The Conference of the Birds (Penguin)

by Farid al-Din Attar

  You should wear women’s veils – that would be less

  Dishonest than your present holy dress.”

  How will you solve love’s secret lore if you –

  Not man, not woman – glide between the two?

  If on its path love forces you to yield,

  Then do so gladly, throw away your shield;

  Resist and you will die, your soul is dead –

  To ward off your defeat bow down your head!

  A pauper in love with the king of Egypt

  A poor man fell in love with Egypt’s king,

  Who heard the news and ordered guards to bring

  The wretch to him. “You love the king,” he said;

  “Now choose: give up your home here or your head –

  You must make up your mind between these two,

  Exile or death. Well, which seems best to you?”

  lines 1954–69

  For all his love this pauper wasn’t brave;

  His choice was exile rather than the grave.

  He left; the king’s command came loud and clear:

  “Cut off his head at once and bring it here.”

  The porter said: “But he is innocent;

  Why should my lord command this punishment?”

  “He did not really love,” the king replied.

  “Though he pretended love for me, he lied:

  If he were valiant in love he would

  Have chosen death here as the highest good.

  If one prefers his head to love, then he

  Must pay to love the traitor’s penalty –

  Had he required my head, at his command

  There would have been no lord to rule this land;

  I would have worn his livery, a king

  Would have become his slave in everything –

  But he resisted love, and it is right

  That he should lose his head in such a fight.

  The man who leaves me, though he rave and cry,

  Is an impostor and his love’s a lie –

  I say this as a warning to that crowd

  Whose boasts of love for me ring long and loud”.’

  A bird complains of the Self

  One of the birds then said: ‘My enemy’s

  That veteran of highway robberies,

  My Self; how can I travel on the Way

  With such a follower? The dog won’t pay

  The least attention to a word I say –

  The dog I knew is gone and in his place

  A slavering wolf stalks by me, pace for pace.’

  And the hoopoe answers him

  The hoopoe said: ‘How has this dog betrayed

  And brought to dust whatever plans you made!

  lines 1970–87

  The Self’s squint-eyed and cannot guide you well,

  Part dog, part parasite, part infidel.

  When you are praised your Self swells up with pride

  (Aware that praise is quite unjustified);

  There’s no hope for the Self – the dog grows fatter

  The more it hears men fawn, deceive and flatter.

  What is your childhood but a negligence,

  A time of carelessness and ignorance?

  What is your youth but madness, strife and danger,

  Knowledge that in this world you are a stranger?

  What is your age but torpid helplessness,

  The flesh and spirit sapped by long distress?

  Until this dog, the Self, can be subdued,

  Our life is folly, endlessly renewed;

  If all of life from birth to death is vain,

  Blank nothingness will be our only gain –

  Such slaves the Self owns! What a catalogue!

  How many rush to worship this foul dog!

  The Self is hell – a furnace belching fire,

  An icy pit as Pride succeeds Desire,

  And though a hundred thousand die of grief,

  That this same dog should die is past belief.

  A gravedigger

  A man who lived by digging graves survived

  To ripe old age. A neighbour said: “You’ve thrived

  For years, digging away in one routine –

  Tell us the strangest thing you’ve ever seen.”

  He said: “All things considered, what’s most strange

  Is that for seventy years without a change

  That dog, my Self, has seen me digging graves,

  Yet neither dies, nor alters, nor behaves!”

  Abbasseh’s description of the Self

  One night Abbasseh said: “The world could be

  Thronged with wild infidels and blasphemy,

  lines 1988–2008

  Or it could be a place of pious works,

  Filled with the faithful, keen as zealous Turks.

  Instead the prophets came – that infidel

  The Self must choose between the faith and hell

  (One seemed too difficult, one terrified –

  How could the indecisive soul decide?).

  Beneath the Self’s reign we are infidels

  And nourish blasphemy in all our cells;

  Its life is stubborn, strong, intractable –

  To kill it seems well-nigh impossible.

  It draws its strength from both alternatives;

  No wonder it so obstinately lives.

  But if the heart can rule, then day and night

  This dog will labour for the heart’s delight,

  And when the heart rides out he sprints away

  Eager to flush his noble master’s prey.

  Whoever chains this dog will find that he

  Commands the lion of eternity;

  Whoever binds this dog, his sandals’ dust

  Surpasses all the councils of the just.”

  A king questions a sufi

  A ragged pilgrim of the sufis’ Way

  By chance met with a king, and heard him say:

  “Who’s better, me or you?” The old man said:

  “Silence, your words are empty as your head!

  Although self-praise is not our normal rule

  (The man who loves himself is still a fool),

  I’ll tell you, since I must, that one like me

  Exceeds a thousand like your majesty.

