[ Reading ] ➹ رباعیات [Rubaiyat] Author Omar Khayyám – Fastfood-point-of-sale-2018.info

رباعیات [Rubaiyat] I feel a bit awkward reviewing a book this short, so I ll keep my review short as well There are some very fine verses here, especially good to read before a night of drunken foolery Although FitzGerald s translation is known for being somewhat inaccurate, I wouldn t even consider trading it for a scrupulous edition Instead, why not view the poems as an artistic collaboration between two great poets, across time and space When small minded tin eared scholarsTake a look at his verse and holler Why what grave and fatal inaccuracies Resist the urge to grab them by the collarWhen pencil pushing professors sneer FitzGerald s version does not adhereTo the original Persian manuscript here Pat them on the back and have another beer The Ruba iyat of Omar Khayyam, Omar Khayy m, Edward FitzGerald Translator Written 1120 A.C.E Omar Khayyam was born at Naishapur in Khorassan in the latter half of Eleventh Century, and died within the First Quarter of Twelfth Century I Wake For the Sun, who scatter d into flight The Stars before him from the Field of Night,Drives Night along with them from Heav n, and strikes The Sultan s Turret with a Shaft of Light.II Before the phantom of False morning died,Methought a Voice within the Tavern cried, When all the Temple is prepared within,Why nods the drowsy Worshipper outside III And, as the Cock crew, those who stood beforeThe Tavern shouted Open then the Door You know how little while we have to stay, And, once departed, may return no IV Now the New Year reviving old Desires, The thoughtful Soul to Solitude retires, Where the White Hand Of Moses on the BoughPuts out, and Jesus from the Ground suspires.V Iram indeed is gone with all his Rose, And Jamshyd s Sev n ring d Cup where no one knows But still a Ruby kindles in the Vine, And many a Garden by the Water blows,VI And David s lips are lockt but in divine High piping Pehlevi, with Wine Wine Wine Red Wine the Nightingale cries to the Rose That sallow cheek of hers t incarnadine VII Come, fill the Cup, and in the fire of SpringYour Winter garment of Repentance fling The Bird of Time bas but a little way To flutter and the Bird is on the Wing.VIII Whether at Naishapur or Babylon, Whether the Cup with sweet or bitter run,The Wine of Life keeps oozing drop by drop, The Leaves of Life keep falling one by one IX Each Morn a thousand Roses brings, you say Yes, but where leaves the Rose of Yesterday And this first Summer month that brings the Rose Shall take Jamshyd and Kaikobad away.X Well, let it take them What have we to do With Kaikobad the Great, or Kaikhosru Let Zal and Rustum bluster as they will,Or Hatim call to Supper heed not you XI With me along the strip of Herbage strownThat just divides the desert from the sown, Where name of Slave and Sultan is forgot And Peace to Mahmud on his golden Throne XII A Book of Verses underneath the Bough, A Jug of Wine, a Loaf of Bread and ThouBeside me singing in the Wilderness Oh, Wilderness were Paradise enow XIII Some for the Glories of This World and someSigh for the Prophet s Paradise to come Ah, take the Cash, and let the Credit go,Nor heed the rumble of a distant Drum XIV 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 XV 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 dAs, buried once, Men want dug up again XVI 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 XVII Think, in this batter d Caravanserai Whose Portals are alternate Night and Day, How Sultan after Sultan with his Pomp Abode his destined Hour, and went his way.XVIII They say the Lion and the Lizard keep The Courts where Jamshyd gloried and drank deep And Bahram, that great Hunter the Wild AssStamps o er his Head, but cannot break his Sleep XIX I sometimes think that never blows so redThe Rose as where some buried Caesar bled That every Hyacinth the Garden wears Dropt in her Lap from some once lovely Head XX And this reviving Herb whose tender Green Fledges the River Lip on which we lean Ah, lean upon it lightly for who knows From what once lovely Lip it springs unseen XXI Ah, my Belov ed fill the Cup that clearsTo day Past Regrets and Future Fears To morrow Why, To morrow I may be Myself with Yesterday s Sev n Thousand Years.XXII For some we loved, the loveliest and the best That from his Vintage rolling Time hath prest,Have drunk their Cup a Round or two before, And one by one crept silently to rest.XXIII And we, that now make merry in the Room They left, and Summer dresses in new bloom Ourselves must we beneath the Couch of EarthDescend ourselves to make a Couch for whom XXIV 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 XXV Alike for those who for To day prepare, And those that after some To morrow stare, A Muezzin from the Tower of Darkness cries Fools your Reward is neither Here nor There XXVI Why, all the Saints and Sages who discuss d Of the Two Worlds so wisely they are thrust Like foolish Prophets forth their Words to