Faces of Love: Hafez and the Poets of Shiraz

by Dick Davis

  SOURCES

  For the poems of Hafez, I have used mainly the version edited by Parviz Natel Khanlari, Divan-e Hafez, in two volumes (Tehran: Kharazmi, 1362/1983), though I have also made comparisons with other editions, notably that edited by Seyyed Abol-Qasem Anjavi-Shirazi, Divan-e Hafez (Tehran: Javidan, 1345/1966). For Jahan Khatun’s poems, I have used the edition mentioned above (edited by Purandokht Kashani-Rad and Kamel Ahmadnezhad), which is the only edition of her poems to have appeared so far. For most of the poems of Obayd-e Zakani, I have used the version edited by Mohammad Ja`far Mahjub, Kolliyat-e Obayd-e Zakani (New York: Biblioteca Persica, 1999); for the text of Obayd’s Cat and Mouse, I have used the version edited by Parviz Atabeki, Kolliyat-e Obayd-e Zakani (Tehran: Farzan, 1343/1964). The text of two of Obayd’s poems translated here (pp. lix and 195) is taken from the edition of Amir Dowlatshah Samarqandi’s Tazkirat al-Sho`ara, edited by Mohammad Ramezani (Tehran: Khavar, 1338/1959).

  The Pronunciation of Persian Names

  Persian names are pronounced with a more even stress than is common in English, which sounds to an English speaker’s ear as though the last syllable is being slightly stressed. There are two “a” sounds in Persian: a long “a” like the “a” in the British pronunciation of “father”; and a short “a” like the “a” in “cat.” In Hafez the “a” is long; in Jahan the first “a” is short, and the second “a” long; in Malek the “a” is short; in Khatun the “a” is long. The “Kh” of Khatun is pronounced like the Scottish “ch” in “loch.” The “a” in Abu is short; that in Es’haq and Bos’haq is long; in Mozaffar each “a” is short; in Mobarez the “a” is long. Obayd is pronounced more or less as though it were the English word “obeyed.” Each “a”in Zakani is long. The “q” at the end of “Es’haq” and “Bos’haq” is pronounced like a guttural “g,” far back in the throat. The apostrophe in Es’haq and Bos’haq indicates only that the “s” and “h” sounds are pronounced separately, as in “mishandle,” not together as in “ashen.”

  Poems

  Hafez

  My friend, hold back your heart from enemies,

  Drink shining wine with handsome friends like these;

  With art’s initiates undo your collar –

  Stay buttoned up with ignoramuses.

  HOWEVER OLD, INCAPABLE,

  And heart-sick I may be,

  The moment I recall your face

  My youth’s restored to me;

  Thanks be to God that all I sought

  From Him I have received,

  That my exertions brought to me

  The fortune I’ve achieved.

  Rejoice, young sapling, in your glory,

  For in your shadow there

  I am the nightingale whose songs

  Are heard now everywhere.

  To me, at first, the heights and depths

  Of Being were unknown,

  But schooled within my longing for you

  How well informed I’ve grown!

  Fate drags me to the wine-shop’s door –

  And though I turn and twist,

  That’s where I always finish up;

  It’s useless to resist.

  It’s not that I am old in months

  And years; if truth be told

  The friend I love’s untrue to me –

  It’s this that makes me old.

  Within my heart, the door of meaning

  Opened the day I sought

  Our ancient Zoroastrian out

  And entered in his court.

  On Glory’s highway, and upon

  Good Fortune’s throne, I raise

  The wine-cup, and receive my friends’

  Warm welcome and their praise!

  And from that moment that your glance

  First troubled me, I’m sure

  I’ve been immune to all the troubles

  The last days have in store.

  Last night God’s kindness brought good news –

  “Hafez, I guarantee

  That all your sins will be forgiven;

  Come back, return to Me!”

  LAST NIGHT SHE BROUGHT ME WINE, AND SAT BESIDE MY PILLOW;

  Her hair hung loose, her dress was torn, her face perspired –

  She smiled and sang of love, with mischief in her eyes,

  And whispering in my ear, she drunkenly inquired:

  “My ancient lover, can it be that you’re asleep?

  The true initiate, when offered wine at night,

  Would be a heretic of love if he refused

  To take the draught he’s given, and drink it with delight.”

  And as for you, you hypocrites, don’t cavil at

  Lovers who drain life to the lees, since we were given

  This nature when the world began, and we must drink

  The wine that’s poured for us, whether from earth or heaven.

  So take the laughing wine cup, raise it in your hand,

  Caress your lover’s curls, and say Hafez has spoken;

  How many vows of abstinence the world has seen

  So fervently affirmed, and – like Hafez’s – broken.