  Since you find no delight in faith – alas,

  Your Self has made of you, my lord, an ass

  And sat on you, and set its load on you –

  You’re just its slave in everything you do;

  You wear its halter, follow its commands,

  A no-one, left completely in its hands.

  lines 2009–27

  My study is to reach Truth’s inmost shrine –

  And I am not my Self’s ass, he is mine;

  Now since the beast I ride on rides on you,

  That I’m your better is quite plainly true.

  You love the Self – it’s lit in you a fire

  Of nagging lust, insatiable desire,

  A blaze that burns your vigour, wastes your heart,

  Leaving infirmity in every part –

  Consuming all your strength, till deaf and blind

  You’re old, forgetful, rambling in your mind.”

  This man, and hundreds like him, constitute

  The mighty phalanx of the Absolute;

  When such an army charges you will find

  You and your puny Self are left behind.

  How you delight in this dog’s partnership –

  But it’s the dog, not you, that cracks the whip!

  The forces of the king will separate

  This dog and you – why not anticipate

  Their order and forestall the pain? If though

  You weep that here on earth you cannot know

  Enough of this audacious infidel –

  Don’t worry; you’ll be comrades down in hell.

  Two foxes

  Two foxes met, and tasted such delight

  They could not let each other
out of sight.

  But then a king came hunting on the plain

  And parted them. “Where shall we meet again?”

  She yelped. He barked back as he reached their hole:

  “At the furrier’s, dear – hung up as a stole!”’

  A bird complains of pride

  Another said: ‘Whenever I decide

  To seek His presence, that arch-devil Pride

  lines 2028–43

  ‘Obstructs my path. I can’t fight back with force;

  Against his specious talk I’ve no recourse.

  How can I find salvation from his lies,

  Drink down the wine of meaning and be wise?’

  The hoopoe answers him

  The hoopoe said: ‘This devil never leaves

  Until the Self has gone; if he deceives

  You now, his cunning is your own deceit –

  Your wishes are the devil, you the cheat!

  If you accomplish one desire, a shoal

  Of struggling demons rises in your soul;

  The world’s a furnace and a prison cell,

  The devil’s province, an unending hell –

  Draw back your hand from it if you would win

  An unmolested life secure from sin.

  The devil complains

  A sluggard once approached a fasting saint

  And, baffled by despair, made this complaint:

  “The devil is a highwayman, a thief,

  Who’s ruined me and robbed me of belief.”

  The saint replied: “Young man, the devil too

  Has made his way here to complain – of you.

  ‘My province is the world,’ I heard him say;

  ‘Tell this new pilgrim of God’s holy Way

  To keep his hands off what is mine – if I

  Attack him it’s because his fingers pry

  In my affairs; if he will leave me be,

  He’s no concern of mine and can go free’.”

  Malek Dinar

  One dear to God addressed Malek Dinar:

  “I’ve lost myself – but tell me how you are.”

  lines 2044–63

  He said: “I get my bread from God’s own hands,

  Then carry out the Evil One’s commands.”

  Your vaunted faith is wordy insolence;

  The devil strikes, and you have no defence –

  This world’s grief clings to you, yet you decide

  You’re ready for our quest! God damn your pride!

  I said “Give up the world”, and now I say

  Stand firm to be admitted to the Way;

  If you have given Him this earthly show

  When will you spread your hands and let it go?

  Your sloth has drowned you in a sea of greed;

  You don’t know why you wait or what you need –

  Though earth and heaven weep you seek out sin;

  Greed blunts your faith, passion corrupts within.

  What is this world, this nest of greed and lust,

  But leavings of oppression, windswept dust?

  Here tyranny intensified its reign,

  Here cruelty struck and left an emptied plain.

  God calls this world a nothing, but its snare

  Has trapped you, and you struggle in despair –

  When will you die to such unhappiness

  And take the hand that leads you from distress?

  Can one who’s lost in nothing rightly claim

  The attributes of man, much less the name?

  The creature who abandons what he sought

  For nothing’s sake is nought and less than nought.

  What is this world’s work? – idle lethargy,

  That idleness a long captivity.

  What is the world but a consuming pyre,

  Where nation follows nation to the fire?

  And when its flames turn night to blinding day,

  The lion-hearted hero runs away –

  To close your eyes and flee is courage here,

  Or like some fluttering moth you’ll draw too near

  And in the blaze be burnt; to worship flame

  Is drunken pride, the path to death and shame.

  lines 2064–78

  ‘The fire surrounds you, and with every breath

  The scorching flames reach out and threaten death;

  But they are quenched when we achieve our goal,

  And look – there waits asylum for your soul.

