didn’t look at you
every day
You were something that goes and never comes
and clear was your farewell and clear was my sorrow.
Without your love, I only love the earth
without your love, two minutes is one day,
that’s why I love you and you take my life.
I would like to hear the voice of the wind
that brings the sighs that you give,
your sorrows are like mine,
like the waves of the ocean
Your love for me is not fantasy,
the memory hurts me every day,
I am of your love that abandons me,
and loved me and wanted me
Por más que a mí me quiten que te quiera
como el foque al agua remetiera
sólo tu amor tendré por compañera
que más te quise dar y más te diera,
Porque sé que sin ti yo no vivo,
porque donde tú estés te persigo,
por eso te quiero y sueño contigo.
Tu amor para mí no es fantasía,
me duele el recuerdo cada día,
soy de tu querer que me abandona,
y me quería y me quería.
Tú y yo sobre la manta,
tú y yo bajo la luna,
brillaban tus ojos negros
reflejando la ternura.
Fuerte mira un amor,
sentrañas mías,
si no te vieran mis ojos
todos los días.
Fuiste algo que pasa y nunca llega
y claro fue tu adiós y clara mi pena.
Sin tu amor sólo a la tierra quiero
sin tu amor dos minutos es un día,
por eso te quiero y me quitas la vía.
Quisiera escuchar la voz del viento
que trae los suspiros que tú das,
tus penas son como las mías,
como la oleá del mar.
Tu amor para mí no es fantasía,
me duele el recuerdo cada día,
soy de tu querer que me abandona,
y me quería y me quería.
Shustari:
My neglect of you is reprehensible, your love is obligatory
my longing is everlasting, and union is elusive
On the tablet of my heart, your love has been marked
my tears are the ink, and beauty is the writer
The reader of my thoughts constantly recites
lessons on the signs of the beautiful one
My gaze wanders in the heaven of your beauty
its penetrating star pierces my mind
Talk about others, listening to that is forbidden
for all of me is stolen and your beauty is the thief
They said to me: repent of loving the one you love
so I replied: I repent of my neglect
The torments of love are sweet for every lover
even if, for another, they are hard and never-ending
Translation modified from: L.M. Alvarez. Abu’l-Hasan Shushtari: Songs of Love and Devotion. p. 55
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.
The universe
is a kaleidoscope:
now hopelessness, now hope
now spring, now fall.
Forget its ups and downs:
do not vex yourself:
The remedy for pain
is the pain.
Translation by Peter Lamborn Wilson and Nasrollah Pourjavady
Translation:
Punishment replaces punishment
and one pain removes another
a nail takes out another nail
and one love replaces another
Nothing, Nothing, is forever
It’s a castle of pain,
with towers of suffering
that you yourself built
when you said “I’m sorry…”
Nothing, Nothing, is forever
and gives it you no pain!
I only feel more the wounds
that I have in my heart
Nothing, Nothing, is forever
O moon that shines on the seas, the dark seas
Aren’t you tired moon?
Turning to the same world?
O moon, stay with me and don’t go!
Because they say you sometimes delay the dawn, the dawn
The moon no longer wears her black silk veil
Looks down no longer in her blue mirror
The sun broke the moon’s heart
and she follows from afar, still gazing at one another
I think of that afternoon,
when I wanted to kill,
Avenge myself for my cowardice!
Why not kill myself, if I were already dead in my life…?
Nothing, Nothing, is forever
Iron will never be for my body
ay moon when I see you,
it’s a silence in a thousand pieces
ay when I die of sighs
I would like to hold you in my hands
and wrap you in my cloak
until the new day has arrived,
ay and never stop loving you!
O moon that shines on the sea, the dark seas
Aren’t you tired moon?
Turning to the same world?
O moon, stay with me and don’t go!
Because they say you sometimes delay the dawn, the dawn
The moon no longer wears his black silk veil
No longer look down in his blue mirror
The sun broke the moon’s heart
and he follows from afar, still gazing
Original:
Quita una pena, otra pena
y un dolor, otro dolor
un clavo saca otro clavo
y un amor quita otro amor
NA,NA,NA ES ETERNO!
es un castillo de pena,
con torres de sufrimiento
tu misma los fabricaste
cuando dijiste lo siento
NA,NA,NA ES ETERNO!
y a ti no te da dolor!
no me apretes mas las llagas
que tengo en mi corazonç
NA,NA,NA ES ETERNO!
