© Copyright 2001 Richard Brodie
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While Whinfield and Talbot do not exhibit the same consistent, memorable
sublimity of expression as does FitzGerald,
they can serve to illuminate the latter's monumental achievement
of sifting and sorting through the hodgepodge
that is the original Persian collection, consisting not only of
Khayyam's verse, but of subsequent poets as well,
selectively extracting and recombining from this diverse assortment,
a beautifully coherent and naturally flowing creation.
(It is recommended that you maximize your browser window to view this site.)
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(completed Sept. 7, 2001) |
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| 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 Sultán's Turret in a Noose of Light. |
The
sun doth smite the roofs with Orient ray
And, Khosrau like, his wine-red sheen display; Arise, and drink! the herald of the dawn Uplifts his voice, and cries, "Oh, drink to-day!" |
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Apollo
hefts that Gauntlet high to throw --
That Artemis affronting Gesture's Sight Thrusts out anon her Tent of Black, and Oh! The Sun effulgent shines on, Halo White! |
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| 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." |
At
dawn a cry through all the tavern shrilled,
"Arise, my brethren of the revelers' guild, That I may fill our measure full of wine, Or e'er the measure of our days be filled." Life's caravan is
hastening on its way;
When false dawn
streaks the east with cold, gray line, Pour in your cups the pure blood
of the vine;
The sun doth smite
the roofs with Orient ray
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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." |
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| 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." |
The
Bulbul to the garden winged his way,
Viewed lily cups, and roses smiling gay, Cried in ecstatic notes, "O live your life, You never will relive this fleeting day. " Whoe'er returned
of all that went before,
See! the dawn breaks,
and rends night's canopy:
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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!" |
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| Now
the New Year reviving old Desires.
The thoughtful Soul to Solitude retires, Where the White Hand Of Moses on the Bough Puts out, and Jesus from the Ground suspires. |
Now
spring-tide showers its foison on the land,
And lively hearts wend forth, a joyous band, For 'Isa's breath wakes the dead earth to life, And trees gleam white with flowers, like Musa's hand. Now is the time
earth decks her greenest bowers, And trees, like Musa's hand, grow white
with flowers!
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The
world sighs out for Happiness, and saith
"The very desert liveth: where is Death?" The hand of Moses blooms on many a bough, And every breeze is sweet with Jesus' breath. The sweet Spring-breezes
now the world adorn,
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Oh
how Youth do perpetuate Life's Germ
If Winter's ghoulish Loneliness adjourns; The Future? those hued Trees do show us It! O God's green Thumb the View so verdant turns. |
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| Iram
indeed is gone with all his Rose,
And Jamshýd'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. |
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That
Sultan's Star, now in, it vanishes!
Oh, to his Kingdom we will bid "Good-bye!" But ne'er shall "Wet Springs" Ranch Land ended be; Nay! Wine's red, merry Juice shall never die! |
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| And
David's Lips are lock't; but in divine
High piping Pehlevi, with "Wine! Wine! Wine! "Red Wine!"--the Nightingale cries to the Rose That yellow Cheek of her's to'incarnadine. |
Drink
wine! and then as Mahmud thou wilt reign,
And hear a music passing David's strain: Think not of past or future, seize to-day, Then all thy life will not be lived in vain. |
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With
heavenly Voice, O Noise inspired, we chant
"This Red Ale! Drink it up!", elated singing. Ah, Finch, to a white Violet chirp "Pink!" O see it redden! -- warble then, while winging. |
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| 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. |
My
law it is in pleasure's paths to stray,
My creed to shun the theologic fray; I wedded Luck, and offered her a dower, She said, "I want none, so thy heart be gay." Ah! thou hast snared
this head, though white as snow, Which oft has vowed the wine-cup to forego;
Each morn I say,
"To-night I will repent
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But
bring me Wine; for words I do not care;
I have thy lips, and all my Heav'n is there; Bring wine to match thy cheeks; my penitence Is full of tangles as thy clust'ring hair. |
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. |
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| 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. |
When
life is spent, what's Balkh or Nishapore?
What sweet or bitter, when the cup runs o'er? Come drink! full many a moon will wax and wane In times to come, when we are here no more. |
Who
cares for Balkh or Baghdad? Life is fleet;
And what though bitter be the cup, or sweet, So it be full? This moon, when we are gone, The circling months will day by day repeat. |
If
People one safe happy Zenith know,
Or trapped by Hell with Woe in Terror be; Ah, the bubbly River of our fleeting Weeks Doth flow unceasing there into the Sea. |
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| 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. |
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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. |
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| But
come with old Khayyám, and leave the Lot
Of Kaikobád and Kaikhosrú forgot! Let Rustum cry "To Battle!" as he likes, Or Hátim Tai cry Supper--heed them not. |
Whilst
thou dost wear this fleshy livery,
Step not beyond the bounds of destiny; Bear up, though very Rustems be thy foes, And crave no boon from friends like Hatim Tai! |
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Ah,
amble by me, busy Fuss forsake;
Avoid all Company with Duke or Sheikh. Attack to kill, delight to maim? Oh Truce! Don't hurt. Or eye the Treat?--do not partake! |
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| With
me along the strip of Herbage strown
That just divides the desert from the sown, Where name of Slave and Sultán is forgot -- And pity Máhmúd on his golden Throne! |
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Where'er
on earth my wand'ring gaze I place,
A garden lav'd by Kausar's stream I trace; Heaven in the desert, Hell hath disappear'd, And Paradise is in her Angel face. |
The
Dream! out under hanging Palms a-bloom,
With she who jests and savors this short Life -- Envied of Men of Power, Glory-men, Hunted with Danger that attends to Strife. |
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| 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! |
Some
wine, a Houri (Houris if there be),
A green bank by a stream, with minstrelsy;--- Toil not to find a better Paradise If other Paradise indeed there be! In the sweet spring
a grassy bank I sought,
Give me a skin of
wine, a crust of bread,
So long as I possess
two maunds of wine,
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If
in the Spring, she whom I love so well
Meet me by some green bank - the truth I tell - Bringing my thirsty soul a cup of wine, I want no better Heaven, nor fear a Hell. Whether my destin'd
fate shall be to dwell
Give me a scroll
of verse, a little wine,
Let Fortune but
provide me bread of wheat,
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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. |
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| Some
for the Glories of This World; and some
Sigh for the Prophet's Paradise to come; Ah, take the Cash, and let the Promise go, Nor heed the rumble of a distant Drum! |
Did
He who made me fashion me for hell,
Or destine me for heaven? I can not tell. Yet will I not renounce cup, lute, and love, Nor earthly cash for heavenly credit sell. They preach how
sweet those Houri brides will be,
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Men
talk of Eden's Houris and their charms;
To maids of Earth I drink and sing my psalms. Hold fast Life's cash; if Time be in thy debt How pleasant is the distant call to arms! If in thy heart
the seed of Love is plac'd,
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Doth
Man chase Comforts, Gold, and high Regard?