  A rich lord and a dervish

  At public prayers a great lord cried: “O God,

  Have mercy on me now and spare the rod!”

  A crazy dervish heard his prayer and said:

  “You dare to call His mercies on your head

  When your behaviour seems to say ‘The earth

  Can hardly hold a person of my worth’ –

  You’ve raised a palace up against the sky,

  Embellished it with gold to daze the eye;

  Ten boys and ten young girls await your whim,

  What claim have you on mercy or on Him?

  Look on your life, on all that you possess –

  There isn’t room for mercy in this mess!

  If Fate gave you my daily round of bread,

  Then you could call down mercies on your head.

  Shame on you, man! Until you turn aside

  From power and wealth and all your stinking pride,

  There’s nothing to be done – turn now, and see

  How like a hero you can still break free.”

  Death-bed repentance

  A true believer said: “There is a crowd

  Who when they come to die will cry aloud

  And turn to God. But they are fools; they should

  Have spent their lives in seeking what is good.

  When leaves are falling it’s too late to sow;

  Repentance on a death-bed is too slow –

  The time to turn aside has flown; be sure

  Whoever waits till then will die impure”.’

  lines 2079–94

  A miserly bird

  Another bird said: ‘I love gold alone;

  It’s life to me, like marrow to a bone –

  When I have gold I blossom like a flower;

  With restless pride I revel in its power.‘

  The hoopoe answers him

  The hoopoe said: ‘Appearances delight

  The heart that cannot see Truth’s dawning light;

  You are as blind by day as in the night –

  Your life’s a crawling ant’s. What essence lies

  In surfaces? A void! Direct your eyes

  To meaning’s core; gold is a stone, and you

  Are like a child attracted by its hue.

  It is an idol when it holds the soul

  Back from its God – hide it in some dark hole!

  And if it is a sovereign remedy

  It also has a foul utility

  (Men make a ring of it that stops a mule

  From being covered). O unhappy fool,

  Who’s helped by all this gold? And what real pleasure

  Can you derive from heaps of glittering treasure?

  If you can give a dervish just a grain

  You’ll nag at him, or wish it back again!

  It’s true that backed by gold you’ll never lack

  For friends – your friendship’s brand burns every back!

  Each month you count the profits from your trade,

  What trade! – your soul’s been sold, the bargain’s made.

  Life’s sweetness passes and you spend your time

  Scrabbling for farthings – isn’t this a crime?

  You give this All for nothing, while your heart

  Is given wholly to the merchant’s art;

  But underneath your gibbet I shall wait

  Until its steps are jerked away by Fate.

  lines 2095–2115

  How many dines you’11 hang! Each sliding noose

  Will seem a hundred burn
ing flames — what use

  Will your religion, gold, be to you then?

  Or when you’re drowned, your business acumen?

  In that last tumult as you gasp for air

  You’ll know your doom and shriek in wild despair.

  Remember the Koran: “You cannot gain

  Salvation while the things you love remain.”

  You must abandon all things that exist;

  Even the soul itself must be dismissed –

  Renounce its fellowship; it too must go,

  Along with all you own and all you know.

  If you have made this world a place for sleep,

  Your bed’s the load that makes the Way so steep

  Burn it! and pass beyond what merely seems;

  You can’t deceive the Truth with sleepy dreams.

  Let fear persuade you, and the fire is lit;

  Burn your bed now if you would rise from it.

  The novice who had some gold

  A novice hid a little store of gold.

  His sheikh knew this, although he’d not been told.

  There was a journey that they had to make –

  The two set out, the young man and his sheikh;

  Then night came to the valley where they walked,

  And into two the path they followed forked.

  The novice trembled for his hidden gold

  (Which makes its owners rather less than bold);

  “Which way do you advise?” he asked his sheikh.

  “There are two paths; which is the best to take?”

  The sheikh said: “Throw out what you cannot hide,

  Then either way will do – as you decide.”

  Let gold win someone’s heart, and when that’s done

  Even the Devil, out of fear, will run

  (When gold is weighed what arguments ensue:

  “One grain too many!”“No, one grain too few!”);

  lines 2116–32

  In ways of faith he’s like an ass that’s lame,

  Cast down, preoccupied and full of shame –

  A king when cheating people, but a fool

  When faith is mentioned – a bewildered mule.

  The man whom shining gold can lead astray

  Is captured by the world, he’s lost the Way.

  Remember Joseph and beware this well;

  Tread carefully; it leads to death and hell.

  Rabe’eh and the two grains of silver

  A sheikh of Basra said to Rabe’eh:

  “How much you have endured along love’s Way!

  And all this strength is from yourself – tell me

  The source of your profound ability,

  This inward light which you have neither read

  Nor learnt nor copied.” Saint Rabe’eh said: