Tangos of the Willows

Yo pienso como el cipres

 

 

Translation:

I will be like the willow,
I will be like the willow,
though I last one hundred years,
I will be like the willow,
that sways in the air,
but remains firm,
but remains firm.

I think like the cypress,
I think like the cypress,
the truest of truths,
the truest of truths,
that on which I stand.

For God’s sake, Lord Mayor,
Don’t hit the thieves,
because you have a child,
and part of their hearts,
ay ay ay Mother,
ay ay ay Mother.

If you comb your hair with the comb,
canastero and comb,
I can assure you
that you will curl your hair,
that you can curl,
your black hair, your hair,
if you comb your hair with the comb,
the comb of the castanero.

From the root of an olive tree
my Gypsy mother was born
and I, as her son,
I am a stem of the same branch.
Oh mai, mai oh,
Oh Mother, oh Mother.

And this scarf,
and this handkerchief,
I carry with me,
for when I cry,
I release you,
for when I cry,
I release you.

The Virgin of Remedios
has her dark face,
and the child in her arms,
handsomer than the lily.
Oh Mother, oh Mother.

I live in love, and for me your kisses,
are like the source of my thoughts.
I live in love ..

 

Original:

Ay yo seré como la mimbre,
que yo seré como la mimbre,
aunque cien años yo dure,
y yo seré como la mimbre,
y que la bambolea el aire,
pero se mantiene firme,
pero se mantiene firme.

Yo pienso como el ciprés,
yo pienso como el ciprés,
la verdad más verdadera,
la verdad más verdadera,
la de mantenerse en pié.

Por Dios, alcalde mayor,
no pegue usted a los ladrones,
porque usted tiene una niña,
y que parte los corazones,
ay ay ay mare,
ay ay ay mare.

Si te peinas con el peine,
y el peine del canastero,
y yo te puedo asegurar
y que se te riza a ti el pelo,
que se te puede rizar,
tu pelo negro, tu pelo,
si te peinas con el peine,
el peine del canastero.

De la raíz de un olivo
ay nació mi mare gitana,
y yo, como soy su hijo,
tronco de la misma rama.
Oh mai, oh mai,
oh mare, oh mare.

Y este pañuelo,
y este pañuelo,
lo llevo conmigo,
pa cuando yo lloro,
lo estreno contigo,
pa cuando yo lloro,
lo estreno contigo.

La Virgen de los Remedios
tiene su cara morena,
y el niño que está en sus brazos,
más guapo que la azucena.
Oh mare, oh mare.

Yo vivo enamorao y para mí tus besos,
son como la fuente de mis pensamientos.
Yo vivo enamorao..

 

El Embrujo de tus ojos

 

 

Translation:

I will be like the willow,
I will be like the willow,
though I last one hundred years,
I will be like the willow,
that sways in the air,
but remains firm,
but remains firm.

It appeared, it appeared,
In a dream vanishing my happiness.
God, how I remember.
I remember that day.
If great was my torment
still greater was my joy
when I woke from sleep
and I saw that it was a lie.

And I gaze at the firmament,
and I tell the stars,
of my worship and thought,
and that I adore the name Gema Gema.
When I remember you,
what a beautiful name you carry,
Gema, Gema, Gema.

When I remember you,
the spell of your eyes
that will not let me live
Like children, I cry
remembering you.
You do not go,
you do not go,
Do not leave me alone.
You do not leave me.

Look at me, and I cry,
and you say softly
“Why did you leave me?”

You and I on the blanket,
You and I in the moonlight,
and your black eyes sparkled,
reflecting tenderness.

 

Original:

Yo seré como la mimbre,
que yo seré como la mimbre,
aunque cien años yo dure,
y, yo seré como la mimbre,
y que la bambolea el aire,
pero se mantiene firme,
pero se mantiene firme.

Se apareció, se apareció,
en un ensueño despidiendo mi alegría.
Dios mío, cómo me acuerdo.
Yo me acuerdo de aquel día.
Si grande fue mi tormento
más grande fue mi alegría
cuando desperté del sueño
y yo vi que era mentira.

Y yo repaso el firmamento,
y me dicen las estrellas,
y que adorara el pensamiento,
y que adorara yo el nombre de Gema, Gema.
Cuando me acuerdo de ti,
qué bonito nombre llevas,
Gema, Gema, Gema.