Or seeks he out Priest, Minister, the Pope? Ah Lord, I'd taste the best of Human Life; O let me shed a far Tomorrow's Hope. |
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| 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! |
Shall
I still sigh for what I have not got,
Or try with cheerfulness to bear my lot? Fill up my cup! I know not if the breath I now am drawing is my last, or not! |
Drink
Wine: for here, and now, Eternal Life
Gives all the gain that Youth may win from Strife; Roses and friends to share thy merriment: Seize now that Joy with which to-day is rife! How long shall I,
or poor or wealthy, grieve?
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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! |
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| Look
to the Rose that blows 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." |
With
maids stately as cypresses, and fair
As roses newly plucked, your wine-cups share, Or e'er Death's blasts shall rend your robe of flesh Like yonder rose-leaves, lying scattered there! Quoth rose, "I am
the Yusuf flower, I swear,
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A
Title Hope in Earth, oh Ego? No!
Lo, Nature's short Blooms show us What? We learn To say "Good-bye."--all Assets in the World, Like Nature's Gifts, back to the Dust return. |
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| 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. |
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For,
those who from the date its vintage take,
And they who all night long devotions make, All are submerg'd, not one remains on Earth, All are asleep: One only is awake. |
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. |
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| 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. |
Ere
you succumb to shocks of mortal pain,
The rosy grape-juice from your wine-cup drain. You are not gold, that, hidden in the earth, Your friends should care to dig you up again! |
E'er
thou art striken down by Fate above,
Drink wine, the rosy wine that speaks of Love! Thy body hath no value; from the grave No man will dig thee up for treasure trove! |
Lo,
when a Niggard audits Banks, and when
An anguished Teen at Sin a Fortune throws, Ah Both, I'd augur, rate an untouched Death: Like Dung, to Ore will Neither decompose. |
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| 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. |
What
is the world? A caravanserai,
A pied pavilion of night and day; A feast whereat a thousand Jamshids sat, A couch whereon a thousand Bahrams lay. |
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Oh
in our weary Habitation, Earth,
Eternal Windows framed by Dusk and Dawn, A Pharaoh's Star view - watch it shatter, Heir, Washed up, not long to stay in this Salon. |
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| They
say the Lion and the Lizard keep
The Courts where Jamshýd gloried and drank deep: And Bahrám, that great Hunter--the Wild Ass Stamps o'er his Head, but cannot break his Sleep. |
Here
in this palace, where Bahram held sway,
The wild roes drop their young, and tigers stray; And that great hunter king---ah! well-a-day! Now to the hunter death is fallen a prey. Though you should
sit in sage Aristo's room,
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Majestic
Shahs at grand Persepolis,
By proud Beast Herds attended at their Peak; Mark what great Monarchs doze, all hushed by Death; Ruined, in Hell, down in the Earth they sneak. |
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| 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." |
I saw
a bird perched on the walls of Tus,
Before him lay the skull of Kai Kawus, And thus he made his moan, "Alas, poor king! Thy drums are hushed, thy 'larums have rung truce." Yon palace, towering
to the welkin blue,
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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. |
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| 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. |
Where'er
you see a rose or tulip bed,
Know that a mighty monarch's blood was shed And where the violet rears her purple tuft, Be sure a black-moled girl hath laid her head. |
Where'er
the Rose or Tulip scents the air,
The life-blood of a King has ebb'd forth there; And every Violet that decks the Earth Was once a mole upon a cheek so fair. |
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. |
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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! |
Yon
turf, fringing the margent of the stream,
As down upon a cherub's lip might seem, Or growth from dust of buried tulip cheeks; Tread not that turf with scorn, or light esteem! Days changed to
nights, ere you were born, or I,
"Take up thy cup
and goblet, Love, " I said,
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If
in the Spring, she whom I love so well
Meet me by some green bank - the truth I tell - Bringing my thirsty soul a cup of wine, I want no better Heaven, nor fear a Hell. O Heart's Desire!
from cup and flask seek aid;
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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. |
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| 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 let
us not forecast to-morrow's fears,
But count to-day as gain, my brave compeers! To-morrow we shall quit this inn, and march With comrades who have marched seven thousand years. |
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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. |
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| 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. |
My
comrades are all gone; Death, deadly foe,
Has caught them one by one, and trampled low; They shared life's feast, and drank its wine with me, But lost their heads, and dropped a while ago. |
Friends,
when ye keep a tryst, and meet your host,
And merrymake with those ye love the most, When the Mugh Wine the cupbearer takes round, Drink to a certain Helpless One a toast! |
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. |
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we, that now make merry in the Room
They left, and Summer dresses in new Bloom, Ourselves must we beneath the Couch of Earth Descend, ourselves to make a Couch -- for whom? |
Down
fall the tears from skies enwrapt in gloom,
Without this drink, the flowers could never bloom! As now these flowerets yield delight to me, So shall my dust yield flowers---God knows for whom. Take heart! Long
in the weary tomb you'll lie,
When life has Bed,
and we rest in the tomb,
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Ah
with much Fondness we remember now
Those lovely Folks tucked far below, esteemed; And then Tomorrow, Autumn, our Turn comes - A Vacancy, eh? Time so short here has seemed! |
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| 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! |
With
fancies, as with wine, our heads we turn,
Aspire to heaven, and earth's low trammels spurn; But, when we drop this fleshly clog, 'tis seen From dust we came, and back to dust return. |
To
Love's effacement this our life we trust,
And into Fate's strong talons we are thrust; Then rouse thyself, O sweet-faced Cupbearer, Bring me a draught, for long shall I be dust! |
We'd
best attempt to get Enchantment's Kiss,
As handed us in the due Season rife. O Why? ye mute down under Dirt do go, To end sans Sound, sans Wants, and so -- sans Life! |
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| 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!" |
Some
look for truth in creeds, and forms, and rules; Some grope for doubts or
dogmas in the schools;
But from behind the veil a voice proclaims, "Your road lies neither here nor there, O fools. " |
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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. |
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| 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. |
The
sages who have compassed sea and land,
Their secret to search out, and understand--- My mind misgives me if they ever solve The scheme on which this universe is planned. What sage the eternal
tangle e'er unraveled,
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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. |
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| 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. |
I flew
here, as a bird from the wild, in aim
Up to a higher nest my course to frame; But, finding here no guide who knows the way, Fly out by the same door where through I came. |
The
Slaves of Intellect in talk persist;
Die, arguing does this or that exist; Fools eat dry raisins 'til their souls become Sour grapes; but wise men on New Wine insist. A teacher once we
sought, when young, to find
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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. |
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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." |
'Tis
but a day we sojourn here below,
And all the gain we get is grief and woe, Then, leaving our life's riddles all unsolved, And burdened with regrets, we have to go. See! from the world
what profit have I gained?
