The Lament of Bābā Ṭāhir

THE LAMENT OF BĀBĀ TĀHIR

BEING THE

RUBĀ‘IYĀT OF BĀBĀ TĀHIR, HAMADĀNĪ (‘URYĀN)

TABLE OF CONTENTS

>āhir, HamadānĪ (‘Uryān). The original dialectal text, with the Persian equivalents and notes [omitted from transcription] -->

Title Page
Introduction	vii
THE LAMENT OF BĀBĀ TĀHIR, rendered into English verse by Elizabeth Curtis Brenton	1
17
Prose Translation of the foregoing text	67

The original dialectal text with the Persian equivalents and notes that begins on page 17 is omitted from this website.

THE LAMENT OF BĀBĀ TĀHIR

BEING THE

RUBĀ‘IYĀT OF BĀBĀ TĀHIR, HAMADĀNĪ (‘URYĀN)

THE PERSIAN TEXT EDITED, ANNOTATED AND TRANSLATED BY

EDWARD HERON-ALLEN

AND RENDERED INTO ENGLISH VERSE BY

ELIZABETH CURTIS BRENTON

LONDON

BERNARD QUARITCH

16, PICCADILLY, W.

1902

INTRODUCTION.

To write an introduction to the poems, and to endeavour to give information about the life of an author of whom the only thing that can be said with perfect accuracy is that practically nothing is known of him, suggests the brick-making industry as practised by the Jews in Egypt. Though the rubā‘iyāt of Bābā Ṭāhir are chaunted and recited to the present day all over Persia, to the accompaniment of the three-stringed viol or lute, known as the Sih-tār (“Three-strings”), and few collections of poems have been published in that country (or indeed in the Persian language), since the introduction of the lithographic press, that do not contain some specimens of his quatrains, concerning the poet himself few precise details, biographical or otherwise, have yet come to light.

The only published attempt to lift the veil of mystery that shrouds the personality of Bābā Ṭāhir is to be found in the Majma‘u ’l-fuṣaḥā of Riẓā-Qulī Khān (Ṭihrān A.H. 1295, vol. i., p. 326), where, by way of introduction to ten rubā‘iyāt of Bābā Ṭāhir, the compiler expresses himself as follows:—

“Ṭāhir, ‘Uryān, Hamadānī. His name was Bābā Ṭāhir. He was one of the most eminent mystics of his era. The opinion expressed by some writers that he was contemporary with the Seljuq Sultans is erroneous. He was one of the earliest of the Shaikhs, and lived under the Daylemite dynasty. He flourished about A.H. 410 (), and died before ‘Unsurī, Firdawsī, or any of their contemporaries. He is the author of rubā‘iyāt of great excellence in the ancient language (), which are still extant. It is also said that there are extant treatises by him, and that scholars have composed commentaries upon them.”

The same author in a later work, the Riyāẓu’l-‘Ārifīn (Ṭihrān A.H. 1305, p. 102), states that Bābā Ṭāhir died in the year A.H. 410 (i.e. A.D. 1019-20: ), and that consequently he cannot have been a contemporary of ‘Aynu ’l-Quẓāt-i-Hamadānī (who died A.H. 525 or 526, according to Ḥājī Khalīfa, iii., p. 459, 536 [cf. also Jāmī’s Nafaḥāt, pp. 475-77]), or of Naṣīru ’d-dīn Ṭūsī (who died A.H. 672), as stated by some writers.^viiia Unfortunately Riẓā-Qulī Khān does not state from whence he gathered this information, though in the later work he cites twenty-four of the rubā‘iyāt of Bābā Ṭāhir. This date (A.H. 410), if it could be relied upon (which, as would appear from the succeeding note, seems to be the case), would make our poet a contemporary of Firdawsī and an immediate precursor of ‘Omar Khayyām.

Mr. E. G. Browne, to whom I am indebted for most valuable assistance in the preparation of this volume, adds the following very important and hitherto unpublished information to the above:—

“I have come across mention of Bābā Ṭāhir in a unique history of the Seljuqs, of which the one known MS. is in the Schefer Collection in Paris (vide note, p. xii.). This history is called ‘Rāḥatu ’ṣ-Ṣudūr wa Āyatu ’s-Surūr’ ( ‘The Comfort of Breasts and Signal of Gladness’), and is by Najmu ’d-Dīn Abū Bakr Muḥammad bin ‘Alī bin Sulaymān bin Muḥammad bin Aḥmad bin al-Ḥusayn bin Hamat ar-Rāwandī, who wrote it for the Seljuq ruler Abu ’l-Fatḥ Kay-Khusraw bin ‘Alā’u ’d-Dawla ‘Izzu ’d-Dīn Qilij Arslān bin Mas‘ūd bin Qilij Arslān bin Sulaymān. The book was written in A.H. 599 or 600 (A.D. 1202-1203), and the MS. itself is dated A.H. 635 (A.D. 1237-8), so its evidence is old and valuable. It is there stated that when Ṭughril Beg the Seljuq (who reigned A.D. 1037-1063) visited Hamadān, he saw Bābā Ṭāhir, who gave him good advice, his blessing, and the ring-like broken-off top of his (or jug for performing ablutions), which the Sultan highly prized as the memento of a holy man, and used to wear as a ring on his finger on occasions of battle, &c. I regard this old and authentic evidence as proving conclusively that Bābā Ṭāhir flourished about the middle of the eleventh century of our era, and that he was a man of some notoriety as a , a crazy saint. It is satisfactory to find the early date given by Riẓā-Qulī Khān confirmed in this way.”

This passage remains therefore, for the present, the most precise authority at our service for the chronology of the author under consideration.

