Abdul-Wahhab Al-Bayati: Poem for the Man of Light (From Arabic)

Poem for the Man of Light
By Abdul-Wahhab Al-Bayati
Translated by A.Z. Foreman
Click here to hear me recite the Arabic

The man of light
Goes vagrant through my sleep at night
He stops in the abandoned corner
To extract words from my memory to write
And rewrite them aloud,
To blot lines out.
He looks into the mirror
Of the house sunken deep in the darklight.
He recollects something
And slinks from my sleep.
I wake in dread
And try to recollect some thing
Of what he wrote, of what was said,
In vain. For the light
Has erased the papers and my memory
With daybreak's deadman white.

The Original:

قصيدة لرجل النور
عبد الوهاب البياتي

يتجول في نومي رجل النور
يتوقف في الركن المهجور
يُخرج من ذاكرتي كلماتٍ
يكتبها
ويعيد كتابتها في صوت مسموع
يمحو بعض سطور
ينظر في مرآة البيت الغارق بالظلمة والنور
يتذكر شيئاً
فيغادر نومي
استيقظ مذعوراً
وأحاول أن أتذكر شيئاً
مما قال ومما هو مكتوب
عبثاً ، فالنور
مسح الأوراق وذاكرتي
ببياض الفجر المقتول .

Bernart de Ventadorn: "When I behold the skylark" (from Provençal)

It has been pointed out to me that in translating medieval poetry, I have been focusing overmuch on the Far East and the Middle East (or rather the Sinosphere and the Islamicate world), to the unwarranted exclusion of medieval Europe, i.e. the very place and time that gave us the term "medieval" in the first place. (In fact it could be argued that the term "medieval" should never be used in reference to anything happening outside Europe, though I will continue to do so for convenience' sake, and because Europe didn't exist in an environmental vacuum.) In any case, this translation of one of my favorite medieval Provençal lyrics is part of an attempt to rectify this unintentional imbalance.

The Skylark
By Bernart de Ventadorn
Translated by A.Z. Foreman

When I behold the skylark lift
His wings adance against the dawn,
And fall forgetfully adrift
For all the joy his heart has won,
Oh envy eats at me to see
How he rejoices in the ray.
I marvel that the heart in me
Does anything but melt away.

What is this thing I thought I knew?
This love that I know nothing of:
The foolishness of being true
To one who will not hear of love,
Who took my heart away and me,
And took herself and took the rest,
And left me full of memory,
And left a mania in my breast.

My mind beyond all mastery,
I wasn’t mine a single night
Since in her eyes she let me see
A mirror spellbinding my sight.
O mirror I saw me in you,
And read what only grief can tell,
Perdition in a single view,
Narcissus ruined at the well.

I have no faith, from this day hence,
In women as I did before.
Though I once stood in their defense,
I cannot stand them anymore.
For none can lift me from my fall
When she has cast me out to shame.
Now I distrust them one and all,
And know too well they're all the same.

And so milady’s proven true
To womanhood, and is to blame,
Despising what she ought to do
And taking pride in every shame.
I’ve fallen out of favor now,
“Fool on a bridge” the people sigh.
I couldn’t guess at why or how:
Except I tried to climb too high.

Mercy and favor are long done,
And kindness I have yet to see.
If she who should possesses none
Herself, then where can mercy be?
So sweet a woman, who’d have guessed
She’d let this dismal lover lie
Bereft of everything that’s best
And leave him helpless here to die?

Her scorn is heaped upon on my worth
And my appeals to sympathy,
She treats my love with vacant mirth
And so she’ll have no more from me.
I’ll pack my love away and go;
Now dead, with death I answer her.
I’m going, since she wills it so,
In exile- nobody knows where.

Lady, you’ll have no more from me.
I’m going nobody knows where.
I’m taking leave of poetry
To quest for loveless, joyless air.


The Original:

"Can vei la lauzeta"

Can vei la lauzeta mover
de joi sas alas contra.l rai,
que s'oblid' e.s laissa chazer
per la doussor c'al cor li vai,
ai! tan grans enveya m'en ve
de cui qu'eu veya jauzion,
meravilhas ai, car desse
lo cor de desirer no.m fon.

Ai las! tan cuidava saber
d'amor, e tan petit en sai,
car eu d'amar no.m posc tener
celeis don ja pro non aurai.
Tout m'a mo cor, e tout m'a me,
e se mezeis e tot lo mon;
e can se.m tolc, no.m laisset re
mas dezirer e cor volon.