Whilom, ere youth's
conceit had waned, methought
I studied with the
masters long ago,
Audit yourself,
your truce account to frame,
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Like
Wind or Water, passing on its way,
Out of my life goes yet another day. Two days there are that never trouble me - One has not come, the other could not stay. A teacher once we
sought, when young, to find
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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?" |
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| 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. |
My
life lasts but a day or two, and fast
Sweeps by, like torrent stream or desert blast, Howbeit, of two days I take no heed--- The day to come, and that already past. Not-being's water
served to mix my clay,
Let not base avarice
enslave thy mind,
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Like
Wind or Water, passing on its way,
Out of my life goes yet another day. Two days there are that never trouble me - One has not come, the other could not stay. Know this, that
soon thou diest, and thy soul
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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! |
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| What,
without asking, hither hurried whence?
And, without asking, whither hurried hence! Another and another Cup to drown The Memory of this Impertinence! |
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I was
not asked to choose my natal morn,
I die as helplessly as I was born. Bring wine, and I will strive to wash away The recollection of Creation's scorn. |
Oh
to and fro with urgent Whim we trek;
Hike here and there in mad chaotic Rush. O earn unhappy Torment in this Earth? To end, with Wine our hectic Grind we hush. |
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| 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. |
I solved
all problems, down from Saturn's wreath
Unto this lowly sphere of earth beneath, And leapt out free from bonds of fraud and lies, Yea, every knot was loosed, save that of death! |
Where
doth the past begin, the future end?
Rejoice to-day, Wine is thy only friend! Nor theory nor practice is of use, But Wine unties each knot that Fate may send. How long shall we
be slaves, untying knots?
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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. |
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| 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. |
All
mortal ken is bounded by the veil,
To see beyond man's sight is all too frail; Yea! earth's dark bosom is his only home:--- Alas! 'twere long to tell the doleful tale. Nor you nor I can
read the etern decree,
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Behind
the veil the Gods their Secrets keep,
And past that curtain none may hope to peep; One plot of earth is all we may secure. Drink, then! for such philosophies are cheap. |
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. |
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| 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. |
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Then
inspiration from on High I sought,
Asking that Knowledge might to me be brought; But presently my heart said,"Pray no more! The power of Prayer is all, the Prayer is naught!" The Gods in mortal
man do not confide,
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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!" |
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| Earth
could not answer; nor the Seas that mourn
In flowing Purple, of their Lord forlorn; Nor Heav'n, with those eternal Signs reveal'd And hidden by the sleeve of Night and Morn. |
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Our
World hath loathed Reply; and Neptune's Froth
Hath grown bereft of Strength here, Master gone. Oh covered Realm divine? No, fallen still! Nor Vision had in Sunset, nor in Dawn. |
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| Then
to the Lip of this poor earthen Urn
I lean'd, 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." |
To-day
is but a breathing space, quaff wine!
Thou wilt not see again this life of thine; So, as the world becomes the spoil of time, Offer thyself to be the spoil of wine! I put my lips to
the cup, for I did yearn
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The
tangled secrets of Eternity
Remain unsolv'd; and Time and Space are free From Man's control; both ignorant and wise Stand impotent before Infinity. To the jar's mouth
my eager lip I press'd,
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An
Honor fell to me, for my true Friend
The Cup I took: Help, sound Advice distilled: "I'll warn you errant People: Fate turns - Lo, An Hurt? Oh revel there in Wine." I thrilled! |
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| 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! |
This
jug did once, like me, love's sorrows taste,
And bonds of beauty's tresses once embraced, This handle, which you see upon its side, Has many a time twined round a slender waist! |
This
jug, o'er which I pledge my love to-day,
Was once a lover too, now sad, now gay; The handle that thou seest upon its neck Once round another's neck in friendship lay. Wine is a melted
ruby, and the cup
|
As
with the talkative Container I
Did flirt, and to me wise Advice he gave, I trust, my Man, he did his lewd Kicks get - O is it darling silken Nymphs? Thou Knave! |
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| For
in the Market-place, one Dusk of Day,
I watch'd the Potter thumping his wet Clay: And with its all obliterated Tongue It murmur'd -- "Gently, Brother, gently, pray!" |
I saw
a busy potter by the way
Kneading with might and main a lump of clay; And, lo! the clay cried, "Use me gently, pray; I was a man myself but yesterday!" A potter at his
work I chanced to see,
|
I was,
upon the terrace, one who trod
In blind contempt upon the beaten sod. The bruisèd clay in mystic language spake - "Thou, too, shalt some day feel the Foot of God!" In the Bazaar I
saw, but yesterday,
|
The
Master, real skill'd at working Dirt,
That Pile of Putty threw - a-yelling by, It whimpered in an Accent crude: "Oh me! Don't batter me that rough; pound softly, Guy." |
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| And
has not such a Story from of Old
Down Man's successive generations roll'd Of such a clod of saturated Earth Cast by the Maker into Human mould? |
When
the great Founder molded me of old,
He mixed much baser metal with my gold; Better or fairer I can never be Than I first issued from his heavenly mold. |
|
As
in Accounts of how God models Dirt,
As Man He sketches, crafted out of Clay, So can an Urn savant, Lord Mr. Mud, Out of mute Sand his "Hello Brother" say. |
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| Ah,
fill the Cup :--what boots it to repeat
How Time is slipping underneath our Feet: Unborn TO-MORROW, and dead YESTERDAY, Why fret about them if TO-DAY be sweet! |
Sweet
is the breath of Spring to rose's face,
And thy sweet face adds charm to this fair place; To-day is sweet, but yesterday is sad, And sad all mention of its parted grace. Ask not the chances
of the time to be,
Behold the tricks
this wheeling dome doth play,
|
Tomorrow
is beyond To-day's command,
And Sorrow lords it o'er the future land; Thine hour is Now! Fix not thine eyes afar, Missing the Glory ready to thy hand! The breath of Spring
is sweet unto the Rose,
Behold the evils
Heav'n doth here display,
|
Imbibe!
O worry not that Life's Hope drifts;
The Day gone by, the Future not yet here: Do tenuous NOW remember, not a Fad - What's up-to-date, watch: it will disappear! |
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| 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. |
Lo!
every drop the cupbearer shall spill,
The fire of anguish in some eye may still; Praise be to God! Thou knowest that in Wine Is that which frees thy heart from every ill. |
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. |
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| 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. |
Like
tulips in the Spring your cups lift up,
And, with a tulip-cheeked companion, sup With joy your wine, or e'er this azure wheel With some unlooked-for blast upset your cup. |
Each
morn the dew begems the tulip's face,
The violet's bended crest is full of grace; But, fairest of them all, the rosebud sweet, With modest blush her skirt doth closely lace. Friends, when ye
meet together, ne'er forget;
|
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. |
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| 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. |
Many
have come, and run their eager race,
Striving for pleasures, luxuries, or place, And quaffed their wine, and now all silent lie, Enfolded in their parent earth's embrace. |
Let
not the Veil of Sorrow shroud thy face,
Nor in thy life let idle grief find place; But feast on books, and love, and Nature's joys, Ere Earth enfold thee in her 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! |
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| 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! |
O unenlightened
race of humankind,
Ye are a nothing, built on empty wind! Yea, a mere nothing, hovering in the abyss, A void before you, and a void behind! |
Life's
caravan mysteriously goes by;
Seize Happiness, while yet the moments fly! Do not, Cupbearer, for tomorrow grieve, Bring Wine to-night, e'er Dawn lights up the sky! |
Lament
the Saga of a human Fate,
The Months of Man's short, vain, and mortal Path That to the desert Origin comes back: We eye him all worm-eaten - do the Math! |
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| Oh,
plagued no more with Human or Divine,
To-morrow's tangle to itself resign, And lose your fingers in the tresses of The Cypress-slender Minister of Wine. |
Why
ponder thus the future to foresee,
And jade thy brain to vain perplexity? Cast off thy care, leave Allah's plans to him --- He formed them all without consulting thee. Peace! the eternal
"Has been" and "To be"
Reason not of the
five, nor of the four,
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Drink
Wine, for thou shalt be resolv'd in Earth,
And, as a goblet, shalt find second birth; Heedless be thou of Heav'n and Hell alike; Be not deceiv'd! Hold fast to Wine and Mirth! Flee from all study,
and thy fingers twine
|
To
worry of Men's Pedigrees? Do not!
