Omar Khayyam
Rubaiyat — translated by Shahriar Shahriari
Some are thoughtful on their way
Some are doubtful, so they pray.
I hear the hidden voice that may
Shout, “Both paths lead astray.”
Rubaiyat — translated by Shahriar Shahriari
Some are thoughtful on their way
Some are doubtful, so they pray.
I hear the hidden voice that may
Shout, “Both paths lead astray.”
The poet
Omar Khayyam was one of the most remarkable minds of medieval Persia — simultaneously a leading mathematician, a court astronomer who reformed the calendar under Sultan Malik Shah, and a poet whose quatrains have since been translated into nearly every language on earth. His takhallus, Khayyam, means “tent maker,” a trade he may have practised before the patronage of the great Vizier Nizam ul-Mulk raised him to independence.
Omar Khayyam was born at Naishapur in Khorassan in the latter half of our Eleventh, and died within the First Quarter of our Twelfth Century. The Slender Story of his Life is curiously twined about that of two other very considerable Figures in their Time and Country: one of whom tells the Story of all Three. This was Nizam ul Mulk, Vizier to Alp Arslan the Son, and Malik Shah the Grandson, of Toghrul Beg the Tartar, who had wrested Persia from the feeble Successor of Mahmud the Great, and founded that Seljukian Dynasty which finally roused Europe into the Crusades. This Nizam ul Mulk, in his Wasiyat--or Testament--which he wrote and left as a Memorial for future Statesmen--relates the following, as quoted in the Calcutta Review, No. 59, from Mirkhond's History of the Assassins.
"'One of the greatest of the wise men of Khorassan was the Imam Mowaffak of Naishapur, a man highly honored and reverenced,--may God rejoice his soul; his illustrious years exceeded eighty-five, and it was the universal belief that every boy who read the Koran or studied the traditions in his presence, would assuredly attain to honor and happiness. For this cause did my father send me from Tus to Naishapur with Abd-us-samad, the doctor of law, that I might employ myself in study and learning under the guidance of that illustrious teacher. Towards me he ever turned an eye of favor and kindness, and as his pupil I felt for him extreme affection and devotion, so that I passed four years in his service. When I first came there, I found two other pupils of mine own age newly arrived, Hakim Omar Khayyam, and the ill-fated Ben Sabbah. Both were endowed with sharpness of wit and the highest natural powers; and we three formed a close friendship together. When the Imam rose from his lectures, they used to join me, and we repeated to each other the lessons we had heard. Now Omar was a native of Naishapur, while Hasan Ben Sabbah's father was one Ali, a man of austere life and practise, but heretical in his creed and doctrine. One day Hasan said to me and to Khayyam, "It is a universal belief that the pupils of the Imam Mowaffak will attain to fortune. Now, even if we all do not attain thereto, without doubt one of us will; what then shall be our mutual pledge and bond?" We answered, "Be it what you please." "Well," he said, "let us make a vow, that to whomsoever this fortune falls, he shall share it equally with the rest, and reserve no pre-eminence for himself." "Be it so," we both replied, and on those terms we mutually pledged our words. Years rolled on, and I went from Khorassan to Transoxiana, and wandered to Ghazni and Cabul; and when I returned, I was invested with office, and rose to be administrator of affairs during the Sultanate of Sultan Alp Arslan.'
"He goes on to state, that years passed by, and both his old school-friends found him out, and came and claimed a share in his good fortune, according to the school-day vow. The Vizier was generous and kept his word. Hasan demanded a place in the government, which the Sultan granted at the Vizier's request; but discontented with a gradual rise, he plunged into the maze of intrigue of an oriental court, and, failing in a base attempt to supplant his benefactor, he was disgraced and fell. After many mishaps and wanderings, Hasan became the head of the Persian sect of the Ismailians, a party of fanatics who had long murmured in obscurity, but rose to an evil eminence under the guidance of his strong and evil will. In A.D. 1090, he seized the castle of Alamut, in the province of Rudbar, which lies in the mountainous tract south of the Caspian Sea; and it was from this mountain home he obtained that evil celebrity among the Crusaders as the OLD MAN OF THE MOUNTAINS, and spread terror through the Mohammedan world; and it is yet disputed where the word Assassin, which they have left in the language of modern Europe as their dark memorial, is derived from the hashish, or opiate of hemp-leaves (the Indian bhang), with which they maddened themselves to the sullen pitch of oriental desperation, or from the name of the founder of the dynasty, whom we have seen in his quiet collegiate days, at Naishapur. One of the countless victims of the Assassin's dagger was Nizam ul Mulk himself, the old school-boy friend.1
"Omar Khayyam also came to the Vizier to claim his share; but not to ask for title or office. 'The greatest boon you can confer on me,' he said, 'is to let me live in a corner under the shadow of your fortune, to spread wide the advantages of Science, and pray for your long life and prosperity.' The Vizier tells us, that when he found Omar was really sincere in his refusal, he pressed him no further, but granted him a yearly pension of 1200 mithkals of gold from the treasury of Naishapur.
"At Naishapur thus lived and died Omar Khayyam, 'busied,' adds the Vizier, 'in winning knowledge of every kind, and especially in Astronomy, wherein he attained to a very high pre-eminence. Under the Sultanate of Malik Shah, he came to Merv, and obtained great praise for his proficiency in science, and the Sultan showered favors upon him.'
"When the Malik Shah determined to reform the calendar, Omar was one of the eight learned men employed to do it; the result was the Jalali era (so called from Jalal-ud-din, one of the king's names)--'a computation of time,' says Gibbon, 'which surpasses the Julian, and approaches the accuracy of the Gregorian style.' He is also the author of some astronomical tables, entitled 'Ziji-Malikshahi,' and the French have lately republished and translated an Arabic Treatise of his on Algebra.
"His Takhallus or poetical name (Khayyam) signifies a Tent-maker, and he is said to have at one time exercised that trade, perhaps before Nizam-ul-Mulk's generosity raised him to independence. Many Persian poets similarly derive their names from their occupations; thus we have Attar, 'a druggist,' Assar, 'an oil presser,' etc.2 Omar himself alludes to his name in the following whimsical lines:--
"We have only one more anecdote to give of his Life, and that relates to the close; it is told in the anonymous preface which is sometimes prefixed to his poems; it has been printed in the Persian in the Appendix to Hyde's Veterum Persarum Religio, p. 499; and D'Herbelot alludes to it in his Bibliotheque, under Khiam.3--
"'It is written in the chronicles of the ancients that this King of the Wise, Omar Khayyam, died at Naishapur in the year of the Hegira, 517 (A.D. 1123); in science he was unrivaled,--the very paragon of his age. Khwajah Nizami of Samarcand, who was one of his pupils, relates the following story: "I often used to hold conversations with my teacher, Omar Khayyam, in a garden; and one day he said to me, 'My tomb shall be in a spot where the north wind may scatter roses over it.' I wondered at the words he spake, but I knew that his were no idle words.4 Years after, when I chanced to revisit Naishapur, I went to his final resting-place, and lo! it was just outside a garden, and trees laden with fruit stretched their boughs over the garden wall, and dropped their flowers upon his tomb, so that the stone was hidden under them."
Thus far--without fear of Trespass--from the Calcutta Review. The writer of it, on reading in India this story of Omar's Grave, was reminded, he says, of Cicero's Account of finding Archimedes' Tomb at Syracuse, buried in grass and weeds. I think Thorwaldsen desired to have roses grow over him; a wish religiously fulfilled for him to the present day, I believe. However, to return to Omar.
Though the Sultan "shower'd Favors upon him," Omar's Epicurean Audacity of Thought and Speech caused him to be regarded askance in his own Time and Country. He is said to have been especially hated and dreaded by the Sufis, whose Practise he ridiculed, and whose Faith amounts to little more than his own, when stript of the Mysticism and formal recognition of Islamism under which Omar would not hide. Their Poets, including Hafiz, who are (with the exception of Firdausi) the most considerable in Persia, borrowed largely, indeed, of Omar's material, but turning it to a mystical Use more convenient to Themselves and the People they addressed; a People quite as quick of Doubt as of Belief; as keen of Bodily sense as of Intellectual; and delighting in a cloudy composition of both, in which they could float luxuriously between Heaven and Earth, and this World and the Next, on the wings of a poetical expression, that might serve indifferently for either. Omar was too honest of Heart as well of Head for this. Having failed (however mistakenly) of finding any Providence but Destiny, and any World but This, he set about making the most of it; preferring rather to soothe the Soul through the Senses into Acquiescence with Things as he saw them, than to perplex it with vain disquietude after what they might be. It has been seen, however, that his Worldly Ambition was not exorbitant; and he very likely takes a humorous or perverse pleasure in exalting the gratification of Sense above that of the Intellect, in which he must have taken great delight, although it failed to answer the Questions in which he, in common with all men, was most vitally interested.
