Part 1

Chapter 13,914 wordsPublic domain

SONGS OF HAFIZ

Songs of Hafiz

_Newly Translated from the Persian_

BY EDNA WORTHLEY UNDERWOOD

BOSTON THE FOUR SEAS COMPANY 1917

_Copyright, 1917, by_ THE FOUR SEAS COMPANY

THE FOUR SEAS PRESS BOSTON MASS. U. S. A.

CONTENTS

THE BOOK OF THE TAVERN KEEPER 9 NOTES 19

THE BOOK OF THE SINGER 25 NOTES 33

THE BOOK OF LYRICS 35 NOTES 76

SAKINÂME

THE BOOK OF THE TAVERN KEEPER

Bring on the wine! Light inspiration’s fires! To genius, to ambition, bring fresh desires!

Once my well hoarded wealth these virtues rare, Until Love basely did my soul ensnare.

Bring on the fluid gold! ’Tis Noah’s life boon, And fabled treasure gives rich as Karun!

To him who thus lifts up a prayerful eye The Gateways of Desire will open fly.

Bring on the golden fire which in Earth’s breast Old Zoroaster sought with pious zest.

When crowned with love and wine, why should we care Whether we pray to Earth or Fire or Air!

Bring on the wine, the dream, the dear delight! Dawn-rosy paints the Cup of Dschem the night.

Bring on Dschem’s Magic Cup, that by its might I may explore the secrets of the light.

Dschem’s Magic Cup bring me! Make haste, I say! When’er you find it empty, fill it, pray.

This royal word spake Great Dschemschid of old: “One grain of wheat will all Earth’s treasure hold.”

Bring on the cup, sparkling like Selsebil! My pole star be it, topping Heaven’s hill.

When flute and either shed their sweetness down, The cup I’d not exchange for King Kei’s crown.

Bring on, I say again, the virgin wine, Unsmirched of tavern smoke and pure and fine.

Bring joy back to my heart once more, though I Gather the gossiping world’s grudges thereby.

Bring joy’s fire back, which once should wild beasts know, The mighty forests would be leveled low.

Alone it frees from coil of change and time, And for me opens the tent door divine.

Bring on the wine! In it the Houris smiled! There Heaven keeps their sweet breath undefiled.

Oh! with it I will quench this passion’s glow, A little while at feet of Peace sit low.

Bring wine whose rosy light strikes up the sky To greet there for me Dschemshid and King Kei!

It is then I’ll ask, when flutes shed sweetness down-- “When wore Kawusz and when Dschemshid the crown?”

Oh! life is but a substance made for song! With song call back again the royal throng.

Let each one rule awhile beneath the light! Let wine our dim thoughts strengthen, make more bright!

I lorded it full well the heart’s throne o’er, Till Scorn and Sin shut fast on me the door.

Bring wine! Bring wine! Thus dissipate my night, Bring softness to my sorrow, to darkness, light!

Its glory now upon me is richly shed, And now the face of Wisdom’s unveilèd.

A spirit glorious was I and free. As dust amid the dust who exiled me?

Yet when the crystal cup my hand does hold, I see the mirrored joys of earth unfold.

At Gates of Sacrifice I bend the knee, And though a beggar, a king seem to be.

Whenever drunken, inspired Hafiz sang, From Heaven Sohre’s lute in answer rang.

Life is a fickle, frail inconstant thing; Seek then within the cup joy’s doubling.

Wine lengthens out alone man’s little day, And makes real for a space the phantom way.

Enjoy the banquet board, the candle light! To none Life keeps the troth that she would plight.

As floating bubbles on a cup of wine, Vanished in dust Keikobad’s might divine.

To sleep send wisely now the griefs of life, And live not as a slave held by heart-strife.

Without the soul the body can not be, How heart, then, without wine-soul, pray, tell me?

Again fill full the glass! Fill full, I say! I drink to all the Kings who lived their day.

Has any, pray, escaped the thirst of Fate, Insatiate of blood, livid with hate?

Let anger not for me thy breast inflame, Because thou of the dust, of flame I came.

Fill full the glass! From out its finer fire Let comfort come forth, courage, and fresh desire.

Incorporate its substance with my soul, Since treasures vanish as sea rivers roll.

Bring wine! To match it rubies do not dare! Let pride and grief unto the devil fare.

The rosary and cowl go with them too, To both, well pledged for wine, a long adieu.