Or of their Righteousness, their Sins mundane. I'll fete the Women in Seraglios, Let's drown in lusty Rivers of Champagne. |
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| Waste
not your Hour, nor in the vain pursuit
Of This and That endeavor and dispute; Better be merry with the fruitful Grape Than sadden after none, or bitter, fruit. |
Life,
void of wine, and minstrels with their lutes,
And the soft murmurs of Iraqian flutes, Were nothing worth: I scan the world and see: Save pleasure, life yields only bitter fruits. Why toil ye to ensure
illusions vain,
Why spend life in
vainglorious essay
|
The
Slaves of Intellect in talk persist;
Die, arguing does this or that exist; Fools eat dry raisins 'til their souls become Sour grapes; but wise men on New Wine insist. I know not which
the bait, or which the snare
|
If
round you'd hurry and with Argument
The Venture that is Profit-bound obtain; Potations festive rather we'd prefer To banal transient Futures there - the Drain! |
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| 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. |
To
drain a gallon beaker I design,
Yea, two great beakers, brimmed with richest wine; Old faith and reason thrice will I divorce, Then take to wife the daughter of the vine. |
Let
me arise, and in pure wine drink deep,
And bid my cheeks their ripe-fruit colour keep Then will I throw in meddling Reason's face Sufficient wine to make her fall asleep. |
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. |
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| 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. |
I
know what is, and what is not, I know
The lore of things above, and things below; But all this lore will cheerfully renounce, If one a higher grade than drink can show. |
I know,
though outwardly, of Life and Death;
And, inwardly, of all above, beneath; But let me boast not, for I nothing know Beyond the inspiration of Wine's breath. |
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. |
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| 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! |
Deep
in the rondure of the heavenly blue,
There is a cup, concealed from mortals' view, Which all must drink in turn; Oh, sigh not then, But drink it boldly, when it comes to you! Last night that
idol who enchants my heart,
|
|
A
noble God in "Beer Shed" Bar appears
As through a Passageway in Heaven's Vault. He did decant: "Let's drink! Grant Health to thee!" Alas, he egged me on - it's not my Fault! |
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| 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. |
Drink
wine to root up metaphysic weeds,
And tangle of the two-and-seventy creeds; Do not forswear that wondrous alchemy, 'Twill turn to gold, and cure a thousand needs. |
Drink
Wine, that heals all woes, and thou shalt yet
The seventy-two contentious sects forget; Shun not that Alchemist, who in the Cup A draught to cure a thousand ills hath set. |
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. |
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| 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. |
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|
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. |
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| Why,
be this Juice the growth of God, who dare Blaspheme the twisted tendril
as Snare?
A Blessing, we should use it, should we not? And if a Curse -- why, then, Who set it there? |
|
Is
wine an evil? Tell me first who drinks,
How much he thirsts, with whom his glass he clinks? If these conditions three be meetly fill'd, No son of Wisdom from the grape-juice shrinks. Of this good spirit,
that men call Pure Wine,
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Hiss
at the Grape, God's Gift to us with which
We wash the wounded Heart? Let's not! Indeed, We shed our Torments. Ah, her blissful Joy! The curly Bine's a Weal - This be no Weed! |
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| 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! |
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Should
I a pungent fluid Thrill refuse?
A Cider? My! the Bottle seek to curb. And vow, in Faith's Contentment drunk, to wait For promised Juice from some Sublimer Herb. |
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| If
but the Vine and Love-abjuring Band
Are in the Prophet's Paradise to stand, Alack, I doubt the Prophet's Paradise Were empty as the hollow of one's Hand. |
Drunkards
are doomed to hell, so men declare,
Believe it not, 'tis but a foolish scare; Heaven will be empty as this hand of mine, If none who love good drink find entrance there. |
'Tis
better here with Love and Wine to sit
Than to become the zealous hypocrite; If all who love or drink are doom'd to Hell, On whom shall Heaven bestow a benefit? |
Herald
that Gospel Joy ineffable;
Ah, think: "That sacred Rapture!", but remove Hot hidden Passion - and Beer's Happiness? Libation out! A Dew we don't approve. |
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| 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. |
Slaves
of vain wisdom and philosophy,
Who toil at Being and Nonentity, Parching your brains till they are like dry grapes, Be wise in time, and drink grapejuice like me! 'Tis well to drink,
and leave anxiety
Chief of old friends!
harken to what I say,
|
The
circling planets, that in space abound,
The brains of our most learnèd ones confound; Hold fast the Cord, for they that make thee spin, Themselves with giddiness will turn around! |
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! |
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| 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. |
This
world a hollow pageant you should deem;
All wise men know things are not what they seem; Be of good cheer, and drink, and so shake off This vain illusion of a baseless dream. This wheel of heaven,
which makes us all afraid,
Man is a cup, his
soul the wine therein,
|
This
vault of Heaven, 'neath which like fools we sit,
Is but a magic-lantern, dimly lit: The sun the flame, the Universe the lamp, We are the figures that revolve in it. |
A
hub of War, a chaotic human Flux!
His macho Pageant? Wounded Mob downcast Who, God-abandoned, bow in Ruin see - I view those ghostly Outlines orbing past. |
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| 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. |
If
the heart knew life's secrets here below,
At death 'twould know God's secrets too, I trow; But, if you know naught here, while still yourself, To-morrow, stripped of self, what can you know? |
Khayyám,
though drunk, lift up thy cheerful voice,
Be happy with the darling of thy choice; If in the end of things thou must be naught, Imagine thou art nothing now. Rejoice! |
You'll
learn this euphuistic Truth: that though
Thy shining Life doth fill the Body now, An unseen Being plants it 'neath the Dust - That Bane! don't seek, in Reason, why nor how. |
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| So
when the 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. |
Deep
in the rondure of the heavenly blue,
There is a cup, concealed from mortals' view, Which all must drink in turn; Oh, sigh not then, But drink it boldly, when it comes to you! O man, who are creation's
summary,
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|
Oh,
yonder Whisky Inn! you I have heard:
"This Brain-rot's good!", an Offer ne'er I'll spurn. "Try killer Vodka, nifty, loathful Stuff." Oh Throat be quick, his Flagons let's upturn. |
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| 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. |
What
though the sky with its blue canopy
Doth close us in so that we can not see, In the etern Cupbearer's wine methinks There float a myriad bubbles like to me. |
I
do not dread Extinction: far more bliss
Lies in that half of Time than lives in this; This life was lent by God, and unto Him I will surrender what I shall not miss. |
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! |
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|
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| 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 much as Ocean of a pebble-cast. |
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How
long shall I throw pebbles on the sea?