Neither of the collections of poems lithographed at Bombay in A.H. 1297 (A.D. 1879-80) and A.H. 1308 (A.D. 1890-91), and at Ṭihrān in A.H. 1274 (A.D. 1857-8), nor the Munājāt of the Khwāja ‘Abdu ’llāh Anṣārī, lithographed at Bombay in A.H. 1301 (A.D. 1882-3), prefix any introduction to the specimens they give of Bābā Ṭāhir’s quatrains; but in the Ātash Kadah of Luṭf ‘Alī Beg Āzar [Bombay A.H. 1277 (A.D. 1860-61), p. 247] twenty-five rubā‘iyāt of Bābā Ṭāhir are introduced by the following note, under the rubric “Persian ‘Irāk,” i.e. Media:—

“‘Uryān, whose name is Bābā Ṭāhir, is a mad-man from Hamadān (); he is a learned man, knowing all things ( hama dān). His history is recorded in some few writings, and his character is well known among adepts. He is a mad lover (in the Ṣūfī or spiritual sense), the ardour of whose soul is evident from his poems, and he has written many quatrains in the Rājī^xia dialect (), in a particular metre, most of which have a particular merit of their own. We have selected some of these and preserved them here.”

The particular two-beyt metre referred to is not the common rubā‘ī metre, though the Persians themselves always refer to the quatrains of Bābā Ṭāhir as rubā‘iyāt. The metre in which these quatrains are written might properly be described as a simple variety of hazaj “the curtailed hexameter Hazaj.” The metre is as follows:—

˘ ¯ ¯ ¯|˘ ¯ ¯ ¯| ˘ ¯ ¯

The earliest MS. that I have seen of these quatrains is one in my own collection, dating only from the end of the 18th century and containing 27 quatrains, and the only other to which I have had access is one in the Bibliothèque Nationale in Paris (which bears the stamp “Acquisition Schefer No. 9655”),^xiia which is a collection of 174 rubā‘iyāt written in ordinary modern Persian, in an ordinary modern nīm-shikasta handwriting, by one ‘Alī ibn Abī Ṭālib Bakhsh ‘Alī Qarābāghī, in the year A.H. 1260 (A.D. 1844). This contains a prose preface of three and a half pages, but this preface is entirely devoted to praise of the poem itself, which is, to the writer, “such a book that it is the very pupil of the eyes of the clear-sighted, and a fair copy of it is the salt on the table of delicacy of meanings”—and so on ad infinitum, together with fulsome and exaggerated compliments to the reigning Shāh of the Kājār dynasty. The MS. ends abruptly and is apparently unfinished, but it would appear that this was intentional, as the compiler ends his preface with a statement that he has collected all the rubā‘iyāt of Bābā Ṭāhir that have come to light down to A.H. 1260 (), and that he proposes to add any others that he may find, expressing at the same time a hope that the supervising reader will also “show favour, in the event of discovering omissions, with the pen of completion.” There is not in this preface a word of historical or biographical information about the author. Mr. Browne tells me that there are six leaves of Bābā Ṭāhir’s rubā‘iyāt in a MS. at Berlin (Pertsch’s Catalogue, p. 727, no. 697). I have not been able to consult this MS.; but Herr Stern of the Königliche Bibliothek informs me that it contains fifty-six rubā‘iyāt, without any preface or introduction, and though undated, appears to have been written about 1820. It is therefore of no greater importance than the texts at our disposal.

M. Clément Huart, in his introductory essay to “Les Quatrains de Bābā Ṭāhir ’Uryān en Pehlevi Musulman,”^xiiia states that he infers from a passage in the Nuzhatu ’l-Qulūb of Ḥamdu ’llāh Mustawfi, who died in A.H. 750 (A.D. 1349), that this author flourished before that date. The passage referred to is to the effect that the tomb of Bābā Ṭāhir was, ten years prior to that date (i.e. in A.D. 1329), highly honoured at Hamadān. He also tells us, on the authority of Comte de Gobineau’s “Trois ans en Asie” (p. 344), that Bābā Ṭāhir is now regarded in Persia as one of the saints of the Ahl-i-Ḥaqq or Nuṣayrī sect, and that his sister, Bībī Fātimah, is equally venerated by this community.

All that we can safely state is that he was a “crazy saint,” a dervish, or religiously inspired beggar, from his popular name ‘Uryān (), “The Naked,” in which condition he doubtless roamed the streets of Hamadān, the especially protected of God and the Prophet, the prefix Bābā indicating the dervish, or kalandar condition, rather than prominence among the Ṣūfī sect. M. Blochet calls my attention to an Arabic MS. in the Bibliothèque Nationale (No. 1903), by an anonymous author, dated A.H. 890 (A.D. 1485), containing at pp. 74-100 a treatise upon the sentences of Bābā Ṭāhir Hamadānī. According to the opening lines of this treatise (after the invocation), it was written at the request of a Ṣūfī named Abu ’l-Baqā al-Aḥmadī; the aphorisms are typically Sufistic of a mild type, and are quite possibly the “treatises” referred to in his introduction by Riẓā-Qulī Khān (vide supra).

To the above information may usefully be added the following, which is a translation of an account gathered for me from a native scholar by Captain Charles Kemball, His Majesty’s Resident at Bushire. It is headed, “Account concerning Ṭāhir, known under the name of ‘Uryān, as handed down by tradition,” and is as follows:—

“It is stated that Ṭāhir-i-‘Uryān was an illiterate person and was a wood-cutter. During the day he was wont to go to the Madrasa (academy) and listen whilst the students would read their lessons, but the students used to make fun of him. One day he remarked to one of the inmates of the institution, ‘I wonder what these students do in order that they may understand the instructions of the Professors.’ The student replied jokingly, ‘At midnight they get into this pond and plunge their heads under the water forty times; after undergoing this process, they understand the instructions.’ Ṭāhir believed this account and did the same himself, though the weather was intensely cold. Just then a flash of light appeared and entered his mouth (?). Next day he came to the Madrasa and commenced a philosophical discussion with the students to which they were unable to respond. When they asked him the reason of this sudden change, he related his story to them, saying, ‘I passed the night as a Kurd and opened with the morning as an Arab.’ This immensely astonished his hearers. It is stated that there seemed to be extraordinary heat in his body, so much so that no one could sit near him. He used to pass his time continually in the jungles and mountains.” Such is the modern tradition concerning our poet-philosopher.

