Who am I?

 

 

Bulleh Shah

Translation:

Bulleh, what do I know about who I am?

I am not a believer in the mosques, nor do I follow the rites of unbelief. I am not among the pure or polluted. I am neither Moses nor Pharoah.

I am not in the Vedas or in the scriptures; I am neither in drugs nor alcohol. I am not among the drunks, neither in waking nor sleeping.

I am not in joy or sadness, neither pollution nor purity. I am not of water or of earth, nor am I of fire or air.

I am not an Arab nor from Lahore, nor an Indian from Nagaur. I am neither Hindu nor a Turk form Peshawar. Nor do I live in Nadaun.

I have not discovered the secret of religion; nor am I born of Adam and Eve. I have not given myself a name, nor am I found sitting still or moving around.

I know I am the First, I know I am Last, I do not recognize anyone else. None is wiser than I. Bulleh, who is the Lord standing here?

 

Original:

بلھا کی جاناں میں کون
نہ میں مومن وچ مسیت آں
نہ میں وچ کفر دی ریت آں
نہ میں پاکاں وچ پلیت آں
نہ میں موسٰی، نہ فرعون
بلھا کی جاناں میں کون
نہ میں اندر بید کتاباں
نہ وچ بھنگاں، نہ شراباں
نہ رہنا وچ خراباں
نہ وچ جاگن، نہ سون
بلھا کی جاناں میں کون
نہ وچ شادی نہ غمناکی
نہ میں وچ پلیتی پاکی
نہ میں آبی نہ میں خاکی
نہ میں آتش نہ میں پون
بلھا کی جاناں میں کون
نہ میں عربی، نہ لاہوری
نہ میں ہندی شہر رنگوری
نہ ہندو نہ ترک پشوری
نہ میں رہنا وچ ندون
بلھا کی جاناں میں کون
نہ میں بھیت مذہب دا پایاں
نہ میں آدم حوا جایا
نہ میں اپنا نام دھرایا
نہ وچ بھٹن، نہ وچ بھون
بلھا کی جاناں میں کون
اول آخر آپ نوں جاناں
نہ کوئی دوجا پچھاناں
میتھوں ہور نہ کوئی سیانا
بلھا! او کھڑا ہے کون؟
بلھا کی جاناں میں کون​

pseudo-Rumi

 

What is to be done, O Muslims? for I do not know myself.
I am neither Christian, nor Jew, nor Magian, nor Muslim.
I am not of the East, nor of the West, nor of the land, nor of the sea;
I am not of Nature’s quarry, nor of the heaven circling above.
I am not made of earth, nor of water, nor of wind, nor fire;
nor of the Divine Throne, nor the carpet, nor the cosmos, nor mineral.
I am not from India, nor China, nor Bulgaria, nor Turkestan;
I am not from the kingdom of the two Iraqs, nor from the earth of Khurasan.
Neither of this world, nor the next, I am, nor of Heaven, nor of Hell;
Nor from Adam, nor from Eve, nor from Eden nor Rizwan.
My place is the Placeless, my trace is the Traceless;
‘Tis neither body nor soul, for I myself am the Beloved.
I have cast aside duality, I have seen the two worlds as one;
One I seek, One I know, One I see, One I say.

He is the First, He is the Last, He is the Outward, He is the Inward;
I know no one other than He, none but he who is He
Drunk with Love’s cup, the two worlds have been lost to me;
I have no business save carouse and revelry.
If once in my life I spent a moment without you,
From that time and from that hour I repent of my life.
If once in this retreat I win a moment with you,
I will trample on both worlds, and dance in ecstasy
O Shams of Tabriz, I am so drunk in this world,
That except for drunkenness and revelry, I have no tale to tell.

Original:

چه تدبیر ای مسلمانان که من خود را نمیدانم
نه ترسا و یهودیم نه گبرم نه مسلمانم

نه شرقیم نه غربیم نه بریم نه بحریم
نه ارکان طبیعیم نه از افلاک گردانم

نه از خاکم نه از بادم نه از ابم نه از اتش
نه از عرشم نه از فرشم نه از کونم نه از کانم

نه از دنیی نه از عقبی نه از جنت نه از دوزخ
نه از ادم نه از حوا نه از فردوس رضوانم

مکانم لا مکان باشد نشانم بی نشان باشد
نه تن باشد نه جان باشد که من از جان جانانم

دویی از خود بیرون کردم یکی دیدم دو عالم را
یکی جویم یکی گویم یکی دانم یکی خوانم

ز جام عشق سرمستم دو عالم رفت از دستم
بجز رندی و قلاشی نباشد هیچ سامانم

اگر در عمر خود روزی دمی بی او بر اوردم
از ان وقت و از ان ساعت ز عمر خود پشیمانم

الا ای شمس تبریزی چنان مستم در ین عالم
که جز مستی و قلاشی نباشد هیچ درمانم

 

morocco_djellaba

Shushtari

After extinction I came out, and I
Eternal now am, though not as I
And who am I, O I, but I?
خرجت في حين بعد الفنا
ومن هنا بقيت بلا أنا
ومن أنا يا أنا إلا أنا

 

(Abul-l-Hassan ash-Shushtari of Andalusia; trans.by  Martin Lings)

‘Sufi Poems: A Mediaeval Anthology’ by Martin Lings 

Rumi-I am not wandering aimlessly

 

bazaar

Translation:

by Farah Aziz

No I am not roaming aimlessly
through the alleys and bazaar
I am a lover searching for his beloved

God have mercy on me
I am walking around troubled

I have done wrong and sinned
and am walking around wounded

I have drunk the wine of desire
and am walking around lovelorn

Though I may seem drunk
I am quite sober

 

Original:

نه من بيهوده گرد کوچه و بازار می گردم
مذاق عاشقی دارم پی ديدار ميگردم
خدايا رحم کن بر من پريشان وار می گردم
خطا کارم گناهکارم به حال زار می گردم
شراب شوق می نوشم به گرد يار می گردم
سخن مستانه می گويم ولی هوشيار می گردم

bzar2

 

08-mughal

Hafez: the rose began to burn

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If you have news of the state of the heart, tell me!
or if you have any idea of where He is, tell me!
I know death, but until to alley of the Friend
if you have a shortcut, tell me!
-Rumi
Original:
گر ز حال دل خبر داری بگو
ور نشانی مختصر داری بگو
مرگ را دانم ، ولی تا کوی دوست
راه اگر نزدیک تر داری بگو

 

 

Friends, it is better to work for joy in the season of the rose
    this is the talk of the people of the heart, let us listen closely
No one is generous and the time for pleasure is going fast
    so let’s sell our prayer mats for wine
The weather is lovely and joyful
    O God, send us a beauty to whose face we can drink rosy wine
The organist of heaven is the artists’ bandit
    how can we not cry from this grief? 
The rose began to burn, but we didn’t splash water on it
    so we are boiling with the fire of lack and desire
From the tulip’s cup we drink imaginary wine
    evil eye begone! We are drunk without musician or wine.
Hafez, whom can we tell about this strange state?
    We are nightingales silent in the season of the rose.

-Hafez

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Original:

دوستان وقت گل آن به که به عشرت کوشیم
سخن اهل دل است این و به جان بنیوشیم
نیست در کس کرم و وقت طرب می‌گذرد
چاره آن است که سجاده به می بفروشیم
خوش هواییست فرح بخش خدایا بفرست
نازنینی که به رویش می گلگون نوشیم
ارغنون ساز فلک رهزن اهل هنر است
چون از این غصه ننالیم و چرا نخروشیم
گل به جوش آمد و از می نزدیمش آبی
لاجرم ز آتش حرمان و هوس می‌جوشیم
می‌کشیم از قدح لاله شرابی موهوم
چشم بد دور که بی مطرب و می مدهوشیم
حافظ این حال عجب با که توان گفت که ما
بلبلانیم که در موسم گل خاموشیم

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The Religion of Love

In addition to Ibn ‘Arabi’s famous poem (see this post), the “religion of love,” the root of all religion and worship beyond all distinctions and differentiations, plays an important role in other Sufi poetry, especially that of Rumi, Hafez, and Ibn al-Fariḍ:

Rumi

ملت عشق از همه دین‌ها جداست
 عاشقان را ملت و مذهب خداست
The sect of Love is different from all other religions
 For lovers, their sect and religion is simply God

 

طریق عشق ز هفتاد و دو برون باشد
چو عشق و مذهب تو خدعه و ریاست بخسب
The way of love is outside of the seventy-two sects
Go to sleep, for your love and religion are deceit and conceit

 

 

خرد نداند و حیران شود ز مذهب عشق
اگر چه واقف باشد ز جمله مذهب‌ها
Wisdom is bewildered by the religion of love
Although it knows all other religions

 

بسگل ز جز این عشق اگر در یتیمی
زیرا که جز این عشق تو را خویش و پدر نیست
در مذهب عشاق به بیماری مرگست
هر جان که به هر روز از این رنج بتر نیست

Leave all that is other than this love, if you are an orphaned pearl
For apart from this love, you have neither family nor father
In the religion of lovers, whosoever’s suffering does not make him better
He is possessed of the sickness of death

 

ceiling

تا شب میگو که روز ما را شب نیست
در مذهب عشق و عشق را مذهب نیست
عشق آن بحریست کش کران ولب نیست
بس غرقه شوند و ناله و یارب نیست
Until night, say that there is no night for our day
In religion, there is no Love, and Love has no religion
Love is that ocean without boundary or shore
Where lovers drown without sigh or cry

در راه طلب عاقل و دیوانه یکیست
در شیوهٔ عشق خویش و بیگانه یکیست
آن را که شراب وصل جانان دادند
در مذهب او کعبه و بتخانه یکیست

 

In the way of seeking, the sane and the mad are one
On the path of love, friend and stranger are one
That one who has tasted the wine of union with the supreme soul
In his religion, the Ka’aba and idol-temple are one


tradmap

عاشق تو یقین دان که مسلمان نبود
در مذهب عشق کفر و ایمان نبود
در عشق تن و عقل و دل و جان نبود
هرکس که چنین نگشت او آن نبود

In loving you there are certainly no Muslims
In the religion of Love, there is no infidelity or disbelief
In Love, there is neither body nor reason nor heart nor soul
Everyone who does this is not separate from that

 

در عشق موافقت بود چون جانی
در مذهب هر ظریف معنی دانی
از سی و دو دندان چو یکی گشت دراز
بی‌دندان شد از چنان دندانی

 

In love there is harmony because you become pure spirit
you will know the essence of the religion of each subtle one
If one of the 32 teeth grows large
from that tooth, you will become toothless

rabbiwadudflower

با دو عالم عشق را بیگانگی
اندرو هفتاد و دو دیوانگی
سخت پنهانست و پیدا حیرتش
جان سلطانان جان در حسرتش
غیر هفتاد و دو ملت کیش او
تخت شاهان تخته‌بندی پیش او

 

Love is a stranger to the two worlds: in it are seventy-two madnesses.
It is hidden; only its bewilderment is manifest:
The soul of the spiritual sultan longs for it.
Love’s religion is other than the seventy-two sects:
Beside it the throne of kings is just a floorboard.

 

persiantowersky

unverified “Rumi”

 

I was unable to find Persian poems attributed to Rumi that correspond to these English verses that have been attributed to him.  If these are indeed translations and you know the original from which they are derived please let me know in the comments section.  In any event, I am sure Malwana wouldn’t object to these verses, even if they never came from his pen.

