Faces of Love: Hafez and the Poets of Shiraz

by Dick Davis

Since birds that have become aware

  Of ropes and traps are hard to snare.

  When you sit safely with your love,

  Sipping your wine, be mindful of

  Those struggling lovers who still stray,

  Wind-tossed, upon their weary way.

  I don’t know why she isn’t here,

  Why her tall presence won’t appear,

  Or why the full moon of her face,

  And her black eyes, avoid this place.

  No fault can be imputed to

  Your beauty’s excellence, or you,

  Except that there is not a trace

  Of truth or kindness in your face.

  When Hafez speaks, it’s no surprise

  If Venus dances in the skies

  And leads across the heavens’ expanse

  Lord Jesus in the whirling dance.

  WHERE IS THE NEWS WE’LL MEET, THAT FROM

  This life to greet you there

  I may arise?

  I am a bird from paradise,

  And from this world’s cruel snare

  I will arise.

  Now by my love for you, I swear

  That if you summon me

  To be your slave, from all existence

  And its sovereignty

  I will arise.

  O Lord, make rain fall from Your cloud

  Sent to us as a guide,

  Send it before, like scattered dust

  That’s wind-blown far and wide,

  I will arise.

  Sit by my dust with wine and music:

  From my imprisonment

  Beneath the ground, within my grave,

  Dancing, drawn by your scent,

  I will arise.

  Rise now, my love, display your stature,

  Your sweetness, and I’ll be,

  Like Hafez, from the world itself

  And from my soul set free…

  I will arise.

  And though I’m old, if you’ll embrace

  Me tightly in your arms all night,

  Then from your side, as dawn appears,

  Young in the morning light,

  I will arise.

  MY LOVE’S FOR PRETTY FACES,

  For heart-bewitching hair;

  I’m crazy for good wine,

  A languorous, drunk stare…

  In love there’s no escaping

  The burning of desire;

  I stand here like a candle –

  Don’t scare me with your fire.

  I am a man from heaven,

  But on this path I see

  My love of youth and beauty

  Have made a slave of me.

  If Fate will help me, I

  Will take myself elsewhere –

  My bed will be swept clean

  By some sweet houri’s hair.

  Shiraz is like a mine

  Of ruby lips, a store

  Of loveliness…and I’m

  A jeweler who’s dirt-poor.

  I’ve seen so many drunk

  Eyes in this town, I think

  I’m drunk, although I swear

  I’ve had no wine to drink.

  You asked me to explain

  Eternity for you –

  Well certainly, when I

  Have downed a drink or two.

  Hafez, my nature’s like

  A hopeful bride, but I

  Lack mirrors to array

  Myself – that’s why I sigh.

  MY BODY’S DUST IS AS A VEIL

  Spread out to hide

  My soul – happy that moment when

  It’s drawn aside!

  To cage a songbird with so sweet

  A voice is wrong –

  I’ll fly to paradise’s garden

  Where I belong.

  But why I’ve come and whence I came

  Is all unclear –

  Alas, to know so little of

  My being here!

  How can I make my journey to

  My heavenly home

  When I’m confined and cramped within

  This flesh and bone?

  If my blood smells of longing, show no

  Astonishment –

  Mine is the musk deer’s pain as he

  Secretes his scent.

  Don’t think my golden shirt is like

  A candle’s light –

  The true flame burns beneath my shirt,

  Hidden from sight.

  Come, and ensure Hafez’s being

  Will disappear –

  Since You exist, no one will hear

  Me say, “I’m here.”

  THE MUSKY MORNING BREEZE

  Will gently blow again,

  Once more the old world will

  Turn young and grow again;

  White jasmine will take wine

  From glowing Judas trees,

  Narcissi fondly glance

  At shy anemones;

  Once more the banished, lovelorn

  Nightingale will bring

  His passion to the rose

  And there sublimely sing;

  And if I leave the mosque

  For wine, don’t sneer at me –

  Sermons are long, and time

  Moves on incessantly.

  My heart, if you postpone

  Today’s enjoyment, who

  Will guarantee the cash

  Of happiness to you?

  Drink before fasting, drink,

  Don’t put your glass down yet –

  Since Ramadan draws near

  And pleasure’s sun must set.

  How sweet the roses are!

  Enjoy them now, for they

  As quickly as they bloomed

  Will fall and fade away.

  We’re all friends here, my boy,

  Sing love songs! Why should you

  Sing yet again, “As that

  Has gone, so this must too”?

  You are why Hafez lives –

  But now, within your heart,

  Prepare to say farewell,

  Since he too must depart.