For whatever Reason, however, Omar as before said, has never been popular in his own Country, and therefore has been but scantily transmitted abroad. The MSS. of his Poems, mutilated beyond the average Casualties of Oriental Transcription, are so rare in the East as scarce to have reacht Westward at all, in spite of all the acquisitions of Arms and Science. There is no copy at the India House, none at the Bibliotheque Nationale of Paris. We know but of one in England: No. 140 of the Ouseley MSS. at the Bodleian, written at Shiraz, A.D. 1460. This contains but 158 Rubaiyat. One in the Asiatic Society's Library at Calcutta (of which we have a Copy), contains (and yet incomplete) 516, though swelled to that by all kinds of Repetition and Corruption. So Von Hammer speaks of his Copy as containing about 200, while Dr. Sprenger catalogues the Lucknow MS. at double that number.5 The Scribes, too, of the Oxford and Calcutta MSS. seem to do their Work under a sort of Protest; each beginning with a Tetrastich (whether genuine or not), taken out of its alphabetical order; the Oxford with one of Apology; the Calcutta with one of Expostulation, supposed (says a Notice prefixed to the MS.) to have arisen from a Dream, in which Omar's mother asked about his future fate. It may be rendered thus:--
The Bodleian Quatrain pleads Pantheism by way of Justification.
The Reviewer,6 to whom I owe the Particulars of Omar's Life, concludes his Review by comparing him with Lucretius, both as to natural Temper and Genius, and as acted upon by the Circumstances in which he lived. Both indeed were men of subtle, strong, and cultivated Intellect, fine Imagination, and Hearts passionate for Truth and Justice; who justly revolted from their Country's false Religion, and false, or foolish, Devotion to it; but who fell short of replacing what they subverted by such better Hope as others, with no better Revelation to guide them, had yet made a Law to themselves. Lucretius indeed, with such material as Epicurus furnished, satisfied himself with the theory of a vast machine fortuitously constructed, and acting by a Law that implied no Legislator; and so composing himself into a Stoical rather than Epicurean severity of Attitude, sat down to contemplate the mechanical drama of the Universe which he was part Actor in; himself and all about him (as in his own sublime description of the Roman Theater) discolored with the lurid reflex of the Curtain suspended between the Spectator and the Sun. Omar, more desperate, or more careless of any so complicated System as resulted in nothing but hopeless Necessity, flung his own Genius and Learning with a bitter or humorous jest into the general Ruin which their insufficient glimpses only served to reveal; and, pretending sensual pleasure, as the serious purpose of Life, only diverted himself with speculative problems of Deity, Destiny, Matter and Spirit, Good and Evil, and other such questions, easier to start than to run down, and the pursuit of which becomes a very weary sport at last!
With regard to the present Translation. The original Rubaiyat (as, missing an Arabic Guttural, these Tetrastichs are more musically called) are independent Stanzas, consisting each of four Lines of equal, though varied, Prosody; sometimes all rhyming, but oftener (as here imitated) the third line a blank. Somewhat as in the Greek Alcaic, where the penultimate line seems to lift and suspend the Wave that falls over in the last. As usual with such kind of Oriental Verse, the Rubaiyat follow one another according to Alphabetic Rhyme--a strange succession of Grave and Gay. Those here selected are strung into something of an Eclogue, with perhaps a less than equal proportion of the "Drink and make-merry," which (genuine or not) recurs over-frequently in the Original. Either way, the Result is sad enough: saddest perhaps when most ostentatiously merry: more apt to move Sorrow than Anger toward the old Tentmaker, who, after vainly endeavoring to unshackle his Steps from Destiny, and to catch some authentic Glimpse of TO-MORROW, fell back upon TO-DAY (which has outlasted so many To-morrows!) as the only Ground he had got to stand upon, however momentarily slipping from under his Feet.
[From the Third Edition.]
Edward J. Fitzgerald
— Edward J. Fitzgerald, from the Third Edition
The verse
Depending on the source, Omar Khayyam is believed to have composed between 200 and 600 Rubaiyat (quatrains). The Farsi collection presented here is almost universally considered authentic. The most celebrated English translation was made in 1859 by Edward J. Fitzgerald, who often combined several originals and sought to convey the spirit rather than the letter. Two translations — one literal, one conveying the meaning — are also provided.
Each quatrain is presented in a two-row, three-column grid. The first column contains two translations; the second contains the Fitzgerald English and the German; the third contains the original Farsi.
Occasionally, where more than one version of the literal or meaning translation exists, both are shown separated by an or divider.
The palace where Jamshid held his cup
The doe and the fox now rest and sup
Bahram who hunted game non-stop
Was hunted by death when his time was up.
They say the Lion and the Lizard keep
The Courts where Jamshyd gloried and drank deep:
And Bahram, that great Hunter--the Wild Ass
Stamps o'er his Head, and he lies fast asleep.
The palace where Arthur sought the Grail
Is the resting home of the weak and frail
And the knight who challenged death on its trail
On the ocean of death forward must sail
Chasing the temporal is to no avail
As soon as you go through death's dark veil.
Wüst liegt der Palast,
Wo einst Behram geprasst.
Jetzt scheucht von der Stelle
Der Leu die Gazelle
Wo der König im Jagen
Wilde Esel erschlagen,
Versank er im Sumpfe
Beim Eselstriumphe.
آن قصر که جمشید در او جام گرفت
آهو بچه کرد و روبه آرام گرفت
بهرام که گور میگرفتی همه عمر
دیدی که چگونه گور بهرام گرفت
I resolve daily that at dusk I shall repent
For a night with a cup full of wine spent.
In the presence of flowers, my resolve simply went
In such company, I only regret that I ever resolved to repent.
Come, fill the Cup, and in the Fire of Spring
The Winter Garment of Repentance fling:
The Bird of Time has but a little way
To fly--and Lo! the Bird is on the Wing.
Every morn I decide to repent at night
For embracing the joys of heart and sight
Yet every night, what seems right
With all my might, embrace delight.
An jedem Tag nehm' ich mir vor aufs neue,
Daß ich das Trinken lasse und bereue;
Doch nun voll Rosenduft erschienen ist
Der holde Lenz-bereu' ich meine Reue.
هر روز برانم که کنم شب توبه
از جام و پیالهٔ لبالب توبه
اکنون که رسید وقتِ گل توبه کجاست
در موسمِ گل ز تو یا رب توبه
Khayam, if you are intoxicated with wine, enjoy!
If you are seated with a lover of thine, enjoy!
In the end, the Void the whole world employ
Imagine thou art not, while waiting in line, enjoy!
And if the Wine you drink, the Lip you press,
End in the Nothing all Things end in--Yes-
Then fancy while Thou art, Thou art but what
Thou shalt be--Nothing--Thou shalt not be less.
In life devote yourself to joy and love
Behold the beauty of the peaceful dove
Those who live, in the end must all perish
Live as if you are already in heavens above.
Chajjam, solang du trunken bist von Wein, sei glücklich-
Solang im Schoße dir ein Mädelein, sei glücklich-
Und da der Dinge Ende ist das Nichts,
So bilde, daß du nichts bist, stets die ein! sei glücklich!
خیام اگر ز باده مستی خوش باش
با ماه رخی اگر نشستی خوش باش
چون عاقبت کار جهان نیستی است
انگار که نیستی چو هستی خوش باش
O friend, for the morrow let us not worry
This moment we have now, let us not hurry
When our time comes, we shall not tarry
With seven thousand-year-olds, our burden carry.
Ah! my Beloved, fill the Cup that clears
To-day of past Regrets and future Fears
To-morrow?--Why, To-morrow I may be
Myself with Yesterday's Sev'n Thousand Years.
O hark, let us not think of the morrow
Cherish this moment, far from sorrow
Life is a temporal gift that we borrow
Whether dead for ages, or leave tomorrow.
Komm, Freund, wir wollen nicht sorgen um morgen,
Wir halten als Beute das Gute von heute geborgen.