 

Cuando me acuerdo de ti,
del embrujo de tus ojos
que no me dejan vivir.
Como los niños yo lloro
y acordándome de ti.
Tú no te vayas,
tu no te vayas,
tú no me dejes solo.
Tú no te vayas de mí.

Y me miras, y me lloras,
y tú me dices bajito
¿por qué me abandonas?

Tú y yo sobre la manta,
tú y yo bajo la luna,
y brillaban tus ojos negros,
reflejando la ternura.

 

I am wind, you are fire

Rumi

 

 

 

Translation:

I saw myself as a thorn, so I went towards a rose

I saw myself as vinegar, so I mixed myself in sugar

I was a bowl full of poison, so I went to the cure

I was a cup of dregs, so I dived into the water of life

My eye was full of pain, so I sought Jesus’ hand

I saw myself as raw, so I mixed with the ripe

I found the dust of love’s alley to be the soul’s eye-liner

And I became poetry in the subtlety of that dust I mixed

Love said, “Yes, that’s right,”  you said, “But don’t see it [as coming] from your self.”

I am wind and you are fire, I enliven you and inspire

 

 

Original:

خویش را چون خار دیدم سوی گل بگریختم
خویش را چون سرکه دیدم در شکر آمیختم
کاسه پرزهر بودم سوی تریاق آمدم
ساغری دردی بدم در آب حیوان ریختم
دیده پردرد بودم دست در عیسی زدم
خام دیدم خویش را در پخته‌ای آویختم
خاک کوی عشق را من سرمه جان یافتم
شعر گشتم در لطافت سرمه را می بیختم
عشق گوید راست می گویی ولی از خود مبین
من چو بادم تو چو آتش من تو را انگیختم

 

 

Camaron

 

 

Translation:

 

CHORUS 
I am the wind 
you are the fire 
and I want to burn in your embers 
or you can turn off the light with a little water
Leilere, lere lereilere 

 

2nd verse:
Why don’t you look for me
I need you to find me
my world is a cold forest
in which I lose myself
my world is an empty thing
since only you can relieve me
I’m lost
and my love is so sincere
that sometimes without losing you
I am scared of losing you
if I lose you
I’ll take a kiss from your mouth
and I want to dream of you, awake
with you, with you
Leilere lerelerelereilere

 

 

Original:

Tu mare y la mía
se habían disgustao
pelillos del roete
se han arrancao
Por que no te vienes
y me ayudas a levantarme
no ves que yo estoy caio
tengo el corazón partío tengo el corazón herio
y como no seas tú quien lo alivie
no encuentra alivio

 

ESTRIBILLO
yo soy el viento
tu eres la hoguera
y yo en tus brasas quemarme quisiera
ni el agüita claralo podrá apagar
Leilere, lere lereilere

 

Por qué no me buscas
necesito que me encuentres
mi mundo es un bosque frio
en el que yo me extravio mi mundo es algo vacioy como no seas tú quien lo alivies
yo estoy perdio
Por eso mi cariño es tan sincero
que a veces sin perderte siento miedo
de perderte
si te pierdo
te hago beso de tu boca
y te quiero soñar dispierto
contigo, contigo
Leilere lerelerelereilere

 

Love and Beauty, Unity and Multiplicity, Realization and Reason

Three of my favorite verses of Arabic poetry (the last of which is from Ibn al-Farid) form a lovely meditation on these three topics (Love, Unity, and Truth), when taken together. 

 

“Various positions have those who love from (mere) passion
But I have a unique place, in which I dwell alone.”

 

 

مذاهب شتى للمحبّين في الهوى            و لي مدهب فرد أعيش به وحدي

 

Our expressions our many,
and your beauty is one
And it is to your beauty
that all of them allude

عباراتنا  شتّى و حسنك واحد      و كلّ إلى ذاك الجمال يشير

 

How often argument creates disputes amongst the clever
and how often beauty mediates between the lovers

 

فكم بين حذاق الجدال تنازع                وما بين عشاق الجمال تنازع

 

Cups and wine and vine-Hafez

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.