This is the sum total of what we have been able to discover concerning the author of these rubā‘iyāt, and in the absence of any early text that might throw further light on the subject it seems all that we are ever likely to obtain. M. Blochet in Paris, Dr. Ross in London, Mr. Browne in Cambridge, and Mr. Ellis at the British Museum, have, with the utmost kindness and patience, ransacked the stores of biographical lore of which they have command in the endeavour to obtain for me some more explicit information concerning this mysterious personage, and with their combined failure to elicit any details other than those recorded above, I must reluctantly abandon the search for the present.

The other point to be considered is the dialect in which the rubā‘iyāt of Bābā Ṭāhir are written. He is often called “Lurī,” and Steingass gives “Lurī Ṭāhir Tātī” as the name of one of the tribes of the Lurs. Accordingly, Cte. de Gobineau states that he wrote in the Luri dialect, whilst Chodzko, in his “Popular Poetry of Persia” (London 1842, p. 434), says that he wrote in Māzandarānī dialect. We may, however, I think, adopt the view expressed in the introduction to the quatrains in the Ātash Kadah, that they are written in the Rājī (or Rey) dialect.^xvia This dialect is one of the north Persian group which M. Huart (loc. cit.) proposed to class under the generic term “Pehlevi Musulman”; for a fuller explanation of the term the reader is referred to the article of M. Huart already quoted, in which his contentions in favour of this somewhat dubious expression are ingeniously set forth and its use justified.

A learned Sheikh of Kirmān, writing to Mr. E. G. Browne under date July 30, 1891, concerning these dialects, says: “The dialect about which you wrote for information is the Lūrī patois of Shīrāz and Isfahān, which is the Pahlavī dialect. Many poets, such as Sa‘dī, Abū Is-ḥāq, Ḥāfiẓ, and Khwājū (of Kirmān), have composed verses in it.”^xviia

It is not expedient, in the introduction of a book primarily intended to present to the occidental reader the sentiment and beauty of a comparatively unknown collection of oriental quatrains, to go into the features of the dialect itself. The student who is interested in this branch of the subject is referred to the text which forms part of this volume. In the notes elucidating that text the dialectal forms are picked out and restored to ordinary Persian; it may be said, however, in this place, that these quatrains having been transmitted through perhaps nine hundred years by recitation and oral tradition, have suffered the usual vicissitudes which affect such folk-songs when reduced to writing. Successive scribes, ignorant perhaps of the dialect they were transcribing, and careless perhaps of the historic value of a scrupulous exactitude, have produced a number of extremely variant texts, the variations, however, being fortunately confined within certain limits. The MS. of Mirzā Ḥabīb Isfahānī, from which M. Huart largely took his text, is apparently for the most part in pure dialect, whilst that of ‘Alī ibn Abī Ṭālib, in Paris, appears to be frankly translated into pure Persian. It is for this reason that I have, wherever possible, given the text of M. Huart “in chief,” noting the variants to be found in the other texts that I have used in compiling that which appears in this volume, and in arriving at its meaning.

When we come to the discussion of our translation, which purports to place before our readers the sentiments of Bābā Ṭāhir, we get on to exceedingly delicate ground. I must say at once that I alone am responsible for the actual translation of the quatrains, and that Mrs. Brenton has rhymed my literal interpretations with a fidelity and exactitude which is often but little short of amazing. Whatever errors of interpretation are to be found in this volume (and I am exceedingly conscious that they are many), are entirely due to my lack of a just comprehension of the original. It is for this reason that, after very serious consideration, I have at last, and somewhat reluctantly, decided, on the advice, and at the request, of several students of the language, to append after the text my own measured prose rendering of the quatrains.

The initial difficulty with which one is confronted when attempting to translate a Persian dialect is the absence of any text-book dealing with the subject in anything like a complete form. An invaluable “Table of Phonetic Equivalents” forms part of Mr. Browne’s article above referred to, and M. Huart’s already quoted article discusses these variants at some length. Besides these sources of information, we have the important work of Berésine, “Recherches sur les Dialectes Persans,” printed at Kazan (Casan) in 1853, which gives us elaborate vocabularies of the dialects of Gīlak and Māzandarān, Gabrī, Kurdish, Tālish, and Tātī. Some observations of Mr. Browne upon these difficulties will not be out of place. They are as follows:—“Not only does the Arabic character, especially when unpointed, afford a very imperfect means of representing graphically the finer shades of pronunciation, but every scribe, when he has to do with dialects not used for literary purposes, where he has no fixed rule to guide him, employs his own system, and is usually not consistent even in that. It is bad enough when the scribe is thoroughly familiar with the dialect which he wishes to express in writing, and far worse when (as is generally the case) we have to deal with copies more or less remote from the original draft, made by persons ignorant of the dialect before them, into which all sorts of clerical errors are almost sure to have crept” (loc. cit., p. 782). “I have learned by experience that the publication of even a very faulty and imperfect account of a matter which is interesting in itself, often suffices to elicit from other workers in the same field valuable communications and criticisms which might otherwise never be made … The English rendering which I give must, in some cases, be regarded as rather of a tentative character, though I believe that they fairly represent the general sense of the poems” (loc. cit., p. 783).

With these preliminary observations by way of introduction, we must leave our “Lament of Bābā Ṭāhir” in the hands of the amateur of verse, and the student of the Persian language. My own interpretations of the quatrains have been versified with conspicuous success (I speak of course from the philological point of view, and not in any way presuming to encroach upon the domain of the literary critic), by Mrs. Elizabeth Curtis Brenton, whose paraphrase of the accepted renderings of the “Rubā‘iyāt of ‘Omar Khayyām” (by “Elizabeth Alden Curtis”) attracted so much attention when issued by “The Brothers of the Book” at Gouverneur (New York, U.S.A.) in 1899. My own translation has been added at the last moment under circumstances already alluded to. I had not intended that it should form part of this volume, but having been commanded to make a draft of it for the pleasure of a friend, it fell into the kind of measured prose in which it now stands. The result having been (as a fulfilment) a failure, it was cast aside, but was rescued from destruction, and, in a revised form, included herein for the assistance of students who may care to have a guide through the intricacies of the text. The quatrains being in the nature of independent aphorisms have no proper order of their own. Mrs. Brenton has arranged them as they fell into place during the process of constructing her poem; my prose version follows the order of the text, which I have arranged to some extent so as to bring together such sets of quatrains as appear to deal with certain attitudes of mind, e.g. Addresses to God, to himself, to his Beloved, and so on.

