And tales of problems no one can remove;
Cupbearer, fill the bowl with blood, not wine –
And if you lack the heart’s rich blood take mine.
Love thrives on inextinguishable pain,
Which tears the soul, then knits the threads again.
A mote of love exceeds all bounds; it gives
The vital essence to whatever lives.
But where love thrives, there pain is always found;
Angels alone escape this weary round –
They love without that savage agony
Which is reserved for vexed humanity.
Islam and blasphemy have both been passed
By those who set out on love’s path at last;
Love will direct you to Dame Poverty,
And she will show the way to Blasphemy.
When neither Blasphemy nor Faith remain,
The body and the Self have both been slain;
Then the fierce fortitude the Way will ask
Is yours, and you are worthy of our task.
Begin the journey without fear; be calm;
Forget what is and what is not Islam;
Put childish dread aside – like heroes meet
The hundred problems which you must defeat.
The story of Sheikh Sam’an
Sam’an was once the first man of his time.
Whatever praise can be expressed in rhyme
Belonged to him: for fifty years this sheikh
Kept Mecca’s holy place, and for his sake
Four hundred pupils entered learning’s way.
He mortified his body night and day,
Knew theory, practice, mysteries of great age,
And fifty times had made the Pilgrimage.
He fasted, prayed, observed all sacred laws –
Astonished saints and clerics thronged his doors.
lines 1192–1212
He split religious hairs in argument;
His breath revived the sick and impotent.
He knew the people’s hearts in joy and grief
And was their living symbol of Belief.
Though conscious of his credit in their sight,
A strange dream troubled him, night after night;
Mecca was left behind; he lived in Rome,
The temple where he worshipped was his home,
And to an idol he bowed down his head.
“Alas!” he cried, when he awoke in dread,
“Like Joseph I am in a well of need
And have no notion when I shall be freed.
But every man meets problems on the Way,
And I shall conquer if I watch and pray.
If I can shift this rock my path is clear;
If not, then I must wait and suffer here.”
Then suddenly he burst out: “It would seem
That Rome could show the meaning of this dream;
There I must go!” And off the old man strode;
Four hundred followed him along the road.
They left the Ka’abah* for Rome’s boundaries,
A gentle landscape of low hills and trees,
Where, infinitely lovelier than the view,
There sat a girl, a Christian girl who knew
The secrets of her faith’s theology.
A fairer child no man could hope to see –
In beauty’s mansion she was like a sun
That never set – indeed the spoils she won
Were headed by the sun himself, whose face
Was pale with jealousy and sour disgrace.
The man about whose heart her ringlets curled
Became a Christian and renounced the world;
The man who saw her lips and knew defeat
lines 1213–34
Embraced the earth before her bonny feet;
And as the breeze passed through her musky hair
The men of Rome watched wondering in despair.
Her eyes spoke promises to those in love,
Their fine brows arched coquettishly above –
Those brows sent glancing messages that seemed
To offer everything her lovers dreamed.
The pupils of her eyes grew wide and smiled,
And countless souls were glad to be beguiled;
The face beneath her curls glowed like soft fire;
Her honeyed lips provoked the world’s desire;
But those who thought to feast there found her eyes
Held pointed daggers to protect the prize,
And since she kept her counsel no one knew –
Despite the claims of some – what she would do.
Her mouth was tiny as a needlë’s eye,
Her breath as quickening as Jesus’ sigh;
Her chin was dimpled with a silver well
In which a thousand drowning Josephs fell;
A glistering jewel secured her hair in place,
Which like a veil obscured her lovely face.
The Christian turned, the dark veil was removed,
A fire flashed through the old man’s joints – he loved!
One hair converted hundreds; how could he
Resist that idol’s face shown openly?
He did not know himself; in sudden fire
He knelt abjectly as the flames beat higher;
In that sad instant all he had been fled
And passion’s smoke obscured his heart and head.
Love sacked his heart; the girl’s bewitching hair
Twined round his faith impiety’s smooth snare.
The sheikh exchanged religion’s wealth for shame,
A hopeless heart submitted to love’s fame.
“I have no faith,” he cried. “The heart I gave
Is useless now; I am the Christian’s slave.”
When his disciples saw him weeping there
And understood the truth of the affair,
lines 1235–58
They stared, confounded by his frantic grief,
And strove to call him back to his belief.
Their remonstrations fell on deafened ears;
Advice has no effect when no one hears.
In turn the sheikh’s disciples had their say;
Love has no cure, and he could not obey.
(When did a lover listen to advice?