What are the Idol-worshippers to me? Who says "Khayyám is surely doomed to Hell?" Hast thou been there? Hath heaven rejected thee? |
Oh
Child, afraid, cry: "Oh the Hell!"-- and All
We get, Oh God, will be a Snub, a Pause. With the mad Churning of the Human Race Stones lobbed onto the Waves no Ripples cause. |
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|
| Would
you that spangle of Existence spend
About THE SECRET -- quick about it, Friend! A Hair, they say, divides the False and True -- And upon what, prithee, does Life depend? |
From
doubt to clear assurance is a breath,
A breath from infidelity to faith; O precious breath! enjoy it while you may, 'Tis all that life can give, and then comes death. |
Here
is good counsel, give thine ear to me,
Wear not the garment of hypocrisy; The Future is unending, Life is short, Sell not for it the whole Eternity. |
Quit
seeking, vital Seconds drift away;
Faith? Death? put off Disputes, be thou exhorted. An unseen Detail ended a Debate -- Then how is your Place here in Clay supported? |
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| 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; |
Once
and again my soul did me implore,
To teach her, if I might, the heavenly lore; I bade her learn the Alif well by heart. Who knows that letter well need learn no more. |
|
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. |
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|
|
|
|
| Whose
secret Presence, through Creation's veins Running, Quicksilver-like eludes
your pains:
Taking all shapes from Máh to Máhi; and They change and perish all--but He remains; |
The
very wine a myriad forms sustains,
And to take shapes of plants and creatures deigns; But deem not that its essence ever dies, Its forms may perish, but its self remains. The world is baffled
in its search for Thee,
|
For,
those who from the date its vintage take,
And they who all night long devotions make, All are submerg'd, not one remains on Earth, All are asleep: One only is awake. |
The
Universe's Prime Cause who produces
All Creatures by the Forms and Phases taking; He'll cruelly vanquish one, another helping - In Kindness to him, great in Riches making. |
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| 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. |
Now
in thick clouds Thy face Thou dost immerse,
And now display it in this universe; Thou the spectator, Thou the spectacle, Sole to Thyself Thy glories dost rehearse. |
|
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. |
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|
|
| But
if in vain, down on the stubborn floor
Of Earth, and up to Heav'n's unopening Door, You gaze To-day, while You are You--how then To-morrow, when You shall be You no more |
Khayyam!
rejoice that wine you still can pour,
And still the charms of tulip cheeks adore; You'll soon not be, rejoice then that you are, Think how 'twould be in case you were no more! These heavens resemble
an inverted cup,
Bow down, heaven's
tyranny to undergo,
|
|
One
naive Prayer to God afar intone now?
Thou Hush above - mute, Zero, no Reply? No! thou, My Faithful, Union anon be shown - how? When to our World you bid your last Goodbye. |
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|
|
|
|
| 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. |
Behold
the tricks this wheeling dome doth play,
And earth laid bare of old friends torn away! O live this present moment, which is thine, Seek not a morrow, mourn not 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. |
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|
|
| 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. |
Drink
wine! long must you sleep within the tomb,
Without a friend, or wife to cheer your gloom; Hear what I say, and tell it not again, "Never again can withered tulips bloom. " Heaven's wheel has
made full many a heart to moan,
|
In
cell and cloister, mosque and synagogue,
Are men whose steps the fear of Hell doth dog; But he who carries God within his breast Is independent of the Pedagogue. Drink Wine: for
'neath the clay in silent gloom
The Slaves of Intellect
in talk persist;
The Rose's skirt
is tatter'd by the breeze,
|
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. |
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|
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| If
I myself upon a looser Creed
Have loosely strung the Jewel of Good Deed, Let this one Thing for my Atonement plead: That One for Two I never did mis-read. |
|
Oh
Loving-God, Devout, Nice, or On-Time,
If on my String of Life ye sparsely see, Oh jot down Hate-Deleted, Free, and True - Those matter, and so He will plead for me. |
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|
|
|
|
| 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. |
Full
many a hill and vale I journeyed o'er;
Yea, journeyed through the world's wide quarters four, But never heard of pilgrim who returned; When once they go, they go to come no more. Ah! wealth takes
wings, and leaves our hands all bare,
Whoe'er returned
of all that went before,
They go away, and
none is seen returning,
Go to! Cast dust
on those deaf skies, who spurn
|
Fling
dust at heaven, that every offering spurns;
Drink wine, and love while thy desire yet burns; What time is this to worship or to pray? Of all that have departed, none returns. |
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. |
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|
|
|
|
| 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. |
They
who by genius, and by power of brain,
The rank of man's enlighteners attain, Not even they emerge from this dark night, But tell their dreams, and fall asleep again. |
|
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. |
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|
|
|
|
| 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? |
O soul!
could you but doff this flesh and bone,
You'd soar a sprite about the heavenly throne; Had you no shame to leave your starry home, And dwell an alien on this earthly zone? |
O Soul!
if thou this dust aside canst fling,
And soar through space upon unfetter'd wing, Infinity thy sphere - count it thy shame That to this earth contented thou dost cling. |
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! |
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|
|
|
|
| '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 Ferrásh Strikes, and prepares it for another Guest. |
Thy
body is a tent, where harborage
The Sultan spirit takes for one brief age; When he departs, comes the tent-pitcher death, Strikes it, and onward moves, another stage. Though you should
live to four, or forty score,
|
|
The
potent Satrap's Status? Fortunate?