Scorn Are scatter d, and their Mouths are stopt with Dust.XXVII Myself when young did eagerly frequent Doctor and Saint, and heard great argumentAbout it and about but ever Came out by the same door where in I went.XXVIII With them the seed of Wisdom did I sow, And with mine own hand wrought to make it grow And this was all the Harvest that I reap d I came like Water, and like Wind I go XXIX 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.XXX What, without asking, hither hurried Whence And, without asking, Whither hurried hence Oh, many a Cup of this forbidden Wine Must drown the memory of that insolence XXXI Up from Earth s Centre through the Seventh Gate rose, and on the Throne of Saturn sate And many a Knot unravel d by the Road But not the Master knot of Human Fate.XXXII There was the Door to which I found no Key There was the Veil through which I might not see Some little talk awhile of Me and Thee There was and then no of Thee and Me.XXXIII Earth could not answer nor the Seas that mourn In flowing Purple, of their Lord forlorn Nor rolling Heaven, with all his Signs reveal dAnd hidden by the sleeve of Night and Morn XXXIV Then of the Thee in Me works behind The Veil, I lifted up my hands to find A Lamp amid the Darkness and I heard, As from Without The Me Within Thee Blind XXXV Then to the lip of this poor earthen UrnI lean d, the Secret of my Life to learn And Lip to Lip it murmur d While you live Drink for, once dead, you never shall return XXXVI I think the Vessel, that with fugitive Articulation answer d, once did live, And drink and Ah the passive Lip I kiss d,How many Kisses might it take and give XXXVII For I remember stopping by the way To watch a Potter thumping his wet Clay And with its all obliterated Tongue It murmur d Gently, Brother, gently, pray XXXVIII And has not such a Story from of Old Down Man s successive generations roll dOf such a clod of saturated Earth Cast by the Maker into Human mould XXXIX And not a drop that from our Cups we throwFor Earth to drink of, but may steal below To quench the fire of Anguish in some Eye There hidden far beneath, and long ago.XL As then the Tulip for her morning sup Of Heav nly Vintage from the soil looks up, Do you devoutly do the like, till Heav n To Earth invert you like an empty Cup.XLI Perplext no with Human or Divine, To morrow s tangle to the winds resign, And lose your fingers in the tresses of The Cypress slender Minister of Wine.XLII And if the Wine you drink, the Lip you pressEnd in what All begins and ends in Yes Think then you are To day what Yesterday You were To morrow You shall not be less XLIII So when that Angel of the darker Drink At last shall find you by the river brink,And, offering his Cup, invite your Soul Forth to your Lips to quaff you shall not shrink.XLIV Why, if the Soul can fling the Dust aside,And naked on the Air of Heaven ride, Were t not a Shame were t not a Shame for him In this clay carcase crippled to abide XLV Tis but a Tent where takes his one day s rest A Sultan to the realm of Death addrest The Sultan rises, and the dark Ferrash Strikes, and prepares it for another Guest.XLVI And fear not lest Existence closing yourAccount, and mine, should know the like no The Eternal Saki from that Bowl has pour dMillions of Bubbles like us, and will pour.XLVII When You and I behind the Veil are past,Oh, but the long, long while the World shall last, Which of our Coming and Departure heeds As the Sea s self should heed a pebble cast.XLVIII A Moment s Halt a momentary taste Of Being from the Well amid the Waste And Lo the phantom Caravan has reach d The Nothing it set out from Oh, make haste XLIX Would you that spangle of Existence spendAbout the Secret Quick about it, Friend A Hair perhaps divides the False and True And upon what, prithee, may life depend L A Hair perhaps divides the False and True Yes and a single Alif were the clue Could you but find it to the Treasure house, And peradventure to The Master too LI Whose secret Presence, through Creation s veins Running Quicksilver like eludes your pains Taking all shapes from Mah to Mahi and They change and perish all but He remains LII A moment guess d then back behind the Fold Immerst of Darkness round the Drama roll d Which, for the Pastime of Eternity, He doth Himself contrive, enact, behold.LIII But if in vain, down on the stubborn floor Of Earth, and up to Heav n s unopening DoorYou gaze To day, while You are You how then To morrow, You when shall be You no LIV Waste not your Hour, nor in the vain pursuitOf This and That endeavour and dispute Better be jocund with the fruitful GrapeThan sadden after none, or bitter, Fruit.LV You know, my Friends, with what a brave Carouse I made a Second Marriage in my house Divorced old barren Reason from my Bed And took the Daughter of the Vine to Spouse LVI For Is and Is not though with Rule and Line And Up and Down by Logic I define, Of all that one should care to fathom, Was never deep in anything but Wine.LVII Ah, but my Computations, People say, Reduced