by Dick Davis
SOURCES
For the poems of Hafez, I have used mainly the version edited by Parviz Natel Khanlari, Divan-e Hafez, in two volumes (Tehran: Kharazmi, 1362/1983), though I have also made comparisons with other editions, notably that edited by Seyyed Abol-Qasem Anjavi-Shirazi, Divan-e Hafez (Tehran: Javidan, 1345/1966). For Jahan Khatun’s poems, I have used the edition mentioned above (edited by Purandokht Kashani-Rad and Kamel Ahmadnezhad), which is the only edition of her poems to have appeared so far. For most of the poems of Obayd-e Zakani, I have used the version edited by Mohammad Ja`far Mahjub, Kolliyat-e Obayd-e Zakani (New York: Biblioteca Persica, 1999); for the text of Obayd’s Cat and Mouse, I have used the version edited by Parviz Atabeki, Kolliyat-e Obayd-e Zakani (Tehran: Farzan, 1343/1964). The text of two of Obayd’s poems translated here (pp. lix and 195) is taken from the edition of Amir Dowlatshah Samarqandi’s Tazkirat al-Sho`ara, edited by Mohammad Ramezani (Tehran: Khavar, 1338/1959).
The Pronunciation of Persian Names
Persian names are pronounced with a more even stress than is common in English, which sounds to an English speaker’s ear as though the last syllable is being slightly stressed. There are two “a” sounds in Persian: a long “a” like the “a” in the British pronunciation of “father”; and a short “a” like the “a” in “cat.” In Hafez the “a” is long; in Jahan the first “a” is short, and the second “a” long; in Malek the “a” is short; in Khatun the “a” is long. The “Kh” of Khatun is pronounced like the Scottish “ch” in “loch.” The “a” in Abu is short; that in Es’haq and Bos’haq is long; in Mozaffar each “a” is short; in Mobarez the “a” is long. Obayd is pronounced more or less as though it were the English word “obeyed.” Each “a”in Zakani is long. The “q” at the end of “Es’haq” and “Bos’haq” is pronounced like a guttural “g,” far back in the throat. The apostrophe in Es’haq and Bos’haq indicates only that the “s” and “h” sounds are pronounced separately, as in “mishandle,” not together as in “ashen.”
Poems
Hafez
My friend, hold back your heart from enemies,
Drink shining wine with handsome friends like these;
With art’s initiates undo your collar –
Stay buttoned up with ignoramuses.
HOWEVER OLD, INCAPABLE,
And heart-sick I may be,
The moment I recall your face
My youth’s restored to me;
Thanks be to God that all I sought
From Him I have received,
That my exertions brought to me
The fortune I’ve achieved.
Rejoice, young sapling, in your glory,
For in your shadow there
I am the nightingale whose songs
Are heard now everywhere.
To me, at first, the heights and depths
Of Being were unknown,
But schooled within my longing for you
How well informed I’ve grown!
Fate drags me to the wine-shop’s door –
And though I turn and twist,
That’s where I always finish up;
It’s useless to resist.
It’s not that I am old in months
And years; if truth be told
The friend I love’s untrue to me –
It’s this that makes me old.
Within my heart, the door of meaning
Opened the day I sought
Our ancient Zoroastrian out
And entered in his court.
On Glory’s highway, and upon
Good Fortune’s throne, I raise
The wine-cup, and receive my friends’
Warm welcome and their praise!
And from that moment that your glance
First troubled me, I’m sure
I’ve been immune to all the troubles
The last days have in store.
Last night God’s kindness brought good news –
“Hafez, I guarantee
That all your sins will be forgiven;
Come back, return to Me!”
LAST NIGHT SHE BROUGHT ME WINE, AND SAT BESIDE MY PILLOW;
Her hair hung loose, her dress was torn, her face perspired –
She smiled and sang of love, with mischief in her eyes,
And whispering in my ear, she drunkenly inquired:
“My ancient lover, can it be that you’re asleep?
The true initiate, when offered wine at night,
Would be a heretic of love if he refused
To take the draught he’s given, and drink it with delight.”
And as for you, you hypocrites, don’t cavil at
Lovers who drain life to the lees, since we were given
This nature when the world began, and we must drink
The wine that’s poured for us, whether from earth or heaven.
So take the laughing wine cup, raise it in your hand,
Caress your lover’s curls, and say Hafez has spoken;
How many vows of abstinence the world has seen
So fervently affirmed, and – like Hafez’s – broken.
