An anagrammatic paraphrase
of
FitzGerald's Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam

©  Copyright 2001  Richard Brodie

Plan of the work

All 114 quatrains have now been anagrammed and will soon be published.
The following is a partial sampling:


FitzGerald's paraphrase
Brodie's anagram
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."		 In silent Morn, the Lawn still wet with Dew,
The friendly Owner of the Pub said: "Drink!
Ah, come! A lusty Bacchic Vial quaff,
Ere ye despair, and in the Grave ye sink."
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."		 Oh Rooster! when it crowed we Men who drink
Turned to the Pub: "Oh welcome! No Delay!
Old Throats crave Oceans of Nepenthe sweet -
A Vodka on the House? thy Treat today!"
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.		 I'd beg a Sip, if it be April Grape,
Romancing Life before its Thrill doth melt.
Youth in the Wind can flutter off,  O then 
No new Enchantment with dry Age's felt.
Morning 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 Jamshýd and Kaikobád away.		 This Dawn Sky's heating Rays rejuvenate
Those Herbs of May; but Oh, I am dismayed 
At last Year's shrunken Buds - the transient Dross.
Oh mark how Mortals' bygone Glories fade.
A Book of Verses underneath the Bough, 
A Jug of Wine, a Loaf of Bread, -- and Thou 
Beside me singing in the Wilderness -- 
Oh, Wilderness were Paradise enow!		 A Poem, and Trees a-blowing in a Wind.
A Brew I'll drink -- base Needs of other Stuff
Ignore. Ah see here how we do behave;
Indeed for us a Song is just enough.
Were it not Folly, Spider-like to spin 
The Thread of present Life away to win --
What? for ourselves, who know not if we shall 
Breathe out the very Breath we now breathe in!		 If we're intent to Hope for heavenly Bliss,
Oh, Profit in the Earth away we throw --
Better we briefly taste Love's Pleasure, for
What Hour we'll sink in Death we do not know!
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.		 The Riches People think will last so long
Go sour -- or persist and Worth retain; 
See Dew upon the Grass out in the Sun --
So Fortune spent doth hardly yet remain.
The Palace that to Heav'n his Pillars threw, 
And Kings the Forehead on his Threshold drew-- 
I saw the solitary Ringdove there,
And "Coo, coo, coo," she cried; and "Coo, coo, coo."		 Oh Castle high, on whose heraldic Door
Do these, the Royals of late honored Lines, 
The Visage paint -- see that a Dove doth chirp,
A Cock doth crow, a Crow on Carrion dines.
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.		 It seems, when in a shaded silent Park,
That every Blossom, every Chaplet's Bud,
Grows rather more attractive to Man's Eye 
On Soil enriched here with famed Heroes' Blood.
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!		 Ah, kneel in high Respect when at the Springs;
Honor when viewing Flowers in the Dell;
Lo from one vanished fine Soul far below 
This pretty, sightly Garden could upwell.
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.		 My Friend, salute my happy Serum sweet
That Care aborts and Worry holds at bay.
Give me TODAY! O Why? Life's over fast - 
Fed to the Worms, our Flesh returns to Clay.
Lo! some we loved, the loveliest and 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.		 Those I've adored that born to freedom's Hope,
Know not a Course but "Carpe Diem!", They've
Life's Bottle tasted fervently till All
Turn in to sleep, and now are in the Grave.
Ah, make the most of what we may yet 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!		 We'd best attempt to get Enchantment's Kiss,
As handed us in the due Season rife;
Why? O ye mute down under Dirt do go,
To end sans Sound, sans Wants, and so -- sans Life!
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!"		 Oh Those that worry of that Time far off,
Or worry now and hoard for One that's near,
Do Errors sore make, and must Elsewhere look
To seize their secret Prize supreme, I fear.
Why, all the Saints and Sages who discuss'd 
Of the Two Worlds so learnedly, are thrust 
Like foolish Prophets forth; their Works to Scorn
Are scatter'd, and their Mouths are stopt with Dust.		 So, Wisdom of those worldly Thinker's Words, 
Truths sacrosanct, propounded Thoughts, that fade
Like worthless Errors, that we trust, they wane; 
False Scholarship to rest in Death is laid.
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.		 Mentored by Guru, and Rabbi devout,
Who many a Quandry fought, Men at debate.
Reason oft circularly seen, it seemed
That I was doomed to an e'er turning Gate.
With them the Seed of Wisdom did I sow, 
And with my own Hand labour'd it to grow: 
And this was all the Harvest that I reap'd -- 
"I came like Water and like Wind I go."		 Ah, Knowledge! Education's widen'd Base,
I vow'd to add while wandering 'mid Earth.
