From Iran With Love
A selection of poems excerpted from ‘Faces of Love: Hafez and the Poets of Shiraz.’
Hafez’s epic is the equivalent of Homer for Persians. (The Metropolitan Museum Of Art/President And Fellows Of Harvard College)
My love’s for pretty faces,
For heart-bewitching hair;
I’m crazy for good wine,
A languorous, drunk stare ...
In love there’s no escaping
The burning of desire;
I stand here like a candle –
Don’t scare me with your fire.
I am a man from heaven,
But on this path I see
My love of youth and beauty
Have made a slave of me.
If Fate will help me, I
Will take myself elsewhere –
My bed will be swept clean
By some sweet houri’s hair.
Shiraz is like a mine
Of ruby lips, a store
Of loveliness ... and I’m
A jeweler who’s dirt-poor.
I’ve seen so many drunk
Eyes in this town, I think
I’m drunk, although I swear
I’ve had no wine to drink.
You asked me to explain
Eternity for you –
Well certainly, when I
Have downed a drink or two.
Hafez, my nature’s like
A hopeful bride, but I
Lack mirrors to array
Myself – that’s why I sigh.
Hafez, Iran’s ubiquitous poet, as depicted in 16th Century painting by Sultan Muhammad. (The Metropolitan Museum Of Art/President And Fellows Of Harvard College)
—Hafez
How long will you be like
A cypress tree,
And lean your lovely head
Away from me?
Sorrow is all you’ve ever
Brought to me;
I will not ask how long
I am to be
The knocker on your door
You do not see,
The iron ring you pass
Obliviously.
My pillow’s made of absence –
While you are free
To taste another’s love,
Forgetting me.
If I could follow your
Curls’ scent I’d see
A way to let their night
Envelop me;
Since you have left me to
This misery,
Tears, and a heart on fire
Are all of me.
I don’t deserve you, but
I long to see
The sunlight of your face
Shine here, for me.
Although you’ve shown that you
Don’t care for me,
My soul still wishes you
Prosperity.
—Jahan Khatun
Your face’s absence leaves mine waxy-white,
like a candle;
How long will my tears drip, blearing my sight,
like a candle?
You sleep, and on your pillow I lie broken,
self-consumed,
Awake and weeping till the morning light,
like a candle.
—Jahan Khatun
I’m off to stroll through the bazaar – and there
I’ll see what can be flushed out from its lair;
I’ll lure a rent-boy home here, or a whore;
One of the two – either will do – I don’t care.
—Obayd-e Zakani
Reprinted by arrangement with Mage Publishers from Faces of Love: Hafez and the Poets of Shiraz. Copyright 2013 by Dick Davis.
Comments