It may be observed, in conclusion, that it is often very difficult to determine whether an earthly or a heavenly object of adoration is the object addressed in any particular rubā‘ī, but this is a difficulty which is incidental to all oriental poetry in which a mystic or Sufistic tendency is observable.

It only remains for me to record in this place my great indebtedness and sincere gratitude to Mr. E. G. Browne for his invaluable assistance in the compilation of this work.

EDWARD HERON-ALLEN.

VENICE,

April, 1901.

THE LAMENT OF BĀBĀ TĀHIR

RENDERED INTO ENGLISH VERSE

ELIZABETH CURTIS BRENTON

I am a Nomad, a Fanatic Tramp,

Life has no ties for such an idle scamp;

Aimless by day I wander, and at night

A Stone’s my pillow, and the Moon my lamp.

By day and night the Desert is my home,

My Tent the friendly Heavens’ spreading Dome,

Nor pain nor fever rack me, but I know

That night and day I sorrow as I roam.

The Roses bloom upon the breast of Spring,

From every bough a thousand Bulbuls sing,

But Earth contains no Pleasure-ground for me,

A Burning Heart to every joy I bring.

Thy pictured Beauty, Love, ne’er leaves my Heart,

Thy downy cheek becomes of me a part,

Tightly I’ll close mine eyes, O Love, that so

My Life, before thine Image, shall depart.

Out hunting, when a Falcon, once I went;

Sudden an Arrow through my wing was sent.

Be warned, O heedless Wanderer! by me,

Against the Height the strongest Bows are bent.

Without Thee in the Garden, Lord, I know

The sweetly-perfumed Roses cannot grow,

Nor Tears of Grief, although the Lips should smile,

Be washed away in Joy’s bright overflow.

I am beset by cruel Tyranny,

My heart remembers all mine Eyes must see,

I’ll fashion, straight, a pointed sword of steel,

Put out mine Eyes, and set my poor Heart free.

O thou who dost possess no less, no more,

Of Heavenly Knowledge than of Tavern-lore,

And that is—Nothing! Oh, canst thou expect

Aught from a World thou never wouldst explore?

A Lion or a Tiger thou mightst be,

Ever, O Heart, O Heart, at War with me;

Fall but into my hands, I’ll spill thy Blood,

That I may then know what to make of thee.

10.

Love, since my Day, by reason of thy Flight

Is all so dark, O come, illume my Night;

By those fair Curves that are thy Brows, I swear

Grief only shares my bed in my despite.

11.

Prince! through my Heart I am Affliction’s prey,

It is the same all night and all the day,

I often grieve that I should grieve so much;—

O Someone take my graceless Heart away!

12.

O Love, in purple thou dost bid me go,

Grief, like an extra garment, weights me low,

Yet will I boast thee as Dawn boasts the Sun,

Till Israfil the Final Trump shall blow.

13.

I am the Phoenix, of such great Renown

The beating of my Wings inflames the town:

If one should paint me on a house-wall, why,

That luckless house would straightway be burned down.

14.

That phrase, “Yes, He is God,” it troubles me,

My Sins are like the Leaves upon a Tree;

Oh, when the Readers read the Book of Doom,

What must my shame, with such a Record, be!

15.

Alas, how long, then, must I sorrow so?

Bereft of all, my Tears unceasing flow;

Turned from each Threshold I will turn to Thee,

And if Thou fail’st me, whither shall I go?

16.

Strung with thy Hair, O Love, my Rebāb gleams;

How far from thee my Degradation seems!

Thou lov’st me not, and wouldst not be my Love,

Then wherefore comest thou to me in Dreams?

17.

Com’st thou? My Welcome thou shalt not contemn;

Come not, and who my bitter Grief shall stem?

Give them to me, and of thy Woes I’ll die

Or be consumed, or I’ll put up with them.

18.

A Moment’s space to seek my Love I ran,—

Hurry not so, for God’s sake, Camel-man!—

She holds my Heart a Prisoner, and through Love,

I’m but a Laggard in Life’s Caravan.

19.

Though we be drunk, our Faith is all in Thee,

Weak and Unstable, still our Faith’s in Thee,

Guebres, or Nazarenes, or Musulmāns,

Whate’er our Creed, our Faith is Thine, and Thee.

20.

Happy is he who’s nigh to Thee in heart,

Who from Thy Teachings never need depart;

Too feeble to approach Thee, I can still

Consort with Those who know Thee as Thou art.

21.

Come ye Initiates, let no one fail;

Form we a Circle and our Woes bewail,

Bring Scales and our Fanaticism weigh,

The most Ecstatic most shall tip the Scale.

22.

The Sea within a Cup—this is my Gauge,

The Dotted Letter that completes the page,

One in a Million’s such a Man as I,

I am the bright Exemplar of my age.

23.

Sweeter than Hyacinths to me is borne

The Breeze that, sighing, from thy Curls is torn;

All night when I have pressed thy Picture close

The scent of Roses fills my Couch at Dawn.

24.

Ah, when will Health to my Sick Heart return!

The Good Advice I give it does but spurn.

Flung to the Winds, ’twill not be borne away,

Cast in the Flames, alas, it will not burn.

25.

What Flame-singed Moth’s as blundering as I?

On such a Madman who would waste a Sigh?

Even the Ants and Serpents have their nests,

But I have not a Ruin where to lie.

26.