The Pity is I'm mortal, fed to Worms;
I think ahead: "All this! What was it worth?"
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.		 In Life will thy End be not Unknown Deeds?
Will ye Ovation glowing want to win
When ye on Wings will flirt anon with Stars?
Oh I think ye will walk, to your Chagrin!
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 Master-Knot of Human Fate.		 Ah, by the Theban Rampart strong I sought
To understand the tyrant Stars of Men;
Ah Fortune, Heaven-sent, thou art not free;
The Luck, then Doom, of Man evades our Ken.
There was the Door to which I found no Key: 
There was the Veil through which I could not see:
Some little talk awhile of Me and Thee 
There was -- and then no more of Thee and Me.		 I mark the Sheet that hindered Light and View:
O too, the Way whose Lock would not release.
Do we Men find Thee, Home of human Truth?
O if not, O then here the Search will cease.
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.		 I'd Seek a Lord transcendent that all Things
Can plan -- He'd end intending Virtue bright?
"If all Men grovel badly in rude Sin,
Wilt Thou, kind-hearted, help?"  He said, "I might!"
And not a Drop that from our Cups we throw
For Earth to drink of, but may steal below
To quench the fire of Anguish in some Eye
There hidden--far beneath, and long ago.		 Liquor beneath the Ground undo hot Pain!
Offer thy Honey as a Sea of Balm.
Soothe the deep Torment and wash off dark Woe, 
A tortured Wretch in burning Grief to calm.
As then the Tulip for her wonted Sup 
Of Heavenly Vintage lifts her Chalice up, 
Do you, twin Offspring of the Soil, till Heav'n
To Earth invert you like an empty Cup.		 Ah, see the purple Violet catch the Drops
Of Life reviving Nutrient divine!
Supply thy Soul, thou Progeny of Clay,
With Lakes of Ale, then, from that Fountain, Wine.
Do you, within your little Hour of Grace, 
The waving Cypress in your Arms enlace,
Before the Mother back into her Arms
Fold, and dissolve you in a last Embrace.		 Ere you by Charon to a frigid Realm 
Of Death are ferried by his Ark, thy Chance
Lose not to revel in Love's sumptuous Glow,
Warm Sensibility and Touch -- Romance!
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.		 Oh, Logic's bossy Humours I've renounced;
From a chaste, modest, proud Vow off I break.
And wed that rare, young, radiant Dame, Red Wine -
Ah, in my Bosom her I've yearned to take.
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, I
Was never deep in anything but--Wine.		 Did Reason's candent Sun illume a Law 
Newtonian by apt Logicians' Thought?
Dew of the Vine one hundred fifty Proof -
O Oil in Hand, in HER Law I'd  be taught.
The Grape that can with Logic absolute 
The Two-and-Seventy jarring Sects confute: 
The subtle Alchemist that in a Trice 
Life's leaden Metal into Gold transmute.		 Get Gin and Ice; to Men in cultic, hot, 
Fanatic Arguments bid thee farewell:
Enjoy that solvent Claret's Taste that will
That human Scourge, the sober State, dispel.
The mighty Mahmúd, 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.		 A Monarch fought: "Let die, a brutal Host!" 
Whacking this Infidel that storms the Wall;
And thy sad Cross? by Christ it is removed;
Ah, thus Men's Dread does now the Vine forestall.
But leave the Wise to wrangle, and with me 
The Quarrel of the Universe let be: 
And, in some corner of the Hubbub couch'd, 
Make Game of that which makes as much of Thee.		 Men fret: "Ah, seek the Gem of Truth above" -
See how: encumbered quite with glib Debate.
I have a Hunch all's Luck, or random Chance;
We thumb our Noses at the Whim of Fate!
And fear not lest Existence closing your 
Account, should lose, or know the Type no more; 
The Eternal Sáki from that Bowl has pour'd 
Millions of Bubbles like us, and will pour.		 Thou monotypic, thou scarce, brilliant Souls,
Unparalleled, rare, unknown Flakes of Snow;
Reflect on this Idea, O troublesome Truth:
Examples by the billions does God know!
A Hair, they say, 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;		 If your Eyes could arrive at a Rouleau
That wraps the Truth, and Genuine deduce,
Ye may one Tittle see, the finest Thread's
Avoided Strand, Oh it shall be of use.
A moment guess'd--then back behind the Fold 
Immerst of Darkness round the Drama roll'd
Which, for the Pastime of Eternity, 
He does Himself contrive, enact, behold.		 Dim Inkling of Forever? - fathom Him?
Men retrocede, accurs'd, left hobbl'd, blind.
"Ha ha! Men's hopeless, e'er tormented Tears."
Thus, so detached, He oft toys with Mankind.
Ah, but my Computations, People say, 
Have squared the Year to human Compass, eh? 
If so, by striking from the Calendar 
Unborn To-morrow and dead Yesterday.		 Equations Cubic do my hard Proofs solve;
But how may Man's poor Path make any Sense?
Oh by my "Hard Ordeal Theorem" try
