Faces of Love: Hafez and the Poets of Shiraz

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Faces of Love: Hafez and the Poets of Shiraz Page 9

by Dick Davis


  Was unaware that God was there

  And called His name out ceaselessly.”

  I asked him next, “And beauties’ curls

  That tumble down so sinuously,

  What do they mean? Whence do they come?”

  “Hafez,” the sage replied to me,

  “Their source is your distracted heart

  That asks these questions constantly.”

  LAST NIGHT, AT DAWN, IN MY DISTRESS, SALVATION

  was given to me;

  In darkness then, life’s water, a libation,

  was given to me.

  Rapt from myself by that pure lambent light,

  The wine of essence, and of all creation,

  was given to me.

  O dawn of Fortune, moment of pure Glory,

  That night when notice of my liberation

  was given to me!

  I gazed in Beauty’s mirror then, for there

  My essence, shining for my contemplation,

  was given to me.

  If I was happy then, it’s no surprise –

  I was deserving, and a just donation

  was given to me.

  That day a heavenly voice brought me good news;

  The strength to bear this harsh world’s subjugation

  was given to me.

  It was Hafez’s spirit, and the sighs of those

  Who rise at dawn, by which, at last, salvation

  was given to me.

  WHEN MY LOVE LIFTS HIS GLASS,

  throughout the town

  Love’s market suddenly

  comes tumbling down.

  I wept before his feet;

  I could not stand –

  Would he so much as lend

  a helping hand?

  I was a fish, I fell

  into the sea

  So that my lover’s hook

  would lodge in me;

  And anyone who saw

  his eyes would say;

  “Where’s the police, to haul

  this drunk away?”

  Happy the heart that lifts

  a glass of wine

  Whose vintage, like Hafez’s,

  is divine.

  PLANT FRIENDSHIP’S TREE – THE HEART’S DESIRE

  Is the fruit it bears;

  And uproot enmity – which brings

  Sorrows and cares.

  Be friendly, easy, with drunkards –

  Good fellowship’s theirs;

  It’s pride brings the hangover, not

  The wine-seller’s wares.

  Talk with your friends, deep in the night,

  And see how life fares;

  Since when we are gone the heavens

  Will bring others our cares;

  And welcome the spring in your heart

  Since the world never spares

  To provide for us roses and songbirds,

  Whoever despairs.

  And love your belovèd – the heavens require you

  To be one who bears

  The grief of Majnun all your life:

  God grant me my prayers!

  Your heart is so tired! You feel caught

  In the weary world’s snares

  But sip at your wine, and hear in your heart

  The hope it declares:

  That Hafez will sit in his orchard

  By the stream that he shares

  With his cypress-slim love, God willing,

  In the place that is theirs.

  TO GIVE UP WINE, AND HUMAN BEAUTY? AND TO GIVE UP LOVE?

  No, I won’t do it.

  A hundred times I said I would; what was I thinking of?

  No, I won’t do it.

  To say that paradise, its houris, and its shade are more

  To me than is the dusty street before my lover’s door?

  No, I won’t do it.

  Sermons, and wise men’s words, are signs, and that’s how we should treat them;

  I mouthed such metaphors before, but now – I won’t repeat them;

  No, I won’t do it.

  I’ll never understand myself, I’ll never really know me,

  Until I’ve joined the wine-shop’s clientele, and that will show me;

  I have to do it.

  The preacher told me, “Give up wine” – contempt was in the saying;

  “Sure,” I replied. Why should I listen to these donkeys braying?

  No, I won’t do it.

  The sheikh was angry when he told me, “Give up love!” My brother,

  There’s no end to our arguing about it, so why bother?

  And I won’t do it.

  My abstinence is this: that when I wink and smile at beauty

  It won’t be from the pulpit in the mosque – I know my duty;

  No, I won’t do it.

  Hafez, good fortune’s with the Magian sage, and I am sure

  I’ll never cease to kiss the dust that lies before his door;

  No, I won’t do it.

  THAT BUSYBODY CRITICIZES ME

  For loving love and revelry –

  But it’s my knowledge of the hidden world

  That motivates his enmity:

  Don’t only look at faults and weaknesses,

  See love in its totality –

  It’s the untalented who always notice

  Transgressions and deformity.

  The fragrance of a houri’s borne upon

  The wind now, and caresses me;

  She dabs our tavern’s dirt inside her collar

  Because its scent is heavenly –

  And when our serving boy’s all smiles and winks

  He slaps Islam’s austerity

  So hard that even Sohayb wouldn’t shun

  The red wine that he serves to me!

  When friends meet heart to heart, this is the key

  To happiness’s treasury;

  May no one hesitate at such a time

  Or hold back then, reluctantly.