For Love of Thee my Heart is filled with Woe,

My Couch the Earth, my Pillow is as low,

My only Sin is loving thee too well.

Surely not all thy Lovers suffer so?

27.

Spare me the sight of thy Dishevelled Hair,

The sight of Tears in those thine Eyes most fair,

Thou would’st deprive me of the Sun, thy Love,—

Oh, plunge me not too soon in Night’s Despair.

28.

When thou art absent Sorrow dims my sight,

My Tree of Hope is barren of Delight,

And I, when thou art absent, all alone

Sit, and shall sit until my Soul takes flight.

29.

Without thee is my Heart in Mourning clad,

Show but thy Face, and straightway I am glad;

If all men had a share in my Heart’s Grief,

No Heart in all the World but would be sad.

30.

Nought can the Meadows of my Fancy show

Save only Grief’s sad-coloured Rose in blow,

From my poor Heart, ’tis such an Arid waste,

Even Despair’s pale Herbage will not grow.

31.

The Lover and the Loved are so much One,

Each endeth where the Other is begun;

My Heart with my Belovéd’s little Heart

Is interwove like Fabric closest spun.

32.

I’m a green Log fresh cut from off the Tree,

O Heart of Stone, thou burnest not for me,—

Though who, indeed, expects a Stone to burn?

But I must smoulder till I kindle thee.

33.

My Heart is nigh distraught with Love’s Emprise,

Tears gush in Torrents from my throbbing Eyes.

A Lover’s Heart is like a fresh-hewn Log,

One end sheds Sap, Flames from the other rise.

34.

By him who knoweth Grief, may Grief be told,

Just as the Expert can divine Pure Gold,

And who but an Initiate shall gain

The Knowledge his Initiations hold?

35.

The Heart of Man, you say, is prone to Sin,

Oh yes! but did not first the Eyes begin?

If on the tempting Face they did not look,

The Heart, unknowing, would be Pure within.

36.

O thou whose eyes are shadowy with kohl,

O thou whose slender figure works my Dole,

Whose locks with musk are laden, art thou dumb,

That thus with Silence thou shouldst rend my Soul?

37.

O thou hast caused a Thousand Hearts deep pain,

More than a Thousand sigh for thee in vain,

I’ve counted far more than a thousand Scars

Of thine inflicting, and yet More remain.

38.

The Mountain Tulip lasts but seven days,

The River Violet lives but seven days,

And I will cry the news from town to town

That Rosy Cheeks keep faith but seven days.

39.

When Trees to grow beyond their boundaries dare,

They cause the Gardeners much anxious care;

Down to their very Roots they must be pruned,

Though Pearls and Rubies be the Fruits they bear.

40.

Blessed are the Friends of God, Oh, blessed are they

Whose Task is ever “He is God” to say;

Happy are they who always are at Prayers,

For Heaven rewards them at the Final Day.

41.

Whom fearest Thou, of Man who makest light?

Whom fearest Thou, Who puttest him to flight?

Half-hearted as I am, yet I fear none;

Whom fearest Thou, O Double-Heart of might?

42.

What though my Jar of Life be filled with Tears?

When I am dead, released from all my Fears,

Thy passing o’er my Grave will bring me back

To claim again the Bounty of my years.

43.

Thy Curly Locks in tangled Masses fall

About thy Rosy Cheeks that hold me thrall,

On every separate Strand of thy soft Hair

There hangs a Heart,—a Heart upon them all.

44.

Like a sad-sounding Flute, Oh plaintively

My Heart laments. The Fear of losing thee

Will haunt my soul till Resurrection Day,

And God alone knows when that Day will be!

45.

Love, to be sweetest, Love-Returned must be,

For else the Lover’s Heart grows sick, you see:

Take Majnūn, he was desperately in love,

But Leila even more in love than he.

46.

Such Storms descend upon me from the Skies,

That salt Tears ever sparkle in mine Eyes;

The Smoke of my Lament goes up to Heaven,

For ever fall my Tears, my Groans arise.

47.

Only, from Grief, that Prevalent Disease,

An Alchemist could free us, should he please,

Yet comes at last a Remedy for all,

The Heart returns to Nothing, and finds Ease.

48.

Beset with Thorns and Thistles is thy Road,

Yet up to Heaven’s Gate such Seed is sowed,

If thou canst leave thy Flesh upon these Thorns,

Leave it, and travel with a Lighter Load.

49.

I am but a Taper weeping from the Flame:

Are not the Tears of Burning Hearts the same?

All night I burn, and all day long I weep,

For Days and Nights like this thou art to blame!

50.

Oh, evil Fate that I should have to die!

But what is Fate when Destiny’s awry?

A Briar in Love’s Path, then let my Thorns

Tear out my Heart, that I may cease to sigh.

51.

What would it matter if but one small Grief

Were mine? but Oh, my Wounds are past belief!

A Doctor or my Love to share my Couch—

Ah, only one of these could bring Relief.

52.

My Heart is fragile, like my Glass, and I

Fear lest I break it when I heave a Sigh,

A Tree whose Tears are Blood—is this so Strange,

When in a Pool of Blood my Roots must lie?

53.

I pray thy Sun-like face may never lack

The Shafts that split my Heart in swift Attack:

Why is the mole upon thy cheek so dark?

Objects so near the sun become burnt black.

54.

I go—I leave the World—I journey far

Beyond where even China’s limits are,

And going, ask of Pilgrims whom I meet,

“Is this the End? Is this the Outmost Star?”

55.

O Thou Who didst create the Earth, the Sky,

How have we served Thee save to curse, deny?

Now by the Faith of Thy Beloved Twelve,

Preserve us Lord—we are not fit to die.

56.

My Heart and Soul are thine, O Lovely One,

My Secrets are thy Treasure, Lovely One.

I know not, truly, whence my Sorrow comes,

But know that thou canst heal it, Lovely One,

57.

Where art thou, Love? Where is the Burning Spell

Of those kohl-shaded Eyes? O Love, I dwell

On Earth but little longer—Tāhir dies—

Where art thou at this Moment of Farewell!