Eradicating  past and future Tense.
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 is blown for ever dies.		 Oh fear in Hades' Fires to die, or live
In Faith: "God's Throne still shines - All can arise!"
Fact: "When I cease to be there's Nothing left", 
That wilted, spent Rose, Oh so faint, replies.
Strange, is it not? that of the Myriads who 
Before us pass'd the Door of Darkness through 
Not one returns to tell us of the Road, 
Which to discover we must travel too.		 Adventurers who drift off to the Stars
Report not to this World, as is the Rule.
My Death? no Document suggests a View;
For that no Book is authored, there's no School.
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 fellows, and to Sleep return'd.		 Arise! put low that Creed that's all absurd, 
Born of profound, enshrined Philosophers.
Flee Errors flawed we've known and loved, but loathe
To see to these Reality demurs.
Why, if the Soul can fling the Dust aside, 
And naked on the Air of Heaven ride, 
Is't not a shame -- Is't not a shame for him 
So long in this Clay Suburb to abide?		 His sinful Body Man lays down, as Ache
And Anguish he divorces in the Earth.
A Human? let us see, if infinite,
Too bad it takes so long to Death from Birth!
'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.		 Life's basic Facts this Chess Match parallel:
Some merely Pawns, yet others Kingly; yea,
Both transient indeed, yes, and anon
Both vanquished or dethroned and hid away.
The Moving Finger writes; and, having writ,
Moves on: nor all thy Piety nor Wit
Shall lure it back to cancel half a Line, 
Nor all thy Tears wash out a Word of it.		 No Mark when put into that Log of Life,
Will vary, it's inviolate -- is unchanged!
A Cry shall not revise thy total Worth,
Nor on a Whim will Facts be rearranged.
With Earth's first Clay They did the Last Man 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.		 Life's Terror wand'ring down that Road ahead,
Those nasty Sins, and all thy secret Acts --
In that first Week when Thee He made of Dirt, 
That mighty Lord of Heaven knew all those Facts.
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.		 When you are lucky, or when mighty sick,
If wondrous happy, knocked-down, or annoyed,
Pour Wine! for Martyrdom or Horror worse
Awaits; penned in this System you're destroyed!
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.		 At Heaven's Gate the brutish Devil froths;
But if I, humble, choose to come, to knock,
He's fled! My Flesh will mutate - Oh, refined,
I'll by and by that auric Highway walk.
What! from his helpless Creature be repaid 
Pure Gold for what he lent us dross-allay'd -- 
Sue for a Debt we never did contract, 
And cannot answer -- Oh the sorry Trade!		 Proffered an hundred hard Laws on a Stone,
Our Prospects be all dashed lest we obey.
Converse Deal: with Hurt and Terror that 
For us is Crime, the Lord can get away!
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!		 When Heaven did feed a wicked Satan's Glee
Must I that Hearth in Hades seek to fan?
No, from the wretched Shame of evil Works,
With Kindness fair I absolve both God and Man.
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?		 Heed the shy Urn that, leaning awkward there,
Laments: "O No! Why me? for Heaven's sake! 
Of any and all Hope bereft?" -- It seems 
A gentle Artist finer Pains could take.
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.		 Bathe me with Wine when auld, if I am going
Off to my Final Rest, ere I've descended;
Prepared by His hands, Ivy Garlands sewing;
Ah, my Wish: by a Weed of Hope attended!
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.		 Anon a Scent of Gin vents by my Grave;
Ah, let a Brewer's fun Smell here arise --
Up! Up! Ah, sent above a lush Turf Bed;
Ah, I inhale it - talk about Surprise!
Whither resorting from the vernal Heat 
Shall Old Acquaintance Old Acquaintance greet, 
Under the Branch that leans above the Wall 
To shed his Blossom over head and feet.		 Ah, floral Tavern where that unloved Man 
His Thirst for Coolness doth abate and quench;
Ah, mellow Grove, at ease let's be reclining;
Care halt, on that dear quiet shaded Bench.
Indeed, indeed, Repentance oft before 
I swore -- but was I sober when I swore?
And then, and then came Spring, and Rose-in-hand
My thread-bare Penitence apieces tore.		 We, burdened by a Weight of Care despair,
A Soberness intend, no more to trip;
Then feindish Independence stirs, and we
Are beaten, we cheat and reach: "One more Nip!"
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!		 How wrong! when Instinct's Hand a Man at Birth
Clothes with hot, pure, and wistful Passion high,
Then Age wreaks all that windy Havoc's Change.
Ah, the stern, senseless Thought: the Soul can die!

 

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