Verlassen wir morgen dann dies alte Gasthaus die Welt,
So werden wir Allen, die vor uns bewohnt dieses Rathaus, gesellt.
ای دوست بیا تا غم فردا نخوریم
وین یک دم عمر را غنیمت شمریم
فردا که ازین دیر کهن درگذریم
با هفت هزار سالگان همسفریم
In childhood we strove to go to school,
Our turn to teach, joyous as a rule
The end of the story is sad and cruel
From dust we came, and gone with winds cool.
Myself when young did eagerly frequent
Doctor and Saint, and heard great Argument
About it and about: but evermore
Came out by the same Door as in I went.
Pursuing knowledge in childhood we rise
Until we become masterful and wise
But if we look through the disguise
We see the ties of worldly lies.
Zum Meister ging ich einst- das war die Jugendzeit-
Dann hab ich mich der eigenen Meisterschaft gefreut.
Und wollt ihr wissen, was davon das Ende ist?
Den Staubgeborenen hat wie Staub der Wind zerstreut.
یک چند به کودکی به استاد شدیم
یک چند ز استادی خود شاد شدیم
پایان سخن شنو که ما را چه رسید
از خاک برآمدیم و بر باد شدیم
At dawn came a calling from the tavern
Hark drunken mad man of the cavern
Arise; let us fill with wine one more turn
Before destiny fills our cup, our urn.
Dreaming when Dawn's Left Hand was in the Sky
I heard a Voice within the Tavern cry,
"Awake, my Little ones, and fill the Cup
Before Life's Liquor in its Cup be dry."
Early one morning I heard an angelic chime
Bringing news of a loving and joyous clime
Pursuit of the unimportant is the worst crime
Live in joy & love before the end of your time.
Eine Stimme scholl morgens zu mir aus der Schenke:
Steh' auf närrischer Schwärmer! Dein Heil bedenke
Füll', ehe das Mass unsres Schicksals gefüllt ist,
Bei uns noch das Mass mit edlem Getränke!
آمد سحری ندا ز میخانه ما
کای رند خراباتی دیوانه ما
برخیز که پر کنیم پیمانه ز می
زآن پیش که پر کنند پیمانه ما
If my coming were up to me, I'd never be born
And if my going were on my accord, I'd go with scorn
Isn't it better that in this world, so old and worn
Never to be born, neither stay, nor be away torn?
Indeed, the idols I have loved so long
Have done my Credit in Men's Eye much Wrong:
Have drown'd my Honour in a shallow Cup,
And sold my Reputation for a Song.
Why was I given life? Why was my seed ever sown?
Why having to leave all alone with moan and groan?
If the universal wisdom received mine on loan
I'd never be born, stay or leave, let it be known.
Zu Fasten fühlt' ich und zu Gebet mich jüngst gedrüngt und dachte: vielleicht
Wird nun das ewige Heil von mir, nach dem ich seit lang mich gesehnt, erreicht;
Allein ein Windhauch hat das Gebet alsbald Mir auf den Lippen verweht.
Ein halber Weinschluck, eh'ich's gedacht, mein Fasten all zu nichte gemacht.
گر آمدنم به من بُدی، نآمدمی
ور نیست شدن به من بُدی، کی شدمی
آن بِه نَبُدی که اندر این دِیر خراب
نه آمدمی، نه بُدَمی، نه شدمی
When the canary made its way to the field
Found the rose and wine smiling, kneeled,
In tongues its message in my ear it thus reeled
Hark, no moment in time did twice yield.
Iram indeed is gone with all its Rose,
And Jamshyd's Sev'n-ring'd Cup where no one knows;
But still the Vine her ancient Ruby yields,
And still a Garden by the Water blows.
I watched the birds on nature's stage
Playful, in flight, page after page
Thus opened the doors of my cage
& learnt each moment to fully engage.
Eine Nachtigall, die trunken zu dem Garten flog,
Wo ein Rosenkelch über den anderen sich bog,
Raunte ins Ohr mir: Erfasse das Glück
Des Lebens im Fluge: es kommt nicht zurück.
چون بلبل مست راه در بستان یافت
روی گل و جام باده را خندان یافت
آمد به زبان حال در گوشم گفت
دریاب که عمر رفته را نتوان یافت
Heaven is incomplete without a heavenly romance
Let a glass of wine be my present circumstance
Take what is here now, let go of a promised chance
A drumbeat is best heard from a distance.
"How sweet is mortal Sovranty!"--think some:
Others--"How blest the Paradise to come!"
Ah, take the Cash in hand and waive the Rest;
Oh, the brave Music of a distant Drum!
A future fantasy is no more than vain hope
With wishful minds for which we grope
I'd rather improve my current scope
To an upward trend from a downward slope
Du sprichst mir von Huris, vom Paradiese,
Von Eden lusterfüllter goldner Wiese.
Geh, nimm den Pfennig hin und laß mich gehn-
Von ferne nur hört sich die Trommel schön.
گویند کسان بهشت با حور خوش است
من میگویم که آب انگور خوش است
این نقد بگیر و دست از آن نسیه بدار
کهآواز دهل شنیدن از دور خوش است
The day the stallion of time was tamed and trained
Venus and Jupiter were adorned and stained
This life for us was allotted and ordained
This was not our will; were thus chained and restrained.
I tell Thee this--When, starting from the Goal,
Over the shoulders of the flaming Foal
Of Heav'n Parwin and Mushtari they flung,
In my predestin'd Plot of Dust and Soul
Same hands that formed Venus and Sun
And wove the fabric that makes time run
Same hands brought us here, and when done
Will leave behind dust, as if we were none.
Seit das Himmelsroß läuft auf goldenen Pfaden,
Seit Jupiter leuchtet zusammt den Plejaden,
War unser Schicksal beschlossen im Himmelsrat,
Ist's unsere Schuld, wenn wir es machen zur Tat?
آنروز که توسن فلک زین کردند
و آرایش مشتری و پروین کردند
این بود نصیب ما ز دیوان قضا
ما را چه گنه قسمت ما این کردند
The caravan of life shall always pass
Beware that is fresh as sweet young grass
Let's not worry about what tomorrow will amass
Fill my cup again, this night will pass, alas.
One Moment in Annihilation's Waste,
One moment, of the Well of Life to taste--
The Stars are setting, and the Caravan
Starts for the dawn of Nothing--Oh, make haste!
To be aware of each moment spent
Is to live in the now, and be present
Worry for morrow shan't make a dent
Caring for the now, your mind must be bent.
Diese Lebenskarawane ist ein seltsamer Zug,
Drum hasche die flüchtige Freude im Flug!
Mach' Dir im künftigen Gram keine Sorgen,
Fülle das Glas, bald naht wieder der Morgen!
این قافله عمر عجب میگذرد
دریاب دمی که با طرب میگذرد
ساقی غم فردای حریفان چه خوری
پیش آر پیاله را که شب میگذرد
Happily I walked with the tavern down the line
Passed an old drunk, holding a bottle of wine
"Do you not fear God?" was reproach of mine
said, "Mercy is God's sign, in silence I wine and dine."
And lately, by the Tavern Door agape,
Came stealing through the Dusk an Angel Shape,
Bearing a vessel on his Shoulder; and
He bid me taste of it; and 'twas--the Grape!
Our world upon joy and love was once built
Why is it that we reproach and cause guilt?
If we can simply correct our moral tilt,
We too will only will what God wilt.
Als gestern mich mein Fuß ins Weinhaus trug
Sah einen trunknen Greis ich, den ich frug:
"Fürch'st du dich nicht vor Gott?" Er aber sprach:
"Gott ist ja gnädig, trink! du bist nicht klug."
سرمست به میخانه گذر کردم دوش
پیری دیدم مست و سبوئی بر دوش
گفتم ز خدا شرم نداری ای پیر؟
گفتا کرم از خداست ، می نوش خموش
It is a day neither hot nor cold,
Clouds help the dry flowers unfold
Canary with his song to the flower told
Drink while you can, yourself don't scold.
And David's Lips are lock't; but in divine
High piping Pelevi, with "Wine! Wine! Wine!
Red Wine!"--the Nightingale cries to the Rose
That yellow Cheek of hers to'incarnadine.
When events unfold with calm and ease
When the winds that blow are merely breeze
Learn from nature, from birds and bees
Live your life in love, and let joy not cease.
