by Dick Davis
The pearl will not remain
Forever in its shell.
Grasp your good fortune! Drink
Among the flowers, since they
Will all have fled before
A week has passed away.
If you can fill a golden bowl
With wine now, give
Its draught to one who lacks
The gold with which to live.
Come, sheikh, and join in our
Carousing – you’ll be given
A draught of wine that you
Won’t ever find in heaven;
To learn with us, wipe clean
Your schoolbook’s pages; look –
The knowledge lovers learn
Is not in any book.
Hear what I say now, tie
Your heart to some sweet boy
Whose beauty’s not applied,
Whose prettiness won’t cloy.
O God, I pray, give me
A wine that will not make
Me drunk and crapulous,
Or cause my head to ache.
The man who’d criticize
Hafez’s poetry
Must have a brutal soul
Devoid of charity!
My soul’s a slave in thrall
To my Sultan Ovays,
And if he has forgotten me
That’s still the case,
And by his crown I swear
The sun itself can’t claim
A diadem more bright
And glorious than his name.
COME, SO THAT WE CAN SCATTER FLOWERS
and fill the glass with wine,
And split the ceiling of the skies
and try a new design!
If Sorrow sends her soldiers here
and wants a bloody fight,
My serving boy and I will put
them one and all to flight.
We’ll add rose water to our wine
and sugar will augment
The pungent aloes wood we burn,
and sweeten its fierce scent.
A fine lute’s in your hand, my friend,
so give us a fine song –
We’ll wave our hands and stamp our feet,
and dance, and sing along!
Sweet breeze, convey the dust of our
existence to that place
Where Splendor reigns – perhaps that way
we’ll see Him face to face…
One boasts about his intellect,
one’s all puffed up with pride;
Let’s bring these arguments before
our Judge – let Him decide.
Come join me in the wine-shop, friend,
if you want paradise;
I’ll tip you from the wine-cask to
Kosar’s stream in a trice.
Since in Shiraz poetic skill,
Hafez, goes unrequited,
It’s time to try another town
whose court is less benighted.
A CORNER OF THE WINE-SHOP IS
the temple where I pray;
My morning plea’s the prayer
the Zoroastrians say;
And if I miss the harp at dawn
I needn’t worry now –
My waking song’s my prayerful sigh
and my repentant vow.
Thank God I care for neither king
nor beggar! since I see
The poorest beggar at my friend’s
door is a king to me.
All I require from mosque and wine-shop
is to know your love;
As God’s my witness, this is all
that I’ve been dreaming of –
And since I’ve bowed my head down to
this threshold, I have known
The heavenly sun itself is where
I’m seated on my throne.
Until death’s dagger rends the tent
that is my life, my heart
Will not abjure his doorway – no,
I cannot now depart.
Though sin’s not ours to choose, Hafez,
keep to the disciplined
And noble way you’ve traveled on,
and say, “It’s I who’ve sinned.”
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
Advice; 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 him? 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.”
THOSE DAYS WHEN LOVING FRIENDS WOULD MEET –
long may they be recalled!
Those days gone by that were so sweet –
long may they be recalled!
My palate’s bitter with grief’s aftertaste: those cries
With which we drinkers would compete –
long may they be recalled!
And even though my friends have all forgotten me,
A thousand times I will repeat,
“Long may they be recalled!”
I’m wretched now, quite overthrown; the struggles of
My noble friends, in my defeat –
long may they be recalled!
My eyes run with a hundred streams; but Zendehrud,
And Karan’s pastoral retreat,
long may they be recalled!
Henceforth, Hafez’s secrets will remain unspoken,
Those confidants…Oh, I repeat,
“Long may they be recalled!”
LOST JOSEPH WILL RETURN TO CANAAN’S LAND AGAIN
– do not despair
His grieving father’s house will fill with flowers again
– do not despair
O sorrow-stricken heart, your fortunes will revive,
Order will come to your distracted mind again
– do not despair
And if the heavens turn against us for two days
They turn, and will not stay forever in one place
– do not despair
Sweet singing bird, survive until the spring, and then
You’ll tread on grass again, deep in the flowers’ shade
– do not despair
Don’t give up hope, you have no knowledge of Fate’s lore;
Behind the veil who knows what hidden turns still wait?