the Year to better reckoning Nay Twas only striking from the Calendar Unborn To morrow, and dead Yesterday.LVIII And lately, by the Tavern Door agape, Came shining through the Dusk an Angel Shape Bearing a Vessel on his Shoulder and He bid me taste of it and twas the Grape LIX 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 LX The mighty Mahmud, Allah breathing Lord That all the misbelieving and black HordeOf Fears and Sorrows that infest the Soul Scatters before him with his whirlwind Sword.LXI Why, be this Juice the growth of God, who dare Blaspheme the twisted tendril as a Snare A Blessing, we should use it, should we not And if a Curse why, then, Who set it there LXII I must abjure the Balm of Life, I must, Scared by some After reckoning ta en on trust,Or lured with Hope of some Diviner Drink,To fill the Cup when crumbled into Dust LXIII Oh, threats of Hell and Hopes of Paradise One thing at least is certain This Life flies One thing is certain and the rest is Lies The Flower that once has blown for ever dies.LXIV Strange, is it not that of the myriads whoBefore us pass d the door of Darkness through, Not one returns to tell us of the Road, Which to discover we must travel too.LXV The Revelations of Devout and Learn d Who rose before us, and as Prophets burn d, Are all but Stories, which, awoke from Sleep,They told their comrades, and to Sleep return d.LXVI I sent my Soul through the Invisible, Some letter of that After life to spell And by and by my Soul return d to me, And answer d I Myself am Heav n and Hell LXVII Heav n but the Vision of fulfill d Desire, And Hell the Shadow from a Soul on fire,Cast on the Darkness into which Ourselves, So late emerged from, shall so soon expire LXVIII We are no other than a moving row Of Magic Shadow shapes that come and go Round with the Sun illumined Lantern heldIn Midnight by the Master of the Show LXIX But helpless Pieces of the Game He plays Upon this Chequer board of Nights and Days Hither and thither moves, and checks, and slays, And one by one back in the Closet lays LXXThe Ball no question makes of Ayes and Noes,But Here or There as strikes the Player goes And He that toss d you down into the Field,He knows about it all He knows HE knows LXXI 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.LXXII And that inverted Bowl they call the Sky,Whereunder crawling coop d we live and die, Lift not your hands to It for help for ItAs impotently moves as you or I.LXXIII With Earth s first Clay They did the Last Man knead, And there of the Last Harvest sow d the Seed And the first Morning of Creation wrote What the Last Dawn of Reckoning shall read.LXXIV Yesterday This Day s Madness did prepare To morrow s Silence, Triumph, or Despair Drink for you know not whence you came, nor why Drink for you know not why you go, nor where.LXXV I tell you this When, started from the Goal, Over the flaming shoulders of the Foal Of Heav n Parwin and Mushtari they flungIn my predestined Plot of Dust and Soul.LXXVI The Vine had struck a fibre which about If clings my being let the Dervish flout Of my Base metal may be filed a Key, That shall unlock the Door he howls without.LXXVII And this I know whether the one True LightKindle to Love, or Wrath consume me quite,One Flash of It within the Tavern caught Better than in the Temple lost outright LXXVIII What out of senseless Nothing to provokeA conscious Something to resent the yokeOf unpermitted Pleasure, under pain Of Everlasting Penalties, if broke LXXIX What from his helpless Creature be repaidPure Gold for what he lent him dross allay d Sue for a Debt he never did contract, And cannot answer Oh, the sorry trade LXXX Oh, Thou, who didst with pitfall and with gin Beset the Road I was to wander in, Thou wilt not with Predestined Evil roundEnmesh, and then impute my Fall to Sin LXXXI Oh, Thou who Man of baser Earth didst make,And ev n with Paradise devise the Snake For all the Sin wherewith the Face of Man Is blacken d Man s forgiveness give and take LXXXII As under cover of departing Day Slunk hunger stricken Ramazan away, Once within the Potter s house alone I stood, surrounded by the Shapes of Clay.LXXXIII Shapes of all Sorts and Sizes, great and small, That stood along the floor and by the wall And some loquacious Vessels were and someListen d perhaps, but never talk d at all.LXXXIV Said one among them Surely not in vain My substance of the common Earth was ta enAnd to this Figure moulded, to be broke, Or trampled back to shapeless Earth again LXXXV Then said a Second Ne er a peevish Boy Would break the Bowl from which he drank in joy, And He that with his hand the Vessel made Will surely not in after Wrath destroy LXXXVI After a momentary silence spake Some Vessel of a ungainly Make They sneer at me for leaning all awry What did the Hand then of the Potter shake LXXXVII Whereat some one of the loquacious Lot I think a Sufi pipkin waxing hot All this of Pot and Potter Tell me then, Who is the Potter, pray, and who the Pot LXXXVIII Why, said another, Some