Weder heiß noch kalt ist's heute, ein prächtiges Wetter:
Frisch vom Regen gewaschen prangen Rosenkelche und Blätter
Und die Nachtigall scheint zu den gelben Blumen zu singen:
Laßt auch Ihr von dem himmlischen Naß Euch belebend durchdringen.
روزیست خوش و هوا نه گرم است و نه سرد
ابر از رخ گلزار همیشوید گرد
بلبل به زبان حال خود با گل زرد
فریاد همیزند که می باید خَورد
This Old World we've named Cosmos by mistake
Is the graveyard of nights & days, no more awake
And a feast that hundred Jamshid's did break
And a throne that hundred Bahram's did make.
Think, in this batter'd Caravanserai
Whose Doorways are alternate Night and Day,
How Sultan after Sultan with his Pomp
Abode his Hour or two, and went his way.
This reality that is the world of physical
Is in truth a temporal illusion, magical
Into which we are born with a joyous call
Rule the world for some time until we fall.
Dies alte Karawanserai, gennant die Welt,
Bald nächtg dunkel, bald vom Tag erhellt,
Ist nur ein Rest von alten Herrlichkeiten,
Ein Grab von Königen, hochgerühmt vor Zeiten.
این کهنه رباط را که عالم نام است
وآرامگه ابلقِ صبح و شام است
بزمیست که واماندۀ صد جمشید است
قصریست که تکیهگاه صد بهرام است
The secrets eternal neither you know nor I
And answers to the riddle neither you know nor I
Behind the veil there is much talk about us, why
When the veil falls, neither you remain nor I.
There was a Door to which I found no Key:
There was a Veil past which I could not see:
Some little Talk awhile of ME and THEE
There seemed--and then no more of THEE and ME.
In vain we scream, in vain shout
And try our best to find out
And when it's end of our route
What's left is simply naught.
Das Rätsel dieser Welt löst weder Du noch ich,
Jene geheime Schrift liest weder Du noch ich.
Wir wüßten beide gern, was jener Schleier birgt,
Doch wenn der Schleier fällt, bist weder Du noch ich.
اسرار ازل را نه تو دانی و نه من
وین حل معما نه تو دانی و نه من
هست از پس پرده گفتگوی من و تو
چون پرده برافتد نه تو مانی و نه من
Before time takes you by surprise
Ask for good red wine and get wise
You are not of gold, don't believe the lies
You are put to dust, once again you'll rise.
And those who husbanded the Golden Grain,
And those who flung it to the Winds like Rain,
Alike to no such aureate Earth are turn'd
As, buried once, Men want dug up again.
Do not focus upon the size
Nor for the worldly compromise
Quality is your only prize
Transcend your earthly disguise
Without fear, without despise
With love and joy improvise.
Eh' Du ein Opfer wirst der Pein des Lebens,
O Holde, trink den rosigen Wein des Lebens.
Der Thor nur glaubt, daß man wie Gold ihn nieder
In's Grab senkt und als Gold herauszieht wieder.
زآن پیش که بر سرت شبیخون آرند
فرمای که تا بادهٔ گلگون آرند
تو زر نهای ای غافل نادان که تو را
در خاک نهند و باز بیرون آرند
I brought the cup to my lips with greed
Begging for longevity, my temporal need
Cup brought its to mine, its secret did feed
Time never returns, drink, of this take heed.
Then to this earthen Bowl did I adjourn
My Lip the secret Well of Life to learn:
And Lip to Lip it murmur'd--"While you live,
Drink!--for once dead you never shall return."
The only secret that you need to know
The passage of time is a one way flow
If you understand, joyously you'll grow
Else you will drown in your own sorrow.
Ich führ' den Krug zum Mund, er soll mich lehren,
Wie dieses Leben länger möchte währen,
Und meine Lippen küssend flüstert er:
"Trink Wein! Du wirst zur Welt nicht wiederkehren."
لب بر لبِ کوزه بردم از غایتِ آز
تا زو طلبم واسطهیِ عمرِ دراز
لب بر لبِ من نهاد و میگفت به راز
میخور که بدین جهان نمیآیی باز
All my companions, one by one died
With Angel of Death they now reside
In the banquette of life same wine we tried
A few cups back, they fell to the side.
Lo! some we loved, the loveliest and the best
That Time and Fate of all their Vintage prest,
Have drunk their Cup a Round or two before,
And one by one crept silently to Rest.
In the feast of life vulgar and chaste
The same temporal wine must taste
Some stay longer, some leave in haste
To focus upon the end is but waste.
Ja, alle Freunde, die zu Song und Wort
Vor uns versammelt sich am trauten Ort
Sowie, drei Runden, tranken ihren Becher
Und gingen einer nach dem andern fort.
یاران موافق همه از دست شدند
در پای اجل یکانیکان پست شدند
خوردیم ز یک شراب در مجلس عمر
دوری دو سه پیشتر ز ما مست شدند
As the rising Venus and moon in the skies appear
To the goodness of quality wine, nothing comes near
I am amazed at the vendors of a liquid so dear
Where they'll buy a better thing, is not clear.
And much as Wine has play'd the Infidel,
And robb'd me of my Robe of Honour-well,
I often wonder what the Vintners buy
One half so precious as the Goods they sell.
When we lay down our defense
And return to our sense
Realize that it is dense
To trade the now for hence.
Seit der Mond und Venus am Himmel steh'n
Ward, auf Erden nicht Edleres als Wein gesehn,
Der Weinhändler ist ein erstaunlicher Mann,
Da er Besseres verkauft als er kaufen kann.
تا زُهْره و مَه در آسمان گشت پدید
بهتر ز میِ ناب کسی هیچ ندید
من در عجبم ز میفروشان کایشان
به زآنچه فروشند چه خواهند خرید
Don't permit sorrow to be your friend
Sadness and pain become your trend
Don't let the book or the farm you tend
Rule your life before to earth you descend.
Ah, make the most of what we yet may spend,
Before we too into the Dust Descend;
Dust into Dust, and under Dust, to lie,
Sans Wine, sans Song, sans Singer and--sans End!
Before to dust you shall return
There is one thing that you must learn
Sorrow and pain your soul shall burn
Joy and bliss to light shall turn.
Mit Weltschmerz Deine Seele plage nicht!
Um das, was einmal hin ist, klage nicht!
An Wein und süßen Lippen laß dein Herz,
Und in den Wind dein Leben schlage nicht!
مگذار که غصه در کنارت گیرد
و اندوه و ملال روزگارت گیرد
مگذار کتاب و لب جوی و لب کشت
زان پیش که خاک در کنارت گیرد
Some in deep thought spirit seek
Some lost in awe, of doubt reek
I fear the voice, hidden but not weak
Cry out "awake! Both ways are oblique."
Some are thoughtful on their way
Some are doubtful, so they pray.
I hear the hidden voice that may
Shout, "Both paths lead astray."
Alike for those who for TO-DAY prepare,
And those that after a TO-MORROW stare,
A Muezzin from the Tower of Darkness cries
"Fools! your Reward is neither Here nor There."
Some always seek the rational mind
Some will appeal to faith that's blind
If you turn within, you'll surely find
Both paths will lead further behind.
Some are in endless pursuit
Some seek the forbidden fruit
I fear the voice that is mute
Cry out, "path ain't fruit nor root!"
Viele Menschen grübeln über Glauben und Sitte,
Zwischen Zweifel und Gewissheit stehn viele in der Mitte.
Unversehens ruft Einer aus dem Hinterhalt her:
Ihr Thoren, der rechte Weg ist nicht dieser noch der!
قومی متفکرند اندر ره دین
قومی متحیرند در شک و یقین
میترسم از آن که بانگ آید ز کمین
کای بیخبران راه نه آن است و نه این
Like God, if this world I could control
Eliminating the world would be my role
I would create the world anew, whole
Such that the free soul would attain desired goal.
Ah, Love! could thou and I with Fate conspire
To grasp this sorry Scheme of Things entire!
Would not we shatter it to bits-and then
Re-mould it nearer to the Heart's Desire!
The tyranny of fate is such
Whether we try little or much
Our desires we'll only touch
With the help of faith's crutch.
Könnt ich walten wie Gott im Himmelzelt
Ich hätt'es schön längst auf den Kopf gestellt,
Um ein anderes zu bauen, wie ich es verstehe,
Welches ganz nach den Wünschen der Menschen sich drehe.