 

“I belong to no religion.
My religion is Love.
Every heart is My temple”

 

Whatever you think of War, I am far, far from it
Whatever you think of Love, I am that, only that, all that
Like a compass I stand firm with one leg on my faith
And, with the other leg, roam all over the seventy-two nations
The Seventy-Two nations learn their secrets from us:
We are the reed-flute whose song unites all nations and faiths
In all mosques, temples, and churches, I find one shrine alone

 

I profess the religion of love,
Love is my religion and my faith.
My mother is love, My father is love
My prophet is love My God is love
I am a child of love
I have come only to speak of love

 

Ibn al-Fāriḍ

The sights do not swerve in any faith
nor do the thoughts stray in any sect.

 

وما زاغت الأبصار من كل ملة
وما زاغت الأفكار في كل نحلة

 

Every part of me kissed her veil
With every mouth whose touch held every kiss
If she dissolved my body, she would see in every atom
each and every heart filled with each and every love

 

ويلثم مني كلّ جزء لثامها
بكلّ فم فى لثمه كلّ قبلة
فلو بسطت جسمي رأت كلّ جوهر
به كلّ قلب فيه كلّ محبة

 

As for my way in love, I have no way
If I turn from it (Love) for a day, then I have left my religion
And if I think of other than you, even momentarily
I would consider it as my apostasy

 

عن مذهبي في الحب ما لي مذهب
وإن ملت عنه يوما فارقت ملتي
وإن خطرت لي في سواك ارادة
سهوا على خاطري قضيت بردتي

 


And part of my way is love of lands for the sake of their people
and people, in what they love, have many ways
-Abu Firas Hamadani

 

و منْ مذهبي حبُّ الديارِ لأهلها                      وَللنّاسِ فِيمَا يَعْشَقُونَ مَذَاهِبُ
لابو فراس الحمداني-

 

 

He saw the lightning in the East and longed for the East,
but if it had flashed in the West he would have longed for the West.
My desire is for the lightning and its gleam, not for places and  earth.

Ibn ‘Arabi

 

رأى البرْقَ شرقيّاً، فحنّ إلى الشرْقِ،       ولو لاحَ غربيَّاً لحنَّ إلى الغربِ
فإنّ غَرامي بالبُرَيْقِ ولمحِهِ        وليسَ غرَامي بالأماكِنِ والتُّرْبِ

 

لابن عربي

 

 

Ḥallāj

  تَفَكَّرتُ في الأَديانِ جِدّ مُحَقّق          فَأَلفَيتُها أَصلاً لَهُ شَعبٌ جَمّا
فَلا تَطلُبَن لِلمَرءِ ديناً فَإِنَّهُ          يَصُدُّ عَنِ الأَصلِ الوَثيقِ وَإِنَّما
يُطالِبُهُ أَصلٌ يُعَبِّرُ عِندَهُ         جَميعَ المَعالي وَالمَعاني فَيَفهَما
Earnest for truth, I thought on the religions:
They are, I found, one root with many a branch.
Therefore impose on no man a religion,
Lest it should bar him from the firm-set root.
Let the root claim him, a root wherein all heights
And meanings are made clear, for him to grasp.

 

Diwan al-Hallaj, trans. Martin Lings, Sufi Poems, p. 34.




Hafez

همه كس طالب يارند چه هشيار و چه مست
همه جا خانه عشق است چه مسجد چه كنشت
Everyone, sober or drunk, seeks the beloved.
Every place, be it mosque or synagogue, is the house of love

در عشق خانقاه و خرابات فرق نيست
هر جا كه هست پرتو روى حبيب هست
In love, there is no difference between the monastery and the tavern
the rays of the beloved’s face shine every where that is

 

سراسر بخشش جانان طریق لطف و احسان بود
اگر تسبیح می‌فرمود اگر زنار می‌آورد
Whatever the beloved bestowed was all through grace and kindness
Whether praying with a tasbih or putting on a Christian belt

waws

 

خمِ زلفِ تو دامِ کفر و دین است
ز کارستان او یک شمه این‌است
The curve of your tress is the snare of belief and unbelief.
This is only a small part of its gallery of works

4waw

بجز ابروی تو محراب دل حافظ نیست
 طاعت غیر تو در مذهب ما نتوان كرد
Except for your eyebrow, Hafez’s heart has no mihrab
No one but you can be worshipped in our religion

 


wawmalawi

در صومعه زاهد و در خلوت صوفی
جز گوشه ابروی تو محراب دعا نیست
In the ascetic’s monastery and the Sufi’s khalwah (retreat)
There is no mihrab (prayer niche) save the curve of your brow

 

گر پیر مغان مرشد من شد چه تفاوت
در هیچ سری نیست که سری ز خدا نیست
If the Magian Pir became my master, what difference would it make?
There is no head that is without a divine secret

 

روشن از پرتو رويست نظرى نيست كه نيست
منت خاك درت بر بصرى نيست كه نيست
There is no vision unillumined with the light of your face
There is no eye unindebted to the dust of your door

 

ناظر روی تو صاحب نظرانند آری
سر گیسوی تو در هیچ سری نیست که نیست

Those who see your face are the seers of truth
There is no head that does not have the secret of your tress

 

huwaalakullishayinqadir

  در طريقت هرخه پيش سالك آيد خير اوست
بر صراط مشتقيم ايدل كسى گمراه نيست
In the Way, whatever befalls the traveler is for his own good
No one loses his way on a straight path, my dear

 

هر که خواهد گو بیا و هر چه خواهد گو بگو
کبر و ناز و حاجب و دربان بدین درگاه نیست

Whoever wants to enter, let him do so and say what he may
In this court, there is neither conceit nor vanity, nor spokesman nor guard

Allaheye

مردم دیده ما جز به رخت ناظر نیست
دل سرگشته ما غیر تو را ذاکر نیست

The pupil of my eye sees naught but your face
My bewildered heart recalls none but you

 

birgozleriahu_w

فکر خود و رای خود در عالم رندی نیست
کفر است در این مذهب خودبینی و خودرایی
In the gangster’s world there is no thought or opinion of self
In this religion, seeing or thinking of yourself is infidelity

rabbiinnilimaanzalta

روی تو کس ندید و هزارت رقیب هست
در غنچه‌ای هنوز و صدت عندلیب هست
No one has seen your face, and yet a thousand rivals hound you
You are still a bud, and yet a hundred deer surround you

یا رب به که شاید گفت این نکته که در عالم
رخساره به کس ننمود آن شاهد هرجایی
O Lord, to whom should I explain this fine point
That beauty who is everywhere, showed her face to no one

 goldletters
معشوقه چون نقاب ز رخ بر نمى كشد 
هر كسى حكايتى به تصوّر چرا كنند
Since the beloved does not remove the veil from her face
Why does everyone make up a story from his imagination?