 

Original:

 

دوش دیدم که ملائک در میخانه زدند
گل آدم بسرشتند و به پیمانه زدند

 

ساکنان حرم ستر و عفاف و ملکوت
با من راه نشین باد مستانه زدند

 

شکر ایزد که میان من و او صلح افتاد
صوفیان رقص کنان ساغر شکرانه زدند

 

آسمان بار امانت نتوانست کشید
قرعه فال به نام من دیوانه زدند

 

آتش آن نیست که از شعله او خندد شمع
آتش آنست که در خرمن پروانه زدند

 

جنگ هفتاد و دو ملت همه را عذر بنه
چون ندیدند حقیقت ره افسانه زدند

 

ما بصد خرمن پند و اندرز ره چون نرویم
چون ره آدم خاکی بیکی دانه زدند

 

کس چو حافظ نگشاد از رخ اندیشه نقاب
تا سر زلف عروسان سخن شانه زدند

 

Translation:

When you drink wine, sprinkle
A few drops on the ground—
What’s there to fear from sin
That spreads much joy around?

 

Go, drink up all you have,
Drink now and don’t delay—
Death’s dagger won’t delay
Dispatching you one day.

 

My cypress-slender love,
By the dust on which you tread,
Don’t hesitate to visit
My dust when I am dead

 

In heaven or in hell,
For angels or for men
In every faith — to hold back
Counts as a mortal sin.

 

The architect of heaven
Who gave the world its shape
Has sealed its six directions
So that there’s no escape.

 

The daughter of the vine
Leads Reason all astray—
May the vine’s trellis stand
Unharmed till Judgement Day!

 

And may your dear friends’ prayers,
Hafez, when you depart
Via the wine-shop’s door,
Accompany your heart.

 

 Original:
                  اگر شراب خوری جرعه‌ای فشان بر خاک
از آن گناه که نفعی رسد به غیر چه باک
                 برو به هر چه تو داری بخور دریغ مخور
که بی‌دریغ زند روزگار تیغ هلاک
                       به خاک پای تو ای سرو نازپرور من
که روز واقعه پا وامگیرم از سر خاک
                   چه دوزخی چه بهشتی چه آدمی چه پری
به مذهب همه کفر طریقت است امساک
                            مهندس فلکی راه دیر شش جهتی
چنان ببست که ره نیست زیر دیر مغاک
                      فریب دختر رز طرفه می‌زند ره عقل
مباد تا به قیامت خراب طارم تاک
                      به راه میکده حافظ خوش از جهان رفتی
دعای اهل دلت باد مونس دل پاک

 

Translation:

Good wine, that doesn’t stupefy
That’s served by someone pretty—who
Among the wise men of this world
Escapes the snares set by these two?

 

It’s true I’m dissolute, in love,
Known as a shiftless miscreant…
A thousand thanks, then, that this town
Provides friends who are innocent.

 

If you should step inside our wine shop,
Look to your manners while you’re there—
The crowd that hangs around its door
Are the king’s cronies, so take care!

 

Cruelty is not the way of pilgrims,
Poor men who seek their journey’s end;
Bring wine! These “pilgrims” here are going
Nowhere, for all that they pretend.

 

But don’t despise the beggar’s lost
In hopeless love, don’t put them down—
They’re kings, though this one has no scepter
Monarchs, though that one has no crown

 

Don’t mar your loveliness, don’t let
The glory of your charm be shattered—
You’ll find your servants and your slaves
And all your retinue have scattered

 

I am the slave of those who drink
Life to the dregs, but not of those
Who hide a blackened heart beneath
The showy splendor of their clothes

 

Be ready, for a winnowing wind
Will blow—none of us sha;; remain,
And all devotions’s thousand harvests
Will not be worth a barley grain.

 

Love is the nobler task—up then,
Hafez, and seek it while you may,
For lovers will not let the timid
Amble beside them on love’s way.

 

 

Translations from Dick Davis. Faces of Love: Hafez and the Poets of Shiraz. Mage, 2012.