  A FLOWER, WITHOUT A FRIEND’S FACE THERE, I THINK

  that isn’t good

  And springtime, if there isn’t wine to drink,

  that isn’t good

  A stroll through gardens, or a wooded place,

  Without a pretty tulip-blushing face

  that isn’t good

  A cypress swaying, and a rose unfolding,

  Without a nightingale’s melodious scolding

  that isn’t good

  A sweet-lipped, sexy lover near, if this is

  To be with no embraces and no kisses

  that isn’t good

  Wine in a garden can be sweet, but when

  We have no friend to talk and listen, then

  that isn’t good

  And anything the mind dreams, in the end,

  Unless it is the features of our friend,

  that isn’t good

  The soul’s a useless coin, Hafez – not worth

  Your casting, as an offering, on the earth

  that isn’t good

  I SEE NO LOVE IN ANYONE,

  Where, then, have all the lovers gone?

  And when did all our friendship end,

  And what’s become of every friend?

  Life’s water’s muddied now, and where

  Is Khezr to guide us from despair?

  The rose has lost its coloring,

  What’s happened to the breeze of spring?

  A hundred thousand flowers appear

  But no birds sing for them to hear –

  Thousands of nightingales are dumb:

  Where are they now? Why don’t they come?

  For years no rubies have been found

  In stony mines deep underground;

  When will the sun shine forth again?

  Where are the clouds brimful of rain?

  Who thinks of drinking now? No one.

  Where have the roistering drinkers gone?

  This was a town of lovers once,

  Of kindness and benevolence,

  And when did kindness end? What brought

  The sweetness of our town to naught?

  The ball of generosity

  Lies on the field for all to see –

  No rider comes to strike it; where

  Is everyone who should be there?

  Silence, Hafez, since no one knows

  The secret ways that heaven goes;

  Who is it that you’re asking how

  The heavens are revolving now?

  THE ORCHARD CHARMS OUR HEARTS, AND CHATTER WHEN

  our dearest friends appear – is sweet;

  God bless the time of roses! To drink our wine

  among the roses here – is sweet!

  Our souls’ scent sweetens with each breeze; ah yes,

  the sighs that lovers hear – are sweet.

  Sing, nightingale! Ro
sebuds unopened yet

  will leave you, and your fear – is sweet;

  Dear singer of the night, for those in love

  your sad lament is clear – and sweet.

  The world’s bazaar contains no joy, except

  the libertine’s; good cheer – is sweet!

  I heard the lilies say, “The world is old,

  to take things lightly here – is sweet.”

  Hafez, the happy heart ignores the world;

  don’t think dominion here – is sweet.

  SWEET LIPS AND SILVER EARS – THAT IDOL’S ELEGANCE

  Has snatched away my fortitude, and my good sense;

  So lovely, lithe, and lively, such a fairy face,

  That Turk in his cute cloak, all wiles and nonchalance –

  And I’m so mad about him, so on fire for him,

  I’m like a cooking cauldron’s seething turbulence,

  But I’ll calm down when I can grab that cloak from him

  And be the shirt that covers up his impudence.

  And when my bones are rotting, still my soul will not

  Forget his kindness to me, his benevolence.

  His chest and shoulders, chest and shoulders, bore away

  My faith and heart, my faith and heart – I’d no defense!

  So here’s your medicine, Hafez, here’s your medicine now –

  Sweet lips, sweet lips, sweet lips are your deliverance!

  COME, BOY, AND PASS THE WINE AROUND –

  Love seemed a simple game

  When I encountered it…but then

  The difficulties came!

  In longing for the musky scent

  The breeze brings from her hair,

  Such blood wells up in lovers’ hearts,

  Such suffering, and despair…

  What can ensure my happiness,

  At love’s stage, in my heart?

  When every instant now the bell

  Cries, “Load up, to depart!”

  And if the wine-seller says wine

  Should dye your prayer-mat…dye it!

  Pilgrims should know each stage’s rule

  And seek to satisfy it.

  On this dark night, amidst these waves,

  The whirlpool’s fearsome roar,

  What can they know of our distress

  Who watch us from the shore?

  In all I’ve done, I’ve pleased myself,

  It’s ruined my good name –

  The secret’s out, and everywhere

  Men talk about my shame.

  Don’t hide from Him you seek, Hafez;

  You cannot hope to find

  The One you’re longing for until

  You leave the world behind.

  NO ONE HAS SEEN YOUR FACE, AND YET

  Thousands of rivals seek you;

  You’re still a bud and yet a hundred

  Nightingales entreat you.

  However far I am from you

  (May no one know that place!)

  I cannot help but hope that soon

  I’ll be in your embrace;

  And it’s not strange that I should choose

  Your street in which to wait –

  Thousands of strangers in this world

  Are in the selfsame state.

