Faces of Love: Hafez and the Poets of Shiraz
Page 10
The pampered are not fit to travel on love’s road,
Only an outcast’s heart can bear the lover’s load.
Why let the world upset you? Why, and for how long?
Drink wine, since sorrow in a wise man’s heart is wrong.
Our serving boy’s young face is ready for its beard –
What tearful faces there will be, once it’s appeared!
And if that boy should serve me now, it is a sign
Hafez’s cloak and prayer-mat have been sold for wine.
GOOD NEWS, MY HEART! THE BREATH OF CHRIST IS WAFTING HERE;
Its sweetness brings the scent of One who’ll soon appear.
Don’t cry and pray for exile’s sake; last night I cast
Our fortune, and an answer to your prayers draws near;
Not only I rejoice within this valley’s fire –
Moses, in hopes of borrowed embers, wanders here.
There is no one who has no business in Your street
And all are drawn here by the hopes that they hold dear –
No man can know where his Belovèd now resides,
But still the bell that summons him rings loud and clear;
And if a friend should ask how one grief-stricken fares,
Say, “Well! He’s breathing still – he’s not yet on his bier.”
But ask this garden’s nightingale for news, since cries
Of longing from within a cage are all I hear.
My friends, the Friend is hurting Hafez’s poor heart;
A falcon hunts a fly, or so it would appear!
MY LOVE HAS SENT NO LETTER FOR
A long time now – I’ve heard
No salutations from him, no
Inquiries, not one word;
I’ve written him a hundred times,
But that hard-riding king
Has sent no emissary back,
No message, not a thing!
I’m wild with waiting, crazy, but
He’s sent no envoy here –
No strutting partridge has turned up,
No graceful, skittish deer.
He knows my heart must now be like
A fluttering bird, but he
Has yet to send one sinuous line
To lure and capture me.
Damn him, that sweet-lipped serving boy
Knows very well that I
Need wine now, but he pours me none,
Although my glass is dry.
How much I boasted of his favors,
The kindnesses we’d share –
And now I’ve no idea at all
Of how he is, or where.
But this is no surprise, Hafez;
Calm yourself, and behave!
A king can’t be expected to
Write letters to a slave.
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 beggars 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 shall remain,
And all devotion’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.
THE ONE WHO GAVE YOUR LOVELY FACE ITS ROSY
red and white
Can give me peace, and patience to endure
my wretched plight;
The One who taught your curls their airy
arrogance can give
Me justice to redress the hopeless grief
in which I live.
Oh, I despaired of Farhad when his hand
assigned the rein
Of his bewildered heart to Shirin’s lips,
and her disdain.
If treasuries of gold are lacking, well,
contentment’s beckoned;
The One who gives the first to kings sees beggars
receive the second.
The world displays herself to us as such
a charming bride,
But life’s the dowry that men pay to lie
at her sweet side.
From now on it’s the cypress and the clear
streams’ banks for me;
Especially now spring’s promise scents the breeze
incessantly.
“Justice!” I cry. And since, Qavam al-din,
we’ve had to part,
This age’s grief, your absent face, usurp
Hafez’s heart.
MAY I REMEMBER ALWAYS WHEN
Your glance in secrecy met mine,
And in my face your love was like
A visibly reflected sign.
May I remember always when
Your chiding eyes were like my death
And your sweet lips restored my life
Like Jesus’s reviving breath.
May I remember always when
We drank our wine as darkness died,
My friend and I, alone at dawn,
Though God was there too, at our side.
May I remember always when
Your face was pleasure’s flame, and my
Poor fluttering heart was like a moth
That’s singed and is about to die.
May I remember always when
The company that we were in
Was so polite, and when it seemed
Only the wine would wink and grin!
May I remember always when
Our goblet laughed with crimson wine –
What tales passed back and forth between
Your ruby lips, my dear, and mine!
May I remember always when
I was a canopy unfurled
That shaded you, and you were like
The new moon riding through the world.