گر بر فلکم دست بدی چون یزدان
برداشتمی من این فلک را ز میان
از نو فلک دگر چنان ساختمی
کا آزاده به کام دل رسیدی آسان
This cup was made by the Wise Lord
With love & care to the heights soared
The potter who shaped with such accord
To make and break the same clay, can also afford.
That ev'n my buried Ashes such a Snare
Of Perfume shall fling up into the Air,
As not a True Believer passing by
But shall be overtaken unaware.
The wisdom that shapes our clay
Does so in a caring, loving way
Wisdom, care and love will stay
The clay is toy to shape and play.
So will ich berauscht sein von geistiger Labe,
Daß der Wohlgeruch mich überlebt im Grabe,
Und nur Halbberauschte an meiner Gruft
Ganz trunken hinsinken, berauscht vom Duft.
جامی است که عقل آفرین میزندش
صد بوسه ز مهر بر جبین میزندش
این کوزهگر دهر چنین جام لطیف
میسازد و باز بر زمین میزندش
Signs of destiny have always been
Those hands inscribed both good and mean
What was written, came from the unseen
Though we tried without and worried within.
The Moving Finger writes; and, having writ,
Moves on: nor all your Piety nor Wit
Shall lure it back to cancel half a Line,
Nor all your Tears wash out a Word of it.
One is great
Who faces fate
Before it's late,
Appreciate
The destined state
No matter how much we debate
Oppose, engage, or calculate
Even try to accelerate
Fate only moves at its own rate.
Futile is worry, anger and hate
Joy is the only worthy mate.
O Herz, da die Welt nichts als Schatten und Schein
Warum quälst Du Dich ab in unendlicher Pein?
Mit ruhigem Sinn geh' dem Schicksal entgegen
Und glaub nicht, es ändere sich Deinetwegen!
زین پیش نشان بودنیها بودست
پیوسته قلم ز نیک و بد فرسودست
اندر تقدیر آنچه بایست بداد
غم خوردن و کوشیدن ما بیهودست
At all times, merrily try
To drink wine and in song cry
Millions of kings in silence lie
From coming of January and passing of July.
For "IS" and "IS-NOT" though with Rule and Line,
And, "UP-AND-DOWN" without, I could define,
I yet in all I only cared to know,
Was never deep in anything but--Wine.
Passing of years
Silently bears;
The one who dares
Joyously cares.
Wie lange willst Du noch leben,
In selbstvergötterndem Streben, Streben
Im Wahn, es müsse Deine Pflicht sein, und Nichtsein?
Den Grund zu suchen von Sein und Nichtsein?
Trink Wein! Ein Leben das eilt zum Tod,
Folgt nur dem einen klugen Gebot,
Sich glücklich bis an's Ende zu bringen.
Mit Wein und sonstigen guten Dingen.
هنگام صبوح ای صنمِ فرخپی
برساز ترانهای و پیشآور می
کافکند به خاک صدهزاران جم و کِی
این آمدن تیر مَه و رفتن دی
Drinking wine is my travail
Till my body is dead and stale
At my grave site all shall hail
Odor of wine shall prevail.
And, as the Cock crew, those who stood before
The Tavern shouted--"Open then the Door!
You know how little while we have to stay,
And, once departed, may return no more."
I live life just like a game
Joy by any other name
And joy till death all the same
Even my grave shall proclaim
Joy has been my only fame.
Geliebte, sieh! der Morgen kommt herbei:
Bring Wein und sing ein Lied zu der Schalmei!
Den dieser Monde flug von Tir zu Dei
Ließ sterben hundert tausend Dscham und Kei.
چندان بخورم شراب کاین بوی شراب
آید ز تُراب چون روم زیرِ تُراب
گر بر سر خاک من رسد مَخموری
از بوی شراب من شود مست و خراب
When the clay into a cup is molded
Its breaking, the drunk scolded;
Many limbs and heads are enfolded
Through whose love unfolded, by which decree folded?
Another said--"Why, ne'er a peevish Boy
Would break the Bowl from which he drank in Joy;
Shall He that made the Vessel in pure Love
And Fansy, in an after Rage destroy!"
The genius that shapes the form
Is far above mundane and norm
Clay into life shall transform
Back into dust by death's storm.
Wer schuf in Liebesglut das Meisterstück,
Der Augen, Armen, heisser Busen Glück?
Und wessen Hand führt dann in wildem Hasse
Die eigne Schöpfung in das Nichts zurück?
ترکیبِ پیالهای که در هم پیوست
بشکستنِ آن روا کجا دارد مست
چندین سر و پایِ نازنین از سرِ دست
بر مِهر که پیوست و به کین که شکست
Good and evil, our moral prison,
Joy and sorrow passing like season,
Fate in the way of logic and reason
Is the victim of far worse treason.
And that inverted Bowl we call The Sky,
Whereunder crawling coop't we live and die,
Lift not thy hands to IT for help--for It
Rolls impotently on as Thou or I.
Joy and sorrow in duality
Good and evil in morality
Are frailties of humanity;
Yet more pronounced is reality.
Glaubt nicht, daß alles vom Himmel bestimmt,
Was Gutes und Böses im Menschen glimmt,
Was das Herz betrübt und das Herz erhellt,
Je nachdem es dem launischen Schicksal gefällt
Das Himmelsrad kreist ohne Ruh
Und ist weit schlimmer daran als Du
Im Wirrsal und Getriebe
Auf der Bahn der ewigen Liebe.
نیکی و بدی که در نهاد بشر است
شادی و غمی که در قضا و قدر است
با چرخ مکن حواله کاندر ره عقل
چرخ از تو هزار بار بیچارهتر است
Lover of drunk and the outcast
Better than pious prayer and fast
Thou art the first and art the last
Caress if thou wilt, if thou wilt blast.
And this I know: whether the one True Light,
Kindle to Love, or Wrath consume me quite,
One Glimpse of It within the Tavern caught
Better than in the Temple lost outright.
I'd rather be compassionate
Than piously destroy and hate
God is loving, God is great
God my destroyer and God my mate.
Ich mag lieber mit Dir sein in der Schenke,
Um Dir alles zu sagen, was ich denke,
Als ohne Dich vor die Kanzel zu treten,
In gedankenlosen Worten zu beten
Ja, Du Schöpfer aller Dinge
Im kreisenden Weltenringe
So will ich leben und sterben,
Zum Segen oder Verderben!
با تو به خرابات اگر گویم راز
بِه زان که به محراب کنم راز و نیاز
ای اول و ای آخر خلقان همه تو
خواهی تو مرا بسوز و خواهی بنواز
When the Maker formed nature
Why imperfect was the venture
If it is good, why departure
And if bad, why form capture?
None answer'd this; but after Silence spake
A Vessel of a more ungainly Make:
"They sneer at me for leaning all awry;
What? did the Hand then of the Potter shake?"
When the Creator forged the shape
Why was mankind a mere ape?
If it were good, why cloak and cape?
If unsightly, why this rape?
Als Du das Leben schufst, schufst Du das Sterben.
Die eig'nen Werke weihst Du dem Verderben.
Wenn schlecht Dein Werk war, sprich, wen trifft die Schuld?
Und war es gut, warum schlägst Du's in Scherben?
دارنده چو ترکیب طبایع آراست
از بهر چه او فکندش اندر کم و کاست
گر نیک آمد شکستن از بهر چه بود
ور نیک نیامد این صُوَر عیب که راست
This Universal wheel, this merry-go-round
In our imagination we have found
The sun a flame, in the Cosmic lantern bound
We are mere ghosts, revolving, the flame surround.
For in and out, above, about, below,
'Tis nothing but a Magic Shadow-show,
Play'd in a Box whose Candle is the Sun,
Round which we Phantom Figures come and go.
In our imagination, the Cosmic Wheel
Will cause us pain and cause us heal
We find our source give life and steal
We are phantoms that think and feel.
Dieses Weltall mit dem wir uns schwindelnd drehen,
Ist wie eine Laterne anzusehen,
Drin die Sonne als Licht brennt, in bunten Reigen,
Uns Trugbilder-unseresgleichen- zu zeigen.
این چرخ و فلک که ما در او حیرانیم
فانوس خیال از او مثالی دانیم
خورشید چراغدان و عالم فانوس
ما چون صوریم کاندر او گردانیم
The rose claimed to be Jacob of grass and dirt
A red ruby resurrected with a green skirt
I said if this is so, show a sign of your hurt
Said just take a look at my bloody shirt.