Luna q brillas los mares, los mares oscuros
ay luna tu no estas cansá
de girar al mismo mundo?
ay luna kedate conmigo y aun not e vayas!
pq dicen q aveces se tarda el alba,se tarda el alba
ya no viste la luna su velo de seda negro
ya no baja a mirarse en su azul espejo
el sol le dio a la luna un desengaño
se siguen de lejos,se siguen mirando
Yo pienso en aquella tarde,
cuando me quise matar,
me avergonze de mi cobardia!
pa q matarme?si yo staba muerto en mi via
NA,NA,NA ES ETERNO!
mi cuerpo hierro para nunca
ay luna cuando te miro
es un silencio en mil pedazos
ay cuando muerto de suspiro
me gustaria con mis manos abrazarte
y con mi manto cobijarte
q llegara el nuevo dia,
ay no dejar de amarte!
Luna que brillas los mares,los mares oscuros
ay luna tu no estas cansá
de girar al mismo mundo?
ay luna kedate conmigo y aun not e vayas!
pq dicen q aveces se tarda el alba,se tarda el alba
ya no viste la luna su velo de seda negro
ya no baja a mirarse en su azul espejo
el sol le dio a la luna un desengaño
se siguen de lejos,se siguen mirando
Hafez
Translation:
WHAT is wrought in the forge of the living and life–
All things are nought! Ho! fill me the bowl,
For nought is the gear of the world and the strife!
One passion has quickened the heart and the soul,
The Beloved’s presence alone they have sought–
Love at least exists; yet if Love were not,
Heart and soul would sink to the common lot–
All things are nought!
Like an empty cup is the fate of each,
That each must fill from Life’s mighty flood;
Nought thy toil, though to Paradise gate thou reach,
If Another has filled up thy cup with blood;
Neither shade from the sweet-fruited trees could be bought
By thy praying-oh Cypress of Truth, dost not see
That Sidreh and Tuba were nought, and to thee
All then were nought!
The span of thy life is as five little days,
Brief hours and swift in this halting-place;
Rest softly, ah rest! while the Shadow delays,
For Time’s self is nought and the dial’s face.
On the lip of Oblivion we linger, and short
Is the way from the Lip to the Mouth where we pass
While the moment is thine, fill, oh Saki, the glass
Ere all is nought!
Consider the rose that breaks into flower,
Neither repines though she fade and die–
The powers of the world endure for an hour,
But nought shall remain of their majesty.
Be not too sure of your crown, you who thought
That virtue was easy and recompense yours;
From the monastery to the wine-tavern doors
The way is nought
What though I, too, have tasted the salt of my tears,
Though I, too, have burnt in the fires of grief,
Shall I cry aloud to unheeding ears?
Mourn and be silent! nought brings relief.
Thou, Hafiz, art praised for the songs thou hast wrought,
But bearing a stained or an honoured name,
The lovers of wine shall make light of thy fame–
All things are nought!
Translation: Gertrude Bell
Original:
حاصل کارگه کون و مکان این همه نیست
باده پیش آر که اسباب جهان این همه نیست
از دل و جان شرف صحبت جانان غرض است
غرض این است وگرنه دل و جان این همه نیست
منت سدره و طوبی ز پی سایه مکش
که چو خوش بنگری ای سرو روان این همه نیست
دولت آن است که بی خون دل آید به کنار
ور نه با سعی و عمل باغ جنان این همه نیست
پنج روزی که در این مرحله مهلت داری
خوش بیاسای زمانی که زمان این همه نیست
بر لب بحر فنا منتظریم ای ساقی
فرصتی دان که ز لب تا به دهان این همه نیست
زاهد ایمن مشو از بازی غیرت زنهار
که ره از صومعه تا دیر مغان این همه نیست
دردمندی من سوخته زار و نزار
ظاهرا حاجت تقریر و بیان این همه نیست
نام حافظ رقم نیک پذیرفت ولی
پیش رندان رقم سود و زیان این همه نیست
We are the mirror as well as the face in it.