 

Original:

شراب بى غش و ساقى خوش دو دام رهند               كه زيركان جهان از كمندشان نرهند
من ار چه عاشقم و رند و مست و نامه سياه               هزار شكر كه ياران شهر بى گنهند
جفا نه پيشه ء درويشى است و راهروى                 بيار باده كه اين سالكان نه مرد رهند
مبين حقير گدايان عشق را كاين قوم                       شهان بى كمر و خسروان بى كلهند
به هوش باش كه هنگام باد استغناء                       هزار خرمن طاعت به نيم جو ننهند
مكن كه كوكبه ء دلبرى شكسته شود                     چو بندگان بگريزند و چاكران بجهند
غلام همت دردى كشان يك رنگم                      نه آن گروه كه ازرق لباس و دل سيهند
قدم منه به خرابات جز به شرط ادب                       كه سالكان درش محرمان پادشهند

جناب عشق بلندست همتى حافظ
كه عاشقان ره بى همتان به خود ندهند

 

And my own Hafez-style poem…

If you see cup and wine as two, you haven’t drunk enough
In this tavern, we drink love’s molten glass, served by the cup

 

And when the sparkling wine is swirled and left still to breathe well
That’s just the glass-blower whispering his secret sculpting spells

 

Not only does this wine redden cups’ sweet cheeks and their lips
Its pouring gives them lovely shapes and their bright translucence

 

The heavens are but spinning glasses cast from frozen wine
How strange that they all seem to fit within this cup of mine

 

Inside my glass, last night, I saw your face, mingling with mine
In drunken clarity, I sipped myself in your outline

 

The fine lines of your lips are just the rippling of this wine
And so we drink and kiss ‘till I can’t tell what’s yours from mine

 

Last night, I got so drunk I sold my soul for cups of wine
I’m back to see what I can get for my body this time

 

My heart’s the secret flask of that most thirsty of madmen
Who drained the wine, drank the dry glass, then downed the whole tavern

 

Bilqis thought our way was water, but soon learned this glass held wine
Sulayman’s tricked many spirits into these bottles of rhymes

 

Though everyone loves wine’s bouquet, who likes the drunkard’s belch?
Be quiet, hold your drink, and keep its secrets to yourself.

Points of Ink, Gasps of Breath

“All that is in the Revealed books is in the Qur’an, and all that is in the Qur’an is in the Fatihāh, and all that is in the Fatihāh is in ‘Bismi ‘Llāhi ‘r-Rahmāni ‘r-Rahīm.’

“All that is in  ‘Bismi ‘Llāhi ‘r-Rahmāni ‘r-Rahīm’ is in the letter , which itself is contained in the point that is beneath it.”

-Prophetic traditions
qtd. in Lings, M. A Sufi Saint of the Twentieth Century.  Islamic Texts Society, 1993 p. 148

 

Because the people of this world are in the station where forms are gathered and meanings are separated, they witness various letters as unified and letters which are of one species as numerous individual parts.  Thus when they look at the the letters:

يحبّهم و يحبّونه

(He loves them and they love him, Qur’an 5:54)

they see a unified species which is divided in its parts.  However, those who have divested themselves of this world—for whom the veil has been lifted and the clouds of doubt and blindness have dispersed from the face of their insight—[they] see these letters through inner sight in this way:

ي ح ب ه م

Then, when they ascend from this station to a higher station, they see them as tiny dots.

-Mulla Sadra Shirazi, quoting ‘Ayn al-Qudat Hamadani

qtd. in Rustom, M. The Triumph of Mercy. SUNY, 2012. p. 124

 

 

 

 


“The point and the ink are interchangeable as symbols in that writing is made up of a series of points of ink…”

 

The Letters are the signs of the ink: there is not one,
Save what the ink hath anointed; their own colour is pure illusion.
The ink’s colour it is that hath come into manifest being.
Yet it cannot be said that the ink hath departed from what it was.
The inwardness of the letters lay in the ink’s mytery,
And their outward show is through its self-determination.
They are its determinations, its activities,
And naught is there but it.  Understand thou the parable!
They are not it; say not that they are it!
To say so were wrong, and to say “it is they” were raving madness.
For it was before the letters, when not letter was;
And it remaineth, when no letter at all shall be.
Look well at each letter: thou seest it hath already perished
But for the face of the ink, that is, for the Face of His Essence,
Unto Whom All Glory and Majesty and Exaltation!
Even thus the letters, for all their outward show, are hidden,
Being overwhelmed by the ink, since their show is none other than its.
The letter addeth naught to the ink, and taketh naught from it,
But revealeth its integrality in various modes,
Without changing the ink.  Do ink and letter together make two?
Realize then the truth of my words: no being is there
Save that of ink, for him whose understanding is sound;
And wheresoe’er be the letter, there with it is always its ink.
Open thine intellect unto these parables and heed them