ترا خنانكه توئى هر نظر كجا بيند
به قدر بينش خود هر كسى كند ادراك
How can every eye see you as you are?
Each perceives only to the extent of his vision

ميدمد هر كسش افسونى و معلوم نشد
كه دل نازك او مايل افسانه كيست
Everyone tells her a tale, but no one knows
Whose tale her tender heart appreciates

lettercolourmix

هر كسى با شمع ر خسارت به وجهى عشق باخت
زان ميان پروانه را در اضطراب اندختى
Each person made love to the candle of your face in a different way
But it was only the moth that made you shake

Shabistari
مسلمان گر بدانستی که بت چیست
بدانستی که دین در بت‌پرستی است
If a muslim but knew what an idol is,
he would know that all religion is idolatry

حنیفی شو ز هر قید و مذاهب
 درآ در دیر دین مانند راهب
تو را تا در نظر اغیار و غیر است
اگردر مسجدی آن عین دیر است
چو برخیزد ز پیشت کسوت غیر
شود بهر تو مسجد صورت دیر

 

Become primordial, from each restriction and every sect
and come to the monastery of the religion, like the monk
So long as others and otherness appear in your sight
Even if you are in a mosque, it is the same as monastery
When the veil of otherness is removed from you
The monastery’s form becomes a mosque for you

 

من و تو در میان مانند برزخ
چو برخیزد تو را این پرده از پیش
نماند نیز حکم مذهب و کیش
همه حکم شریعت از من توست
که این بربستهٔ جان و تن توست
من تو چون نماند در میانه
چه کعبه چه کنشت چه دیرخانه
I and You are the barzakh between them
When this veil is lifted up from before you
There remains not the bond of sects and creeds
All the rules of Shari’ah are from your ego
since it is bound to your soul and body
When I and You remain not in the midst
What is Ka’aba, what is synagogue, what is monastery?

 

trans. Whinfield. The Mystic Rose-Garden of Sa’ad ud-din Mahmud Shabistari. 1880

 

The Guitar

Rumi

We are pain and what cures pain, both.
We are the sweet cold water and the jar that pours.
I want to hold you close like a lute,
so that we can cry out with loving.
Would you rather throw stones at a mirror?
I am your mirror and here are the stones.

In the lover’s heart is a lute
Which plays the melody of longing
You say he looks crazy
But that’s only because your ears are not attuned
to the music he’s dancing to
amazingoudcloseup
You are sitting here with us,
but you are also out walking in a field at dawn.

 

You are yourself the animal we hunt
when you come with us on the hunt.

 

You are in your body
like a plant is solid in the ground,
yet you are wind.

 

You are the diver’s clothes
lying empty on the beach.
You are the fish.

 

In the ocean are many bright strands
and many dark strands like veins that are seen
when a wing is lifted up.

 

Your hidden self is blood in those,
those veins that are lute strings
that make ocean music,
not the sad edge of surf,
but the sound of no shore.

Venus touches the strings of her lute
 to lure out essence of this poem
My heart is like a lute each chord crying with longing and pain.
My Beloved is watching me wrapped in silence.

 

Jami

aan zamzameyam ze paye taa sar hame ‘eshq
Haqqa keh be ‘ahdha nayaayam birun
Bar ‘ude delam nawaakht yak zamzameye ‘eshq
Az ‘ahdeye haqq gozaari yakdameye ‘eshq

 

On the lute of my heart plays only one song of love:
Because of this melody, from head to foot, I am in love.
Truly, for ages I’ll never be able
To pay what I owe for one moment of love.

 

 

Fakhruddin ‘Iraqi 
(trans. William Chittick and P.L. Wilson)
Love plays its lute behind the screen –
where is a lover to listen to its tune?
With every breath a new song,
each split second a new string plucked.
The world has spilled Love’s secret –
when could music ever hold its tongue?
Every atom babbles the mystery –
Listen yourself, for I’m no tattletale!

 

 

 

 

The Guitar

by Federico García Lorca translated by Cola Franzen

The weeping of the guitar
begins.
The goblets of dawn
are smashed.
The weeping of the guitar
begins.
Useless
to silence it.
Impossible 
to silence it.
It weeps monotonously
as water weeps
as the wind weeps
over snowfields.
Impossible
to silence it.
It weeps for distant 
things.
Hot southern sands
yearning for white camellias.
Weeps arrow without target
evening without morning
and the first dead bird
on the branch.
Oh, guitar!
Heart mortally wounded
by five swords.

Guitar

Six bars cage my lonely heart
And rattle with its sad love moans
Six stars cluster round my eye
and dance, shimmering on silver thrones

 

Six dark girls, three bronze, three thin
Sing sighing for their distant homes
Six hairs heave with love’s breath
Braid flames into my wooden bones

 

Six rivers run over my mouth
And ripple with its quiet groans
Six threads from your skirt’s wide hem
Have hooked my ear and won’t let go

 

Six barbed lines make a net to catch
My spirit in its shadowed grove
Six bolts of lightning flash across
My mouth, smiling as thunder rolls

 

My body pierced by music from
The six strings of this compound bow
These six veins wrap around my heart
And bleeding song from five swords’ strokes

 

Form six paths for your love to flow
Through my heartsick and stricken soul
And weave love’s sweet, sad melodies
Between your fingers; strikes and blows

 


Segovia

Lean your body forward slightly to support the guitar against your chest, for the poetry of the music should resound in your heart.