ELIZABETH CURTIS BRENTON.

NEW MILFORD, CONN., U.S.A.

April, 1901.

THE

LAMENT OF BĀBĀ TĀHIR

PROSE TRANSLATION

Note.—In the following translation I have endeavoured to offer a certain measure of ordinary English expression. Where the precisely literal signification has suffered eclipse, it has been restored in the notes. The notes appended to the foregoing text must also be referred to when characteristic Oriental images occur in this translation.

Happy are they who live in the sight of Thee,^67a

Who hang upon Thy words,^67b and dwell with Thee,

Too frail to approach, I see Thee from afar,

And seek the sight of those that see Thee ever.^67c

Without Thee in the Garden, Lord, may no rose bloom,

Or, blooming, may none taste its sweet perfume,

So, should my heart expand when Thou art not nigh,

’Twere vain! my heart’s grief naught could turn to joy.^67d

Happy are they indeed whose Friend is God,

Who, giving thanks, say ever, “He is God!”;^68a

Happy are they who always are at prayer,

Eternal Heaven is their just reward.^68b

That phrase, “They said ‘Yes!’” fills me with alarm,

I bear more sins than does a tree bear leaves;

When, on the last day, “They-that-read-the-Book” shall read,

I, bearing such a record, will hang my head.

Lord! who am I, and of what company?

How long shall tears of blood thus blind mine eyes?

When other refuge fails I’ll turn to Thee,

And if Thou failest me, whither shall I go?

Homeless as I am, to whom shall I apply?

A houseless wanderer, whither shall I go?

Turned from all doors, I come at last to Thee,

If thy door is denied, where shall I turn?

If Thou killest me miserably—whom fearest Thou?

And if Thou driv’st me forth abject—whom fearest Thou?

Though a half-hearted thing, I fear none,

Thy heart is the two worlds—whom fearest Thou?

Drunkards and drunk though we be, Thou art our Faith,^69a

Unstable, weak though we be, Thou art our Faith,

Though we be Muslims, Guebres, Nazarenes,

Whate’er the Outward Form,^69b Thou art our Faith.

* * * *

He who has suffered grief knows well its cry,

As knows the Assayer^70a when gold is pure;

Come then ye Burnt-in-Heart, chaunt we laments,^70b

For well we know what ’tis to Burn-in-Heart.^70c

10.

When o’er the Garden wall the branches hang,

The garden’s keeper suffers ever bitter grief,

They must be cut back, even to the roots,

Even though pearls and rubies be their fruit.

11.

Briar and thorn beset thy way, O Heart,

Beyond the Dome of Heaven is thy road;^70d

If thou art able, then thy very skin

Cast off from thee, and lighten thus thy load.^70e

12.

Come, O ye Burnt-in-Heart, let us gather round,

Let us converse, setting forth our woes,

Bring scales, make trial of our weight of woe,

The more we burn, the heavier weighs our grief.^71a

13.

O Burnt-in-Heart, come ye and mourn with me,

Mourn we the flight of that most lovely Rose;

Hie we with the ecstatic Nightingale to the Rose-Garden,

And when she ceases mourning,^71b we will mourn.

14.

A falcon I! and, as I chased my prey,

An evil-eyed-one’s arrow^71c pierced my wing;

Take heed ye Heedless! wander not the heights,^71d

For, him who heedless roams,^71e Fate’s arrow strikes.

* * * *

15.

My horse said yesterday to me: “There is no doubt

“But that your stable is a coign of Heaven;

“Here is not grass nor water, straw nor grain,

“’Tis fit for Angels, not for beasts like me!”^72a

* * * *

16.

’Tis Heaven’s whim to vex me, and distress,^72b

My wounded eyes hold ever briny tears,

Each moment soars the smoke of my despair to heaven,

My tears and groans fill all the Universe.^72c

17.

O Lord! this heart of mine afflicts me sore,^72d

I weep^72e this heart of mine both day and night;

Often I grieve but for my grief; O Some-one

Rid me of this heart that I may be free.^72f

18.

By day and night the desert is my home,

By day and night mine eyes shed bitter tears,

No fever rocks me, I am not in pain,

All I know is that day and night I grieve.

19.

O wicked, wanton, wastrel heart of man,^73a

When the eyes sin the heart must bear the doul:^73b

If the eyes never saw a lovely face,

How would the heart e’er know where beauties are?

20.

Beneath the tyranny of eyes and heart I cry,

For, all that the eyes see, the heart stores up:

I’ll fashion me a pointed sword of steel,

Put out mine eyes, and so set free my heart.

21.

Mine is a heart that has no health in it,

Howe’er I counsel it, it profits not;

I fling it to the winds, the winds will none of it,

I cast it on the flames,—it does not burn.^73c

22.

I am that wastrel called a Kalandar,

I have no home, no country, and no lair,^74a

By day I wander aimless o’er the earth,

And when night falls, my pillow is a stone.

23.

What blundering Moth in all the World like me?

What madman like me in the Universe?

The very Serpents and the Ants have nests,

But I—poor wretch—no ruin shelters me.

24.

The Meadow of my Thought grows naught save grief,

My Garden bears no flower save that of woe;

So arid is the desert of my heart,

Not even the herbage of despair grows there.

25.

My heart is dainty as a drinking cup,

I fear for it whene’er I heave a sigh;

It is not strange my tears are as blood,

I am a tree whose roots are set in blood.

26.

If single were my grief, what should I care?^75a

If small my sorrow were, what should I care?

Call to my couch my lover or my leech,

If either one were nigh what should I care?

* * * *

27.

With wailing plaint my heart is like a flute,

The grief of losing thee is ever at my heels;

Till the Last Day am I consumed with grief,

And when that Day shall be, God only knows.

28.

’Tis Spring! in every garden roses bloom,

On every bough a thousand nightingales;

There is no mead where I can set my foot,

Pray there be none more Burnt-in-Heart than I.

* * * *

29.