The treasures of the Vine Child flow most free Wherever cloister walls frown heavily.

Should any say to thee: “Beware the sight!” I pray thee answer only: “Friend, good night.”

Bring on the wine! I love its rosy flower. Let me live grandly for one little hour!

Naught else can free my heart from grief a space And show to me the great Life-Giver’s face.

Wine! Wine! that nourisheth the souls of men, Unto the dying holds Life’s mirror up again.

Wine! Wine! My tent I’ll pitch upon the air, And neighbor with the bright star-dwellers there.

Fill full the cup again with rarest wine, Thus fill my spirit with one more divine,

That, Tavern Keeper, double natured I May praise thy wine the worthier thereby.

Come, Saki, let thy glory grace the feast, Although divinely natured it is not least.

Lift up the cup! Make haste! Why shouldst thou fear? In Heaven it is not accounted wrong as here.

Life’s substance, Saki, is thy wine to me; Pour on! Pour on!--though all should emptied be.

To death the circling days had drawn me near, Until I found The Wise Man’s Fountain here.

Quickly that fount of wisdom bring to me! On Rustem’s war steed Raksch I’ll ride grandly!

And like Tuhemten’s hero wield will I The sword of Truth till Falsehood faint and die.

Bring on the onyx-carven crystal cup! I love its joyous fire when lifted up.

A plague be on the bowed slaves of the pen! But Inspiration--let her call again.

Exterminate with fountains of wine-fire The grief that gnaws the heart out of desire.

Make thine the day! Let that be Duty’s thought; Who knows whether another’ll come or not?

All they who once were lords of life and time, And feasted as fond lovers in their prime,

Were forced the tinsel joy-world to forego, And now forgotten in their graves lie low.

Who toward The Tent dares lift a haughty eye? Who counts on joy when all things else pass by?

Alas!--Alas!--that Youth speeds like the wind! Happy alone who keepeth pure his mind.

Saki, bring wine! Beneath its magic power I’ll own the two worlds for my little hour.

That king who stormed the world and swore to take, A banquet is where worms their hunger slake.

From forth the tingling spheres, from Morning’s wing, From out the mouths of Houris these words ring:

“Break through thine earthly cage, Sweet Singer, thou, Where naught but phantoms are hast lived enow!”

“Unto the Heaven wing thy fearless flight, To rest, and reap reward on clearer height.”

Availed it, pray, Great Dschem to rule the world, When from his hopeless hand the cup was hurled?

To make the wine of life the red grape dies, Therefore it needs must make my dead heart rise.

Each brick that yonder roof unto was brought Was some once mighty head, now dust and naught.

With royal blood the clefts of earth are filled, And Beauty’s dust upon the wind is spilled.

One haughty at The Banquet boasted loud, Up-swinging high the cup before the crowd.

“The jest and scorn of Heaven here is seen: The great it humbles and exalts the mean.”

Darius, mortals excelling so far, The assembled kings of earth less kingly are,

As softly stole away when Death cried “Come!” As if he ne’er had stood beneath the sun.

Away now to thy king! For me say this: Thou who dost bravely wear Dschem’s crown I wis--

Seek well the beggar out, his hunger still, Ere yet the Cup of Dschem is thine to fill.

All needlessly the cares of earth confine Since freedom waits for all within the wine!

And now that such a king the scepter owns As never found an equal upon thrones,

Defender of the faith, of peace and right, Of Kingly Kaianian, star most bright,

Give length of days, give good health to our king, Conquest unto his nation, honor bring.

So long as wrong and right draw not a-nigh, And Bull and Ram pasture within the sky,

So long, God grant, may Shah Mansur remain, And blessed be the years o’er which he reign!

In wine which ripens in the glowing south I drink to him with hand and heart and mouth!

NOTES

PAGE 9

Hart, in that part of his essay on Persian poetry which deals with the Tavern Keeper says:

“This characterizes the poetic spirit of the Sufi, the mystic, that he never expresses his teachings in abstract words but wraps them up in an embroidered picture, and expresses everything allegorically, perhaps for the purpose, that the orthodox may be deceived as to the size of the chasm that yawns between deistic Mohammedanism and the pantheistic religion of the Sufi. Since all mysticism is the outgrowth of a superabundant imaginative life, it is natural that the oriental mystic should use beautiful symbols of the senses ... and under the figure of the handsome Tavern Keeper, God is almost always meant. Whether one has always to do with a mystic poem, or a realistic song of love and wine, can not be decided with absolute certainty. And it can not therefore be considered strange that Omar and Hafiz, who have been praised as ‘the mystic tongues,’ should likewise be condemned as free-thinkers and scorners of things sacred.” Zoroaster arose as a teacher and prophet of religion about 900 B. C.

