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| Image of folio from Metropolitan Museum of Art |
There are several translations, and the copy I read included a prologue and an epilogue, which is a revised edition of the first Darbandi & Davis published translation. The ISBN is 9780140444346, and the length is 278 pages. I thought the prologue & epilogue were valuable.
To call Darbandi & Davis translators is quite a misnomer. Their rhyming couplets are so much more than translating.
I also read a picture book version by Rabiah/Alexis York Lumbard, which I hope to write a separate blog entry about.
I thought to try to say profound things about this book, but ultimately I decided to encourage the reader to read it by simply sharing some poignant or humorous passages. I've not read such a book in a long time, and I felt regions of my brain being activated which remain unused while reading sociology, history, politics and various forms of fiction, which is my standard fare.
Text in bold are my headings to introduce the subsequent passage.
Which so-called leaders deserve this criticism?
If a thorn pierced your foot, you'd quite forget
The friends and foes that you had made & met.
And should a man a thorn can discompose
Rule a community, do you suppose?
Allah ﷻ rejected the Messenger's ﷺ request "to direct my people's business" because he wouldn't be able to bear "the vast extent of their iniquity."
How should we balance اتقوا الله & لا تقنطوا من روح الله?
And though, 'Be wary' troubles me, the force
of God's 'Do not despair' is my recourse.
Slaves should never interpret the favors a king shows them as safety from the king's caprice
There was a monarch once who loved a slave.
The youth’s pale beauty haunted him; he gave
This favourite the rarest ornaments,
Watched over him with jealous reverence --
But when the king expressed a wish to shoot,
His loved one shook with fear from head to foot.
An apple balanced on his head would be
The target for the royal archery,
And as the mark was split he blenched with fear.
One day a foolish courtier standing near
Asked why his lovely face was drained and wan,
For was he not their monarch’s chosen one?
The slave replied: “If I were hit instead
Of that round apple balanced on my head,
I would be then quite worthless to the king --
Injured or dead, lower than anything
The court can show; but when the arrow hits
The trembling target and the apple splits,
That is his skill. The king is highly skilled
If he succeeds -- if not, the slave is killed’.”
Love of the Divine is Greater than Religion & Blasphemy
If you are told: ‘Renounce our Faith’, obey!
The Self and Faith must both be tossed away;
Blasphemers call such actions blasphemy --
Tell them that love exceeds mere piety.
Love has no time for blasphemy or faith,
Nor lovers for the Self, that feeble wraith.
They burn all that they own; unmoved they feel
Against their skin the torturer’s sharp steel.
Heart’s blood and bitter pain belong to love,
And tales of problems no one can remove;
Cupbearer, fill the bowl with blood, not wine --
And if you lack the heart’s rich blood take mine.
Love thrives on inextinguishable pain,
Knowledge of Divine Unity Lies Beyond the Realm of Names and Signs
The world is names and signs, in truth it’s He
Whose being is its sole reality.
This world, the world to come, and all besides, Are Him;
know this, that nothing else abides.
There is one essence, but diffused, deflected,
There is one word, but variously inflected;
A man must know the King, and recognize Him,
Although a hundred different clothes disguise Him;
It’s not an error, in this way to see Him,
Since He is all, and everything must be Him –
The error’s when a man presumes to state
That what he sees and God are separate.
Death is the Flaw in All Worldly Endeavors
A king who loved his own magnificence
Once built a palace and spared no expense.
When this celestial building had been raised,
The gorgeous carpets and its splendour dazed
The crowd that pressed round -- a servant flung
Trays heaped with money to the scrabbling throng.
The king now summoned all his wisest friends
And said: ‘What do I lack? Who recommends
Improvements to my court?’ ‘We must agree,’
They said, ‘no man could now or ever see,
In all the earth, a palace built like this.’
An old ascetic spoke. ‘One thing’s amiss,’
He said; ‘there’s one particular you lack.
This noble structure has a nasty crack
(Though if it weren’t for that it would suffice
To be the heavenly court of paradise).’
The king replied: ‘What crack? Where is it? Where?
If you’ve come for trouble, then take care!’
The man said: ‘Lord, it is the truth I tell --
And through that crack will enter Azra’el.