Anc non agui de me poder
ni no fui meus de l'or' en sai
que.m laisset en sos olhs vezer
en un miralh que mout me plai.
Miralhs, pus me mirei en te,
m'an mort li sospir de preon,
c'aissi.m perdei com perdet se
lo bels Narcisus en la fon.

De las domnas me desesper
ja mais en lor no.m fiarai;
c'aissi com las solh chaptener,
enaissi las deschaptenrai.
Pois vei c'una pro no m'en te
vas leis que.m destrui e.m cofon
totas las dopt'e las mescre,
car be sai c'atretals se son.

D'aisso's fa be femna parer
ma domna, per qu'e.lh o retrai,
car no vol so c'om deu voler,
e so c'om li deveda, fai.
Chazutz sui en mala merce,
et ai be fai co.l fols en pon;
e no sai per que m'esdeve,
mas car trop puyei contra mon.

Pus ab midons no.m pot valer
precs ni merces ni.l dreiz qu'eu ai,
ni a leis no ven a plazer
qu'eu l'am, ja mais no.lh o dirai,
Aissi.m part de leis e.m recre;
mort m'a, e per mort li respon,
e vau m'en, pus ilh no.m rete,
chaitius, en issilh, no sai on.

Tristans, ges no.n auretz de me,
Qu'em m'en vau, chaitius, no sai on.
De chantar me gie e.m recre,
E de joi e d'amor m'escon.

Hafiz: Ghazal 37 "Instant Messanger" (From Persian)

Ghazal 37: Instant Messanger 
By Hafiz
Translated by A.Z. Foreman
Click to hear me recite the original Persian

Come! For the great Hope Castle's foundations are unsound.　
　　　Bring wine, for life is founded on wind and on no ground.
But that man's zeal shall bind me who under heaven's blue wheel 　
　　　Is free of any stain of remaining worldly bound.
Listen to what glad tidings Surōsh¹ the angel brought me　
　　　When I lay in the wineshop last night, drunk on the ground.
Said he: Keen-eyed royal falcon whose perch is the Tree of Life!² 　
　　　Why do you seek your nest in this part of Sorrow Town?
I know not what you're doing here in this lowly snarepit　
　　　They call you from emypreal battlements. Heed the sound!
I have advice to give you. Pray, practice what I teach.　
　　　It is my Master's dictum which I learned and hand down. 
Let not this world's grief grieve you. Forget not my advice.
　　　This subtle point I learned from a traveller of love's round.　
Look not to this ramshackle old world to uphold its word. 　
　　　This aged hag is the bride of suitors from all around. 　
Accept what has been given. Learn to unknit your brows.
　　　For me and you the padlock on free will's door holds sound.　
The sweet smile of the rose has no trace of troth or promise.
　　　Lament, lover nightingale. Things to lament abound. 
The well-turned word and favor's reception are God's gift.
　　　O unsound poetasters,
　　　　　　resent not Hafez' sound!

Notes:

1- The entity known as Surōsh (Avestan Sraosha) has been many things at many times (and must descend from an entity that was worshipped in prehistoric Proto-Indo-Iranian religion, as evidenced by the fact that he has a Sanskrit cognate in the form of the Vedic river-goddess Sarasvatī, but I digress.) In late Zoroastrianism he was associated with death, a type of archangel who took on the stewardship of souls during the three days after decease when the soul is still floating around the body. The Persian articulation of Islam appropriated Surōsh as a guardian angel who keeps the faithful obedient to God's will, and also an angel messenger (in the original sense of Greek ἄγγελος) who bears glad tidings to humans. 

2- The Sidra, here rendered for a variety of connotative reasons as "Tree of Life" is the Lote-tree of Islamic mythology, which is said to stand at the boundary between the celestial and terrestrial realms and is the site from which the Archangel Gabriel is said to have revealed God's message to Muhammad. C.f. Qur'an 53:10-18 below (translation mine) 

Fa-'awħá ilá ˁabdihi mā awħá　　　Then he revealed to his Servant what he revealed
Mā kaðaba l-fu'ādu mā ra'á　　　In what it saw, the heart did not deceive
A-fa-tumārunahū ˁalá mā yará　　　Dare you dispute with him what he did see?
Wa-laqad ra'āhu nazlatan uxrá　　　And he saw Him once more indeed
ˁInda sidrati l-muntahá　　　By the upper boundary's Lote-Tree
ˁIndahā jannatu l-ma'wá　　　Near the Garden of the Sanctuary
Ið yaɣšá l-sidrata mā yaɣšá　　　And that which enshrouds shrouded the Lote Tree
Mā zāɣa l-baṣru wa-mā ṭaɣá　　　His sight strayed not, did not go wrong
Laqad ra'á min 'āyāti rabbihi l-kubrá　　　He saw one of the signs of his Lord, the greatest

Sidra is also the (etymologically unrelated) word for the undergarment worn by Zoroastrians, considered to be a shield against evil. 