* * * * *

According to the Koran it was not the eating of an apple that drove Adam and Eve from Paradise, but instead a grain of wheat.

* * * * *

According to the religion of Mohammed two angels write down the good deeds and the evil deeds of each person.

“Drunken often is God’s man without wine.” --_Rumi_

* * * * *

Karun was famous for his wealth. The word corresponds to our word Crœsus.

PAGE 10

Dschem or Dschemshid, is the somewhat mythical first king of Persia. Fable has attributed all sorts of exploits and heroic deeds to him. He is a national hero after the manner of King Arthur. He taught the Persians agriculture and useful arts. Firdusi has sung at length of his wars.

* * * * *

Selsebil is a river of Paradise. It is a frequent term of comparison.

“Thou, whose face is Eden and whose lips are Selsebil.”--_Schehab-ed-din-Edib Sabir_

Rumi speaks of “the Fountain Selsebil, which, Sweet Youth, guides you to the gates of Paradise.”

* * * * *

Dschem’s Magic Cup. The eastern fable has it that once a basket of grapes was brought to King Dschem just as he was starting for the hunt. He ordered the grapes to be placed in a costly jar and kept until his return. The hunt lasted longer than he intended. When he returned he found in the jar not grapes but a rich, fragrant liquid. He wrote the word “poison” upon the jar and set it away. One day one of the beauties of the palace who desired to end her life because of unrequited love, found and drank it. Instead of dying she fell into a deep and pleasureful sleep. When she awoke she remembered her dreams and desired to live. She told the courtiers of it. They tasted the poison just as she did and with the same effect. Then wine was made for the first time in Persia and named “the sweet poison.” King Dschem hastened to try it, and so did all his courtiers and his scholars and it became widely celebrated.

The King possessed a golden cup upon the bottom of which the mysteries of earth were revealed. This cup plays an important part in Persian poetry. Goethe’s “König in Thule” seems almost to be a reminiscence of Dschem and his cup of gold.

The fables of the cup are many. It is told of Hafiz that once an old man held out to him a magic cup. He drank of it and became an inspired poet.

* * * * *

Lakschmi, the Venus of Indian mythology, rose from the sea bearing in her hands a magic cup in which was the wine of immortal life.

“Drink with thy lips from the cup of consecrated love of wine of eternity, for from its intoxication is beloved desire born, and heights are found in its depths.”--_Rumi._

PAGE 11

The Houris are the maidens of the Mohammedan Paradise whose beauty delights the faithful after death. Kawusz was Shah of Iran in the days of Rustem. Firdusi makes this mention of him in the Shah-name, where he tells the story of Sorab and Rustem. To Kawusz then they brought this grievous word: “The Throne has lost Rustem, its defense.”

* * * * *

Raksch or Reksch was Rustem’s famous war steed.

PAGE 15

Tuhemten means the strong one, the glorious. It is one of the appellations of the national hero, Rustem, who is the Persian Siegfried or Hercules. Perhaps Samson is the best equivalent, since Rustem’s strength was the gift of God.

* * * * *

Wise Man’s Fount. It is related of the Prophet Chiser that he journeyed into the Land of Darkness where he found the Fountain of Life.

PAGE 17

Great Dschem once wrote this on a stone beside a fountain: “Many have rested and refreshed themselves here and then gone on when the light of the fountain failed. I conquered the world by strength and courage and yet into the grave I can take nothing with me.”

From _The Bostan of Saadi_.

PAGE 18

Shah Mansur. Hafiz lived at his court.

MUGHANNINÂME

THE BOOK OF THE SINGER

Why tarriest, Singer? Take thy lute! ’Tis done! With royal song call back again the royal one.

Be great thoughts, too, our guests with wine and rhyme, And mention of old friends exiled by time.

Bring to our jaded circle joy of June, Let Kul and Ghasel blossom to thy tune.

Grief bowed unto the earth, beggared was I, Once more on wings of song, oh let me fly!