It may be you can block it, but if not,
Then throne and palace are not worth a jot!
Your palace now seems like some heavenly prize,
But death will make it ugly to your eyes;
Nothing remains for ever and you know --
Although you live here now -- that this is so.
Don’t pride yourself on things that cannot last;
Don’t gallop your high-stepping horse so fast.
If one like me is left to indicate
Your faults to you, I pity your sad fate.’
Don't Be Lazy
If you have made this world a place for sleep,
Your bed’s the load that makes the Way so steep --
Burn it! and pass beyond what merely seems;
You can’t deceive the Truth with sleepy dreams.
Let fear persuade you, and the fire is lit;
Burn your bed now if you would rise from it.
An ostentatious bird & the Hoopoe's reply
Another bird declared: “My happiness
Comes from the splendid things which I possess:
My palace walls inlaid with gold excite
Astonishment in all who see the sight.
They are a world of joy to me -- how could
I wrench my heart from this surpassing good?
There I am king; all bow to my commands --
Shall I court ruin in the desert sands?
Shall I give up this realm, and live without
My certain glory in a world of doubt?
What rational mind would give up paradise
For wanderings filled with pain and sacrifice?”
The hoopoe said: “Ungrateful wretch! Are you
A dog that you should need a kennel too?
This world’s a kennel’s filthy murk at best;
Your palace is a kennel with the rest.
If it seems paradise, at your last breath
You’ll know it is your dungeon after death.
There’d be no harm in palaces like yours,
Did not the thought of death beat at our doors.
If We Let Go of This World, the Devil Lets Go of Us
A sluggard once approached a fasting saint
And, baffled by despair, made this complaint:
‘The devil is a highwayman, a thief,
Who’s ruined me and robbed me of belief.’
The saint replied: ‘Young man, the devil too
Has made his way here to complain -- of you.
‘My province is the world,’ I heard him say;
‘Tell this new pilgrim of God’s holy Way
To keep his hands off what is mine -- if I
Attack him it’s because his fingers pry
In my affairs; if he will leave me be,
He’s no concern of mine and can go free.’
Heedlessness
A man who lived by digging graves survived
To ripe old age. A neighbour said: ‘You’ve thrived
For years, digging away in one routine --
Tell us the strangest thing you’ve ever seen.’
He said: ‘All things considered, what’s most strange
Is that for seventy years without a change
That dog, my Self, has seen me digging graves,
Yet neither dies, nor alters, nor behaves!’
Why Does This Make Me Think of Mike Pence?
If you’re a eunuch underneath, don’t dress
In clothes of high heroic manliness!
God Can Forgive Qarun
God said: ‘Gharoun has ten times seven times,
Dear Moses, begged forgiveness for his crimes --
Still you ignore him, though his soul is free
From all the twisting growths of blasphemy;
I have uprooted them and now prepare
A robe of grace in answer to his prayer.
You have destroyed him; wound has followed wound;
You force his head to bow down to the ground --
If you were his creator you would give
Some respite to this suffering fugitive.’
One who shows mercy to the merciless
Brings mercy close to Godlike blessèdness;
The ocean of God’s grace is infinite --
Our sins are like a tear dissolved in it.
How could His mercy change? -- it can contain
No trace of temporal corruption’s stain.
One who accuses sinners takes the part
Of tyranny, and bears a tyrant's heart
What's Blasphemous for You and Me Does Not Harm the Lovers of Allah
Once Khorasan enjoyed great affluence
Beneath a prince of proved benevolence --
His slaves were lovely as the moon at dusk,
Straight-limbed and silver, scented with soft musk,
And in their ears shone pearls whose milky light
Reflected daytime in the darkest night.
Gold ornaments half hid and half revealed
Their silver limbs; each held a golden shield.
Bright gems adorned their belts; a white horse bore
Each slave as if he were a conqueror.
Whoever saw this shining army gave
His heart to them, the slaves’ contented slave.
A barefoot, hungry dervish once, by chance,
Caught sight of this unique magnificence,
And wondering asked: ‘What houris might these be?’
The crowd exclaimed: ‘The splendid troop you see
Are slaves belonging to our noble lord.’