When did a nostrum cool love’s flames to ice?)
Till evening came he could not move but gazed
With stupefaction in his face, amazed.
When gloomy twilight spread its darkening shrouds –
Like blasphemy concealed by guilty clouds –
His ardent heart gave out the only light,
And love increased a hundredfold that night.
He put aside the Self and selfish lust;
In grief he smeared his locks with filth and dust
And kept his haunted vigil, watched and wept,
Lay trembling in love’s grip and never slept.
“O Lord, when will this darkness end?” he cried,
“Or is it that the heavenly sun has died?
Those nights I passed in faith’s austerities
Cannot compare with this night’s agonies;
But like a candle now my flame burns high
To weep all night and in the daylight die.
Ambush and blood have been my lot this night;
Who knows what torments day will bring to light?
This fevered darkness and my wretched state
Were made when I was made, and are my fate;
The night continues and the hours delay –
Perhaps the world has reached its Judgement Day;
Perhaps the sun’s extinguished with my sighs,
Or hides in shame from my beloved’s eyes.
This long, dark night is like her flowing hair –
The thought in absence comforts my despair,
But love consumes me through this endless night –
I yield to love, unequal to the fight.
lines 1259–79
Where is there time enough to tell my grief?
Where is the patience to regain belief?
Where is the luck to waken me, or move
Love’s idol to reciprocate my love?
Where is the reason that could rescue me,
Or by some trick prove my auxiliary?
Where is the hand to pour dust on my head,
Or lift me from the dust where I lie dead?
Where is the foot that seeks the longed-for place?
Where is the eye to show me her fair face?
Where is the loved one to relieve my pain?
Where is the guide to help me turn again?
Where is the strength to utter my complaint?
Where is the mind to counsel calm restraint?
The loved one, reason, patience – all are gone
And I remain to suffer love alone.”
At this the fond disciples gathered round,
Bewildered by his groans’ pathetic sound.
“My sheikh,” urged one, “forget this evil sight;
Rise, cleanse yourself according to our rite.”
“In blood I cleanse myself,” the sheikh replied;
“In blood, a hundred times, my life is dyed.”
Another asked: “Where is your rosary?”
He said: “I fling the beads away from me;
The Christian’s belt* is my sole sanctuary!”
One urged him to repent; he said: “I do,
Of all I was, all that belonged thereto.”
One counselled prayer; he said: “Where is her face
That I may pray toward that blessèd place?”
Another cried: “Enough of this; you must
Seek solitude and in repentant dust
Bow down to God.” “I will”, replied the sheikh,
“Bow down in dust, but for my idol’s sake.”
And one reproached him: “Have you no regret
lines 1280–1302
For Islam and those rites you would forget?”
He said: “No man repents past folly more;
Why is it I was not in love before?”
Another said: “A demon’s poisoned dart –
Unknown to you – has pierced your trusting heart.”
The sheikh said: “If a demon straight from hell
Deceives me, I rejoice and wish her well.”
One said: “Our noble sheikh has lost his way;
Passion has led his wandering wits astray.”
“True, I have lost the fame I once held dear,”
Replied their sheikh, “and fraud as well, and fear.”
One said: “You break our hearts with this disgrace.”
He laughed: “The Christian’s heart will take their place.”
One said: “Stay with old friends awhile, and come –
We’ll seek the Ka’abah’s shade and journey home.”
The sheikh replied: “A Christian monastery
And not the Ka’abah’s shade suffices me.”
One said: “Return to Mecca and repent!”
He answered: “Leave me here, I am content.”
One said: “You travel on hell’s road.” “This sigh
Would shrivel seven hells” was his reply.
One said: “In hope of heaven turn again.”
He said: “Her face is heaven; I remain.”
One said: “Before our God confess your shame.”
He answered: “God Himself has lit this flame.”
One said: “Stop vacillating now and fight;
Defend the ways our faith proclaims as right.”
He said: “Prepare your ears for blasphemy;
An infidel does not prate piety.”
Their words could not recall him to belief,
And slowly they grew silent, sunk in grief.
They watched; each felt the heart within him fail,
Fearful of deeds Fate hid beneath her veil.
At last white day displayed her golden shield;
Black night declined his head, compelled to yield –
The world lay drowned in sparkling light, and dawn
lines 1303–25
Disclosed the sheikh, still wretched and forlorn,
Disputing with stray dogs the place before
His unattainable belovèd’s door.
There in the dust he knelt, till constant prayers
Made him resemble one of her dark hairs;
A patient month he waited day and night
To glimpse the radiance of her beauty’s light.