there are who tell Of one who threatens he will toss to HellThe luckless Pots he marr d in making Pish He s a Good Fellow, and twill all be well LXXXIX Well, Murmur d one, Let whoso make or buy, My Clay with long Oblivion is gone dry But fill me with the old familiar juice,Methinks I might recover by and by XC So while the Vessels one by one were speaking, The little Moon look d in that all were seeking And then they jogg d each other, Brother Brother Now for the Porter s shoulder knot a creaking 2004 1303 1313 1320 1336 1344 1385 1342. The Rubaiyat Are A Series Of Poems Or Stanzas By The Famous Th Century Persian Atronomer And PhilosopherThe Rub Iy T Of Omar Khayy M Persian Is The Title That Edward FitzGerald Gave To His Translation Of A Selection Of Poems, Originally Written In Persian And Numbering About A Thousand, Attributed To Omar Khayy M , A Persian Poet, Mathematician And Astronomer A Ruba I Is A Two Line Stanza With Two Parts Or Hemistichs Per Line, Hence The Word Rub Iy T Derived From The Arabic Language Root For Four , Meaning Quatrains Courtesy Wikipedia Less I kept thinking about the Rubaiyat last week while I was translating Zep s Happy Sex I understand that Fitzgerald s translation is extremely non literal, and almost amounts to a new poem there is a nice piece by Borges discussing this unusual collaboration between two poets from different cultures and centuries But what are you supposed to do when you translate poetry Literal translation seems pointless I had similar problems while trying to translate Zep s sexy French jokes If the result wasn t sexy or funny, it seemed to me that I must have failed.Well, I ve worked with machine translation for a while, and I suddenly wondered if the theoretical framework it gives you makes it possible to explore these issues in a precise way Here s a Powerpoint slide showing the fundamental equation of statistical machine translation, the technique which for example powers Google Translate What this says is that decoding translating amounts to finding words the e best which optimize the product of the translation model, P f e and the language model, P e The translation model measures how likely it is that the translated words correspond to the original ones The language model measures how plausible the translated words are per se.When translating literature, the language model should presumably take into account the genre If you re translating a moving epic love poem, the language model should measure the probability that a string of words is a moving epic love poem Similarly, if you re translating a sexy joke, it should measure the probability that a string of words is a sexy joke.The problem is that there s a tension between the translation model and the language model If you optimize the translation model term, and get a very literal translation, you re going to be far from optimal on the language model term Now I m thinking aloud here why is the problem so acute when you re translating literature It seems to me that the answer lies in the unusually strong constraints associated with the demands of literary text Even requiring a text string to be a sexy joke is a strong constraint Most literal translations, though they may be grammatical and even idiomatic, will have a low probability of being sexy jokes By accepting a lower value for P f e , though, you have a better chance of improving your score for P e Your optimum tradeoff point is most likely going to have a lowish P f e , and hence be fairly non literal Requiring a text string to be a moving epic love poem is an exceptionally strong constraint The probability that a literal translation is going to meet this constraint is vanishingly small So the optimum tradeoff point will most likely have an even lower P f e , and hence be even less literal.Ah, my hands are getting tired from being waved around so much The Rub iy t of Omar Khayy m is the title that Edward FitzGerald gave to his translation of a selection of poems, originally written in Persian and numbering about a thousand, attributed to Omar Khayy m 1048 1131 , a Persian poet, mathematician and astronomer A Ruba i is a two line stanza with two parts or hemstitch per line, hence the word rub iy t derived from the Arabic language root for Four , meaning Quatrains IWake For the Sun, who scatter d into flightThe Stars before him from the Field of Night,Drives Night along with them from Heav n, and strikesThe Sultan s Turret with a Shaft of Light.IIBefore the phantom of False morning died,Methought a Voice within the Tavern cried, When all the Temple is prepared within,Why nods the drowsy Worshipper outside IIIAnd, as the Cock crew, those who stood beforeThe Tavern shouted Open then the Door You know how little while we have to stay,And, once departed, may return no IVNow the New Year reviving old Desires,The thoughtful Soul to Solitude retires,Where the White Hand Of Moses on the BoughPuts out, and Jesus from the Ground suspires.VIram indeed is gone with all his Rose,And Jamshyd s