– do not despair
When, if you long to tread the pilgrims’ desert trail
To Mecca’s distant shrine, sharp thorns beset your path
– do not despair
For God, who solves all sorrows, knows the sorrows of
Our absence and desire, the guardian’s scornful rage
– do not despair
O heart, if nothingness should wash away the world,
Since Noah guides your craft, when you encounter storms
– do not despair
And though the journey’s filled with dangers, and its goal
Is all unknown, there is no road that has no end
– do not despair
O Hafez, in night’s darkness, alone, in poverty,
> While the Qur’an remains to you, and murmured prayer
– do not despair
LAST NIGHT, NEWS OF MY DEPARTED FRIEND
Was brought to me upon the wind;
Whatever must come, let it come!
I give my heart now to the wind.
My life’s in such a state that my
Companions are the vivid flash
Of lightning in the dark of night,
And, as each dawn arrives, the wind.
Lost in the tangles of your hair
My shameless heart has never said,
“Oh, give me back the life I knew
Before I strayed like this, and sinned.”
My heart weeps blood remembering you,
Each time I see the meadows where
The budding rose’s cloak is loosed
And torn wide open by the wind.
My frail existence vanishes;
But may my soul rejoice again
And see you, and inhale your scent
Brought in the dawn, upon the wind.
Hafez, your noble nature will
Ensure your heart’s desire; and may
Our lives be given to such sweetness,
That’s borne away, upon the wind.
WHAT’S ALL THIS HIDING HAPPINESS AND WINE AWAY?
I’ve lined up with the libertines now, come what may.
Undo your heart’s knot, and ignore the heavens: since no
Astronomer’s undone that knot yet, let it go!
Don’t wonder at the revolutions we’ve lived through;
Time’s fashioned thousands of such fables – they’re not new!
But take the wine-cup reverently, since in your hand
Is Jamshid’s skull, and King Qobad’s, who ruled this land.
Who knows where Kay Kavus, or Bahman, have now gone?
Or what wind swept away King Jamshid’s royal throne?
From Farhad’s blood-red tears I see the tulips bloom –
He longs still for Shirin’s sweet lips, within his tomb.
You’d say the tulips know time’s treachery – since all
Their life they’re like a wine-glass, till their petals fall.
Come quickly, come, this wine will ruin us one day,
Unless these ruins hold a treasure – who can say?
Mosalla’s breeze, and Roknabad’s clear stream, have told me
I cannot leave this town; they will forever hold me.
Like Hafez, don’t drink till you hear the harp’s sweet sound
To which, with silken threads, his happy heart is bound.
I’VE KNOWN THE PAINS OF LOVE’S FRUSTRATION – AH, DON’T ASK!
I’ve drained the dregs of separation – ah, don’t ask!
I’ve been about the world and found at last
A lover worthy of my adoration – ah, don’t ask!
So that my tears now lay the dust before
Her door in constant supplication – ah, don’t ask!
Last night, with my own ears, I heard such words
Fall from her in our conversation – ah, don’t ask!
You bite your lip at me? The lip I bite
Is all delicious delectation! – ah, don’t ask!
Without you, in this beggarly poor hut,
I have endured such desolation – ah, don’t ask!
Lost on love’s road, like Hafez, I’ve attained
A stage…but stop this speculation – ah, don’t ask!
THAT YOU’RE A PIOUS PRIG BY NATURE
Doesn’t mean you have to blame
Libertines for their faults; those sins
Won’t be imputed to your name.
Each one of us will reap the seeds
He sows, so what is it to you
Whether I’m good or bad? To work on who
You are should be your aim.
Everyone searches for the Friend,
Whether they’re drunk or stone-cold sober;
And love’s in every house – the mosque
And synagogue are just the same.
I bow my head in worship on the bricks
That form the wine-shop’s threshold;
And if that blockhead doesn’t get it, then
It’s him who is to blame!
Don’t sadden me with tales of providence
And God’s eternal promise –
What do you know of who, behind the veil,
Can boast of beauty’s name?
It’s not just me who’s wandered out
Of lonely Piety’s front door;
My father let his chance of heaven’s grace
Elude him; I’m the same.