Look to the blowing Rose about us--"Lo,
Laughing," she says, "into the world I blow,
At once the silken tassel of my Purse
Tear, and its Treasure on the Garden throw."
If you have a perceptive mind
And look closely you will find
The whole history of humankind
Jacob's bloody shirt, even blind.
Hör', was die Rosenhecke flüstert: -Schau
Wie lieblich blüh' ich auf im Morgenblau!
Leer meine Börse aus und überschütte
Mit lauterm Gold dem Garten wie mit Tau!-
گل گفت که من یوسف مصر چمنم
یاقوت گرانمایهی پر زر دهنم
گفتم چو تو یوسفی نشانی بنمای
گفتا که به خون غرقه نگر پیرهنم
Anxiously I began this course
With life my awe grew even worse
Unwillingly returned with force
What was the point, I ask my source.
Into this Universe, and Why not knowing
Nor Whence, like Water willy-nilly flowing;
And out of it, as Wind along the Waste,
I know not Whither, willy-nilly blowing.
Anxiously I opened my eye
Understanding, try, try, try
Reluctantly agreed to die
Come, stay and leave, I only ask why?
Was hat es Dir genützt, daß ich gekommen?
Was hilft's Dir, wenn Du einst mich fortgenommen?
Ach, keines Menschen Ohr hat je vernommen,
Wozu von hier wir gehn, wozu hierher wir gekommen?
آورد به اِضطرابم اوّل به وجود
جز حیرتم از حیات چیزی نفزود
رفتیم به اِکراه و ندانیم چه بود
زین آمدن و ماندن و رفتن مقصود
In the wheel of fortune the unseen vine
Drink, be merry, wait your turn in line
When it is your turn, neither cry nor whine
Everyone must taste the same deadly wine.
While the Rose blows along the River Brink,
With old Khayyam the Ruby Vintage drink:
And when the Angel with his darker Draught
Draws up to thee--take that, and do not shrink.
Death is fair, death is just
Longevity, though we lust.
Live joyfully, moment trust
Else life will have a high cost.
In jener Nacht, wo keine Sterne blinken,
Wo keines Auswegs Hoffnungsstrahlen winken.
Schrickt nicht zurück, wenn deine Reihe kommt!
Der Becher kreist, und jeder muß ihn trinken.
در دایرهٔ سپهرِ ناپیدا غور
می نوش به خوشدلی که دور است بدور
نوبت چو به دورِ تو رسد آه مکن
جامیست که جمله را چشانند بزور
O Life, you put many traps in my way
Dare to try, is what you clearly say
All that is, thy command must obey
You lead me away and call me astray.
Oh Thou who didst with Pitfall and with Gin
Beset the Road I was to wander in,
Thou wilt not with Predestination round
Enmesh me, and impute my Fall to Sin?
I only follow the path of my heart
In desolate desert I make my start
I follow my heart, I do my part
The path of my heart is what you chart.
Von allen Seiten hast Du uns mit Schlingen bedroht
Und sprichst: wer hineinfällt, den trifft der Tod.
Du suchst selbst uns verlockende Fallen zu stellen
Und strafst dann, wen sie verlockt, als Rebellen.
بر رهگذرم هزار جا دام نهی
گوئی که بگیرمت اگر گام نهی
یک ذرّه ز حکم تو جهان خالی نیست
حکمم تو کنیّ و عاصیم نام نهی
Why treat thy slave so cold as ice?
Where is thy light to save me from vice?
Even with command of Paradise
Where is thy gift above my just price?
Oh Thou, who Man of baser Earth didst make,
And who with Eden didst devise the Snake;
For all the Sin wherewith the Face of Man
Is blacken'd, Man's Forgiveness give--and take!
Tyranny of fate has made me a slave
Whatever I choose, how I behave
Is only freedom within my cave;
Even if for Paradise I crave
This moment to me is all you gave.
O Du, der aller Menschen Gedanken und Herzen geprüft,
Und jeglichen wieder erhebt, der durch Schmerzen geprüft;
Daß Du Erhebung auch mir der in Sünden gefallen, gewährst
Fleh! Ich Dich an, o Herr! wie Du sie allen gewährst.
من بنده عاصیم رضای تو کجاست
تاریک دلم نور و صفای تو کجاست
بر من تو بهشت اگر بطاعت بخشی
این مزد بود لطف و عطای تو کجاست
They say in heaven are beautiful lovers
Sweet taste of wine in the air hovers
Fear not if succumbed to same earthly powers
In the end the same, one discovers.
Said one--"Folks of a surly Tapster tell,
And daub his Visage with the Smoke of Hell;
They talk of some strict Testing of us--Pish!
He's a Good Fellow, and 'twill all be well."
We strive in life so in the end
Paradise attain, to heavens ascend.
It is better our ways amend
This moment now, joyously spend.
Am jüngsten Tag weckt uns der Prüfung Horn.
Und der geliebte Freund erglüht im Zorn,
Doch muß sich alles noch zum Guten kehren.
Denn reine Güte ist des Guten Born.
گویند بهشت و حور عین خواهد بود
وان جا می ناب و انگبین خواهد بود
گر ما می و معشوق گزیدیم چه باک
چون عاقبت کار همین خواهد بود
Take all the worldly goods, but in lieu
Let the beauty of nature renew
And at night on the grass like dew
And in the morn take me away from view.
The Worldly Hope men set their Hearts upon
Turns Ashes--or it prospers; and anon,
Like Snow upon the Desert's dusty Face,
Lighting a little hour or two--is gone.
All worldly things
Come with strings
Joy beauty brings
Of freedom sings.
Denk, all' Dein Hoffen fände auch ein Ziel,
Der Freude Garten böte Dir so viel,
Daß du in seinem Grün, dich selig dünkst-
Doch wenn der Morgen, graut, ist aus das Spiel!
ای دل همه اسباب جهان خواسته گیر
باغ طربت به سبزه آراسته گیر
وآنگاه بر آن سبزه شبی چون شبنم
بنشسته و بامداد برخاسته گیر
Drink wine that drives away joy and pain
And the thought of Seventy Two nations' reign
Never withhold from such elixir again
Of which one sip will purge all that's insane.
The Grape that can with Logic absolute
The Two-and-Seventy jarring Sects confute:
The sovereign Alchemist that in a trice
Life's leaden metal into Gold transmute;
Alchemical power of joy
Our spirits upward buoy
Insane is the evil ploy
That happiness will destroy.
Trink Wein, um Deines Herzens Unruh zu bündigen.
Und den Streit der zwei und siebzig Secten zu endigen.
Enthalte Dich nicht Dieser Alchymie:
Mit einem Kruge tausend Gebrechen heilt sie.
می خور که ز دل کثرت و قلت ببرد
و اندیشه هفتاد و دو ملت ببرد
پرهیز مکن ز کیمیایی که از او
یک جرعه خوری هزار علت ببرد
Hark! Feed me wine, if you really care
Turn into ruby my face of amber
Bathe me in wine when death me ensnare
With boards of vine my coffin bear.
Ah, with the Grape my fading Life provide,
And wash my Body whence the life has died,
And in a Windingsheet of Vine-leaf wrapt,
So bury me by some sweet Garden-side.
With love and joy yourself surround
Upon this earth roam free, unbound
And when you're six feet under the ground
Your legacy of joy and love abound.
O teure Genossen vom Trinkerorden,
Gelb wie Bernstein ist mein Antlitz geworden,
Bringt Wein um es wieder zu beleben
Und den Wangen gesunde Röte zu geben.
Und leg' ich mich einst zum Sterben nieder,
So wascht mit rotem Wein meine Glieder;
Das Holz des Weinstocks diene zu Truhe,
So lasst mich tragen zur ewigen Ruhe.
زنهار ز جام می مرا قوت کنید
وین چهره کهربا چو یاقوت کنید
چون مرده شوم به باده شوئید مرا
وز چوب رزم تخته تابوت کنید
An old potter at his wheel
Clay and dirt mould and deal
My inner eye would reveal
My father's dust bears his seal.
Listen again. One Evening at the Close
Of Ramazan, ere the better Moon arose,
In that old Potter's Shop I stood alone
With the clay Population round in Rows.
From dirt and dust come into view
Back into dust for review
And the cycles continue;
Though same for all, seen by few.