Hiers' Habitat, the flurried Legend's Khan? If these, Tartarean Disasters shake, Destroyed Dreams stoke another Ruler's Dawn. |
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|
|
|
|
| I sent
my Soul through the Invisible,
Some letter of that After-life to spell: And after many days my Soul return'd And said, "Behold, Myself am Heav'n and Hell." |
Pen,
tablet, heaven and hell I looked to see
Above the skies, from all eternity; At last the master sage instructed me, "Pen, tablet, heaven and hell are all in thee." |
This,
in the Dawn of Being, my behest,
My wand'ring soul for Heav'n and Hell made quest, For Pen and Tablet; 'til the Teacher said "Thou has them all, O Man, within thy breast!" Then inspiration
from on High I sought,
|
To
find my End, Men, Glory Site or Hell,
I did fly up near unto Heaven's Vault: The Master says Damnation's best for me; He adds: "The Blame for Hell is all thy Fault!" |
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|
|
|
|
| Heav'n
but the Vision of fulfill'd Desire,
And Hell the Shadow of a Soul on fire, Cast on the Darkness into which Ourselves, So late emerg'd from, shall so soon expire. |
Facts
will not change to humor man's caprice,
So vaunt not human powers, but hold your peace; Here must we stay, weighed down with grief for this. That we were born so late, so soon decease. Skies like a zone
our weary lives enclose,
|
Tired
am I. The Firmament my belt;
A mighty river are the tears I've spilt; Hell is a spark struck by my restless soul, And Heaven the joy my tranquil heart hath felt. |
Faith's
Vista there: Love's golden Paradise;
Hot Hades' horrid Oven of a Cell - Illusions both, harsh Demons exorcise, Man's fire of Woe snuff out - well, sound the Knell! |
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| Oh
Thou who burn'st in Heart for those who burn
In Hell, whose Fires thyself shall feed in turn; How long be crying, "Mercy on them, God! "Why, who art Thou to teach, and He to learn? |
|
"How
can you God?", dost Thou now trembling howl
For th'naughty Wretches thrown in Hades Heat; "Oh why not free?" Inferno horrible! But Flames He'll churn there, On His holy Seat. |
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| '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. |
We
are but chessmen, destined, it is plain,
That great chess-player, Heaven, to entertain; It moves us on life's chess-board to and fro, And then in death's dark box shuts up again. |
O thou,
whose cheek is modell'd like the Rose,
No brighter eye far Cathay's idol shows; Thy glance hath taught the Shah of Babylon Each move that Life's eventful chessboard knows. To speak plain language,
parable to shame,
|
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. |
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| 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! |
Man,
like a ball, hither and thither goes,
As fate's resistless bat directs the blows; But He, who gives thee up to this rude sport, He knows what drives thee, yea, He knows, He knows! |
|
Our
Life equates to Basketball - we, trying
For Swooshes, how we hope to sink that Shot! O bonny elegant Slam Dunk? not Life! Then die, Death's Darkness hides Thee - Thanks a lot! |
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| 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. |
'Twas
writ at first, whatever was to be,
By pen, unheeding bliss or misery, Yea, writ upon the tablet once for all, To murmur or resist is vanity. |
For
He, to whom all future things are known,
E'en as He made thee wrote thy record down; And what His pen hath written, good or ill, No strife may alter, and no grief atone. Whate'er the Pen
hath written stands for aye:
O heart! truth absolute
thou canst not see,
|
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. |
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| For
let Philosopher and Doctor preach
Of what they will, and what they will not -- each Is but one Link in an eternal Chain That none can slip, nor break, nor over-reach. |
Khaja!
grant one request, and only one,
Wish me God-speed, and get your preaching done; I walk aright, 'tis you who see awry; Go! heal your purblind eyes, leave me alone. Vain study of philosophy
eschew!
|
O Heart!
the Fount of Truth thou dost not gain,
To thee Philosophy makes nothing plain; Build thyself here a Heaven with wine and cup, For thou may'st ne'er another Heaven attain. |
The
skeptic Thinker hear? He and the Pope,
Can in hoar Canon wallow all they will; Oh Power of Brain, no Trance, no fancy Robe, No Chant at Truth arrives - Lo, hidden still! |
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| 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. |
The
good and evil with man's nature blent,
The weal and woe that heaven's decrees have sent--- Impute them not to motions of the skies--- Skies than thyself ten times more impotent. That azure-colored
vault and golden tray
What though the
sky with its blue canopy
Many fine heads,
like bowls, the Brazier made,
These heavens resemble
an inverted cup,
|
The
joy of pain that Fate's decrees allow,
The good or ill inscribed upon Man's brow; Impute them not unto the Heavens above, For heaven is ruled by Fate as much as thou. The tangled secrets
of Eternity
This heavenly vault
is like a fallen bowl,
|
That
Canopy of Sun with planet Worlds,
Neath which I've groveled wretchedly, no End -- Athirst for Liberality from it? No, Like us, no Pow'r allotted it to lend. |
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| 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. |
To
confidants like you I dare to say
What mankind really are---molded of clay, Affliction's clay, and kneaded in distress, They taste the world awhile, then pass away. Cheer up! your lot
was settled yesterday!
|
For
He, to whom all future things are known,
E'en as He made thee wrote thy record down; And what His pen hath written, good or ill, No strife may alter, and no grief atone. Be happy! yesterday
thy joy or pain
|
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. |
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| 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. |
Make
haste! soon must you quit this life below,
And pass the veil, and Allah's secrets know; Make haste to take your pleasure while you may, You wot not whence you come, nor whither go. This world a hollow
pageant you should deem;
|
Know
this, that soon thou diest, and thy soul
The Book of God's Great Secret must unroll; Be happy! knowing not whence thou hast come, Nor whither thou shalt go. Drink out the Bowl! For He, to whom
all future things are known,
The Universe gained
nothing from my birth,
Be happy! yesterday
thy joy or pain
|
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! |
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| I tell
Thee this--When, starting from the Goal,
Over the shoulders of the flaming Foal Of Heav'n Parwin and Mushtara they flung, In my predestin'd Plot of Dust and Soul. |
In
heaven is seen the bull we name Parwin,
Beneath the earth another lurks unseen; And thus to wisdom's eyes mankind appear A drove of asses, two great bulls between! |
The
stars that yon great firmament adorn
Have birth and death, and yet again are born And in the skirt of Heaven, the womb of Earth, Are they whom God will yet bring to the morn. |
He,
God who notes all Truths of human Life,
Of People's Strengths or Failings, in that Gate, Didst planetary Favors throw divine - He'll under them unfold my human Fate. |
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| 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. |
The
Saki knows my genus properly,
To all woe's species he holds a key; Whene'er my mood is sad he brings me wine, And that makes all the difference to me! |
|
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. |
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| 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. |
Men
say the Koran holds all heavenly lore,
But on its pages seldom care to pore; The lucid lines engraven on the bowl--- That is the text they dwell on evermore. In taverns better
far commune with Thee,
We make the wine-jar's
lip our place of prayer,
|
Perchance
within the Tavern I may see
The inmost secret of Thy Mystery, While at the Shrine in ignorance I bow; Burn me or Bless me; I am part of Thee. Give me red wine
my broken heart to heal,
I know not which
the bait, or which the snare
|
I'll
opt to seek Truth - it might anger me,
Or in her hot Enchantment I'll be taught. O gather Truth? we've looked for it in the Cup, And whilst within the Mosque we've seen it not. |
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| What!
out of senseless Nothing to provoke
A conscious Something to resent the yoke Of unpermitted Pleasure, under pain Of Everlasting Penalties, if broke! |
He
binds us in resistless Nature's chain,
And yet bids us our natures to restrain; Between these counter rules we stand perplexed, "Hold the jar slant, but all the wine retain." |
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So!
tease and offer Men the keen Enticing
To seek for Love, yet punishing, suppress? O this, it looks to be one utter wanting, Cold Formula to reave our Happiness! |
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| 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! |
Was
e'er man born who never went astray?