May I remember always when
I sat and drank in wine-shops where
What I can’t find in mosques today
Accompanied the drinkers there.
May I remember always when
The jewels of verse Hafez selected
Were set out properly by you,
Arranged in order, and corrected.
THESE PREACHERS WHO MAKE SUCH A SHOW
Of pulpit piety
Act in a wholly different way
When no one’s there to see.
This is my question for the wise –
How is it those who teach
Repentance are so rarely found
To practice what they preach?
You’d think they’d no belief in God
Or in His Judgment Day,
Given their frauds
done in His name,
The pious tricks they play.
My master reigns among the ruins,
And the poor whom he
Attracts know needing nothing’s wealth,
And pride’s humility.
O God, these nouveaux riches – the slaves
And mules that they display!
Set them upon their donkeys now,
And send them on their way!
And angels, say your prayers before
Love’s tavern door – its shade
Is where the clay of Adam’s kneaded
And mankind is made.
His boundless beauty slays the lover,
And even as he dies,
Out of the darkness, seeking love,
New multitudes arise.
But hurry, Sufi – in the house
Where Magians meet they give
The liquid that revives men’s hearts
And makes them truly live.
Empty your house, my heart, so that
Your Sovereign may preside there,
Since grasping fools despoil both heart
And soul when they reside there.
At dawn a cry came from the heavens –
And Reason said, “I see
The very angels know by heart
Hafez’s poetry!”
THE NIGHTINGALES ARE DRUNK, WINE-RED ROSES APPEAR,
And, Sufis, all around us, happiness is here;
How firmly, like a rock, Repentance stood! Look how
A wine-glass taps it, and it lies in pieces now…
Bring wine! From the sequestered court where we’re secluded,
Drunk or sober, king or soldier, none will be excluded;
This inn has two doors, and through one we have to go –
What does it matter if the doorway’s high or low?
If there’s no sorrow there can be no happiness,
And, when the world was made, men knew this, and said, “Yes.”
Rejoice, don’t fret at Being and Non-Being; say
That all perfection will be nothingness one day.
The horse that rode the wind, Asef in all his glory,
The language of the birds, are now an ancient story;
They’ve disappeared upon the wind, and Solomon,
The master of them all, has nothing now they’ve gone.
Don’t rise on feathered wings, don’t soar into the skies –
An arrow falls to earth, however far it flies;
How will your pen give thanks, Hafez, now men demand
Your verses everywhere, and pass them hand to hand?
MOSLEMS, TIME WAS I HAD A HEART –
a good one too,
When problems came we’d talk, and I’d
know what to do;
And if I tumbled in grief’s whirlpool
my heart was sure
To give me hope that soon enough
I’d reach the shore –
A sympathetic, generous heart,
a heart prepared
To help out any noble soul,
a heart that cared.
This heart was lost to me within
my lover’s street;
God, what a place! – where I succumbed
to sweet deceit.
There is no faultless art – we all
fall short somehow,
But what poor beggar’s more deprived
than I am now?
Have pity on this wretched soul
and sympathize
With one who once upon a time
was strong and wise.
Since love has taught me how to talk,
each little phrase
Of mine is cried up everywhere
and showered with praise –
But don’t call Hafez witty, wise,
intelligent;
I’ve seen Hafez, I know him well;
he’s ignorant.
PERHAPS, MY HEART, THE WINE-SHOPS’ DOORS
will soon be opened wide,
And all the cramping knots in which
we’re tied will be untied;
And if they’re closed because of one
ascetic’s canting pride,
Be strong, my heart…because of God
this will be rectified.
I swear by revelers’ hearts that those
who drink at dawn have pried
Apart with prayers so many doors –
their prayers were satisfied.
Write now the elegy for grape’s
fair child, since she has died!
And make her mourners weep with such
despair it’s blood they’ve cried.
Sever the harp’s strings now in grief
for wine’s cruel homicide;
Likewise the locks of those young boys
who served wine at our side.
They’ve closed the wine-shops’ doors – ah, God,
don’t let them open wide
The doors to shops whose wares are cant,
pretentiousness, and pride.