Sev n ring d Cup where no one knows But still a Ruby kindles in the Vine,And many a Garden by the Water blows,VIAnd David s lips are lockt but in divineHigh piping Pehlevi, with Wine Wine Wine Red Wine the Nightingale cries to the RoseThat sallow cheek of hers t incarnadine.VIICome, fill the Cup, and in the fire of SpringYour Winter garment of Repentance fling The Bird of Time bas but a little wayTo flutter and the Bird is on the Wing.VIIIWhether at Naishapur or Babylon,Whether the Cup with sweet or bitter run,The Wine of Life keeps oozing drop by drop,The Leaves of Life keep falling one by one.IXEach Morn a thousand Roses brings, you say Yes, but where leaves the Rose of Yesterday And this first Summer month that brings the RoseShall take Jamshyd and Kaikobad away.XWell, let it take them What have we to doWith Kaikobad the Great, or Kaikhosru Let Zal and Rustum bluster as they will,Or Hatim call to Supper heed not youXIWith me along the strip of Herbage strownThat just divides the desert from the sown,Where name of Slave and Sultan is forgot And Peace to Mahmud on his golden Throne XIIA Book of Verses underneath the Bough,A Jug of Wine, a Loaf of Bread and ThouBeside me singing in the Wilderness Oh, Wilderness were Paradise enow XIIISome for the Glories of This World and someSigh for the Prophet s Paradise to come Ah, take the Cash, and let the Credit go,Nor heed the rumble of a distant Drum XIVLook to the blowing Rose about us Lo,Laughing, she says, into the world I blow,At once the silken tassel of my PurseTear, and its Treasure on the Garden throw XVAnd those who husbanded the Golden grain,And those who flung it to the winds like Rain,Alike to no such aureate Earth are turn dAs, buried once, Men want dug up again.XVIThe Worldly Hope men set their Hearts uponTurns Ashes or it prospers and anon,Like Snow upon the Desert s dusty Face,Lighting a little hour or two is gone.XVIIThink, in this batter d CaravanseraiWhose Portals are alternate Night and Day,How Sultan after Sultan with his PompAbode his destined Hour, and went his way.XVIIIThey say the Lion and the Lizard keepThe Courts where Jamshyd gloried and drank deep And Bahram, that great Hunter the Wild AssStamps o er his Head, but cannot break his Sleep.XIXI sometimes think that never blows so redThe Rose as where some buried Caesar bled That every Hyacinth the Garden wearsDropt in her Lap from some once lovely Head.XXAnd this reviving Herb whose tender GreenFledges the River Lip on which we lean Ah, lean upon it lightly for who knowsFrom what once lovely Lip it springs unseen XXIAh, my Belov ed fill the Cup that clearsTo day Past Regrets and Future Fears To morrow Why, To morrow I may beMyself with Yesterday s Sev n Thousand Years.XXIIFor some we loved, the loveliest and the bestThat from his Vintage rolling Time hath prest,Have drunk their Cup a Round or two before,And one by one crept silently to rest.XXIIIAnd we, that now make merry in the RoomThey left, and Summer dresses in new bloomOurselves must we beneath the Couch of EarthDescend ourselves to make a Couch for whom XXIVAh, make the most of what we yet may spend,Before we too into the Dust descend Dust into Dust, and under Dust to lieSans Wine, sans Song, sans Singer, and sans End XXVAlike for those who for To day prepare,And those that after some To morrow stare,A Muezzin from the Tower of Darkness cries Fools your Reward is neither Here nor There XXVIWhy, all the Saints and Sages who discuss dOf the Two Worlds so wisely they are thrustLike foolish Prophets forth their Words to ScornAre scatter d, and their Mouths are stopt with Dust.XXVIIMyself when young did eagerly frequentDoctor and Saint, and heard great argumentAbout it and about but everCame out by the same door where in I went.XXVIIIWith them the seed of Wisdom did I sow,And with mine own hand wrought to make it grow And this was all the Harvest that I reap d I came like Water, and like Wind I go XXIXInto this Universe, and Why not knowingNor Whence, like Water willy nilly flowing And out of it, as Wind along the Waste,I know not Whither, willy nilly blowing.XXXWhat, without asking, hither hurried Whence And, without asking, Whither hurried hence Oh, many a Cup of this forbidden WineMust drown the memory of that insolence XXXIUp from Earth s Centre through the Seventh Gaterose, and on the Throne of Saturn sate And many a Knot unravel d by the Road But not the Master knot of Human Fate.XXXIIThere was the Door to which I found no Key There was the Veil through which I might not see Some little talk awhile of Me and TheeThere was and then no of Thee and Me.XXXIIIEarth could not answer nor the Seas that mournIn flowing Purple, of their Lord forlorn Nor rolling Heaven, with all his Signs reveal dAnd hidden by the sleeve of Night and Morn.XXXIVThen of the Thee in Me works behindThe Veil, I lifted up my hands to findA Lamp amid the Darkness and I heard,As from Without The Me Within Thee Blind XXXVThen to the lip of this poor earthen UrnI lean d, the Secret of my Life to learn