We are tasting the taste this minute of eternity.
We are pain and what cures pain both.
We are the sweet cold water and the jar that pours.
I want to hold you close like a lute so we can cry out with loving.
You would rather throw stones at a mirror?
I am your mirror, and here are the stones.
-Rumi
Translation:
What bad luck I have
to have met you
how happy I lived,
your love is my punishment.
I’m leaving this land
I have already renounced my soul
Singing the whole way,
Just to not hear your name,
I’m going to the Moors.
O moon that shines on the sea, the dark seas
Aren’t you tired moon?
Turning to the same world?
O moon, stay with me and don’t go!
Because they say you sometimes delay the dawn, the dawn
Pozo Blanco Road
had a tavern
with white wine.
Give me another sip,
come down,
I haven’t tasted anything.
Then I was born a carnation
pa the days rejoiced with me
and now that I have all three,
what a wonder is mine.
That the garden of my house
will never lack joy.
Don’t sing cicada
silence your chirping,
For I carry a pain in my soul,
A dagger that strikes me
knowing that when I sing
my luck expires sighing
Under the shade of a tree
and the beat of my guitar
This happy song,
because the road has ended
and do not want to die dreaming,
oh, like the cicada died.
Life, life, life is,
is a setback,
life is life.
Oh life is, life is …
Original:
Que mala suerte la mía,
de haber tropezao contigo,
lo a gustito que yo vivía,
tu cariño es mi castigo.
Me voy de estos terrenos
que ya he renunciaíto primita mía
pa toíta la vía,
sólo por no escuchar tú nombre,
que yo me voy a la morería.
Ay, luna que brilla en los mares,
en los mares oscuros,
luna, tú no estás cansá
de girar el mismo mundo,
ay, luna quédate conmigo,
ya no te vayas,
porque dicen que a veces
se tarda el alba.
Camino de Pozo Blanco
había una tabernita
con vino blanco.
Échame otro buchito,
vengo najando,
no ha catao ná.
Después me nació un clavel
pa alegrarme a mí los días,
y ahora que tengo a los tres,
que maravilla la mía.
Que en el jardín de mi casa
nunca falte la alegría.
Ya no cantes cigarra,
apaga tu sonsonete,
que llevo una pena en el alma,
que como un puñal se me mete
sabiendo que cuando canto
suspirando va mi suerte.
Bajo la sombra de un árbol
y al compás de mi guitarra
canto alegre este huapango,
porque la vía se acaba
y no quiero morir soñando,
ay, como muere la cigarra.
Ábreme la puerta
que vengo najando,
y los gachés, primita de mi alma,
sí a mí me ven
me la van buscando.
La vida, la vida, la vida es,
es un contratiempo,
la vida, la vida es.
Ay la vida es, la vida es…
Omar Khayyam / Edward Fitzgerald
XII.
A Book of Verses underneath the Bough,
A Jug of Wine, a Loaf of Bread, — and Thou
Beside me singing in the Wilderness —
Oh, Wilderness were Paradise enow!
XLIV.
And lately, by the Tavern Door agape,
Came stealing through the Dusk an Angel Shape
Bearing a Vessel on his Shoulder; and
He bid me taste of it; and ’twas — the Grape!
XLV.
The Grape that can with Logic absolute
The Two-and-Seventy jarring Sects confute:
The subtle Alchemest that in a Trice
Life’s leaden Metal into Gold transmute.
XLVIII.
For in and out, above, about, below,
‘Tis nothing but a Magic Shadow-show,
Play’d in a Box whose Candle is the Sun,
Round which we Phantom Figures come and go.
XVI.
The Worldly Hope men set their Hearts upon
Turns Ashes — or it prospers; and anon,
Like Snow upon the Desert’s dusty Face
Lighting a little Hour or two — is gone.
LVIII.
‘Tis all a Chequer-board of Nights and Days
Where Destiny with Men for Pieces plays:
Hither and thither moves, and mates, and slays,
And one by one back in the Closet lays.