  The stories Hafez tells provoke our tears,

  That fall, blood-red, since he

  Recalls the time that lies between our youth

  And our white-haired senility.

  DRINK WINE DOWN BY THE GLASSFUL, AND YOU’LL TEAR

  Out of your heart the roots of your despair –

  Keep your heart open, like your glass, not sealed up

  Like a flagon, stoppered and doctrinaire;

  Drink down the wine of self-forgetfulness;

  You’ll boast less once you’re not so self-aware.

  Be stone-like in your steps, not like a cloud

  That shifts its colors, gadding everywhere;

  Rise, struggle like Hafez…And when you find

  Your love, prostrate yourself before her there.

  MY LOVE FOR YOU IS LIKE A YOUTHFUL TREE

  of wonder

  And meeting you is all that there can be

  of wonder

  My consciousness is now so drowned within

  Our meeting that it’s like a whelming sea

  of wonder

  Neither the meeting nor the one who meets

  Remain within this spectral fantasy

  of wonder

  Show me one face that seeks for him, that lacks

  The dark mole of our incredulity

  and wonder

  And everywhere, from every side, I’ve heard

  These searching questions put perpetually

  in wonder

  From head to toe Hafez’s being lives

  Within his love for this same youthful tree

  of wonder

  AT DAWN, UPON THE BREEZE, I CAUGHT

  the scent of my belovèd’s hair,

  And once again my crazy heart

  was laboring in its old despair.

  Out of the garden of my breast

  I’ve torn his sapling silhouette,

  Since when my longings for him blossom,

  grief is the bitter fruit they set.

  Fearing the torment of his love,
>
  I freed my heart from him; but when

  My heart dripped blood, the path its drops

  marked out…led back to him again.

  I saw the full moon rise above

  his castle’s roof, splendid and bright;

  But when his shining sun arose,

  the moon, for shame, concealed its light.

  I took musicians at their word,

  and always, everywhere, I sought

  For messengers who’d traveled love’s

  hard road, and all the news they brought.

  My lover’s way, from end to end,

  is good and kind, and little cares

  Whether a man tells Moslem beads

  or murmurs Christian prayers.

  I was amazed to see Hafez

  drink wine last night; but then I knew

  Better than to object to this –

  he drank as secret Sufis do.

  May God forgive his eyebrow’s curve

  That’s made me weak and powerless,

  Since it can comfort, with a glance,

  A sick man’s feverish distress.

  DO YOU KNOW WHAT OUR HARPS AND LUTES ADVISE US,

  when heard aright?

  “Men say that wine’s unlawful – when you drink,

  keep out of sight!”

  They say you shouldn’t talk of love, or hear

  love spoken of –

  That’s a hard lesson that they’re teaching us,

  to give up love.

  Love’s beauty they despise – and as for lovers,

  they deride them;

  They mock the old, and tell the young that love

  must be denied them.

  I waited at the door, and was deceived

  a hundred ways,

  Longing to know what was decided there,

  veiled from my gaze.

  They pester the old Magian priest; look how

  these devotees

  Harass the old man with their scorn, and their

  impieties…

  One glance can buy a hundred different forms

  of honor’s name –

  And in this business it’s the pretty girls

  who are to blame.

  Some strive and strain and struggle to be with

  the longed-for friend,

  And others are content to let Fate send

  what it will send.

  But when all’s said and done, don’t trust the world’s

  fidelity,

  Since it’s a workshop where all things are changed

  perpetually.

  Bring wine! Qur’an reciters, clerics, sheikhs,

  religion’s spies –

  Look well at each of them, and see a man

  who lives by lies.

  WHAT MEMORIES! I ONCE LIVED ON

  the street that you lived on,

  And to my eyes how bright the dust

  before your doorway shone!

  We were a lily and a rose:

  our talk was then so pure

  That what was hidden in your heart

  and what I said were one!

  And when our hearts discoursed

  with Wisdom’s ancient words,

  Love’s commentary solved each crux

  within our lexicon.

  I told my heart that I would never be

  without my friend;

  But when our efforts fail, and hearts

  Are weak, what can be done?

  Last night, for old times’ sake, I saw

  the place where we once drank;

  A cask was lying there, its lees

  like blood; mud was its bung.

  How much I wandered, asking why

  the pain of parting came –

  But Reason was a useless judge,

  and answers? He had none.

  And though it’s true the turquoise seal

  of Bu Es’haq shone brightly,

  His splendid kingdom and his reign

  were all too quickly gone.

  Hafez, you’ve seen a strutting partridge

  whose cry sounds like a laugh –

  He’s careless of the hawk’s sharp claws

  by which he’ll be undone.

  THOUGH WINE IS PLEASURABLE, AND THOUGH THE BREEZE

  Seems soaked in roses, see your harp

  Is silent when you drink – because the ears

  Of morals officers are sharp!