  The loved one doesn’t spare a glance –

  The lover must endure it;

  And there’s no pain, or if there is

  The doctor’s here to cure it.

  In love, the Sufi meeting house

  And wine-shop are one place;

  As are all places where we find

  The loved one’s radiant face;

  And what the Sufis make a show of

  Can be found equally

  Among the monks, before their cross,

  Within a monastery.

  Hafez’s cry is not mere nonsense

  When all is said and done;

  Though it’s a strangely curious tale,

  And a perplexing one.

  TO TELL YOU NOW MY POOR HEART’S STATE

  is what I long for

  To hear the news that hearts relate

  is what I long for

  Look how naïve I am! To keep from rivals’ ears

  A tale the winds disseminate

  is what I long for

  To sleep a sweet and noble night with you, to sleep

  Till morning and to rise up late

  is what I long for

  And in the darkness of the night, to pierce the pearl

  That is so fine and delicate

  is what I long for

  O morning breeze, abet me now, tonight, because

  To blossom as dawn lies in wait

  is what I long for

  To use the lashes of my eyes, for honor’s sake,

  To sweep the dust before your gate

  is what I long for

  Like Hafez, in contempt of prigs, to make the kind

  Of poem libertines create

  is what I long for

  THANKS BE TO GOD NOW THAT THE WINE-SHOP DOOR

  Is open, since it’s there I’m heading for;

  The jars are groaning with fermented wine,

  With wine that’s real, and not a metaphor,

  That brings us drunkenness, and pride, and pleasure,

  While we bring weakness, need, and not much more!

  The secret I’ve not told, and won’t, to others

  I’ll tell my friend – of him I can be sure.

  It’s not a short tale, it describes the twists

  In my belovèd’s hair, and lovers’ lore,

  Majnun’s grief, Layla’s curls, Ayaz’s foot

  That royal Mahmud’s face bowed down before;

  And like a hawk I’ve seeled my eyes to all

  The world, to glimpse the face that I adore.

  Whoever strays within your street, it is

  Your eyebrow’s curve that he will pray before;

  O friends, to know the fire in Hafez’ heart

  Ask candles what they’re burning, melting, for.

  WINE IN MY GLASS, AND ROSES IN MY ARMS,

  my lover near me –

  On such a day the world’s great king would be

  my slave and fear me.

  No need to bring a candle to

  our meeting place tonight;

  My friend is there, the full moon of his face

  will be our light.

  Though wine in our religion’s not forbidden

  (never think it!),

  If you’re not there, my cypress-slender love,

  how can I drink it?

  Don’t sprinkle perfume where we meet –

  the tresses of your hair

  Each moment spread the fragrance of

  such sweetness there…

  My ears hear only plaintive flute-notes

  and the harp’s sweet sound;

  My eyes see only ruby lips

  and wine-cups going round.

  Don’t talk to me of sugar, or

  of any food that’s sweet;

  Sweetness for me is on your lips

  when your and my lips meet.

  I’ll haunt these ruins while within

  the ruins of my heart

  The treasure of my love for you

  is lodged and won’t depart.

  Why do you talk to me of shame – shame

  has become my name –

  Or reputation, when my reputation

  is my shame?

  We drink our wine, we flirt, and we’re

  licentious – yes, but who

  Is in this city where we live

  of whom this isn’t true?

  And don’t go to the morals officer

  to make a fuss –

  He’s on the constant lookout too for pleasure,

  just like us.

  This is no time to sit, Hafez,

  without your wine and lover;

  Jasmine’s and roses’ days are here,

  and Ramadan is over.

>   GO, MIND YOUR OWN BUSINESS, PREACHER! WHAT’S ALL

  This hullabaloo?

  My heart has left the road you travel, but

  What’s that to you?

  Until my lips are played on like a flute

  By his lips’ beauty,

  My ears can only hear as wind the world’s

  Advice on duty –

  God made him out of nothing, and within

  His being’s state

  There is a mystery no being’s skill

  Can penetrate.

  The beggar in your street disdains eight heavens

  For what he’s given;

  The captive in your chains is free of this world

  And of heaven;

  And even though the drunkenness of love

  Has ruined me,

  My being’s built upon those ruins for

  Eternity.

  My heart, don’t whine so often that your friend’s

  Unjust to you;

  This is the fate he’s given you, and this

  Is justice too.

  Be off with you, Hafez! Enough of all

  These tales you tell;

  I’ve heard these tales and fables many times;

  I know them well.

  WELCOME, SWEET FLOWER, NO ONE’S

  More welcome in this land –

  The more so since you hold

  A wine-cup in your hand.

  Enjoy this moment’s happiness,

  Savor it well;