Through richest measured magic, Singer, go, Grief’s curtain lift! The face of Beauty show!

So well let inspiration wing thy flight, That Anahid dances a-down the night,

The maiden harpist, to whose witching song Old friends unto The Banquet backward throng,

Who lifts enwrapt to God the Sufi up As surely as from hand to mouth the cup.

Give tones so vibrant, rich so roundly sweet, The tangling dust of time falls from the feet.

Deliverance bring from cares of sordid earth, Safe sheltered in my heart bring Peace to birth.

Come, Singer, come! Befriend me as of yore! In case the lute fails, let the loud drums roar.

It is best when in the blood wine works its harm, To drown it with the deafening drum’s alarm.

Why tarriest, Singer? Red rose time is here, When nightingales sing sweetest of the year

Embowered within the green. Shall I not know The joy-song of my blood when lutes breathe low?

Come, Singer, through the ear inspire the soul, With fresh songs ever let fresh music roll.

Shatter my heart, My Singer, with thy song! Rebuild it greater, cleared of grief and wrong.

Oh! joy if thou shouldst show such grace to me, Again within my heart youth’s fire set free,--

Youth’s fire!--swift to consume Grey-Grief and Care, And wrinkled Sorrow’s household drive from there.

Why tarriest, Singer? On thy strings strike loud. Come, banish from my breast this beggar crowd!

A beggar sooner hence myself would go When Death calls, than a purple robe to show.

Sweet Singer, swifter strike a-down the strings-- Swifter, I say! A truce to sorrowings!

Or liefer wouldst thou sing an Irak song While blinding tears the swollen eyelids throng?

Come, Singer, since my soul confides in thee, Upon thy truth-pledged word this do for me:

Be shabby Grief’s sad Camps thy glorious goal; With song, pray scatter them, with twirled drums roll!

Spacious with love my heart now shelters thine; Inspire the flute with friendship’s breath divine.

Drown deep thy woe in wine! Suffice that not, Breathe in the flute. By breath even life is bought.

Why tarriest, Singer? Come!--fresh songs, I say! Thy cup is empty? Fill it then straightway,

That we together, new born unto joy, May happy be a space _sans_ Care’s alloy.

And with the others let my own songs meet, Tripping beside thy lute they will seem more sweet.

Let music make my soul her home to-night; Lead on the dance! The cowl I’ll fling from sight!

Upward, inspired, from thought to thought I’ll soar, What time wine’s guarding the tongue’s Tavern Door.

Grief grasps my heart! The two-stringed lute let ring! Nay! Nay!--the three-stringed--to The One Great King!

Fresh songs, My Singer! And brave let them be! I’d have friends hear, exchange their joys with me.

To pleasure them who walk the ways of bliss. Once more pray sing of Barbud and Perwis!

I’ve caught Fate at her knavish tricks again! I’ll toy with Love--forget both life and men!

Upon this gloomy resurrection shore, Alone the blood of grapes is ours to pour.

I watched amazed the dizzy Heaven spin: Who is freed from life to-day? Who will death begin?

Mere fraud and vanity are things of earth; The Night is pregnant. What brings she to birth?

Sure happiness and peace no man’s may be. Who stands safe on a bridge built unsafely?

The vulture’s instinct hath the greedy dust, Which Selm and Tur into the darkness thrust.

Beside this road of ruin, desolate and dead, Efrasiab a palace proud builded.

Where is his great general gone, pray, Prince Piran? And Schideh, where, with sword from Turkestan?

And where their fellow soldiers? No one knows-- Nor over them where reddest blooms the rose.

For struggle, strife and sorrow, Fate made men; One fights best with the sword, one with the pen.

NOTES

PAGE 27

Ghasel and Kul are Persian verse forms. Ghasel is a verse of merry meter. Kul is a somewhat graver form.

PAGE 29

The Irak meter corresponds somewhat to what is meant by our word elegy in that it is frequently dedicated to grief.

PAGE 31

Barbud was a singer at the court of the Sassanian King, Choszrew Perwis, who reigned from 570 to 626.

Selim and Tur were the sons of King Feridun--a mythical King of Iran. They slew their elder brother after he had become king. Later, they, too, were slain by a relative.

Efrasiab was a mighty prince from Turkestan and a dangerous enemy of Persia. He was noted for his love of splendor.

PAGE 32

Schideh was one of the sons of Efrasiab.