At last fatigue and sorrow made him ill –
Her street became his bed and he lay still.
When she perceived he would – and could – not move,
She understood the fury of his love,
But she pretended ignorance and said:
“What is it, sheikh? Why is our street your bed?
How can a Moslem sleep where Christians tread?”
He answered her: “I have no need to speak;
You know why I am wasted, pale and weak.
Restore the heart you stole, or let me see
Some glimmer in your heart of sympathy;
In all your pride find some affection for
The grey-haired, lovesick stranger at your door.
Accept my love or kill me now – your breath
Revives me or consigns me here to death.
Your face and curls command my life; beware
Of how the breeze displays your vagrant hair;
The sight breeds fever in me, and your deep
Hypnotic eyes induce love’s restless sleep.
Love mists my eyes, love burns my heart – alone,
Impatient and unloved, I weep and groan;
See what a sack of sorrow I have sewn!
I give my soul and all the world to burn,
And endless tears are all I hope to earn.
My eyes beheld your face, my heart despaired;
What I have seen and suffered none have shared.
My heart has turned to blood; how long must I
Subsist on misery? You need not try
To humble wretchedness, or kick the foe
Who in the dust submissively bows low.
lines 1326–45
It is my fortune to lament and wait –
When, if, love answers me depends on Fate.
My soul is ambushed here, and in your street
Relives each night the anguish of defeat;
Your threshold’s dust receives my prayers –I give
As cheap as dust the soul by which I live.
How long outside your door must I complain?
Relent a moment and relieve my pain.
You are the sun and I a shadow thrown
By you – how then can I survive alone?
Though pain has worn me to a shadow’s edge,
Like sunlight I shall leap your window’s ledge;
Let me come in and I shall secretly
Bring seven heavens’ happiness with me.
My soul is burnt to ash; my passion’s fire
Destroys the world with unappeased desire.
Love binds my feet and I cannot depart;
Love holds the hand pressed hard against my heart.
My fainting soul dissolves in deathly sighs –
How long must you stay hidden from my eyes?”
She laughed: “You shameless fool, take my advice –
Prepare yourself for death and paradise!
Forget flirtatious games, your breath is cold;
Stop chasing love, remember you are old.
It is a shroud you need, not me! How could
You hope for wealth when you must beg for food?”
He answered her: “Say what you will, but I
In love’s unhappy torments live and die;
To Love, both young and old are one – his dart
Strikes with unequalled strength in every heart.”
&n
bsp; The girl replied: “There are four things you must
Perform to show that you deserve my trust:
Burn the Koran, drink wine, seel up Faith’s eye,
Bow down to images.” And in reply
The sheikh declared: “Wine I will drink with you;
The rest are things that I could never do.”
lines 1346–70
She said: “If you agree to my commands,
To start with, you must wholly wash your hands
Of Islam’s faith – the love which does not care
To bend to love’s requests is empty air.”
He yielded then: “I must and will obey;
I’ll do whatever you are pleased to say.
Your slave submits – lead me with ringlets twined
As chains about my neck; I am resigned!”
She smiled: “Come then and drink”, and he allowed
Her to escort him to a hall (the crowd
Of scholars followed, weeping and afraid)
Where Christians banqueted, and there a maid
Of matchless beauty passed the cup around.
Love humbled our poor sheikh – without a sound
He gave his heart into the Christian’s hands;
His mind had fled, he bowed to her commands,
And from those hands he took the proffered bowl;
He drank, oblivion overwhelmed his soul.
Wine mingled with his love – her laughter seemed
To challenge him to take the bliss he dreamed.
Passion flared up in him; again he drank,
And slave-like at her feet contented sank –
This sheikh who had the whole Koran by heart
Felt wine spread through him and his faith depart;
Whatever he had known deserted him,
Wine conquered and his intellect grew dim;
Wine sluiced away his conscience; she alone
Lived in his heart, all other thoughts had flown.
Now love grew violent as an angry sea,
He watched her drink and moved instinctively –
Half-fuddled with the wine – to touch her neck.
But she drew back and held his hand in check,
Deriding him: “What do you want, old man?
Old hypocrite of love, who talks but can
Do nothing else? To prove your love, declare
That your religion is my rippling hair.
Love’s more than childish games, if you agree –
lines 1371–95
For love – to imitate my blasphemy
You can embrace me here; if not, you may
Take up your stick and hobble on your way.”
The abject sheikh had sunk to such a state
That he could not resist his wretched fate;
Now ignorant of shame and unafraid,
The Conference of the Birds (Penguin) Page 6