I am the ocean poured into a jug,^76a

I am the point essential to the letter;

In every thousand one greater man stands out,^76b

I am the greater man of this mine Age!

30.

A Phoenix I, whose attributes are such

That when I beat my wings, the World takes fire;

And should a Painter limn me on a wall,

Mine Image being there would burn the house.

* * * *

31.

If my Sweetheart is my heart, how shall I name her?

And if my heart is my Sweetheart, whence is she named?

The two are so intimately interwoven that

I can no longer distinguish one from the other.

32.

If the mood takes me to seek my Loved One’s face,

Restrain me not, my heart is thrall to her;^77a

Ah, Camel-man, for God’s sake haste not so!

For I am a laggard behind the Caravan.

* * * *

33.

The picture of thy Beauty, Love, quits not my heart,

The down, the mole, Love, on thy cheek I see alway;^77b

I’ll knit my lashes close, o’er wrinkled eyes,

That, weeping, thine image ne’er can leave me, Love.^77c

34.

To-night I can do nought but weep and wail,

To-night I am impatient, conscienceless;^77d

Last night one hour seemed passing sweet to me,

To-night ’twould seem, I pay for last night’s joy.

35.

More than a thousand hearts hast thou laid waste,

More than a thousand suffer grief for thee,

More than a thousand wounds of thine I’ve counted,

Yet the uncounted still are more than these.

36.

Subdue the glories of thine hyacinthine hair,

Wipe the tears of blood from thy narcissus-eyes;

Why robb’st thou me of the Sun—which is thy love?

Day passes quick, bring not the night too soon!^78a

37.

O heart of Stone, thou burnest not for me,^78b

That stone burns not, is not, indeed, so strange;

But I will burn till I inflame thy heart,

For fresh-cut logs are difficult to burn alone.

38.

My heart is giddy and distraught for love of thee,

And tears in torrents flood my beating eyes;^79a

How like a new-cut log are lovers’ hearts,

Whilst one end burns, the other bleeds its sap.

39.

Without thee my heart has no moment’s peace,

And if I see thy face my grief has fled;

If all men had a share in my heart’s grief,

No heart in all the world but would be sad.

40.

Thy tangled curls are scattered o’er thy face,

Mingling the Roses with the Hyacinths;

But part asunder those entangled strands,

On every hair thou’lt find there hangs a heart.

41.

O may thy sunny face grow brighter yet,

May thy love’s arrow split my heart in twain;

Knowest thou why thy cheek’s mole is so black?

All things become burnt black close to the sun!

42.

The breeze that played amid^80a thy curling locks

Is sweeter far than hyacinths to me;

All night I pressed thy picture on my breast,^80b

At dawn my bed gave forth a scent of roses.

43.

With two strands of thy hair will I string my rebāb,

In my wretched state what canst thou ask of me?

Seeing that thou hast no wish to be my Love,

Why comest thou each midnight, in my sleep?

44.

O thou whose sweet soft eyes the surmeh shades,

O thou whose slender figure rends my heart,

O thou whose musky ringlets cluster on thy neck,

Why passest thou unheeding?—art thou dumb?

45.

Love to be sweet must be reciprocal,

Love unrequited maketh sick the heart;

If Majnūn’s heart was desperate for love,

The heart of Leila was more desperate still.

46.

Come and illume my chamber for one night,

Keep me not wretched by thine absence from me;^81a

By the two arcs that are thine eyebrows’ curves, I swear

Since thou’st forgotten, Grief only shares my bed.

47.

Art thou a lion or leopard, O Heart, O Heart,

That thou warrest ever with me, O Heart, O Heart?

Fall thou into my hands; I’ll spill thy blood,

To see what colour it is, O Heart, O Heart!

48.

My Beautiful! thou hast my heart and soul,

Thou hast mine inner and mine outer self;

I know not why I am so very sad,

I only know that thou hold’st the remedy.

49.

Comest thou thyself?^82a I will cover thee with caresses,

Comest thou not?^82b for thine absence will I sorely grieve.^82c

Be thy sorrows^82d what they may, lay them upon my heart,

And I will either die of them, or be consumed by them, or bear them bravely.

50.

Seven days the anemones last upon the heights,

On river-brink the violets last seven days;

From town to town will I proclaim this truth,

“But seven days can rosy cheeks keep faith!”

51.

Grieving for thee my heart is ever sad,

A brick my pillow, and my couch the earth;

My only sin is loving thee too well:

Surely not all thy lovers suffer so?

52.

A taper I, whose flame sheds waxen tears,^83a

Are not the tears from burning hearts the same?

All night I burn, throughout the day I weep,

Such days and nights are all on thine account.

53.

When thou’rt away mine eyes o’erflow with tears,

Barren the Tree of Hope when thou’rt away;

Without thee, night and day, in a solitary corner,

I sit, till life itself come to an end.

54.

O Heart! I mourn in purple for thy flight,

I bear my grief as the train-bearer bears the train;

As the dawn boasts the rising Sun, boast I thy love,

Henceforth till Israfil shall sound his trump.

55.

Full is my heart with fire and mine eyes with tears,

Brim full the vessel of my life with grief;^84a

But dead, I should revive with thy perfume,

If haply thou shouldst wander o’er my grave.

* * * *

56.

Fate is an ill that no one can avert,

It wields its sway alike o’er Kings and Viziers;

The King who yesterday, by his rule, devoured Kerman,

Becomes to-day himself the meat of worms.^84b

57.

Black is my lot, my fortune’s overturned,^84c

Ruined are my fortunes, for my luck is brought low;^84d

A thorn, a thistle I, on the Mountain of Love,

For my heart’s sake.^84e Drown it in blood, O Lord!

58.

Since that First Day when Thou createdst us,

What hast Thou seen in us save frowardness?

Lord! by the Faith of Thy blest Twelve Imāms

Forget Thou seest for us the Camel of Death.

59.

The Age’s grief is our Soul’s portion here,

To free our Souls from care needs magic^85a art;

To all, at last, comes remedy for grief,

Annihilation cures all hearts at last.^85b

60.