The dervish writhed as if in pain, then roared:
‘Great God, look down from your exalted sphere --
Learn how to treat your slaves from this man here!’
If you are mad like him, if you possess
Such leaves of Truth, forget all bashfulness,
Be bold! But if these leaves are not your style,
Control yourself, and wipe away your smile.
Boldness like this does not deserve our blame;
Such men are moths, ambitious for the flame --
They only see their goal and cannot say
What’s good or bad along the pilgrims’ Way.
The Dervish Who Mastered Torts Law
A poor man living in a drainage-ditch
Once borrowed from his neighbour (who was rich)
A valued ass, and rode it to the mill.
He slept there, and the ass made off at will --
A wolf devoured the beast; with indignation
The owner made a claim for compensation.
The poor man and his neighbour went to court,
Submitting an exhaustive, full report --
‘Now who should pay?’ they asked. The judge replied:
‘Whoever lets this wolf hunt far and wide,
Whoever put him here to roam about,
Should compensate you both without a doubt --
O God, who is the debtor, who can say?
It’s certain that no mortal ought to pay.’
As Egypt’s noble maidens swooned to see
Dear Joseph’s radiant face, so ecstasy
Is mirrored in the sufi’s maddened heart --
Then he has lost himself and moves apart
From all that we perceive -- the world grows dim
As all the world resolves to follow him.
The Donkey Who Taught a Master
Sheikh Abou Bakr of Neishapour one day
Led his disciples through a weary way.
His donkey carried him, aloof, apart --
And then the beast let out a monstrous fart!
The sheikh began to tear his clothes and cry
Till one of his disciples asked him why.
The sheikh said: ‘When I looked I saw a sea
Of my disciples sworn to follow me;
They filled the roads and in my mind there slid
The thought: ‘By God, I equal Bayazid!
So many praise me, can I doubt this sign
That heaven’s boundless glories will be mine?’
Then as I triumphed in my inmost heart,
My donkey answered me -- and with a fart;
My pompous, self-deceiving soul awoke,
And this is why I weep and tear my cloak.’
How far away the truth remains while you
Are lost in praise for all you say and do --
Destroy your arrogance, and feed the fire
With that vain Self you foolishly admire.
You change your face each moment, but deep down
You are a Pharaoh and you wear his crown,
Whilst one small atom of this ‘you’ survives
Hypocrisy enjoys a hundred lives.
If you put all your trust in ‘I’ and ‘me’
You’ve chosen both worlds as your enemy --
But if you kill the Self, the darkest night
Will be illuminated with your light.
If you would flee from evil and its pain
Swear never to repeat this ‘I’ again!
Filth Outside and Filth Inside
A dog brushed up against a sheikh, who made
No move to draw his skirts in or evade
The filthy stray -- a puzzled passer-by
Who’d noticed his behaviour asked him why.
He said: ‘The dog is filthy, as you see,
But what is outside him is inside me --
What’s clear on him is hidden in my heart;
Why should such close companions stay apart?’
If inward filth is slight or if it’s great,
The outcome is the same disgusting state --
If straws impede you, or a mountain-top,
Where is the difference if you have to stop?
Neither Growing Your Beard Nor Ripping it Out is the Point
In Moses’s time there lived an anchorite
Who prayed incessantly by day and night,
And yet derived no pleasure from his quest;
No sun had risen in his troubled breast.
He had a beard, of which he took great care,
Loving to comb it hair by silky hair.
It happened that this pious man one day
Caught sight of Moses walking far away --
He ran to him and cried: ‘Mount Sinai’s lord,
Ask God why he denies me my reward.’
When next on Sinai’s slopes good Moses trod,
He put this poor man’s question to his God,
Who answered: ‘Tell this would-be saint that he
Pays more attention to his beard than Me.’
When Moses told the man of God’s reply,
He tore his beard out with a piteous cry --
Then Gabriel appeared to them and said:
‘Concern for that grey beard still fills his head;
He loved it then, and now he pulls it out,
His wretched love is even more devout.’
Whatever stage you’ve reached, to spend one breath
Unmindful of your God is worse than death --
And what of you, still wrapped up in your beard,
For whom grief’s ocean has not yet appeared?