Einen Töpfer hab' ich beim Werke gesehen
Den Krügen Hälse und Henkel zu drehen;
Er nahm den Stoff zu den Thongeschöpfen
Aus Bettlerfüssen und Königsköpfen.
بر کوزهگری پریر کردم گذری
از خاک همینمود هر دَم هنری
من دیدم اگر ندید هر بیبصری
خاک پدرم در کف هر کوزهگری
Once transpired, cannot be changed
Only pain will come if remorse engaged
Though with sorrow you may be aged
Not even a dot will be rearranged.
With Earth's first Clay They did the Last Man's knead,
And then of the Last Harvest sow'd the Seed:
Yea, the first Morning of Creation wrote
What the Last Dawn of Reckoning shall read.
Once transpired, asleep or awake
Even with sorrow, pain and heart ache
Nothing will change, nothing will shake
You can only look for another break
And your chance take, a new life make.
Urewig vorgezeichnet ist der Dinge Kern;
Der Griffel bleibt dem Guten wie dem Bösen fern;
Was Gott als Schicksal vorbestimmt, muß sich vollenden
Mag, wie er will, der eitle Mensch sich drehn und wenden.
از رفته قلم هیچ دگرگون نشود
وز خوردن غم بجز جگر خون نشود
گر در همه عمر خویش خونابه خوری
یکذره از آنچه هست افزون نشود
Each drop of wine that is spilt
Burnt deep in my heart and sorrow built
I drink wine while prayer thou wilt
The water that quenched the fire of my guilt.
The mighty Mahmud, the victorious Lord,
That all the misbelieving and black Horde
Of Fears and Sorrows that infest the Soul
Scatters and slays with his enchanted Sword.
Every joyous moment you waste
Deprive yourself of heavenly taste
Confess, repent, praise, or be chaste
Towards your grave you'll go with haste.
Kein Tröpflein gießt der Schenke je in den Sand,
Das keinem Auge lechzt des Leides Brand!
So ist – gelobt sei Gott – der Wein ein Nass
Das unsres Herzens tausend Schmerzen bannt.
هر جرعه که ساقیش بخاک افشاند
در دیدهٔ من آتش غم بنشاند
سبحانالله تو باده میپنداری
آبی که دو صد درد دلت بنشاند
Alas the youthful fire is a dying ember
The spring of life has reached December
What is termed youth, I vaguely remember
But know not whence and how from life's chamber.
Alas, that Spring should vanish with the Rose!
That Youth's sweet-scented Manuscript should close!
The Nightingale that in the Branches sang,
Ah, whence, and whither flown again, who knows!
In later days I look behind
And with remorse I only find
Zestful youth, unaware and blind
To passage of time, fate of mankind.
The only constant is time's passage
Which is the same for both fool and sage
To young and old time's only message
Engage in joy, put away your rage
From the unknown set foot upon the stage
And leaving this cage one day is your wage.
Ach, des Lebens Mai naht dem Ziele,
Vorbei sind dir Freunden und Spiele!
Dieser Vogel der Fröhlichkeit
Genannt die Jugendzeit.
Schwang fort sein Gefieder,
Und kommt nicht wieder!
Ich weiß nicht, wann er gekommen,-
Und wohin den weg er genommen.
افسوس که نامهٔ جوانی طی شد
وآن تازهبهارِ زندگانی دی شد
آن مرغِ طَرَب که نام او بود شَباب
افسوس ندانم که کی آمد کی شد!
In the cosmic game of polo you are the ball
The mallet's left and right becomes your call
He who causes your movements, your rise and fall
He is the one, the only one, who knows it all.
The Ball no Question makes of Ayes and Noes,
But Right or Left as strikes the Player goes;
And He that toss'd Thee down into the Field,
He knows about it all--HE knows--HE knows!
In the cosmic there is a flow
To which you must submit and bow
And though you act in this show
And seem to move to and fro
The plot you'll never get to know
The only way you get to grow
Align yourself with this flow.
O Du! vom Los getrieben wie vom Schlügel Ballen,
Der Du in Lust des Wein's und der Huris gefallen,
Du bist gefallen auf das ewigen Geheiss;
Er ist es, der es weiss, der's weiss, der's weiss, der's weiss.
ای رفته به چوگان قضا همچون گو
چپ می خور و راست می رو و هیچ مگو
کان کس که تو را فکنده اندر تک و پو
او داند و او داند و او داند و او
From the depths of earth to heights of Saturn
We've solved all riddles, turn after turn
Break every chain, our ignorance burn
Except the riddle that fills the urn.
Up from Earth's Centre through the seventh Gate
I rose, and on the Throne of Saturn sate,
And many Knots unravel'd by the Road;
But not the Knot of Human Death and Fate.
From the electron to distant stars
From before the wheel to futuristic cars
We've solved them all, broken all bars
Except the riddle of deadly scars.
Vom Erdenland durch sieben Tore trug
Mich auf Saturnus Thron der Geisterflug.
Und manches Rätsel löst sich unterwegs,
Bis ich umsonst nach Tod und Schicksal frug.
از جرم گل سیاه تا اوج زحل
کردم همه مشکلات عالم را حل
بیرون جستم ز بند هر مکر و حیل
هر بند گشاده شد مگر بند اجل
Tonight I shall embrace a gallon cup
With at least two cups of wine I'll sup
I'll divorce my mind and religion stop
With daughter of vine, all night I'll stay up.
You know, my Friends, how long since in my House
For a new Marriage I did make Carouse:
Divorced old barren Reason from my Bed,
And took the Daughter of the Vine to Spouse.
When intellect is my king
Or religion my soul string
I clip the bird of joy's wing.
Drunk with joy, I'll only sing
And to this world love will bring.
Bringt einen Becher mir, so groß, daß, man ihn schwer nur hebe.
Wenn man ihn auch nur zweimal leert, zum Rausch genügen muß es schon.
Zuerst will ich von der Vernunft mich scheiden und der Religion,
Und mich vermählen dann sofort dem holden Kind der Rebe.
امشب می جام یـک منی خواهم کرد
خود را به دو جام می غنی خواهم کرد
اول سه طلاق عقل و دین خواهم گفت
پس دختر رز را به زنـی خواهم کرد
Wherever you go in the land of God
Flowers bloom from kingly blood
Violet with its colorful shroud
Was a beauty mole on a face once proud.
I sometimes think that never blows so red
The Rose as where some buried Caesar bled;
That every Hyacinth the Garden wears
Dropt in its Lap from some once lovely Head.
Every beauty that we praise
From prior valor must raise.
Beautiful face that lovers amaze
Becomes a flower upon which we gaze.
Beauty transforms from phase to phase.
Erblickt ihr eine Rose, prächtig rot,
So denkt: darunter liegt ein mächt'ger König tot;
Und seht ihr einen Krokus blüh'n, so glaubt:
Ein schönes Weib, nun tot, verlor ihn einst vom Haupt.
هر جا که گلی و لاله زاری بودست
آن لاله ز خون شهریاری بودست
هر برگ بنفشه کز زمین می روید
خالیست که برروی نگاری بودست
Beloved friends let us gather
For each other, together care
With raised cups salute and share
In memory of he who isn't there.
And when Thyself with shining Foot shall pass
Among the Guests Star-scatter'd on The Grass,
And in Thy joyous Errand reach the Spot
Where I made one--turn down an empty Glass!
Let us gather in a friendly group
And together form divine loving troop
When to dark angel we kneel and stoop
We'll be taken out of this friendly loop.
O meine Freunde, gelobt, einst munter Euch
Hier zu versammeln, wenn ich nicht mehr unter Euch
Den Pokal voll Alten Weins zu schenken
Und trinkend des armen Chajjam zu gedenken.
یاران چو باتفاق میعاد کنید
خود را بجمال یکدگر شاد کنید
ساقی چو می مغانه بر کف گیرد
بیچاره فلان را بدعا یاد کنید
The grass that grows by every stream
Like angelic smiles faintly gleam
Step gently, cause it not to scream
For it has grown from a lover's dream.
And this delightful Herb whose tender Green
Fledges the River's Lip on which we lean--
Ah, lean upon it lightly! for who knows
From what once lovely Lip it springs unseen!
Every creature honor and respect
Bird or beast, plant or insect
If you look at life you will detect
From dust to dust, divine intellect.
So schön, wie den schönsten Lippen entsprungen
Hält der blumige Rasen den Bach umschlungen.