“The guitar is fit for tender and sweet dialogue
with the girl we love
if the girl becomes disloyal to us
the cello—to confide our sorrow to a friend
and if the friend is also unfaithful
then the organ, to communicate
our affliction to God” ‘
– Andres Segovia The Guitar and I, Vol. 2 (1972. LP: MCA-2536)

 

 

In the violin and cello, we feel the human warmth of their timbres; and the guitar–the guitar condenses and refines the music played on it as the hundred fragrances of the forest are refined and condensed in a tiny flask.

I like very much the true flamenco, which is played with heavy fingers, roughly but from the soul. But flamenco has departed from the good simple tradition. The flamencos should not be professionals.

 

 

 

 

 

 

I belong to the scarce minority of artists who work in good faith, around whom the phenomenal world vanishes, as it happens to the mystics when they give themselves to prayer.

amazingoudfull

amazingoud

 

 

Among God’s creatures two, the dog and the guitar, have taken all the sizes and all the shapes, in order not to be separated from the man.

 

 

The advice I am giving always to all my students is above all to study the music profoundly….

 

 

Music is like the ocean, and the instruments are little or bigger islands, very beautiful for the flowers and trees.

 

 

The guitar is a small orchestra. It is polyphonic. Every string is a different color, a different voice The guitar is a miniature orchestra in itself.

― Ludwig van Beethoven

 

Like a Candle…

from Figs and Thistles: First Fig

BY EDNA ST. VINCENT MILLAY

My candle burns at both ends;
   It will not last the night;
But ah, my foes, and oh, my friends—
   It gives a lovely light!

 

Source: Poetry (June 1918).

 

 

Hafez

Translation:

In faithfulness to your love, I am famous like the candle
In the street of the rends, I burn all night like the candle
Day and night, sleep slips away, from my grief-stricken eyes
Sick from separation, my red eyes weep like the candle
The mountain of my patience melted like wax in your grief’s hand
Since I began to burn and melt in your love like the candle
My string of patience’s cut by the scissors of your hair
But still, in your love’s fire, I am smiling like the candle
If the horse of my rosy tear had not been so swift
How could my secret shine out everywhere just like the candle?
As ever, my poor desperate heart is occupied with you
Shedding tears of water and of flame just like the candle
Without your world-adorning beauty, my day is like the night
Within your love’s perfection, I am fading like the candle
Honor me with union for one night, o wild one
and with your visit, brighten up my house like the candle
Like the morning, your coming is just a breath away
Show your face, so I can give my soul up like the candle
In exile’s night, send me a promise of union, or else
With this fire, I’ll burn down the whole world like the candle
It’s amazing how your love lit Hafez all on fire
How can I quench my heart’s fire with tears, like the candle?

 

 

Original:

دروفایعشقتومشهورخوبانمچوشمـع
شبنشینکویسربازانورندانمچوشمع
روزوشبخوابمنمیآیدبهچشمغمپرست
بـسکهدربیماریهجرتوگریانمچوشمع
کوهصبرمنرمشدچونمومدردستغمـت
تادرآبوآتشعشقتگدازانمچوشـمـع
رشتـهصـبرمبهمقراضغمتببریدهشد
همـچـناندرآتشمهرتوسوزانمچوشمع
گرکـمیتاشـکگلگونمنـبودیگرمرو
کیشدیروشنبهگیتیرازپنهانمچوشمع
درمیانآبوآتشهمچنانسرگرمتوسـت
ایندلزارنزاراشـکبارانـمچوشـمـع
بیجمالعالمآرایتوروزمچونشباست
باکمالعشقتودرعیننقصانمچوشمـع
سرفرازمکنشبیازوصـلخوداینازنین
تامـنورگرددازدیدارتایوانمچوشـمـع
همـچوصبحمیکنفسباقیستبادیدارتو
چـهرهبنمادلبراتاجانبرافشانمچوشمع
درشـبهجرانمراپروانهوصلیفرسـت
ورنهازدردتجهانیرابسوزانمچوشمـع
آتـشمـهرتوراحافظعجبدرسرگرفت

siyavash

Ibn al-Fāriḍ

 

If not for my sighs, these tears would drown me
If not for these tears, my sighs would scorch me

 

ولولا زفيري ٔاغرقتني ٔادمعي
ولولا دموعي ٔاحرقتني زفرتي

Abraham_ready_to_sacrifice_his_son,_Ishmael_(top);_Abraham_cast_into_fire_by_Nimrod_(bottom)

John Donne

 

Hero and Leander

 

Both robb’d of air, we both lie in one ground ;
Both whom one fire had burnt, one water drown’d

 

A Burnt Ship

Out of a fired ship, which by no way
But drowning could be rescued from the flame,
Some men leap’d forth, and ever as they came
Near the foes’ ships, did by their shot decay;
So all were lost, which in the ship were found,
      They in the sea being burnt, they in the burnt ship drown’d.

Rumi

A candle is made to become entirely flame.
In that annihilating moment
it has no shadow.
It is nothing but a tongue of light
describing a refuge.
Look at this
just-finishing candle stub
as someone who is finally safe
from virtue and vice,
the pride and the shame
we claim from those.
(Coleman Barks’ “translation”)

 

There is a candle in the heart of man, waiting to be kindled.
In separation from the Friend, there is a cut waiting to be stitched.
O, you who are ignorant of endurance and the burning fire of love–
Love comes of its own free will, it can’t be learned in any school.