  IF THAT SHIRAZI TURK WOULD TAKE

  My heart within his loving hand

  I’d give for his dark mole the towns

  Of Bokhara and Samarqand;

  Come boy, and pour the wine’s last drops –

  Since heaven’s courts will not provide

  The gardens of our Mosalla

  Or Roknabad’s green riverside.

  Alas, these rowdy, sweet-voiced gypsies

  Have ripped out patience from my heart,

  Like Turks who make off with a feast’s

  Leftovers when the guests depart.

  My friend’s great beauty has no need

  Of a defective love like mine -

  A lovely face does not require

  Cosmetic arts to make it shine.

  Let’s talk of wine and music, not

  Of Fate, and how the heavens revolve -

  Theirs is a riddle no man’s wisdom

  Has solved yet, or will ever solve.

  Given the beauty Joseph had

  I understood love could not fail

  To tempt Zuleikha to discard

  Her chastity’s enclosing veil.

  You slandered me, and you spoke well –

  May God forgive you what you said!

  A bitter answer suits such lips,

  So sugar-sweet and ruby-red.

  But listen to advice, my dear -

  Those who are young and fortunate

  Prefer the wisdom of the old

  To their own souls’ uncertain state.

  Hafez, your poem’s written now,

  The pearl you’ve pierced is poetry’s;

  Sing sweetly – heaven grants your verse

  The necklace of the Pleiades.

  FLIRTATIOUS GAMES, AND YOUTH,

  And wine like rubies glowing;

  Convivial company,

  And drink that’s always flowing;

  A sweet-mouthed boy to serv
e

  And sweet-voiced singers too,

  An elegant, dear friend

  Who’s seated next to you;

  A kindly youngster whose

  Delightful purity

  Would stir the Fount of Youth

  To angry jealousy –

  A stealer of men’s hearts

  Whose charm and loveliness

  Would make the moon herself

  Turn pale and envious;

  A meeting place as though

  Heaven’s high courts surround us,

  With paradise’s roses

  Profusely growing round us;

  Kind-hearted friends to drink with,

  Servants who act discreetly,

  Companions who keep secrets,

  Whom we can trust completely;

  With wine as red as roses,

  Astringent, light to sip,

  Whose tale is garnets, rubies,

  Kissed in a lover’s lip;

  The server’s glance to be

  A sword to plunder reason,

  The lovers’ curls like snares

  To trip hearts with their treason;

  A wit like Hafez, all

  Sweet-talk and repartee,

  A patron like Qavam,

  Whose generosity

  Lights up the world…and may

  The man who turns away

  From pleasures such as these

  Not know one happy day!

  A BLACK MOLE GRACED HIS FACE; HE STRIPPED, AND SHONE

  Incomparable in splendor as the moon;

  He was so slim his heart was visible,

  As if clear water sluiced a granite stone.

  DESIRE’S DESTROYED MY LIFE; WHAT GIFTS HAVE I

  Been given by the blindly turning sky?

  And, such is my luck, everyone I said

  “Dear friend” to loathed me by and by.

  WHAT DOES LIFE GIVE ME IN THE END BUT SORROW?

  What do love’s good and evil send but sorrow?

  I’ve only seen one true companion – pain,

  And I have known no faithful friend but sorrow.

  EACH FRIEND TURNED OUT TO BE AN ENEMY,

  Corruption rotted all their “purity”;

  They say the night is pregnant with new times,

  But since no men are here, how can that be?

  WITH WINE BESIDE A GENTLY FLOWING BROOK – THIS IS BEST;

  Withdrawn from sorrow in some quiet nook – this is best;

  Our life is like a flower’s that blooms for ten short days,

  Bright laughing lips, a friendly fresh-faced look – this is best.

  Jahan Malek Khatun

  For most of these long nights I stay awake

  And go to bed as dawn begins to break;

  I think that eyes that haven’t seen their friend

  Might get some sleep then…this is a mistake.

  HOW LONG WILL YOU BE LIKE

  A cypress tree,

  And lean your lovely head

  Away from me?

  Sorrow is all you’ve ever

  Brought to me;

  I will not ask how long

  I am to be

  The knocker on your door

  You do not see,

  The iron ring you pass

  Obliviously.

  My pillow’s made of absence –

  While you are free

  To taste another’s love,

  Forgetting me.

  If I could follow your

  Curls’ scent I’d see

  A way to let their night

  Envelop me;

  Since you have left me to

  This misery,

  Tears, and a heart on fire

  Are all of me.

  I don’t deserve you, but

  I long to see

  The sunlight of your face

  Shine here, for me.

  Although you’ve shown that you

  Don’t care for me,

  My soul still wishes you

  Prosperity.