And Lip to Lip it murmur d While you liveDrink for, once dead, you never shall return XXXVII think the Vessel, that with fugitiveArticulation answer d, once did live,And drink and Ah the passive Lip I kiss d,How many Kisses might it take and give XXXVIIFor I remember stopping by the wayTo watch a Potter thumping his wet Clay And with its all obliterated TongueIt murmur d Gently, Brother, gently, pray XXXVIIIAnd has not such a Story from of OldDown Man s successive generations roll dOf such a clod of saturated EarthCast by the Maker into Human mould XXXIXAnd not a drop that from our Cups we throwFor Earth to drink of, but may steal belowTo quench the fire of Anguish in some EyeThere hidden far beneath, and long ago.XLAs then the Tulip for her morning supOf Heav nly Vintage from the soil looks up,Do you devoutly do the like, till Heav nTo Earth invert you like an empty Cup.XLIPerplext no with Human or Divine,To morrow s tangle to the winds resign,And lose your fingers in the tresses ofThe Cypress slender Minister of Wine.XLIIAnd if the Wine you drink, the Lip you pressEnd in what All begins and ends in Yes Think then you are To day what YesterdayYou were To morrow You shall not be less.XLIIISo when that Angel of the darker DrinkAt last shall find you by the river brink,And, offering his Cup, invite your SoulForth to your Lips to quaff you shall not shrink.XLIVWhy, if the Soul can fling the Dust aside,And naked on the Air of Heaven ride,Were t not a Shame were t not a Shame for himIn this clay carcase crippled to abide XLV Tis but a Tent where takes his one day s restA Sultan to the realm of Death addrest The Sultan rises, and the dark FerrashStrikes, and prepares it for another Guest.XLVIAnd fear not lest Existence closing yourAccount, and mine, should know the like no The Eternal Saki from that Bowl has pour dMillions of Bubbles like us, and will pour.XLVIIWhen You and I behind the Veil are past,Oh, but the long, long while the World shall last,Which of our Coming and Departure heedsAs the Sea s self should heed a pebble cast.XLVIIIA Moment s Halt a momentary tasteOf Being from the Well amid the Waste And Lo the phantom Caravan has reach dThe Nothing it set out from Oh, make haste XLIXWould you that spangle of Existence spendAbout the Secret Quick about it, Friend A Hair perhaps divides the False and True And upon what, prithee, may life depend LA Hair perhaps divides the False and True Yes and a single Alif were the clue Could you but find it to the Treasure house,And peradventure to The Master too LIWhose secret Presence, through Creation s veinsRunning Quicksilver like eludes your pains Taking all shapes from Mah to Mahi andThey change and perish all but He remains LIIA moment guess d then back behind the FoldImmerst of Darkness round the Drama roll dWhich, for the Pastime of Eternity,He doth Himself contrive, enact, behold.LIIIBut if in vain, down on the stubborn floorOf Earth, and up to Heav n s unopening DoorYou gaze To day, while You are You how thenTo morrow, You when shall be You no LIVWaste not your Hour, nor in the vain pursuitOf This and That endeavour and dispute Better be jocund with the fruitful GrapeThan sadden after none, or bitter, Fruit.LVYou know, my Friends, with what a brave CarouseI made a Second Marriage in my house Divorced old barren Reason from my BedAnd took the Daughter of the Vine to Spouse.LVIFor Is and Is not though with Rule and LineAnd Up and Down by Logic I define,Of all that one should care to fathom,Was never deep in anything but Wine.LVIIAh, but my Computations, People say,Reduced the Year to better reckoning Nay Twas only striking from the CalendarUnborn To morrow, and dead Yesterday.LVIIIAnd lately, by the Tavern Door agape,Came shining through the Dusk an Angel ShapeBearing a Vessel on his Shoulder andHe bid me taste of it and twas the Grape LIXThe Grape that can with Logic absoluteThe Two and Seventy jarring Sects confute The sovereign Alchemist that in a triceLife s leaden metal into Gold transmute LXThe mighty Mahmud, Allah breathing LordThat all the misbelieving and black HordeOf Fears and Sorrows that infest the SoulScatters before him with his whirlwind Sword.LXIWhy, be this Juice the growth of God, who dareBlaspheme the twisted tendril as a Snare A Blessing, we should use it, should we not And if a Curse why, then, Who set it there LXIII must abjure the Balm of Life, I must,Scared by some After reckoning ta en on trust,Or lured with Hope of some Diviner Drink,To fill the Cup when crumbled into Dust LXIIIOh, threats of Hell and Hopes of Paradise One thing at least is certain This Life flies One thing is certain and the rest is Lies The Flower that once has blown for ever dies.LXIVStrange, is it not that of the myriads whoBefore us pass d the door of Darkness through,Not one returns to tell us of the Road,Which to discover we must travel too.LXVThe Revelations of Devout and Learn dWho rose before us, and as Prophets burn d,Are all but Stories, which, awoke from Sleep,They told their comrades, and