Forget this beard and you will understand
How you can swim across and gain dry land --
But keep it as you enter that profound
Ungoverned sea, and with it you’ll be drowned.
Others' Errors Are Not Your Concern
‘For seventy years my happy heart has led
A life of constant bliss,’ a sufi said.
‘My God has been so good to me that I
Am bound to Him until the day I die.’
You seek for faults to censure and suppress
And have no time for inward happiness --
How can you know God’s secret majesty
If you look out for sin incessantly?
To share His hidden glory you must learn
That others’ errors are not your concern --
When someone else’s failings are defined
What hairs you split -- but to your own you’re blind!
Look in the Mirror
A sot became extremely drunk -- his legs
And head sank listless, weighed by wine’s thick dregs.
A sober neighbour put him in a sack
And took him homewards hoisted on his back.
Another drunk went stumbling by the first,
Who woke and stuck his head outside and cursed.
‘Hey, you, you lousy dipsomaniac,’
He yelled as he was borne off in the sack,
‘If you’d had fewer drinks, just two or three,
You would be walking now as well as me,’
He saw the other’s state but not his own,
And in this blindness he is not alone;
You cannot love, and this is why you seek
To find men vicious, or depraved, or weak --
If you could search for love and persevere
The sins of other men would disappear.
A Message for Law Enforcement
A man whose job it was to keep the peace
Beat up a drunk, who fought for his release
And cried: “It’s you who’s tippled too much wine;
Your rowdiness is ten times worse than mine --
Who’s causing this disturbance, you or me?
But yours is drunkenness that men can’t see;
Leave me alone! Let justice do its worst --
Enforce the law and beat yourself up first!’ ”
Sincerity Is Your Most Valuable Gift
Another bird said: “You have seen our king --
What gifts would it be right for me to bring?
I’ll gladly get whatever you advise;
What would be welcome to our sovereign’s eyes?
A king deserves a quite distinctive gift;
Only a miser would be ruled by thrift!”
The hoopoe answers him:
“Be ruled by me,” the hoopoe said. “Take care
To offer something which is lacking there --
Where is the point in dragging all that way
A costly present common there as day?
There mystery resides and confidence,
Pure knowledge and the soul’s obedience --
But take the torment of a heart alone,
The soul’s distress, for these are there unknown,
And let the anguish you endure arise
Borne upward to the king in bitter sighs;
If one sigh rises from the inmost soul,
That man is saved, and has attained our goal.
Don't Let an Early Success Divert You from the Greater Goal
If you discover in your quest a jewel,
Do not, like some delighted doting fool,
Gloat over it -- search on, you’re not its slave;
It is not treasures by the way you crave.
To make an idol of the gems you find
Is to be drunk, to cloud the searching mind --
At this first glass your soul should not submit;
Seek out the wine-press of the infinite.
Differences Are OK
The next broad valley which the traveller sees
Brings insight into hidden mysteries;
Here every pilgrim takes a different way,
And different spirits different rules obey.
Each soul and body has its level here
And climbs or falls within its proper sphere –
There are so many roads, and each is fit
For that one pilgrim who must follow it.
How could a spider or a tiny ant
Tread the same path as some huge elephant?
Each pilgrim’s progress is commensurate
With his specific qualities and state
(No matter how it strives, what gnat could fly
As swiftly as the winds that scour the sky?).
Our pathways differ – no bird ever knows
The secret route by which another goes.
Our insight comes to us by different signs;
One prays in mosques and one in idols’ shrines –
But when Truth’s sunlight clears the upper air,
Each pilgrim sees that he is welcomed there.
His essence will shine forth; the world that seemed
A furnace will be sweeter than he dreamed.
Don't Get Stuck in the Honey
A hungry fly once saw a hive of bees;
Transported by delicious fantasies,
He buzzed: “What noble friend will be my guide?
I’d give a barley grain to get inside –
How marvellous if I could just contrive
To find myself in this delightful hive.”
A passer-by took pity on his pain,
Lifted him in and took the barley grain.
But when he reached the honey-store at last,
He found his wings and hairy joints stuck fast –
His sticky, struggling legs began to tire,
Encumbered by the honey’s clammy mire.
He cried: “When free I didn’t know my luck;
This honey’s worse than poison. Help! I’m stuck!