 

THE SHIP SUNK IN LOVE

Should Love’s heart rejoice unless I burn?
For my heart is Love’s dwelling.
If You will burn Your house, burn it, Love!
Who will say, ‘It’s not allowed’?
Burn this house thoroughly!
The lover’s house improves with fire.
From now on I will make burning my aim,
From now on I will make burning my aim,
for I am like the candle: burning only makes me brighter.
Abandon sleep tonight; traverse for one night
the region of the sleepless.
Look upon these lovers who have become distraught
and like moths have died in union with the One Beloved.
Look upon this ship of God’s creatures
and see how it is sunk in Love.

Mathnawi VI, 617-623
The Rumi Collection, Edited by Kabir Helminski


O light, from seeing your beauty, my soul became candle-like
Turn my fortune so I can shed myself candle-like
The promise of the morning breeze, of joining Thee day and night
Burning, yellow, shaking, crying and humble, candle-like.
Thy flowing hair, like scissors sheer my soul at its height
In this fire of separation burn me no more, candle-like.
Pearls overflowing from the sea of my eye, fill my bosom in delight
My burning heart sent its flames blazing upward, candle-like.
Solar flares set in the celestial lantern, sooth the sight
Every morn dam my tears and shed no more, candle-like.
Thy face is spring-like, thy fire sorrows fight
How long burn in this solstice of separation, candle-like?
From the memory of thy light, every night flames take flight
If only my heart’s fire would burn my soul candle-like.
How long burn thyself Shams-e Tabrizi, thy love beaming bright?
We know of nothing other than this burning, candle-like.
(trans. by Shahriar Shahriari)

 

Original:

ای منور از جمالت دیده ی جانم چو شمع
از در بختم درآ تا جان بر افشانم چو شمع

از هوای خنده ی صبح وصالت روز و شب
زرد و لرزان و گدازان زار و گریانم چو شمع

زلف چون مقراض بر كش رشته جانم ببر
بیش از این در آتش هجران مسوزانم چو شمع

آستین و دامنم پر در شد از دریای عشق
تا علم زد آتش دل از گریبانم ، چو شمع

آتش خورشید را ، در مشعل سبز فلك
هر سحر از آبگیر دیده ، بنشانم چو شمع

ای رخت نوروز عالم زآتش ، جانسوز شمع
چند سوزی در شب یلدای هجرانم چو شمع

آفتاب از خاطرم ، شعله فروزد هر شبی
آتش دل گر بسوزد ، رشته ی جانم چو شمع

چند سوزی خویشتن را شمس تبریزی ز عشق
ماورای سوختن ، كاری نمیدانم چو شمع

Ana Moura

Translation:

My eyes are two candles
Casting a sad light on my face
Your eyes are two candles
Casting a sad light on my face

Marked by the pains
Of longing and grief

When I hear the ringing of the bells
And the afternoon is coming to an end

I pray, out of longing for you
An “Our Father” for me

But you do not know how to pray
Nor how to ache with longing

Why do you disturb me so
Why do I want you so much?

For my despair you are like
The clouds that fly high

Every day I wait for you
Every day you stand me up

Original:

Os meus olhos são dois círios
Dando luz triste ao meu rosto
Os teus olhos são dois círios
Dando luz triste ao meu rosto
Marcado pelos martírios
Da saudade e do desgosto.

Quando oiço bater trindades
E a tarde já vai no fim

Eu peço às tuas saudades
Um padre nosso por mim.Mas não sabes fazer preces
Não tens saudades nem pranto

Por que é que tu me aborreces
Por que é que eu te quero tanto?

És para meu desespero
Como as nuvens que andam altas

Todos os dias te espero
Todos os dias me faltas.

 From http://lyricstranslate.com/

Maranâus

I am not happiness, but only
The tragic substance that produces it.
In the great darkness, I am a burning flambeau
And I don’t see my own light.

 

Original:

Eu não sou a alegria, mas apenas
A trágica matéria que a produz.
Na grande escuridão, sou facho a arder
E não avisto minha própria luz!

 

(Pascoaes, 1920, p.216)

 

Flee

❊ ففرّوا الى الله ❊

So flee to God… (Qur’an 51:50)

 

اعوذ بك منك

I seek refuge in You from You (Hadith)

Rumi

Flee to God’s Qur’an, take refuge in it
there with the spirits of the prophets merge.
The Book conveys the prophets’ circumstances
those fish of the pure sea of Majesty.

 

I long to escape the prison of my ego
and lose myself in you.

 

There is no salvation for the soul
but to fall in Love.
Only lovers can escape
out of these two worlds.
This was ordained in creation.
Only from the heart
can you reach the sky:
The Rose of Glory
can grow only from the heart.

 

Hafez 

( the poem inscribed on his tomb)
مژده‌ى وصل تو كو كز سر جان برخيزم
طاير قدسم و از دام جهان برخيزم
Where are the tidings of union with you, so that from life I may rise?
I am a bird of heaven, from the world’s snare I must rise
به ولاى تو كه گر بنده‌ى خويشم خوانى
از سر خواجگى كون و مكان برخيزم
I swear by your love, if you call me your slave
From the mastery of the universe I will rise
يارب از ابر هدايت برسان بارانى
پيشتر زانكه چو گردى ز ميان برخيزم
O Lord, let the cloud of guidance rain
Before that time when, like dust from the earth, I rise
بر سر تربت من با مى و مطرب بنشين
تا ببويت ز لحد رقص‌كنان برخيزم
Sit beside my grave with musician and wine
So from your scent, dancing from the dust, I may rise
خيز و بالا بنما اى بت شيرين‌حركات
كه چو حافظ ز سر جان و جهان برخيزم
 O sweetly-moving idol, rise and show me your shape
So, like Hafez, from life and world, dancing, I may rise
گرچه پيرم، تو شبى تنگ درآغوشم كش
تا سحرگه ز كنار تو جوان برخيزم
Though I am old, for one night, in your bosom hold me tight
So when morning comes, young from your embrace, I may rise