If this is who you are, the nature
You were given, then bravo!
And good for you if your fine character’s
Exactly as you claim!
O Hafez, on the last day, if you bear
A wine-cup in your hand,
You’ll go straight into heaven from the street
Of drunkenness and shame.
I SAW THE GREEN FIELDS OF THE SKY,
and there a sickle moon –
I reckoned what I’d sown, and thought,
“The harvest will come soon.”
I said, “My luck, you’ve been asleep;
now dawn has brought the sun.”
She said, “The past is past; do not
despair of all you’ve done;
The night you leave this world, go, climb
like Jesus through the skies –
Your lamp, a hundred times, will light
the sun as you arise.
Don’t trust the shining moon, she is
the highway robber who
Stole Kay Kavus’s throne, and then
the belt of Khosrow too.
Gold earrings set with rubies may
charm you, and lead you on,
But know this: Beauty’s reign is brief,
and all too quickly gone.”
God keep the evil eye from your
sweet beauty, which can field
A pawn to make the sun and moon
precipitously yield.
Say to the heavens, “Don’t boast of splendor!”
When love is matched with you,
The harvest of the moon’s a grain,
and of the stars but two.
Hypocrisy will burn the harvest
religion reaped; and so,
Hafez, shrug off this Sufi cloak –
just leave now, let it go.
WHAT’S SWEETER THAN A GARDEN AND GOOD TALK
When spring’s new flowers appear?
What’s keeping that young boy who serves our wine?
Tell me why he’s not here.
Put down as profit every happy moment
That Fate contrives to send;
Who has a notion what awaits us when
Our lives here have to end?
And understand, life hangs here by a hair;
That what you have to do
Is take care of yourself; since what are Time
And all its griefs to you?
The Water of Life, the Garden of Eram –
What could these blessings mean
But heart-delighting wine that’s poured and drunk
Beside some pretty stream?
Since abstinence and drunkenness share one
Descent, which has our voice?
Which should we give our skittish hearts to now?
What could decide our choice?
Who knows what lies beyond the veil? And your
Long boastful rant before
Its chamberlain, what point has that, you fool?
Shut up! Not one word more!
And if I’ve sinned and strayed, and there’s
A reckoning when I die,
What is it the Creator’s clemency
And mercy signify?
The ascetic longs to drink from Kosar’s stream
In paradise’s shade,
And
Hafez longs for wine; until, between
The two, God’s choice is made.
LAST NIGHT I SAW THE ANGELS
tapping at the wine-shop’s door,
And kneading Adam’s dust,
and molding it as cups for wine;
And, where I sat beside the road,
these messengers of heaven
Gave me their wine to drink,
so that their drunkenness was mine.
The heavens could not bear
the heavy trust they had been given,
And lots were cast, and crazed
Hafez’s name received the sign.
Forgive the seventy-two
competing factions – all their tales
Mean that the Truth is what
they haven’t seen, and can’t define!
But I am thankful that there’s peace
between Him now, and me;
In celebration of our pact
the houris drink their wine –
And fire is not what gently smiles
from candles’ flames, it’s what
Annihilates the flocking moths
that flutter round His shrine.
No one has drawn aside the veil
of Thought as Hafez has,
Or combed the curls of Speech
as his sharp pen has, line by line.
FOR YEARS MY HEART INQUIRED OF ME
Where Jamshid’s sacred cup might be,
And what was in its own possession
It asked from strangers, constantly;
Begging the pearl that’s slipped its shell
From lost souls wandering by the sea.
Last night I took my troubles to
The Magian sage whose keen eyes see
A hundred answers in the wine;
Laughing, he showed the cup to me –
I asked him, “When was this cup
That shows the world’s reality
Handed to you?” He said, “The day
Heaven’s vault of lapis lazuli
Was raised, and marvelous things took place
By Intellect’s divine decree,
And Moses’ miracles were made
And Sameri’s apostacy.”
He added then, “That friend they hanged
High on the looming gallows tree –
His sin was that he spoke of things
Which should be pondered secretly;
The page of truth his heart enclosed
Was annotated publicly.
But if the Holy Ghost once more
Should lend his aid to us, we’d see
Others perform what Jesus did –
Since in his heart-sick anguish he