A FLOWER, WITHOUT A FRIEND’S FACE THERE, I THINK
that isn’t good
And springtime, if there isn’t wine to drink,
that isn’t good
A stroll through gardens, or a wooded place,
Without a pretty tulip-blushing face
that isn’t good
A cypress swaying, and a rose unfolding,
Without a nightingale’s melodious scolding
that isn’t good
A sweet-lipped, sexy lover near, if this is
To be with no embraces and no kisses
that isn’t good
Wine in a garden can be sweet, but when
We have no friend to talk and listen, then
that isn’t good
And anything the mind dreams, in the end,
Unless it is the features of our friend,
that isn’t good
The soul’s a useless coin, Hafez – not worth
Your casting, as an offering, on the earth
that isn’t good
I SEE NO LOVE IN ANYONE,
Where, then, have all the lovers gone?
And when did all our friendship end,
And what’s become of every friend?
Life’s water’s muddied now, and where
Is Khezr to guide us from despair?
The rose has lost its coloring,
What’s happened to the breeze of spring?
A hundred thousand flowers appear
But no birds sing for them to hear –
Thousands of nightingales are dumb:
Where are they now? Why don’t they come?
For years no rubies have been found
In stony mines deep underground;
When will the sun shine forth again?
Where are the clouds brimful of rain?
Who thinks of drinking now? No one.
Where have the roistering drinkers gone?
This was a town of lovers once,
Of kindness and benevolence,
And when did kindness end? What brought
The sweetness of our town to naught?
The ball of generosity
Lies on the field for all to see –
No rider comes to strike it; where
Is everyone who should be there?
Silence, Hafez, since no one knows
The secret ways that heaven goes;
Who is it that you’re asking how
The heavens are revolving now?
THE ORCHARD CHARMS OUR HEARTS, AND CHATTER WHEN
our dearest friends appear – is sweet;
God bless the time of roses! To drink our wine
among the roses here – is sweet!
Our souls’ scent sweetens with each breeze; ah yes,
the sighs that lovers hear – are sweet.
Sing, nightingale! Ro
sebuds unopened yet
will leave you, and your fear – is sweet;
Dear singer of the night, for those in love
your sad lament is clear – and sweet.
The world’s bazaar contains no joy, except
the libertine’s; good cheer – is sweet!
I heard the lilies say, “The world is old,
to take things lightly here – is sweet.”
Hafez, the happy heart ignores the world;
don’t think dominion here – is sweet.
SWEET LIPS AND SILVER EARS – THAT IDOL’S ELEGANCE
Has snatched away my fortitude, and my good sense;
So lovely, lithe, and lively, such a fairy face,
That Turk in his cute cloak, all wiles and nonchalance –
And I’m so mad about him, so on fire for him,
I’m like a cooking cauldron’s seething turbulence,
But I’ll calm down when I can grab that cloak from him
And be the shirt that covers up his impudence.
And when my bones are rotting, still my soul will not
Forget his kindness to me, his benevolence.
His chest and shoulders, chest and shoulders, bore away
My faith and heart, my faith and heart – I’d no defense!
So here’s your medicine, Hafez, here’s your medicine now –
Sweet lips, sweet lips, sweet lips are your deliverance!
COME, BOY, AND PASS THE WINE AROUND –
Love seemed a simple game
When I encountered it…but then
The difficulties came!
In longing for the musky scent
The breeze brings from her hair,
Such blood wells up in lovers’ hearts,
Such suffering, and despair…
What can ensure my happiness,
At love’s stage, in my heart?
When every instant now the bell
Cries, “Load up, to depart!”
And if the wine-seller says wine
Should dye your prayer-mat…dye it!
Pilgrims should know each stage’s rule
And seek to satisfy it.
On this dark night, amidst these waves,
The whirlpool’s fearsome roar,
What can they know of our distress
Who watch us from the shore?
In all I’ve done, I’ve pleased myself,
It’s ruined my good name –
The secret’s out, and everywhere
Men talk about my shame.
Don’t hide from Him you seek, Hafez;
You cannot hope to find
The One you’re longing for until
You leave the world behind.
NO ONE HAS SEEN YOUR FACE, AND YET
Thousands of rivals seek you;
You’re still a bud and yet a hundred
Nightingales entreat you.
However far I am from you
(May no one know that place!)
