translated by John Frederick Nims
©1998 by The University of Chicago
36. My lover stole my heart, just over there
– so gently! – and stole much more, my life as well.
And there, all promise, first his fine eyes fell
on me, and there his turnabout meant no.
He manacled me there; there let me go;
There I bemoaned my luck; with anguished eye
watched, from this very rock, his last goodbye
as he took myself from me, bound who knows where.
72. If, through our eyes, the heart’s seen in the face,
more evidence who needs, clearly to show
the fire within? Let that do, my lord, that glow
as warrant to make bold to ask your favor.
Perhaps your soul, loyal, less like to waver
than I imagine, assays my honest flame
and, pitying, finds it true – no cause for blame.
“Ask and it shall be given,” in that case.
O day of bliss, if such can be assured!
Let the clock-hands end their circling; in accord
sun cease his ancient roundabout endeavor,
so I might have, certain-sure, – though not procured
by my own worth – my long desired sweet lord,
in my unworthy but eager arms, forever.
83. What in your handsome face I see, my lord,
I’m hard put to find words for, here below.
Often it lofts my soul to God, although
wearing, that soul, the body like a shroud.
And if the stupid, balefully staring crowd
mocks others for feelings after its own fashion,
no matter. I’m no less thankful for a passion
pulsing with love – faith, honor in accord.
There’s a Fountain of Mercy brought our souls to being
which all Earth’s beauty must in part resemble
(lesser things, less) for an eye alert to truth.
No other hint of heaven’s here for our seeing,
hence, he that a love for you sets all a-tremble
already hovers in heaven, transcending death.
Ghazl No. 10 from the Divan of Hafiz
His mop of hair tangled, sweating, laughing and drunk,
Shirt torn, singing poems, flask in hand,
His eyes spoiling for a fight, his lips mouthing “Alas!”
Last night at midnight he came and sat by my pillow.
He bent his head to my ear and said, sadly,
“O, my ancient lover, are you sleeping?”
The seeker to whom they give such a cup at dawn
Is an infidel to love if he will not worship the wine.
O hermit, go and do not quibble with those who drink the dregs,
For on the eve of creation this was all they gave to us.
What he poured in our cup we drank,
Whether the mead of Heaven, or the wine of drunkenness.
The cup’s smile and the wine boy’s knotted curl
Have broken many vows of chastity, like that of Hafiz.
A variation on the interpretation of E.T. Gray, Jr.
in The Green Sea of Heaven, White Cloud Press, 1995.
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