THE BOOK OF LYRICS

TO HADSCHI KIWAMEDDIN

Come, come, Saki, in my wine cup Set your scarlet sun a-glow, Singer, lift your sweetest lute up For the founts of fancy flow.

Mirrored in the cup’s rich measure Lips and cheeks like rubies shine, Ah! you do not know the pleasure That flows to me from the wine!

Yet my fond, frail, wine-born fairy, You can hold me but few hours, Till like pines on uplands airy My slim cypress by me towers.

If your heart by love is smitten Unto death no dread path is; Therefore in Fate’s book ’tis written: By love deathless is Hafiz.

When at Judgment’s bar I’m standing, Brighter not will Sheik’s bread shine, Nor a price bring more commanding Than my own forbidden wine.

Morning Wind, you restless rover, Should you her rose-garden pass, Quickly bend a pearl ear over And breathe: “Greetings, sweetest lass!”

TO HADSCHI KIWAMEDDIN

Tell me why should you so cruelly Forget him who gives you love, Since forgetfulness must surely Come some day to all who love?

You have seen your own rich beauty Doubled by wine’s fervent glow; Wherefore then should I know duty When the founts of fancy flow?

Hafiz, out of these pearl tears pure, With which now your cheek is wet, You can make perchance a lure, Catch the Love-bird in the net.

See the Heaven’s great green ocean, And the moon-boat’s silver sheen! They are lost in the greater ocean Of your grace, Kiwameddin.

* * * * *

Tavern Keeper, glasses! Bring me twain forsooth! I would drink elixir Of divinest youth.

Bring the dear defender Against love and pain, Old age’s panacea, Bring me wine again!

If the wine the sun is, The glass is the moon, Bring to me the sun then, Throned there none too soon.

Bring for all my folly A noose wove of wine; Let that stiff neck dangle Whose name is as mine.

Flashing, fiery water Quickly bring to me; Alone ’twill extinguish My heart’s fire-fury!

When the roses leave us, Cry: God grant them rest! Wine, out-crimsoning roses, Bring me--and the west!

Grieve not that bird-music Lasts not over long; Make gay pledge of glasses Sing a sweeter song.

Grieve not that thy youth has With the wild winds flown. Instead strike the either And the barbiton!

Since only in slumber Thy face lights the way, Mandragora brew me! I would sleep for aye!

Tavern Keeper,--glasses! Quickly--one--two--three-- Make me slumber deeply, Deeply dream of thee.

Bring the cup of Hafiz, Rosy, rich, its shine! Whether wrong or right ’tis-- Tavern Keeper--wine!

* * * * *

“Oh! Red Rose,” said the Nightingale, “thee I’ll throne in love apart!” Black envy’s storm broke over him--lo!--a thorn within his heart!

“Mine,” merrily the parrot said, “shall sweetest sugar be.” Misfortune fell upon him and his wish was vanity.

I said: “My Son, Heart’s Dearest, thou art balsam to my eyes!” He is gone. Within the world not a pleasure for me lies.

Drivers, halt the tinkling camels! Let pause the caravan, For my pack has fallen. Find it! Oh! find it if ye can!

Scorn not my dust disfigured face stained o’er and o’er with tears! Of just such mortar always man his regal dwelling rears.

Alas! that Heaven’s moon should stoop to envy one like me, To steal my moon-faced love away to light eternity.

Ah! Hafiz, hadst thou not delayed, grand-children now were thine! Thy wild blood made the passing day always too subtly shine.

* * * * *

If a sweet Turkish maid I know In Shiraz were mine heart and hand, For her cheek’s mole I would bestow Both Bokhara and Samarcand.

Drink wine! Both life and wine are sweet; For what grove as Mosella’s fair? As Roknabad no stream is fleet In Paradise nor anywhere.

Oh! Beauty storms upon my soul As robber Turk upon his prey; It steals my heart, my peace--my soul-- And soon ’twill steal my mind away.

Of wine, pray, talk, of song, of love-- Upon that other world build not! No one has come back from above, Not prophet, saint, nor wise man not.

I’ve heard of Suleika forsooth Who threw aside all wifely shame Because of Beauty’s bounteous youth, And unchastely to Jusuf came.

Vexed are you, Child? Then be it so. Even cruel words become you well! Upon your ruby lips I know I could not sweet from bitter tell!