I go, I depart, I leave this world of ours,

I journey beyond the furthest bounds of Chīn,^85c

And, journeying, ask Pilgrims about the Road,

“Is this the End?^85d or must I journey on?”

61.

My new-born Vision of Beauty, where art thou?

Where art thou with thy surmeh-shaded eyes?

The Soul of Ṭāhir struggles to be free,

And, at this Supreme Moment, where art thou?^86a

* * * *

62.

O man who ne’er hast studied Heavenly Lore,

Nor set thy foot within the Tavern-doors,

Thou knowest not what thou hast escaped or gained;

How shalt thou come among the Elect? Alas!

* Vide E. G. Browne, “Some Notes on the Poetry of the Persian Dialects,” in the Journal of the Royal Asiatic Society, October, 1895.

↩

* I have retained in this place the term Rājī for the reason that it transliterates the Persian, but I am indebted to Mr. E. G. Browne for the following note: “If the reading is right it must mean ‘in the language of one who prays’ (a petition, from a ‘prayer,’ or ‘hope’), or if you can find the reading (rāzī) it might be ‘in the dialect of Rey,’ but there is no ‘Rājī dialect’ that I ever heard of.” M. Huart adopts the reading “en dialecte de Réï.” It will be seen on reference to the text that the (j) and the (z) are interchangeable in this dialect.

↩

* These Schefer MSS. are included in the “Supplèment Persan,” nos. 1303—1578.

↩

* Journal Asiatique (Paris), ser. viii., vol. vi., no. 3, November-December, 1885.

↩

* See the note on page xi.

↩

* E. G. Browne, “Notes on the Poetry of the Persian Dialects,” loc. cit., p. 773.

↩

Lit. who see Thee always.

↩

Lit. who talk with Thee.

↩

Lit. Though I have not strength (a foot) to come and see Thee, I will go and see those who see Thee.

↩

Lit. If, without Thee, the heart smiles and opens its lips (in laughter), may it never wash its cheek from heart’s blood.

↩

“Whose (constant) occupation is the reciting of the Ḥamd and the Ikhlāṣ,” i.e. the Sūratu ’l-Fātiḥa, the first chapter of the Qur’ān, beginning “Thanks be to God,” and the Sūratu ’l-Ikhlāṣ, the 112th chapter of the Qur’ān, beginning “Say: He is one God.”

↩

Lit. Their market, i.e. the market in which their wares find acceptance.

↩

Perhaps we should read instead of “faith,” “quarter” or “mercy,” in which case the lines would end, “(we ask) quarter from Thee.”

↩

Lit. In whatsoever faith (or sect) we be, &c.

↩

Lit. the Crucible.

↩

Lit. let us lament together.

↩

Lit. For he whose heart is burnt knows the condition of the Burnt-in-Heart.

↩

Lit. Thy passage must be over the Zenith of Heaven.

↩

Lit. If it comes from thy hand (i.e. if thou canst), cast off thy skin, so that thy load may thus be a little less.

↩

Lit. the heavier will we weigh (i.e. the greater will be our honour).

↩

Lit. And though she mourn not.

↩

This might also mean “A black-eyed beauty’s arrow,” which is probably correct.

↩

Lit. feed (pasture), not on the heights.

↩

Lit. feeds (grazes).

↩

This is ascribed to Bābā Ṭāhir in my MS., but I think it is an importation. It is neither in his style or language.

↩

Lit. ’Tis through the mischief-working of Heaven’s Wheel that…

↩

Lit. My groaning body and my tears reach even unto Samak (i.e. the Fish that in the Muḥammadan cosmogony supports the whole world, here meant to symbolize the deepest depths of ocean).

↩

Lit. O Lord! so afflicted am I by this heart.

↩

Lit. I am in torment through this heart of mine, &c.

↩

Lit. for I am weary of it. Vide also the note on p. 32.

↩

Lit. A plague is the heart, a plague, a plague.

↩

Or, “The eyes see, and the heart is afflicted (with love).

↩

Lit. it does not smoke.

↩

Lit. anchor (i.e. settled abode).

↩

Lit. what (harm) would it be?

↩

I.e. an infinite soul in a finite body. Cf. the passage in the Prologue to Book I. of the Mathnawī of Jalālu ’d-dīn Rūmī: “If thou pourest the ocean into a jug, how much will go into it? But one day’s portion”—

↩

Lit. in stature (upright) like an Alif (i.e. the Persian letter “a”).

↩

Lit. I am the thrall of my heart.

↩

Lit. The image of thy down, thy mole, Love, will not depart.

↩

Lit. That (though) blood (i.e. bitter tears) pour forth, thine image may not go forth.

↩

Lit. beside myself.

↩

Lit. The oriental imagery of this verse is hard to render. It might be translated:

Do not disorder (or make curly) thine hyacinthine hair,

Do not dim with blood-stained tears thy drunken narcissus-eyes.

Thou art bent on cutting off thy love from me;

Time will cut it off—do not hasten on.

↩

Lit. “O stony-hearted one, thou pitiest me not.”

↩

Lit. If I so much as strike my eyelashes together a torrent arises.

↩

Lit. comes from the roots (or ‘side’) of thy, &c.

↩

Or, “All night I clasped thine image (phantom) to my breast.”

↩

Lit. Do not leave me in the affliction of the day of separation.

↩

Lit. If thou comest, by thy life I will, &c.

↩

Lit. And if thou comest not.

↩

Lit. will I melt.

↩

I.e. the pains thou canst inflict.

↩

Lit. whose tears are of fire. Cf. the verse of Jamāl ’ud-dīn Salmān quoted by Sir Gore Ouseley (“Biographical Notices of Persian Poets,” London, 1846) beginning:

“Last night the taper consumed itself weeping sorrow” (at our separation).

↩

Lit. with my heart’s blood.

↩

Observe the note to the text on page 59.

↩

Lit. topsy-turvy.

↩

Lit. overturned.

↩

Lit. By my heart’s doing.

↩