  O GOD, I BEG YOU, OPEN WIDE

  The gates of heaven

  For one to whom a heavenly nature

  Had been given;

  Grant her a place in paradise,

  And may the throngs

  Of lovely houris welcome her

  Where she belongs;

  Keep far from her this world’s desires,

  Its grief and spite;

  Bestow your grace on her, and fill

  Her soul with light.

  EACH NEW FLOWER OPENING IN THE MORNING LIGHT,

  Filling my heart with glory and delight…

  Even before its perfume reaches me

  Destruction’s wind has swept it from my sight.

  MY HEART WILL TAKE NO DRUG TO DULL THIS PAIN,

  The seal of Sorrow’s set, and will remain:

  My heart could never tire of your sweet presence,

  Absence is all my life can now contain.

  I DIDN’T KNOW MY VALUE THEN, WHEN I

  Was young, so long ago;

  And now that I have played my part out here,

  What is it that I know?

  I know that, now that both of them have gone,

  Life’s good and bad passed by

  As quickly in my youth as dawn’s first breeze

  Forsakes the morning sky.

  How many ardent birds of longing then

  Were lured down from the air

  By my two ringlets’ curls and coils, to be

  Held trapped and helpless there!

  And in youth’s lovely orchard then I raised

  My head as prettily,

  As gracefully, above the greensward there,

  As any cypress tree;

  Until, with charming partners to oppose me,

  I took up lovers’ chess,

  And lost so many of love’s pieces to

  My partners’ handsomeness –

  And then how often on the spacious field

  Of beauty I urged on

  My hopeful heart’s untiring steed, always

  Pursuing what was gone.

  Now, as no shoots or leaves remain to me

  From youth, and youth’s delight,

  I fit myself in my old age to face

  The darkness of the night.

  HEART, IN HIS BEAUTY’S GARDEN, I –

  Like nightingales – complain,

  And of his roses now for me

  Only the thorns remain;

  My friends have gathered flowers, but I,

  Because of all his harshness,

  Can find no flowers to gather here

  And search for them in vain.

  My heart is filled with suffering;

  And all my doctor says is,

  “Sugar from him, and nothing else,

  Will lessen your heart’s pain.”

  I’ve filled the world with love for him,

  So why do I receive

  Such cruelty from my dearest love,

  Again, and yet again?

  My free will’s gone from me, so how

  Can my poor ears accept

  All the advice my clever tutor’s

  Homilies contain?

  No, in the pre-dawn darkness, I

  Am like the nightingale

  That in the orchards sings the rose

  Its old love-sick refrain.

  I hear it’s strangers whom you welcome,

  Whom you make much of now;

  Let me then be a stranger in

  The kingdom where you reign.

  IF YOU SHOULD KISS ME WITH

  Your ruby lips, my dear,

  I’d be your slave and wear

  Your earring in my ear.

  Who has such lovely eyes,

  Or lips, or cheeks, as you?

  Who has your hair, your neck,

  Or your complexion? Who?

  Who’s seen a moon wear such

  A hat? And who is there

  Who’s seen a cypress tree

  Wr
apped in the cloak you wear?

  O God, give me the rose

  And not the thorns of love;

  O God, don’t nip me with

  Those lips I’m dreaming of.

  I’m like a cooking pot

  That’s placed upon love’s fire –

  All day and night I seethe

  And bubble with desire;

  I’ve cried too much since you’ve

  Been absent from my sight;

  What do you know of all

  That I endured last night?

  Why have you hurt my heart

  With grief, so callously?

  And what’s made you forget

  Your promises to me?

  MY HEART IS TANGLED LIKE THICK CURLS

  And no one hears me grieve;

  In all the world I’ve no friend since

  You said you had to leave.

  What will become of this poor wretch

  With no friend at her side,

  With no one but her own despair

  In whom she can confide?

  Tell me about his eyes and heart –

  Absence, give me his news,

  Pour out the wine now, glass by glass;

  Pour for me, don’t refuse.

  Your leaving is a sword that’s pierced

  My memory; ah, give

  The balm of your return to me,

  Quickly, and let me live.

  You know your kindness, O my love,

  And it alone will burn,

  In all the world, my aching heart

  For good and bad in turn.

  O God, why have You made my back

  Bow down beneath the weight

  Of his long absence? Why have You

  Reduced me to this state?

  The stream that flows within this garden

  Says to the cypress tree,

  “May God forbid your shade should ever

  Diminish over me!”

  I didn’t start this love that makes

  Me suffer so, and grieve;

  These games of love were started first

  When Adam sinned with Eve.

  SWEET BREEZE RETURN TO ME, YOU BEAR

  The scent of my belovèd’s hair.

  I suffered while you were away;

  You’ll bring the balm for my despair.

  My doctors are so sick of all

  My sicknesses; but I know where

  The medicine lies – it’s in the scent

  You’ll bring to me from his sweet hair.