LXXXIX.
Ah, Moon of my Delight who know’st no wane,
The Moon of Heav’n is rising once again:
How oft hereafter rising shall she look
Through this same Garden after me — in vain!
LXXXI.
Ah, with the Grape my fading Life provide,
And wash my Body whence the Life has died,
And in a Windingsheet of Vine-leaf wrapt,
So bury me by some sweet Garden-side.
“Translations” by E. Fitzgerald. The Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam
Holy Father in Rome,
I have to ask
if the sins that I have
if the sins I have,
if the sins I have,
can they be forgiven?
I’m like a sad bird
that goes from branch to branch,
singing its suffering,
singing its suffering,
because it doesn’t know how to cry.
Oh how beautiful are the flowers,
the cheerful spring
with its divine colors.
You are the sea,
I am the sand,
I’ll go with you,
wherever you want.
Europe’s Chapel,
Europe’s Chapel,
overlooking the bay
so pretty and beautiful,
so pretty and beautiful,
the fields of Andalusia.
You are the sea,
I am the sand,
I’ll go with you,
wherever you want.
Original:
Lailolailolailo, leilo…
Al Padre Santo de Roma,
le tengo que preguntar
si los pecados que tengo
si los pecados que tengo,
si los pecados que tengo,
me los puede perdonar.
Soy cómo el pájaro triste,
ay que de rama en rama va,
cantando su sufrimiento,
cantando su sufrimiento,
porque no sabe llorar.
{Olé, Paco}
Ay qué bonitas están las flores,
de la alegre primavera
con sus divinos colores.
Tú eres la mar,
yo soy la arena,
yo voy contigo,
dónde tú quieras.
De la Capilla de Europa,
de la Capilla de Europa,
se divisa la bahía
más bonita y más hermosa,
ay más bonita y más hermosa,
de la vega Andalucía.
Tú eres la mar,
yo soy la arena,
yo voy contigo,
dónde tú quieras.
You forged these chains and set me free
I’m your dream, you’re my memory
Don’t forget me, I beg you please
My darkness, light, health and disease
My love is yours, so yours is mine
So lift my ore out of this mine
Don’t leave me shrouded in my mind
Love flows behind the clouds of time
Only my death will end our war
My perfections stain your faults
My waves will crash upon your shore
Until your rocks become my salt
دلم دردى كه دارد با كه گويد
To whom can my heart speak of its pain
To whom can I repent, for I’ve sinned again?
Alas! Isn’t there a sympathetic freind
who would welcome my bad luck?
When you spoke to me of abandonment
you were a dying person describing death
Why should one wash their hands of you when
they’re not full at the table of your union?
My heart sees your face through a hundred walls;
it breathes your scent from a hundred leagues
I won’t forget the rose of your union
otherwise the thorns will grow upon my grave
Today the grief of ‘Attar’s heart
speaks or is silent by your decree
-‘Attar
Original:
دلم دردی که دارد با که گوید گنه خود کرد تاوان از که جوید
دریغا نیست همدردی موافق که بر بخت بدم خوش خوش بموید
مرا گفتی که ترک ما بگفتی به ترک زندگانی کس بگوید
کسی کز خوان وصلت سیر نبود چرا باید که دست از تو بشوید
ز صد بارو دلم روی تو بیند ز صد فرسنگ بوی تو ببوید
گل وصلت فراموشم نگردد وگر خار از سر گورم بروید
غم درد دل عطار امروز چه فرمایی بگوید یا نگوید
I will be like the willow,
I will be like the willow,
though I last one hundred years,
I will be like the willow,
that sways in the air,
but remains firm,
but remains firm.
I think like the cypress,
I think like the cypress,
the truest of truths,
the truest of truths,
that on which I stand.
For God’s sake, Lord Mayor,
Don’t hit the thieves,
because you have a child,
and part of their hearts,
ay ay ay Mother,
ay ay ay Mother.
If you comb your hair with the comb,
canastero and comb,
I can assure you
that you will curl your hair,
that you can curl,
your black hair, your hair,
if you comb your hair with the comb,
the comb of the castanero.