I cannot help but hope that soon
I’ll be in your embrace;
And it’s not strange that I should choose
Your street in which to wait –
Thousands of strangers in this world
Are in the selfsame state.
The loved one doesn’t spare a glance –
The lover must endure it;
And there’s no pain, or if there is
The doctor’s here to cure it.
In love, the Sufi meeting house
And wine-shop are one place;
As are all places where we find
The loved one’s radiant face;
And what the Sufis make a show of
Can be found equally
Among the monks, before their cross,
Within a monastery.
Hafez’s cry is not mere nonsense
When all is said and done;
Though it’s a strangely curious tale,
And a perplexing one.
TO TELL YOU NOW MY POOR HEART’S STATE
is what I long for
To hear the news that hearts relate
is what I long for
Look how naïve I am! To keep from rivals’ ears
A tale the winds disseminate
is what I long for
To sleep a sweet and noble night with you, to sleep
Till morning and to rise up late
is what I long for
And in the darkness of the night, to pierce the pearl
That is so fine and delicate
is what I long for
O morning breeze, abet me now, tonight, because
To blossom as dawn lies in wait
is what I long for
To use the lashes of my eyes, for honor’s sake,
To sweep the dust before your gate
is what I long for
Like Hafez, in contempt of prigs, to make the kind
Of poem libertines create
is what I long for
THANKS BE TO GOD NOW THAT THE WINE-SHOP DOOR
Is open, since it’s there I’m heading for;
The jars are groaning with fermented wine,
With wine that’s real, and not a metaphor,
That brings us drunkenness, and pride, and pleasure,
While we bring weakness, need, and not much more!
The secret I’ve not told, and won’t, to others
I’ll tell my friend – of him I can be sure.
It’s not a short tale, it describes the twists
In my belovèd’s hair, and lovers’ lore,
Majnun’s grief, Layla’s curls, Ayaz’s foot
That royal Mahmud’s face bowed down before;
And like a hawk I’ve seeled my eyes to all
The world, to glimpse the face that I adore.
Whoever strays within your street, it is
Your eyebrow’s curve that he will pray before;
O friends, to know the fire in Hafez’ heart
Ask candles what they’re burning, melting, for.
WINE IN MY GLASS, AND ROSES IN MY ARMS,
my lover near me –
On such a day the world’s great king would be
my slave and fear me.
No need to bring a candle to
our meeting place tonight;
My friend is there, the full moon of his face
will be our light.
Though wine in our religion’s not forbidden
(never think it!),
If you’re not there, my cypress-slender love,
how can I drink it?
Don’t sprinkle perfume where we meet –
the tresses of your hair
Each moment spread the fragrance of
such sweetness there…
My ears hear only plaintive flute-notes
and the harp’s sweet sound;
My eyes see only ruby lips
and wine-cups going round.
Don’t talk to me of sugar, or
of any food that’s sweet;
Sweetness for me is on your lips
when your and my lips meet.
I’ll haunt these ruins while within
the ruins of my heart
The treasure of my love for you
is lodged and won’t depart.
Why do you talk to me of shame – shame
has become my name –
Or reputation, when my reputation
is my shame?
We drink our wine, we flirt, and we’re
licentious – yes, but who
Is in this city where we live
of whom this isn’t true?
And don’t go to the morals officer
to make a fuss –
He’s on the constant lookout too for pleasure,
just like us.
This is no time to sit, Hafez,
without your wine and lover;
Jasmine’s and roses’ days are here,
and Ramadan is over.
> GO, MIND YOUR OWN BUSINESS, PREACHER! WHAT’S ALL
This hullabaloo?
My heart has left the road you travel, but
What’s that to you?
Until my lips are played on like a flute
By his lips’ beauty,
My ears can only hear as wind the world’s
Advice on duty –
God made him out of nothing, and within
His being’s state
There is a mystery no being’s skill
Can penetrate.
The beggar in your street disdains eight heavens
For what he’s given;
The captive in your chains is free of this world
And of heaven;
And even though the drunkenness of love
Has ruined me,
My being’s built upon those ruins for
Eternity.
My heart, don’t whine so often that your friend’s
Unjust to you;
This is the fate he’s given you, and this
Is justice too.
Be off with you, Hafez! Enough of all
These tales you tell;
I’ve heard these tales and fables many times;
I know them well.
WELCOME, SWEET FLOWER, NO ONE’S
More welcome in this land –
The more so since you hold
A wine-cup in your hand.
Enjoy this moment’s happiness,
Savor it well;