  If you can find a wine jug and a friend,

  Drink sensibly, and with discretion,

  Because the dreadful days we’re living through

  Are rife with mischief, and oppression.

  See that you hide your wine-cup in your sleeve;

  Your jug’s lip sheds its wine, blood-red –

  And, in the same way, these cruel times ensure

  Red blood is copiously shed.

  We’d better wash away the wine stains from

  Our cloaks with tears of penitence –

  Now is the season for sobriety,

  For days of pious abstinence.

  The heavens have become a sieve that strains

  Upon us blood, and it is full

  Of bloody scraps like royal Khosrow’s crown,

  Together with King Kasra’s skull.

  Don’t think that as the heavens turn they’ll bring

  A trace of solace or relief;

  Their hurtful curvature is through and through

  Made up of wretchedness and grief.

  Pars knows the splendor of your verse, Hafez –

  It’s made the towns of Eraq glad;

  So now’s the time to try it out elsewhere –

  Tabriz, perhaps, and then Baghdad.

  MAY YOUR DEAR BODY NEVER NEED

  A doctor’s expertise,

  Your delicate existence know

  No hurtful injuries.

  Since all of our horizons’ health

  Depends upon your own,

  May ill-health never visit you

  With noxious maladies;

  And when the wind of autumn blows

  Across these meadows, may

  Its passage pass your stature by,

  That’s like a cypress tree’s;

  When your young beauty shows itself,

  May spiteful gossip find

  No sneaking opportunity

  To spread its calumnies.

  Outward and inward beauty spring

  From your perfections! May

  Your form be faultless, and your soul

  Stay free from miseries –

  And may the eye of one who casts

  The evil eye on you

  Be rue within your beauty’s flames,

  Consumed by what it sees.

  Your balm is Hafez’s sweet words –

  And if you look for these

  You won’t need rose water again

  Or candied remedies.

  TO HAVE MY HEART ACHIEVE ITS GOAL

  grief melted my sad soul – to no effect;

  And I was burned within the fire

  of this inane desire – to no effect;

  Alas, that in my questing for

  wealth’s book, I’m now dirt-poor!

  That universal ridicule

  proclaims me sorrow’s fool – to no effect!

  What pains I suffered as I sought

  admission to his court,

  Begging for alms, for charity

  from those who’d comfort me – to no effect;

  One night he joked and said, “It’s plain

  I’ll be your chamberlain!”

  Ah, how I’ve striven to deserve him,

  to be his slave and serve him – to no effect.

  He sent word saying that he’d be

  with libertines like me

  (Who’s called the Dregs-Drinker), so I

  hoped that I’d catch his eye – to no effect.

  I dreamed that in my drunkenness

  I might achieve success

  And kiss hi
s ruby lips; but all

  I drank was grief and gall – to no effect.

  Without good reason never stray

  upon the lovers’ way;

  How cautiously I’ve traveled there,

  beset with grief and care – to no effect.

  Hafez has tried a thousand wiles,

  a thousand tricks and trials,

  Hoping that by his wits and zeal

  He’d bring that boy to heel – to no effect.

  YOU’VE SENT NO WORD OF HOW YOU ARE

  It’s been a few days…quite a few –

  And where’s our secret go-between

  To take my messages to you?

  I know that I can never reach

  To your exalted sanctuary,

  Unless your kindness makes you take

  A few steps on the path to me.

  The wine is poured into the jug,

  The rose has flung away her veil –

  So come now, drink a glass or two,

  Seize joy, let happiness prevail!

  Sugar dissolved in rose water

  Won’t cure my heart; but if you could

  Dissolve your curses in your kisses,

  That distillation surely would.

  Ah, puritan, pass by the street

  Of shame, don’t let us interrupt you –

  Don’t linger here with libertines,

  Our sordid chatter might corrupt you!

  You’ve numbered all the faults of wine,

  So number all its virtues too;

  Don’t throw out wisdom for the sake

  Of what a few drunk oafs might do.

  Beggars who crowd the wine-shop door,

  God is your friend; but I advise you,

  Don’t hope for gifts from cattle who

  Think they’re your betters and despise you:

  The ancient wine-seller was right

  When he declared, “Don’t talk about

  The secrets of your smoldering heart

  To every passing, boorish lout.”

  Hafez’s heart is smoldering with

  His passion for your sun-like face;

  All Glory’s yours, so spare a glance

  For those defeated by disgrace.

  NOT EVERY SUFI’S TRUSTWORTHY, OR PURE IN SPIRIT,

  And burning is no more than many of them merit.

  Our Sufi prays at dawn, transported with delight,

  But watch how drunkenly he welcomes in the night!

  Would that a touchstone could display hypocrisy,

  Blackening the liar’s face with shame, for all to see.

 

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