to Sleep return d.LXVII sent my Soul through the Invisible,Some letter of that After life to spell And by and by my Soul return d to me,And answer d I Myself am Heav n and Hell LXVIIHeav n but the Vision of fulfill d Desire,And Hell the Shadow from a Soul on fire,Cast on the Darkness into which Ourselves,So late emerged from, shall so soon expire.LXVIIIWe are no other than a moving rowOf Magic Shadow shapes that come and goRound with the Sun illumined Lantern heldIn Midnight by the Master of the Show LXIXBut helpless Pieces of the Game He playsUpon this Chequer board of Nights and Days Hither and thither moves, and checks, and slays,And one by one back in the Closet lays.LXXThe Ball no question makes of Ayes and Noes,But Here or There as strikes the Player goes And He that toss d you down into the Field,He knows about it all He knows HE knows LXXIThe Moving Finger writes and, having writ,Moves on nor all your Piety nor WitShall lure it back to cancel half a Line,Nor all your Tears wash out a Word of it.LXXIIAnd that inverted Bowl they call the Sky,Whereunder crawling coop d we live and die,Lift not your hands to It for help for ItAs impotently moves as you or I.LXXIIIWith Earth s first Clay They did the Last Man knead,And there of the Last Harvest sow d the Seed And the first Morning of Creation wroteWhat the Last Dawn of Reckoning shall read.LXXIVYesterday This Day s Madness did prepare To morrow s Silence, Triumph, or Despair Drink for you know not whence you came, nor why Drink for you know not why you go, nor where.LXXVI tell you this When, started from the Goal,Over the flaming shoulders of the FoalOf Heav n Parwin and Mushtari they flungIn my predestined Plot of Dust and Soul 2004 1342. A great Sufi poet, Omar Khayyam, has written in his Ruba iyat, his world famous collection of poetry I am going to drink, to dance, to love I am going to commit every kind of sin because I trust God is compassionate he will forgive My sins are very small his forgiveness is immense He was a famous mathematician too, renowned in his country Omar Khayyam s book was burned in his day Whenever a copy was found, it was burned by the priests, because this man was teaching such a dangerous idea One of the enlightened Sufi mystics, what he is saying has immense truth in it He does not mean that you should commit sin Whatever you do if it is not right, don t do it again If you feel it hurts somebody, don t do it again The songs of Omar Khayyam were translated by Western writers, but were not correctly understood Edward Fitzgerald, who did an admirable rendering of Khayyam s songs, was not a Sufi He took the word wine literally, for example He also took the word lover literally, and did the same with wineshop He read the Rubaiyat and tried to understand it with the help of a dictionary Omar Khayyam was a Sufi fakir, a Sufi saint When he speaks of wine, he is speaking of the wine about which Kabir is speaking And I m drunk with boundless youth.Omar Khayyam is speaking of this too The wineshop is the temple, the lover is the master, and the wine is none other than the wine of God Fitzgerald made a great mistake when he translated the songs of Omar Khayyam literally, and many people in the West thought Khayyam was a drunkard and had written these songs in praise of wine Many adaptations of the Rubaiyat were made from these translations of Fitzgerald s and were published all over the world, and so the wineshop of Omar Khayyam became world famous To understand a madman one must be mad, so if you wish to understand an enlightened man you will have to become enlightened yourself The sign language used by a dumb person can only be understood by another who is dumb Fitzgerald did not realize this If Omar Khayyam were to return to the world he would not be so displeased with anyone as he would be with Edward Fitzgerald Fitzgerald made Khayyam s name famous throughout the world, but he did it in a very wrong way.The Ruba iyat is one of the most misunderstood books in the whole world It is understood in its translation, it is misunderstood in its spirit The translator could not bring the spirit to it Ruba iyat is symbolic The Ruba iyat talks of wine and women and nothing else it sings of wine and women The translators and there are many are all wrong They are bound to be wrong because Omar Khayyam was a Sufi, a man who knows When he talks of the woman he is talking about God That is the way Sufis address God Beloved, O my beloved And they always use the feminine for God Nobody else in the world, in the whole history of humanity, has addressed God as a woman Only Sufis address God as the beloved And the wine is that which happens between the lover and the beloved, it has nothing to do with grapes The alchemy which happens between the lover and the beloved, between the disciple and the master, between the seeker and the sought, between the worshipper and his God the alchemy The transmutation that is the wine Ruba iyat is so misunderstood Drink wine that is life everlasting,The