Hafez, this Sufi cloak you wear,
tomorrow it won’t hide
The heathen underneath, and all
you’ve claimed will be belied.
WE HAVEN’T TRAVELED TO THIS DOOR
For wealth or mastery,
We come here seeking refuge from
Misfortune’s misery.
And we have journeyed all this way,
Fleeing the confines of
Our Nothingness to seek out Being
Along the path of love;
From heaven’s orchards we have seen
The springtime of your face,
We traveled here from paradise
To seek this herb of grace –
For all the treasures Gabriel
Kept in store for us there,
We’ve traveled to our Sovereign’s door
Like beggars in despair.
O Holy Ship of Blessings, where
Is Your strong anchor found?
In sinfulness, within this sea
Of mercy, we are drowned!
Our good name’s gone…cover our sins,
Kind Cloud of Grace – we bring
A blackened record with us to
The precincts of our King.
Hafez, cast off this Sufi cloak
And all it signifies –
We’ve followed here the camel-train
With ardent, fiery sighs.
I SAID, “THE GRIEF I FEEL IS ALL FOR YOU”;
she said, “Your grief will end”;
I said, “Be as the moon to me”; she said,
“That moon might rise, my friend.”
I said, “Learn faithfulness from those whose love
is trustworthy and true”;
She said, “That’s something moon-like pretty girls
are rarely known to do.”
I said, “I’ll bind my eyes up, and I’ll keep
your image from my sight”;
She said, “My image is a thief that moves
invisibly by night.”
I said, “Your curls’ scent has misled my mind,
I wander far and wide”;
She said, “And when you understand you’ll see
that scent is your true guide.”
I said, “Happy the scent from beauty’s garden,
blowing so fresh and sweet”;
She said, “Cool is the breeze that blows on us
from the belovèd’s street.”
I said, “Wanting to kiss your ruby lips
has all but murdered me”;
She said, “Be as a slave, my lips know how
to treat slaves lovingly.”
I said, “When will your generous heart make peace
between us – when, my dear?”
She said, “Don’t speak of this at all until
my heart says peace is here.”
I said, “And did you see how happiness
&n
bsp; sped by, and could not last?”
She said, “Silence, Hafez; this time of grief
will also, soon, have passed.”
DEAR FRIENDS, THAT FRIEND WITH WHOM WE ONCE
Caroused at night –
His willing services to us
And our delight…remember this.
And in your joy, when tinkling bells
And harps are there,
Include within your songs the sound
Of love’s despair…remember this.
When wine bestows a smile upon
Your server’s face,
Keep in your songs, for lovers then,
A special place…remember this.
So all that you have hoped for is
Fulfilled at last?
All that we talked of long ago,
Deep in the past…remember this.
When love is faithful, and it seems
Nothing can hurt you,
Know that the world is faithless still
And will desert you…remember this.
If Fortune’s horse bolts under you,
Then call to mind
Your riding whip, and see your friends
Aren’t left behind…remember this.
O you, who dwell in splendor now,
Glorious and proud,
Pity Hafez, your threshold’s where
His face is bowed…remember this.
IT IS THE NIGHT OF POWER,
Grief’s scroll is rolled away,
Peace to this sacred night
until the dawning day!
My heart, as you traverse
love’s path, be strong and true –
No step along this way
will be denied its due.
A libertine is all
I am, I can’t repent –
Although it means that you’ve
decreed my banishment.
My heart’s gone, and I missed
the face of its sly thief;
My cries are for my sorrow,
my sighs are for my grief.
Bring the bright morning to
my heart, O God; the night
That separation brings
obliterates my sight.
If you want faith, Hafez,
put up with faithlessness –
Merchants see loss and profit,
both failure and success.
LIFE’S GARDEN FLOURISHES WHEN YOUR
Bright countenance is here.
Come back! Without your face’s bloom
The spring has left the year.
If tears course down like raindrops now,
It’s no surprise, it’s right –