Norah Jones

 

 The Beatles

Blow winds, blow

Ḥallāj:

 

Translation (a bit of license taken):

O wind of the dawn, I say to the gazelle
it only makes me thirstier, the water of this well
I have a beloved whose love lives within me
And if she likes, she walks on my cheeks as well
Her spirit is my spirit and my spirit is her spirit
If she wills, I want, and if I want, she wills

hallajpoem

Original:

يا نَسيمَ الريح قولي لِلرَشا              لَم يَزِدني الوِردُ إلا عَطشا
لي حَبيبٌ حُبُّهُ وَسطَ الحَشا           إِن يَشَأ يَمشي عَلى خَدّي مَشى
روحُهُ روحي وَروحي روحُهُ              إِن يَشَأ شِئتُ وَإِن شِئتُ يَشا

 

Ibn ‘Arabi:

Lyrics from Ibn ‘Arabi’s tarjuman al-ashwaq:

ألا يا نسيم الريح بلغ مها نجد      بأني على ما تعلمون من العهد
فان كان حقا ما تقول و عندها    إليّ من الشوق المبرّح ما عندي
إليها ففي حرّ الظهيرة نلتقي    بخيمتها سرا على أصدق الوعد

 

Translation:
O Morning breeze, go tell the gazelles of Najd
   that, “I’m true to the vow you know of”
And if what she says is true and she
   has for me the desperate longing I have
for her, then in the heat of noon we’ll meet
   in her tent secretly, with the most sincere promise

 

Hafez:

Translation:

The dawn breeze of your curling tress keeps me drunk constantly
the magic of your charming eyes keeps me wasted always

 

After so many night vigils, O Lord, will I ever be able to light
the candle of my sight at the mihrab of your eyebrow?

 

The black of the tablet of my vision is precious to me
Because, for my soul, it is a copy of your black mole

 

If you want to adorn the whole world forever
Tell the morning wind to lift the veil from your face for a while

 

If you want to banish all traces of fidelity from the world
Let down your hair, and let thousands of souls fall from every strand

 

The morning wind and I are two poor, hopeless wanderers
I from the magic of your intoxicating eyes, and he from the scent of your hair

 

How great is Hafez’s focus! For nothing in this world or the next
appeared in his eye save for the dust of your street.

 

Original:
مدامم مست مي دارد نسيم جعد گيسويت
خرابم مي کند هر دم فريب چشم جادويت
پس از چندين شکيبايي شبي يا رب توان ديدن
که شمع ديده افروزيم در محراب ابرويت
سواد لوح بينش را عزيز از بهر آن دارم
که جان را نسخه اي باشد ز لوح خال هندويت
تو گر خواهي که جاويدان جهان يک سر بيارايي
صبا را گو که بردارد زماني برقع از رويت
و گر رسم فنا خواهي که از عالم براندازي
برافشان تا فروريزد هزاران جان ز هر مويت
من و باد صبا مسکين دو سرگردان بي حاصل
من از افسون چشمت مست و او از بوي گيسويت
زهي همت که حافظ راست از دنيي و از عقبي
نيايد هيچ در چشمش بجز خاک سر کويت

 

 

Translation:
O dawn breeze, where is the friend’s place of rest?
Where is the home of that lover-slaying beauty?

 

Original:
ای نسیم سحر آرامگه یار کجاست
منزل آن مه عاشق کش عیار کجاست

 

Translation:

All night I hope that the the dawn breeze will caress
this friend with a message from the friends

 

Original:
همه شب در این امیدم که نسیم صبحگاهی
به پیام آشنایان بنوازد آشنا را
Rumi:
 Coleman Barks’ “Translation”:

 

No one knows what makes the soul wake up
 so happy! Maybe a dawn breeze
has blown the veil from the face of God.

 

A thousand new moons appear.
Roses open laughing.
Hearts become perfect rubies
 like those from Badakshan.

 

The body turns entirely spirit.
 Leaves become branches in this wind.
Why is it now so easy to surrender,
even for those already surrendered?

 

There’s no answer to any of this.
No one knows the source of joy.
A poet breathes into a reed flute,
and the tip of every hair makes music.

 

Shams sails down clods of dirt from the roof,
and we take jobs as doorkeepers for him.

 

Original:
مگر این دم سر آن زلف پریشان شدهاست
که چنین مشک تتاری عبرافشان شده است
مگر از چهره او باد صبا پرده ربود
که هزاران قمر غیب درخشان شده است
هست جانی که ز بوی خوش او شادان نیست
گر چه جان بو نبرد کو ز چه شادان شده است
ای بسا شاد گلی کز دم حق خندان است
لیک هر جان بنداند ز چه خندان شده است
آفتاب رخش امروز زهی خوش که بتافت
که هزاران دل از او لعل بدخشان شده است
عاشق آخر ز چه رو تا به ابد دل ننهد
بر کسی کز لطفش تن همگی جان شده است
مگرش دل سحری دید بدان سان که وی است
که از آن دیدنش امروز بدین سان شده است
تا بدیده است دل آن حسن پری زاد مرا
شیشه بر دست گرفته است و پری خوان شده است
بر درخت تن اگر باد خوشش می‌نوزد
پس دو صد برگ دو صد شاخ چه لرزان شده است
بهر هر کشته او جان ابد گر نبود
جان سپردن بر عاشق ز چه آسان شده است
از حیات و خبرش باخبران بی‌خبرند
که حیات و خبرش پرده ایشان شده است
گر نه در نای دلی مطرب عشقش بدمید
هر سر موی چو سرنای چه نالان شده است
شمس تبریز ز بام ار نه کلوخ اندازد
سوی دل پس ز چه جان‌هاش چو دربان شده است

 

Carminho

Translation of lyrics:

I wrote your name in the wind
Convinced that I was writing it
Upon the page of oblivion
That was lost in the wind (x 2)
And when I  saw it still buried
In the dust of the road
I thought my heart was free
From the bonds of your affection (x 2)
Poor me, I had no idea
That just like me
The wind would fall in love
With that name of yours
And as the wind tosses and turns
so does my torment
I want to forget you, believe me
But there is more and more wind

 

Me:
O wind of the dawn
Blow into my breast
Make the embers of my heart
Rise up from their death

 

O wind of the dawn
Blow into my breast
Sway my veins and let them shake
Love’s birds out from their nests

 

O wind of the dawn
Blow into my breast
Make my blood ripple
your reflection with your breath
O wind of the dawn
my heart’s caught in your grasp
your spirit’s within
whirling round inside it trapped

 

You can’t hold it in
and I can’t give it back
whisper something in my ear
take my soul with each gasp

 

 

Rumi-Your hair is Laylat al-Qadr

 


Translation:
It’s morning and there’s wine so we’re going to stand on the sky
We’re going to go beyond Taurus to the constellation of the moon
We’re not looking for a fight, and have nothing to say about others
For it’s time for union, and with that we’ll be glad
Your face is a garden of roses, and your lip a land of sugar
We all become like sweet flowers in the shadow of these two
The sun of your sweet face is as boundless as the sun’s beams
So we have to stay up with you all night just like the moon
Your hair is the Night of Destiny, your face is a new day (Nawruz)
We’re between her day and night, just like the dawn
We don’t know this face, because you appeared in that one
But if you appear in another way, we’ll come by another way
You are the sun of the world and we are but hidden specks of dust
Shine on these specks, so that we can be seen
When the sun is lost and bedazzled by your face
It’s no wonder that we specks of dust are all love-dazed
I said, “When you come, you will open 200 doors.”
They said, “This is true, but only if we come…”
I said, “Just as the sea does not come to the stream,
We, like the flowing water, will journey forth to her
O herald of the unseen, speak, so that we
From your glad tidings and good news, will be glad, blissfully.

 


 

Original:

صبح است و صبوح است بر این بام برآییم              از ثور گریزیم و به برج قمر آییم

پیکار نجوییم و ز اغیار نگوییم                      هنگام وصال است بدان خوش صور آییم

روی تو گلستان و لب تو شکرستان                       در سایه این هر دو همه گلشکر آییم

خورشید رخ خوب تو چون تیغ کشیده‌ست             شاید که به پیش تو چو مه شب سپر آییم

زلف تو شب قدر و رخ تو همه نوروز               ما واسطه روز و شبش چون سحر آییم

این شکل ندانیم که آن شکل نمودی                        ور زانک دگرگونه نمایی دگر آییم

خورشید جهانی تو و ما ذره پنهان                        درتاب در این روزن تا در نظر آییم

خورشید چو از روی تو سرگشته و خیره‌ست           ما ذره عجب نیست که خیره نگر آییم

گفتم چو بیایید دو صد در بگشایید                          گفتند که این هست ولیکن اگر آییم

گفتم که چو دریا به سوی جوی نیاید                     چون آب روان جانب او در سفر آییم

ای ناطقه غیب تو برگوی که تا ما                                     از مخبر و اخبار خوشت خوش خبر آییم

 

Rumi: By love

Translation:

By love, the bitter becomes sweet
By love copper coins become gold
By love, the dregs become clear
By love, the pain becomes healing
By love, the dead is made living
By love, the king is made a slave
And this love is the result of knowledge
Who, in foolishness, ever sat on such a throne?

 

Original:

 

از محبت تلخها شیرین شود
از محبت مسها زرین شود
از محبت دردها صافی شود
از محبت دردها شافی شود
از محبت مرده زنده می‌کنند
از محبت شاه بنده می‌کنند
این محبت هم نتیجهٔ دانشست
کی گزافه بر چنین تختی نشست

Compare with James Taylor’s song, the lyrics of which seem worthy of the Diwan-i Shams

 

Lyrics:

There’s something in the way she moves,
Or looks my way, or calls my name,
That seems to leave this troubled world behind.
And if I’m feeling down and blue,
Or troubled by some foolish game,
She always seems to make me change my mind.
And I feel fine anytime she’s around me now,
She’s around me now
Just about all the time
And if I’m well you can tell she’s been with me now,
She’s been with me now quite a long, long time
And I feel fine.
It isn’t what she’s got to say
But how she thinks and where she’s been
To me, the words are nice, the way they sound
I like to hear them best that way
It doesn’t much matter what they mean
If she says them mostly just to calm me down

And I feel fine anytime she’s around me now,
She’s around me now
Just about all the time
And if I’m well you can tell she’s been with me now,
She’s been with me now quite a long, long time
And I feel fine.
Every now and then the things I lean on lose their meaning
And I find myself careening
Into places where I should not let me go.
— She has the power to go where no one else can find me
And to silently remind me
Of the happiness and the good times that I know, got to know.
And I feel fine anytime she’s around me now,
She’s around me now
Just about all the time
And if I’m well you can tell she’s been with me now,
She’s been with me now quite a long, long time
And I feel fine.
Lyrics from http://www.elyrics.net

 

As Rumi is said to have written elsewhere:

You come to us from another world;
From beyond the stars and a void of space
Transcendent, pure – of unimaginable beauty.
Bringing with You the essence of Love.
You transform all who are touched by You –
Mundane concerns, troubles and sorrows dissolve in Your presence
Bringing joy to ruler & ruled, to peasants and kings.
You bewilder us with Your grace;
All evil is transformed into goodness.
You are the Master Alchemist!
You light the fire of Love in earth & sky,
In heart & soul of every being.
Through Your loving, existence & non-existence merge
All opposites unite
All that is profane becomes sacred again.
Be sure that in the Religion of Love, there are no believers or unbelievers
Love embraces all.