Did ever mortal pass a sinless day? If I do ill, do not requite with ill! Evil for evil how can'st Thou repay? |
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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! |
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| Nay,
but for terror of his wrathful Face,
I swear I will not call Injustice Grace; Not one Good Fellow of the Tavern but Would kick so poor a Coward from the place. |
If
grace be grace, and Allah gracious be,
Adam from Paradise why banished He? Grace to poor sinners shown is grace indeed; In grace hard earned by works no grace I see. |
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If
Fools put on a Frown will we confuse
Good Acts for evil? Wroth I will confute And chase a rude Crook from the Club away; Plain Liar, Jerk, retract, or get the Boot! |
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| Oh
Thou, who didst with pitfall and with gin
Beset the Road I was to wander in, Thou will not with Predestin'd Evil round Enmesh me, and impute my Fall to Sin? |
When
Allah mixed my clay He knew full well
My future acts, and could each one foretell; Without His will no act of mine was wrought; Is it then just to punish me in hell? With many a snare
Thou dost beset my way,
|
In
every step I take Thou sett'st a snare,
Saying, "Thus will I entrap thee, so beware!" And, while all things are under Thy command, That I a rebel am Thou dost declare. |
In
twisted Paths we wind when in the World;
Oh hidden Trap malign we try to vault. Oh do behold, if in loath Mud Men slip, Is't to the Wine due? or is it Man's Fault? |
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| 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! |
Sure
of Thy grace, for sins why need I fear?
How can the pilgrim faint whilst Thou art near? On the last day Thy grace will wash me white, And make my "black record " to disappear. Alas! my wasted
life has gone to wrack!
To Thee, whose essence
baffles human thought,
|
Although
I have not served thee from my youth,
And though my face is masked with sin uncouth, In thine Eternal justice I Confide As One who ever sought to follow Truth. |
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. |
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| 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. |
It
chanced into a potter's shop I strayed,
He turned his wheel and deftly plied his trade, And out of monarchs' heads, and beggars' feet, Fair heads and handles for his pitchers made! |
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And
in the eerie uptown Ceramic Store
The one that sports the Logo "Noble Pot", Sonorous Vases, rational there ye'll find. O what an amazing, opinionated Lot! |
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| Shapes
of all Sorts and Sizes, great and small,
That stood along the floor and by the wall; And some loquacious Vessels were; and some Listen'd perhaps, but never talk'd at all. |
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Bowls
of all Types, both Vassals and true Lords,
Slender and fat, some short and others tall; Pots valued as a neat Thing when all glazed; Some quiet, and Some spoke, as I recall. |
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| 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?" |
Once,
in a potter's shop, a company
Of cups in converse did I chance to see, And lo! one lifted up his voice, and cried, "Who made, who sells, who buys this crockery? " |
Within
the potter's shop, ere this day broke,
I saw a host of pots - some mute, some spoke; And suddenly one pot, agressive, cried, "Who makes, or buys, or sells, us earthen folk?" |
Detect
two Types here at Container Mart:
One dull appeared (no Tongue), and one Pot smart Commenting loudly saith: "Hello Dirt! Lo, Who is the Artist, eh, and who the Art?" |
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| Then
said another -- "Surely not in vain
My Substance from the common Earth was ta'en, That He who subtly wrought me into Shape Should stamp me back to common Earth again." |
The
Master did himself these vessels frame,
Why should he cast them out to scorn and shame? If he has made them well, why should he break them? Yea, though he marred them, they are not to blame. |
|
"Oh
Men, about that able, last unending,
Unknown Creator", says that Count of Clay, "Might He perhaps Tomorrow maim, beat, hammer These Human Victims, the Sons he owns Today?" |
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| 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 Fancy, in an after Rage destroy?" |
Behold
these cups! Can He who deigned to make them,
In wanton freak let ruin overtake them, So many shapely feet and hands and heads--- What love drives Him to make, what wrath to break them? There is a chalice
made with wit profound,
|
The
Craftsman who hath made a cup so rare
To hold his wine, will handle it with care. For love of whom, then, made He thee and me, For hate of whom to break and not to spare? |
"Dire
Rampage? Heav'n annoyed? Allay that Fear!
Who tenderly," now spake the Duke of Dirt, "New Vases fashioned, shall His Hobby be Reject in Violence? Why harm or hurt?" |
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| 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?" |
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|
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. |
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| "Why,"
said another, "Some there are who tell
Of one who threatens he will toss to Hell The luckless Pots he marred in making -- Pish! He's a Good Fellow, and 'twill all be well." |
They
say, when the last trump shall sound its knell,
Our Friend will sternly judge, and doom to hell. Can aught but good from perfect goodness come? Compose your trembling hearts, 'twill all be well. Can alien Pharisees
Thy kindness tell,
|
|
"Oh
weep, in the sweet Lord who dwells on High!"
The Marchioness of Mud laments; she spake: "Why, shall He total, fatal Terror loose? I'll get in Hell's Ordeal?" We will not bake! |
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| Then
said another with a long-drawn Sigh,
"My Clay with long oblivion is gone dry: But, fill me with the old familiar Juice, Methinks I might recover by-and-by!" |
When
Death shall tread me down upon the plain,
And pluck my feathers, and my life-blood drain, Then mold me to a cup, and fill with wine; Haply its scent will make me breathe again. |
When
Fate hath trampl'd me beneath her feet,
And torn me from the hope of Life so sweet, Make nothing but a goblet of my clay; When full of wine my heart once more may beat. |
"And
in thy Loving, Sir, go bring a Keg
Of Brew", hints the old Earl, that Urn all soiled, "Which can me of my Dying Limbo witch -- I may just thrive when by it I am oiled." |
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| So
while the Vessels one by one were speaking,
One spied the little Crescent all were seeking: And then they jogg'd each other, "Brother! Brother!" Hark to the Porter's Shoulder-knot a-creaking!" |
Now
Ramadan is past, Shawwal comes back,
And feast and song and joy no more we lack; The wine-skin carriers throng the streets and cry, "Here comes the porter with his precious pack." |
Ramazán's
end draws near, Shawwál doth break,
The time with flowers and joy to merry-make; Now porters with their loads stand back to back Laden with wine. - Up, bottles, and awake! |
The
earthen Jars, those Kegs, conversed a while;
One looked into the Sky, the new Orb spotting, All cheered "Ah, see the Carrier's back-hung Yoke - He'll People greet, the Inn's Brew Orders trotting." |
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| 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. |
When
I am dead, with wine my body lave,
For obit chant a bacchanalian stave, And, if you need me at the day of doom, Beneath the tavern threshold seek my grave. Comrades! I pray
you, physic me with wine,
|
With
wine my bodily defects make good:
Tincture my amber visage with its blood; With rosy wine my last ablutions make, And build my coffin of the Vine's sweet wood. |
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! |
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| 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. |
So