source of youthful delight It burns like fire, but puts an end to grief,It s like the water of life, drink it. It is a flash from the stage of non belief to faith,There is no than a syllable between doubt and certainty Prize this precious moment dearly,It is our life s only fruit. I had a palm size edition of Edward Fitzgerald s translation He changed his translation over the years and there are big differences between some of the different published editions Reading this, the Avery translation, was a shock because none of the verses were recognisable At first I found myself like Pnin hankering after a wayward translation because it had its own strange music Nobody has known anything better than sparkling wineSince the morning star and the moon graced the sky Wine sellers astonish me becauseWhat can they buy better than what they sellI m not sure if Fitzgerald knew Persian, but in any case Avery s intention was to write a literal translation Avery in the introduction is generous towards Fitzgerald s translation, which is well known and much loved When it comes to translating poetry what the ill tempered might call inaccuracy can be creativity, a reinvention of the original in an alien language which has its own foreign rhythm The year s caravan goes by swiftly,Seize the cheerful moment Why sorrow, boy, over tomorrow s grief for friends Bring out the cup the night passes. Rereading what struck me was how repetitive many of the verses were Some seem like variations of each other and the effect of reading them a little similar to reading Pascal s Pens es The themes are the impermanence of life, the unknowability of the future and afterlife, the enjoyment of the present moment and Dust Thou Art, and Unto Dust Shalt Thou Return A pie chart illustrating Khayyam s poetic impulses would not need many slices How long shall I grieve for what I have or have not,Over whether to pass my life in pleasure Fill the wine bowl it is not certainThat I shall breathe out again the breath I now draw. Khayyam was a mathematician, astrologer and philosopher The attribution of verses to his name was made only after his death Some were also attributed to other writers and it seems that only one four line verse can be reliably thought to have actually been composed by Khayyam and this because Ata Malik Juvaini tells us that some of the survivors of the sack of Baghdad recited it in his history of the Mongol conquests I suppose our ignorance over the authorship only proves the poet s point about the impermanence of life These few odd days of life have passedLike water down the brook, wind across the desert There are two days I have never been plagued with regret for,Yesterday that has gone, tomorrow that will come. In 1942, when my father was in the South Pacific, he asked for only one thing for Christmasthis book of poetry My mother sent it to him with an inscription in the frontispiece which spoke wistfully of days to come Later, he sent her a photo of him, reading this book, leaning back on a palm tree, with a bottle of wine and a loaf of bread on the cloth beside himon the back of the photo, he wrote, all I m missing is thou Obviously, this book is a family treasure, and I cannot read it without remembering my parent s great love affair 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 Here with a Loaf of Bread beneath the Bough, A Flask of Wine, A Book of Verse and Thou Beside me singing in the Wilderness And Wilderness is Paradise enow. Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam, Omar KhayyamOmar Khayyam was born at Naishapur in Khorassan in the latter half of Eleventh, and died within the First Quarter of 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 2004 1342 The Ruba iyat of Omar Khayyam, Omar Khayy m, Edward FitzGerald Translator Omar Khayy m was a Persian polymath, mathematician, philosopher, astronomer, physician, and poet He wrote treatises on mechanics, geography, and music His significance as a philosopher and teacher, and his few remaining philosophical works, have not received the same attention as his scientific and poetic writings Zamakhshari referred to him as the philosopher of the world Many sources have testified that he taught for decades the philosophy of Ibn Sina in Nishapur where Khayy m was born buried and where his mausoleum remains today a masterpiece of Iranian architecture visited by many people every year Outside Iran and Persian speaking countries, Khayy m has had impact on literature and societies through translation and works of scholars The greatest such impact among several others was in English speaking countries the English scholar Thomas Hyde 1636 1703 was the first non Persian to study him The most influential of all was Edward FitzGerald 1809 83 , who made Khayy m the most famous poet of the East in the West through his celebrated translation and adaptations of Khayy m s rather small number of quatrains rubaiyaas in Rub iy t of Omar Khayy m 1342.

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