Omar Khayyam (1. 9 q1-9)
9
— The Secret Life of the Rubaiyat Poems —
زندگی راز شعر روبایایات
The secrets which my book of love has bred,
Cannot be told for fear of loss of head;
Since none is fit to learn, or cares to know,
‘Tis better all my thoughts remain unsaid.
There are fatwas against rationalists;
Shariah has become the supreme truth,
Once venerated figures are heretics;
The intellectual sciences are forbidden.
I’m forced to play the game of pretending
To be a good Muslim; even went to Mecca.
Of secrets of the world, my book defined
For fear of malice should not be outlined;
Since none here worthy are amongst the dolts,
I can’t reveal the thoughts that crowd my mind.
Even teaching is prohibited.
Libraries are no longer supported.
It’s safer for one to write on science
And mathematics than philosophy.
My poems are inwardly like snakes who bite
The Shariah and are chains and restraints.
Some I get away with because of the
Poetic mode of expression I have adopted.
‘There is no benefit in the science of medicine,
And no truth lies in the science of geometry,
Logical and natural sciences are heretical
And those practicing them are heathens.’
The promise of reward and punishment
And the quandary of bodily resurrection
Derails one’s attention, diverting it from
The here and now, where one should be focused.
The whole problem is that ‘God’ is not
Established, yet I grant the possibility,
Upgrading the notion to a ‘maybe’;
But they still preach it as a surety!
(1. 9 q10-19)
Ghazzali studied with me for some years
And came to my home in the morning,
‘Fore he could be seen—religiously torn;
So I had a drum beaten on my roof.
Ye do not grasp the truth but still ye grope;
Why waste then life and sit in doubtful hope.
Beware! And hold forever Holy Name
From torpor sane or sot in death will slope.
O Preacher, harder at work we are than you,
Though drunken, we are more sober than you;
The blood of grapes we drink, you that of men,
Be fair, who is more blood-thirsty, we or you?
Some strung the pearls of thought by searching deep,
And told some tales about Him—sold them cheap;
But none has caught a clue to secret realms,
They cast a horoscope and fall asleep.
Had I but over the heavens control
I’d remove this bullish ball beyond the goal
And forthwith furnish better worlds and times
Where love will cling to every freeman’s soul.
I wonder if ‘Lord’ could change the world
Just so that I may see his plans unfurled.
Would he remove my name from roll of call?
Or would my dish with larger sops be hurled?
Since mortal compositions are cast by Hand Divine,
Why then the flaws that throw them out of line?
If formed sublime, why must He shatter them?
If not, to whom should we the fault assign?
From Thee, beloved, those who went astray,
They fall, of course, to dreaming pride, a prey,
Drink the chalice of wine and hear this Truth:
Just empty air is every word they say.
O unenlightened race of human kind
Ye are a nothing, built on empty wind,
Ye a mere nothing, hovering in the abyss:
A void before you, and a void behind.
I saw a wise man who had no regard
For caste or creed, for faith or worldly greed,
And free from truth and quest, from path and goal,
He sat at ease, from Earth and Heaven freed.
(1. 9 q20-29)
Anon! The pious people would advise,
That as we die, we rise up fools or wise.
‘Tis for this cause we keep with lover and wine
For in the end with same we hope to rise.
In Paradise are angels, as men trow
And fountains with pure wine and honey flow.
If these be lawful in the world to come
May I not love the like down here below?
Since neither truth nor certitude is at hand
Do not waste your life in doubt for hither-land.
O let us not refuse the goblet of wine,
For, sober or drunk, in ignorance we stand.
This ruthless Wheel that makes so great a show,
Unravels no one’s knot, shares no one’s woe;
But when it sights a wounded, weary heart,
It hurries on to strike another blow.
And those who show their prayer-rugs are but mules—
Mere hypocrites who use those rugs as tools;
Behind the veil of zealotry they trade,
Trading Islam, worse than heathen are those fools.
If justice ruled the working of the heavens,
All the affairs of Men would prosper well,
If sciences guided all our worldly acts,
Who would be sorry for the men of science.
Serve only the wise if and when you find.
Let fast and prayer blast, you need not mind,
But listen to truth from what Omar Khayyam says:
Drink wine, steal if you must, but be ever kind.
If ye would love, be sober, wise and cool
And keep your mind and senses under rule.
If ye desire your drinking be loved by All;
Injure no person, never act a fool.
Tell me, Omar, of what else you’ve accomplished.
I will, but for now…
Spring’s New Year unfolds the garden’s jewels—
The sweet rose, my Peri, and April Fools.
Yester-now expires gifting the present;
‘Twould be naught to speak outside of what rules.