 

– ‘Abd al-Ghani an-Nabulusi qtd. in A Sufi Saint of the Twentieth Century p. 150-1


 

In one of his best known explications of the nature of things, Ibn al-‘Arabî looks at God’s creativity as an analogue of human speech. Just as we create words and sentences in the substratum of breath, so God creates the universe by articulating words in the Breath of the All-Merciful (nafas al-rahmân), which is the deployment of existence (inbisât al-wujûd); indeed, existence itself is synonymous with mercy (rahma).

 

From : Chittick, William, “Ibn Arabi”, The Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy (Fall 2008 Edition), Edward N. Zalta (ed.),
<http://plato.stanford.edu/archives/fall2008/entries/ibn-arabi/>.

 

 

Let not the lies of teeth and tongue
Or dancing lips distract you from
The union of all speech in breath
A music from behind our death
All that’s spoken or that’s heard
Is but that wind inside the words
That howling, longing sigh that stirs
Our soul’s flames to ascend like birds
So this is all we have to say:
A fiery sigh when we’re apart
A gasping cry when the bright ray
Of your dark eyes pierces my heart

 

 

The echo of that sigh born from
the pregnant silence of your mouth
Flows through the world like wind and fire
Breathing all sounds in and back out
Souls like whisps of bright desire
Curl round your lips like your dark hair
Swimming in your voice’s choir
We’re all just breath, words of your prayer

 

When she begins to sway — لمّا بدا يتثنى

Another gem from al-Andalus:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JRGlzIhWgAY

 

 

 

 

Translation (of the most common version, in Arabic below):

When she began to sway
my Love’s beauty entranced me
With a glance, she captured me
the branch bends when it sways
O my promise, O my wonder,
None can console my complaint
of love and my sufferings
except the queen of beauty

 

Original:

لما بدا يتثنى
حبي جماله فتنا

 

او ما بلحظه أسرنا 
غصنٌ ثنا حين مال

 

وعدي ويا حيرتي
من لي رحيم في شكوتي
بالحب من لوعتي
إلا مليكُ الجمال

 

Compare with the famous opening of Rumi’s Mathnawi:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4tSfqUuipU8

 

 

Translation:

1. Listen to the reed how it narrates a tale,
A tale of all the separations of which it complains.

2. Ever since they cut me from the reed-bed,
Men and women bemoaned my lament.

3. How I wish in separation, a bosom shred and shred,
So as to utter the description of the pain of longing.

4. Whoever becomes distanced from his roots,
Seeks to return to the days of his union.

5. I joined every gathering uttering my lament,
Consorting with the joyous and the sorrowful.

6. Everyone befriended me following his own opinion,
No one sought the secrets from within me.

7. My secret is not far away from my lament,
Yet, eye and ear do not possess that light.

8. Body is not hidden from soul, nor soul from body,
Yet, none has the license to see the soul.

 

–Translation by Seyyed Hossein Nasr. From “The Lament of the
Reed: Rumi,” translated and recited by Seyyed Hossein Nasr,
music directed by Suleyman Ergunerm, 2000.

Original:

 

بشنو از نی چون حکایت می کند
از جدایی ها شکایت می کند

 

کز نیستان تا مرا ببریده اند
از نفیرم مرد و زن نالیده اند

 

سینه خواهم شرحه شرحه از فراق
تا بگویم شرح درد اشتیاق

 

هر کسی کو دور ماند از اصل خویش
بازجوید روزگار وصل خویش

 

من به هر جمعیتی نالان شدم
جفت بدحالان و خوشحالان شدم

 

هر کسی از ظن خود شد یار من
از دورن من نجست اسرار من

 

سر من از نالهٔ من دور نیست
لیک چشم و گوش را آن نور نیست

 

تن ز جان و جان ز تن مستور نیست
لیک کس را دید جان دستور نیست

 

 

The Virgin Birth

 