many cups of wine will I consume,
Its bouquet shall exhale from out my tomb, And every one that passes by shall halt, And reel and stagger with that mighty fume. |
|
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! |
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|
| 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. |
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|
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. |
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|
|
| 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. |
For
Thee I vow to cast repute away,
And, if I shrink, the penalty to pay; Though life might satisfy Thy cruelty, 'Twere naught, I'll bear it till the judgment-day! 'Tis dawn! my heart
with wine I will recruit,
|
My
empty purse on wine must cast the blame:
My kisses, love, have robbed thee of thy fame; Some pledge themselves to faith in Heav'n or Hell: But who hath been to Hell? From Heav'n who came? We break each vow:
upon ourselves once more
|
Oh
Hedonism Peril ponder now:
Loud, vulgar Gods I'd not avoid, and hence My darn old fool Ways my Esteem have harmed. Unworthy Anguish! I've lost Innocence. |
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|
| 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. |
Needs
must the tavern-hunter bathe in wine,
For none can make a tarnished name to shine; Go! bring me wine, for none can now restore Its pristine sheen to this soiled veil of mine. Ah! thou hast snared
this head, though white as snow,
For Thee I vow to
cast repute away,
|
But
bring me Wine; for words I do not care;
I have thy lips, and all my Heav'n is there; Bring wine to match thy cheeks; my penitence Is full of tangles as thy clust'ring hair. Though old, with
love for thee I am forlorn,
Ablution in the
tavern needs much wine;
We break each vow:
upon ourselves once more
|
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!" |
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| And
much as Wine has play'd the Infidel,
And robb'd me of my Robe of Honor -- well, I often wonder what the Vintners buy One half so precious as the Goods they sell. |
Needs
must the tavern-hunter bathe in wine,
For none can make a tarnished name to shine; Go! bring me wine, for none can now restore Its pristine sheen to this soiled veil of mine. While Moon and Venus
in the sky shall dwell,
|
My
veil of Temperance by wine is rent,
But still with wine my soul shall be content; How can the vintners purchase better goods Than those which to the market they have sent? |
Fools
do far too much Ale imbibe, and land
In deathly Sewers -- Ah me! Hell is dry! Persons who host the Garden Vine, how can Ye hope to find new nobler Stuff to buy? |
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|
|
|
|
| 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! |
Now
is the volume of my youth outworn,
And all my spring-tide blossoms rent and torn. Ah, bird of youth! I marked not when you came Nor when you fled, and left me thus forlorn. |
The
day is fair, and free from cold or heat,
And rain hath wash'd the dust from roses sweet; The nightingale cries in the Ancient Tongue - "Drink, pallid rose, and blush at Love's pulse-beat!" The Rose's skirt
is tatter'd by the breeze,
|
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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|
|
|
|
| Would
but the Desert of the Fountain yield
One glimpse--if dimly, yet indeed, reveal'd To which the fainting Traveller might spring, As springs the trampled herbage of the field! |
My
life lasts but a day or two, and fast
Sweeps by, like torrent stream or desert blast, Howbeit, of two days I take no heed--- The day to come, and that already past. Sense, seeking happiness,
bids us pursue
|
The
voice that haunts thy peace, within thy brain
A hundred times a day sings this refrain:- "Thou livest but a moment, and art not Like herbs which, gathered once, spring up again." |
Mine
Eyes by glare from Gold's Allure go blind,
If in the Earth I fame-distracted grope. When might I find thy Tent, divine deep Well Of splendid Truth that give's us heart-felt Hope? |
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|
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|
|
| Would
but some winged Angel ere too late
Arrest the yet unfolded Roll of Fate, And make the stern Recorder otherwise Enregister, or quite obliterate! |
O heart!
this world is but a fleeting show,
Why should its empty griefs distress thee so? Bow down, and bear thy fate, the eternal pen Will not unwrite its roll for thee, I trow! I wish that Allah
would rebuild these skies,
|
|
Regret
Allottee Quota meliorate?
Could, where we err, God liberal be, and thus See not? Oh Lord, seek Torment to negate, Rewrite a different Destiny for us! |
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|
| Be
of Good Cheer -- the sullen Month will die,
And a young Moon requite us by and bye: Look how the Old one meagre, bent, and wan With Age and Fast, is fainting from the Sky! |
If
so it be that I did break the fast,
Think not I meant it; no! I thought 'twas past--- That day more weary than a sleepless night--- And blessed breakfast-time had come at last! |
|
Be
off, thou harsh, dead, daunting, quiet Globe;
Yea, welcome! Oh bonny, radiant, festal Dawn. Note now Men sing this Anthem: "Rid it, go! Oh woeful, darkly solemn Key be gone!" |
|
|
|
|
|
| Better,
oh better, cancel from the Scroll
Of Universe one luckless Human Soul, Than drop by drop enlarge the Flood that rolls Hoarser with Anguish as the Ages roll. |
Heaven
multiplies our sorrows day by day,
And grants no joys it does not take away; If those unborn could know the ills we bear, What think you, would they rather come or stay? Since all man's
business in this world of woe
Better to make one
soul rejoice with glee,
|
This
world one choice alone for men hath blest,
'Tis either Death, or Life by pain opprest; How happy he to whom Death quickly comes, And he who ne'er is born hath perfect rest. Had I the power,
I ne'er had borne Life's thrall,
|
Off
loveless Persons, bold, brash, loud, corrupt,
That go and turn the Earth into a Hell Where echo other fallen Beings' Screams - A rather tremulous, lost, choking Yell. |
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|
|
| 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! |
Had
I the power great Allah to advise,
I'd bid him sweep away this earth and skies, And build a better, where, unclogged and free, The clear soul might achieve her high emprise. |
|
Stern
Destiny we'll see -- invite the Muse
To stop these unfair Whims, that tragic Plan! We'd order Terror out; too, I'd halt Ire; Henceforth that sordid Anguish choose to ban. |
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| Ah,
Moon of my Delight who know'st no wane,
The Moon of Heav'n is rising once again: How oft hereafter rising shall she look Through this same Garden after me -- in vain! |
Since
no one can assure thee of the morrow,
Rejoice thy heart to-day, and banish sorrow With moonbright wine, fair moon, for heaven's moon Will look for us in vain on many a morrow. |
O,
Queen of night, for whom my spirit yearns,
Drink of the wine of life while yet life burns! How know'st thou that thou art not the one To whom no moon or morrow e'er returns? |
Ah,
Night of no Awak'ning hastens near,
For now's the Sunset of my Life, I fear. No more aglow with Vodka; no more Singing; Oh, hale Mirth, too? Ah, vanished, lightsome Cheer! |
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when like her, oh Sáki, you shall pass
Among the Guests Star-scatter'd on the Grass, And in your joyous errand reach the spot Where I made One--turn down an empty Glass! |
Comrades!
when e'er you meet together here,
Recall your friend to mind, and drop a tear; And when the circling wine-cups reach his seat, Pray turn one upside down his dust to cheer. |
Friends,
when ye meet together, ne'er forget;
The one, whom o'er the cup ye oft have met; And, when ye drink a draught of wholesome wine, At my turn, upside down a goblet set! |
As
Comrades gather, hear the Talk, and Laughing,
And Songs as Sherry they enjoy and sup; Smooth Ales they drink -- O Sorrow? Sure. No Tears! I want them to upend a wineless Cup. |
© Copyright 2001 Richard Brodie
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