From the root of an olive tree
my Gypsy mother was born
and I, as her son,
I am a stem of the same branch.
Oh mai, mai oh,
Oh Mother, oh Mother.
And this scarf,
and this handkerchief,
I carry with me,
for when I cry,
I release you,
for when I cry,
I release you.
The Virgin of Remedios
has her dark face,
and the child in her arms,
handsomer than the lily.
Oh Mother, oh Mother.
I live in love, and for me your kisses,
are like the source of my thoughts.
I live in love ..
Original:
Ay yo seré como la mimbre,
que yo seré como la mimbre,
aunque cien años yo dure,
y yo seré como la mimbre,
y que la bambolea el aire,
pero se mantiene firme,
pero se mantiene firme.
Yo pienso como el ciprés,
yo pienso como el ciprés,
la verdad más verdadera,
la verdad más verdadera,
la de mantenerse en pié.
Por Dios, alcalde mayor,
no pegue usted a los ladrones,
porque usted tiene una niña,
y que parte los corazones,
ay ay ay mare,
ay ay ay mare.
Si te peinas con el peine,
y el peine del canastero,
y yo te puedo asegurar
y que se te riza a ti el pelo,
que se te puede rizar,
tu pelo negro, tu pelo,
si te peinas con el peine,
el peine del canastero.
De la raíz de un olivo
ay nació mi mare gitana,
y yo, como soy su hijo,
tronco de la misma rama.
Oh mai, oh mai,
oh mare, oh mare.
Y este pañuelo,
y este pañuelo,
lo llevo conmigo,
pa cuando yo lloro,
lo estreno contigo,
pa cuando yo lloro,
lo estreno contigo.
La Virgen de los Remedios
tiene su cara morena,
y el niño que está en sus brazos,
más guapo que la azucena.
Oh mare, oh mare.
Yo vivo enamorao y para mí tus besos,
son como la fuente de mis pensamientos.
Yo vivo enamorao..
El Embrujo de tus ojos
Translation:
I will be like the willow,
I will be like the willow,
though I last one hundred years,
I will be like the willow,
that sways in the air,
but remains firm,
but remains firm.
It appeared, it appeared,
In a dream vanishing my happiness.
God, how I remember.
I remember that day.
If great was my torment
still greater was my joy
when I woke from sleep
and I saw that it was a lie.
And I gaze at the firmament,
and I tell the stars,
of my worship and thought,
and that I adore the name Gema Gema.
When I remember you,
what a beautiful name you carry,
Gema, Gema, Gema.
When I remember you,
the spell of your eyes
that will not let me live
Like children, I cry
remembering you.
You do not go,
you do not go,
Do not leave me alone.
You do not leave me.
Look at me, and I cry,
and you say softly
“Why did you leave me?”
You and I on the blanket,
You and I in the moonlight,
and your black eyes sparkled,
reflecting tenderness.
Original:
Yo seré como la mimbre,
que yo seré como la mimbre,
aunque cien años yo dure,
y, yo seré como la mimbre,
y que la bambolea el aire,
pero se mantiene firme,
pero se mantiene firme.
Se apareció, se apareció,
en un ensueño despidiendo mi alegría.
Dios mío, cómo me acuerdo.
Yo me acuerdo de aquel día.
Si grande fue mi tormento
más grande fue mi alegría
cuando desperté del sueño
y yo vi que era mentira.
Y yo repaso el firmamento,
y me dicen las estrellas,
y que adorara el pensamiento,
y que adorara yo el nombre de Gema, Gema.
Cuando me acuerdo de ti,
qué bonito nombre llevas,
Gema, Gema, Gema.
Cuando me acuerdo de ti,
del embrujo de tus ojos
que no me dejan vivir.
Como los niños yo lloro
y acordándome de ti.
Tú no te vayas,
tu no te vayas,
tú no me dejes solo.
Tú no te vayas de mí.
Y me miras, y me lloras,
y tú me dices bajito
¿por qué me abandonas?
Tú y yo sobre la manta,
tú y yo bajo la luna,
y brillaban tus ojos negros,
reflejando la ternura.