Rumi 

The body is like Mary. Each of us has a Jesus, but so long as no pain appears, our Jesus is not born. If pain never comes, our Jesus goes back to his place of origin on the same secret path he had come, and we remain behind, deprived and without a share of him. 

trans. Annemarie Schimmel. I Am Wind, You are Fire; The Life and Work of Rumi.  Shambhala, Boston 1996. p. 122

If you bathe your soul for one instant in the veil of his love
 Like Mary, from one breath, you’ll see Jesus conceived
If like Mary, you conceive the Messiah without a father
Your face will turn saffron-yellow (from pain)


Original:

یک نفس در پرده عشقش چو جانت غسل کرد
همچو مریم از دمی بینی تو عیسی زاییی
چون بزادی همچو مریم آن مسیح بی‌پدر
گردد این رخسار سرخت زعفران سیماییی

 

 

Angelus Silesius

 

The Virgin I must be and bring God forth from me
should ever I be granted divine felicity.

 

 When God lay hidden in the womb of a young virgin,
It happened that the point fully contained the circle.

 

God is my center, if I do encompass Him
My circle he becomes, I am enclosed in Him.

 

The Virgin is a crystal, her son celestial light;
Wholly she is pierced by him, yet unimpaired she shines.

 

The soul that’s viriginal and naught but God conceives
Can pregnant be with God as often as it pleases.

 

trans. from Maria Shrady.  Angelus Silesius: The Cherubinic Wanderer.  Paulist Press, 1986.

 



Along the path…

The love of her beauty is a sea of fire.
      If you’re a lover you’ll burn; such is the path.
Where a bright candle’s flame suddenly heaves
      won’t the moth burn?  Its burning is certain.
If you want love’s secret, leave faith and disbelief.
     What room is there for them in Love’s entrance?
The lover who comes to the path’s first stage
     falls in frailty like a shadow upon the ground.
After a while nothing remains of the shadow
   because the sun lies in wait in a distant place
Many thousands of travellers made pretence of Love
   Mansur is like the gemstone on the seal of the path.
Anyone who claims the pearl of truth from this sea
   is forever cherised in the courts of both worlds
The task of this path is extremely arduous;
   one person each millenium sees the path through
How will you know the people of the path? for they
   first walk on this path, then on the seventh heaven
Along the path, ‘Attar came upon a place
   higher than body and soul, outside of kindness and hate.

 

modified from K. Avery and A. Alizadeh.  Fifty Poems of ‘Attar.  Anomaly, 2007

Original:

    عشق جمال جانان دریای آتشین است
گر عاشقی بسوزی زیرا که راه این است
   جایی که شمع رخشان ناگاه بر فروزند
پروانه چون نسوزد کش سوختن یقین است
   گر سر عشق خواهی از کفر و دین گذر کن
کانجا که عشق آمد چه جای کفر و دین است
   عاشق که در ره آید اندر مقام اول
چون سایه‌ای به خواری افتاده در زمین است
   چون مدتی برآید سایه نماند اصلا
کز دور جایگاهی خورشید در کمین است
   چندین هزار رهرو دعوی عشق کردند
برخاتم طریقت منصور چون نگین است
   هرکس که در معنی زین بحر بازیابد
در ملک هر دو عالم جاوید نازنین است
   کاری قوی است عالی کاندر ره طریقت
بر هر هزار سالی یک مرد راه‌بین است
    تو مرد ره چه دانی زیرا که مرد ره را
اول قدم درین ره بر چرخ هفتمین است
    عطار اندرین ره جایی فتاد کانجا
برتر ز جسم و جان است بیرون ز مهر و کین است

 

 

Translation of lyrics:

Walking, walking, walking alone
I found my gypsy bathing in the river

 

She can not live without me,
I can not live without her,
I am the sun that shines,
she is for me the star,
that illuminates my dream!

 

Walking, walking, walking alone
I found my gypsy bathing in the river

 

She is my joy
When your hair caresses my face,
Between my kisses I get lost gazing in
Your black eyes and I’m going crazy

 

Original:
Caminando,caminando,caminando voy solito
a buscar a mi gitana que lavando esta en el rio!
No puede vivir sin mi,
no puedo vivir sin ella,
yo soy el sol q le alumbra,
ella es para mi la estrella,
la que alumbra mi sueño!