Betritt nicht verächtlich dies zarte Grün,
Drin vergangene Schönheiten neu erblühn.
هر سبزه که بر کنار جویی رستهاست
گویی ز لب فرشتهخویی رستهاست
پا بر سر سبزه تا به خواری ننهی
کان سبزه ز خاک لماهرویی رستهاست
Those who went in pursuit of knowledge
Soared up so high, stretched the edge
Were still encaged by the same dark hedge
Brought us some tales ere life to death pledge.
Then to the rolling Heav'n itself I cried,
Asking, "What Lamp had Destiny to guide
Her little Children stumbling in the Dark?"
And--"A blind understanding!" Heav'n replied.
Those who pursue the scientific way
In a different language display
Their ignorance and the way they pray.
They too one day shall be dust and clay.
Die Edelstein, die je die Welt gelehrt.
Die man noch jetzt als leuchtend Licht verehrt,
Sie blieben in der Finsternis. Nur Märchen
erzählen sie und sind dann heimgekehrt.
آنان که محیط فضل و آداب شدند
در جمع کمال شمع اصحاب شدند
ره زین شب تاریک نبردند برون
گفتند فسانهای و در خواب شدند
Once upon a time, in a potter's shop
I saw two thousand clay pot and cup
Suddenly a lone pot cried out, "stop!
Where the vendor, buyer, where my prop?"
To a pottery I went by chance
Two thousand pots I saw in a glance
Cried out a pot awakened from trance
"whither potter, vendor and buyer prance?"
And strange to tell, among that Earthen Lot
Some could articulate, while others not:
And suddenly one more impatient cried--
"Who is the Potter, pray, and who the Pot?"
We simply exist, silent, unaware
Busy with minute mundane worldly care
Occasionally find someone who'll dare
To ask why we came, and from here go where?
Bei einem Töpfer sah ich gestern zweitausend Krüge,
Die einen stumm, die anderen redend, als ob jeder früge:
Wer hat uns geformt und wo stammen wir her?
Wer ist hier der Käufer, und der Verkäufer, wer?
در کارگه کوزه گری رفتم دوش
دیدم دو هزار کوزه گویا و خموش
ناگاه یکی کوزه برآورد خروش
کو کوزهگر و کوزهخر و کوزه فروش
We are the puppets and fate the puppeteer
This is not a metaphor, but a truth sincere
On this stage, fate for sometime our moves steer
Into the chest of non-existence, one by one disappear.
'Tis all a Chequer-board of Nights and Days
Where Destiny with Men for Pieces plays:
Hither and thither moves, and mates, and slays,
And one by one back in the Closet lays.
The hands of fate play our game
We the players are given a name
Some are tame, others gain fame
Yet in the end, we're all the same.
Wir sind hier nicht als ein Spielzeug des Himmels und der Natur;
Dies ist als Wahrheit gemeint, nicht metaphorisch nur.
Wir gehn, wie die Steine im Bretspiel, durch vieler Spieler Hände,
Und werden beiseite geworfen in's Nichts, wenn das Spiel zu Ende.
ما لعبتگانیم و فلک لعبت باز
از روی حقیقتی نه از روی مجاز
یک چند در این بساط بازی کردیم
رفتیم به صندوق عدم یک یک باز
The signs of what's to come has always been
Has always written both benevolent and mean
What is our lot was given by the hand unseen
With futility we try, exert, weep or keen.
The Moving Finger writes; and, having writ,
Moves on: nor all your Piety nor Wit
Shall lure it back to cancel half a Line,
Nor all your Tears wash out a Word of it.
Destiny has gifted us a perfect course
To oppose or not follow makes our life worse
Instead of useless trial, pain and remorse
We better put our cart behind our horse
And follow inspirations from our source.
O Herz, da die Welt nichts als Schatten und Schein
Warum quälst Du Dich ab in unendlicher Pein?
Mit ruhigem Sinn geh' dem Schicksal entgegen
Und glaub nicht, es ändere sich Deinetwegen!
زین پیش نشان بودنی ها بودست
پیوسته قلم به نیک و بد فرسودست
اندر تقدیر آنچه بایست بداد
غم خوردن و کوشیدن ما بیهودست
This clay pot like a lover once in heat
A lock of hair his senses did defeat
The handle that has made the bottleneck its own seat
Was once the embrace of a lover that entreat.
I think the Vessel, that with fugitive
Articulation answer'd, once did live,
And merry-make; and the cold Lip I kiss'd
How many Kisses might it take--and give.
Everywhere I look, I see a sign
Of an order that is great, divine
Even the sweet passionate red wine
Is the blood in this heart of mine.
Dieser Krug ist, wie ich, unglücklich lebendig gewesen,
In schönen Augen und Locken verliebt unverständig gewesen.
Dieser Henkel am Halse des Kruges war einst ein Arm
Der im Umhalsung der Schönen unhändig gewesen.
این کوزه چو من عاشق زاری بوده است
در بند سر زلف نگاری بوده است
این دسته که بر گردن او میبینی
دستی است که بر گردن یاری بوده است
The sun with its morning light the earth ensnare
The king celebrated the day with a wine so fair
The herald of dawn intoxicated would blare
Its fame and aroma, for time having not a care.
Awake! for Morning in the Bowl of Night
Has flung the Stone that puts the Stars to Flight:
And Lo! the Hunter of the East has caught
The Sultan's Turret in a Noose of Light.
Even from the bright rising sun
The moon that has playfully spun
We learn love, joy, and even fun
Before our time's sand has run.
Des Schlosses Zinnen färbt des Frührots Strahl
Der König Tag giesst Wein in den Pokal,
Der Frühaufsteher von des Daches First
Schmettert sein "Uschrubu" ins dunkle Tal.
خورشید کمند صبح بر بام افکند
کیخسروِ روز، باده در جام افکند
می خور که منادیِ سحرگهخیزان
آوازهٔ اشربو در ایام افکند
Thought & meaning
It is quite appropriately claimed that Khayyam was the poet of destiny. However, it will be very wrong to think that he was a fatalist, at least by the common understanding of that word.
There are two major schools of thought in trying to classify Omar Khayyam’s Rubaiyat…
One claims that he was highly influenced by Islamic mysticism and particularly Sufism, and that his references to wine and lovers are allegorical representations of the mystical wine and divine love.
A second school of thought refutes the first completely, claiming that Khayyam understood his mortality and inability to look beyond, and his references to wine and lovers are very literal and sensual.
It is safe to assume that both schools of thought are somewhat erroneous, and that the proponents of each, while half understanding the wisdom that Khayyam imparted, are turning and twisting his words to suit their own beliefs.
One only has to look at Khayyam’s life to come to the same conclusion. He was a super-achieving genius — counsel to ministers and kings, a mathematical genius presenting solutions centuries ahead of his time, a highly knowledgeable astronomer who calculated the duration of the solar year with unmatched accuracy, and a much sought-after philosopher and teacher.
The very fact that he had the urge, the drive, and the discipline to compose and write the Rubaiyat shows that he had a depth of perception and vision that we are still having difficulty understanding.
A man who has done so much in his life is clearly not a mystical fatalist claiming “what will be, will be.” To the contrary, he saw the folly of being mesmerized by such techniques, which may bring amazing visions of reality, but so long as they remain visions, they are not and cannot be the truth itself.
Furthermore, a man who changed the world of his time is clearly not one who would say “since we are all going to die, let us concern ourselves with sensual pleasures only.” He clearly saw that just as mystical infatuations were merely visions of reality, sensual pleasures were also representations of a deeper joy — not the truth either.
Khayyam understood that it was our fate to be born into this world, and that death was an inevitable fate for anyone ever born. He understood the fantasy of concerning ourselves with the future, as well as the neurosis of staying in our past. He saw that all we have is this ever slipping moment — this now — which itself has a timeless quality.
And he understood that in life what is important is that deeper joy and love for which we have infinite yearning, as well as infinite capacity to both receive and emanate. His Rubaiyat force us to ask those ultimate existential questions, and lead us down a path that must inevitably reach the same answer: in life, all that matters is love and joy. All else is fantasy and fallacy.
If we accept Khayyam’s philosophy and heed his advice, we will shift our focus from the external — be it mystical or sensual — to the internal. And if we go through this transformative alchemical transmutation of the soul, we too will become like Khayyam: men and women who change ourselves, and consequently our world, and the future worlds to come.
Miniatures