 

Caminando,caminando,caminando voy solito
a buscar a mi gitana que lavando esta en el rio!
Ella es mi alegria
cuando su pelo acaricia mi cara
y entre mis besos yo me pierdo mirando
sus ojos negros y yo me vuelvo loco

 

 

And Joy, whose hand is ever at his lips, bidding adieu

Hafez
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
Adivce; 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 her?
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.”

 

From: Dick Davis.  Faces of Love: Hafez and the Poets of Shiraz.  Mage, 2012

 

غزل 315- به غیر از آن که بشد دین و دانش از دستم

Original:
بغیــر از آنکـــه بشد دین و دانـش از دستـــــم
بیــا بگــــو که ز عشقت چــــه طرف بربستـم
اگـــر چه خرمن عمـــرم غم تو داد بیـــــــــاد
بخـــاک پای عـــزیزت که عهـــــد نشکستـــم
چـــو ذره گـــر چه حقیـــرم ببین بدولت عشق
که در هــــوای رخت چون به مهــــر پیوستم
بیار باده که عمـــریست تا من از ســــــرا من
به کنج عــــافیت از بهـــــــر عیـش ننشستـــم
اگـــر زمـــردم هشیاری ای نصحیت گـــــــو
سخن بخاک میفکـــن چـــــرا کــــه من مستم
چگونه سر ز خجالت بر آورم بـــــــر دوست
که خـــدمتی به سزا بر نیامــــــــد از دستــــم
بسوخت حافظ و آن یـــــار دلســـــوز نـــگفت
کـــه مـــرهمی بفـــرستم که خاطرش خستـــم

 

Camaron

Translation:

Life is an illusion
that no one lives without
nor can it be solved
Because it’s like a star
no one has ever reached

When I met you I loved you
I gave you love and warmth
and finally I realized
that was a mistake
that I suffered with you

 

Original:

La vida es una ilusión
que nadie vive sin ella
y no tiene solución
porque es como una estrella
que jamás nadie alcanzó

Cuando yo a ti te conocí
te di cariño y calor
y al final me convencí
que fue una equivocación
la que yo contigo sufrí

 

Keats

Two stanzas from “An Ode to Melancholy”:

But when the melancholy fit shall fall
Sudden from heaven like a weeping cloud,
That fosters the droop-headed flowers all,
And hides the green hill in an April shroud;
Then glut thy sorrow on a morning rose,
Or on the rainbow of the salt sand-wave,
Or on the wealth of globed peonies;
Or if thy mistress some rich anger shows,
Emprison her soft hand, and let her rave,
And feed deep, deep upon her peerless eyes.

She dwells with Beauty – Beauty that must die;
And Joy, whose hand is ever at his lips
Bidding adieu; and aching Pleasure nigh,
Turning to poison while the bee-mouth sips:
Ay, in the very temple of Delight
Veil’d Melancholy has her sovran shrine,
Though seen of none save him whose strenuous tongue
Can burst Joy’s grape against his palate fine;
His soul shall taste the sadness of her might,
And be among her cloudy trophies hung.

 

Zen and the snowman

At the peak of my soul’s depths
I sit in silent reverie
The sun above, weather below
The vast blue breathes in, out of me

 

The Snow Man
by Wallace Stevens

One must have a mind of winter
To regard the frost and the boughs
Of the pine-trees crusted with snow;

And have been cold a long time
To behold the junipers shagged with ice,
The spruces rough in the distant glitter

Of the January sun; and not to think
Of any misery in the sound of the wind,
In the sound of a few leaves,

Which is the sound of the land
Full of the same wind
That is blowing in the same bare place

For the listener, who listens in the snow,
And, nothing himself, beholds
Nothing that is not there and the nothing that is.

 

Hafez says…

          حافظ سخن بگوی که بر صفحه جهان    

این نقش ماند از قلمت یادگار عمر

 

But those whose lives are centered on
Your lovely mouth confess
No other thoughts than this, and think
Nothing of Nothingness

 

                  بيا و هستي حافظ ز پيش او برد
که با وجود تو کس نشنود ز من که منم

 

Come, and make sure Hafez’s being
will disappear-
Since You exist, no one will hear
Me say, “I’m here.”