The Original:

بیا که قصر امل سخت سست بنیادست بیار باده که بنیاد عمر بر بادست

غلام همت آنم که زیر چرخ کبود ز هر چه رنگ تعلق پذیرد آزادست

چه گویمت که به میخانه دوش مست و خراب سروش عالم غیبم چه مژده‌ها دادست

که ای بلندنظر شاهباز سدره نشین نشیمن تو نه این کنج محنت آبادست

تو را ز کنگره عرش می‌زنند صفیر ندانمت که در این دامگه چه افتادست

نصیحتی کنمت یاد گیر و در عمل آر که این حدیث ز پیر طریقتم یادست

مجو درستی عهد از جهان سست نهاد که این عجوز عروس هزاردامادست

غم جهان مخور و پند من مبر از یاد که این لطیفه عشقم ز ره روی یادست

رضا به داده بده وز جبین گره بگشای که بر من و تو در اختیار نگشادست

نشان عهد و وفا نیست در تبسم گل بنال بلبل بی دل که جای فریادست

حسد چه می‌بری ای سست نظم بر حافظ

قبول خاطر و لطف سخن خدادادست

Abdul Wahhab Al-Bayati: A Man And A Woman (From Arabic)

A Man and A Woman
By Abdul-Wahhāb Al-Bayātī
Translated by A.Z. Foreman
Click to hear me recite the original Arabic

The snow falls on the house's chimney
Now, in the hall of mirrors
There is a woman waiting
A man smitten in her blood
Ploughs her body's blooming fields
A man is born of her ribs
Abides in her
Hides in her memory
Pulsating in her ravenous blood drops
Ascending like a tree
In her cells and in her trembling limbs
A man took her
In his embrace
And the four seasons' flame in her blood blazed.

The Original:

رجل وامرأة‏
عبد الوهاب البياتي

يسقط الثلج على مدخنة البيت‏
وفي بهو المرايا‏
امرأة منتظرة‏
رجل في دمها يحرث مأخوذاً‏
حقول الجسد المزدهرة‏
رجل يولد من أضلاعها‏
يسكن فيها‏
يختفي في الذاكرة‏
نابضاً في قطرات دمها المفترسة‏
صاعداً كالشجرة‏
في خلاياها وفي أوصالها المرتجفة‏
رجل عانقها‏
فاشتعلت في دمها نارُ الفصول الأربعة

Hafiz: Ghazal 191 "Entreaty to Fakhr-al-Din Abdul Samad" (From Persian)

A somewhat long excursus on this poem and a couple related issues is found after my translation.


Ghazal 191: Entreaty to Fakhr-al-Din Abdul-Samad
By Hafiz
Translated by A.Z. Foreman
Click to hear me recite the original Persian

O who will be the noble man
to treat me well and loyally 　　　
And just for once do a good deed 
　　　for such a no-good wretch as me,
Will first, as flute and reedpipe play,
his message to my heart convey
And with a single winecup pay 
　　　me a true act of courtesy?
That heartswipe who wears down my soul 
retains my heart in his control.　　　
I can't lose hope. Might he console 
　　　my heart and treat it lovingly?
Said I: the day has yet to pass 
when I let your hair loose at last.  　　
Said he to me: it's playing fast 
　　　and loose with you by my decree.
The straight and narrow Sufi's mind,
when love stands in plain sight, is blind.　　　
Tell of being wasted. Help him find 
　　　cause to forsake sobriety. 　　　
Love grand as this proved hard to win, 
poor beggar that I've always been.　　　
What Sultan takes a street-rake in
　　　to play and pleasure secretly?
From that sweet, curling crown of hair 
no tyranny is hard to bear. 　　　
What shame in bonds and chains is there 
　　　for one who's lived by knavery?
Grief's countless legions stand arrayed.  
From Fortune I importune aid. 　　　
May gracious Fakhr-al-Dīn be swayed
　　　to ease my grief with sympathy.
　Stay back, Hafez. Don't even try 
　engaging that spellbinding eye.　　　
　Those curling locks, like dark night's sky 
　　　　are roiling with much trickery.

Diffuse excursus on this poem:

One of the problems of literary translation is that the choice of what to translate, and not to translate, is usually motivated by some variation of the question "what would work in the target language with the target audience?" The history of literary translations of Hafiz, mirroring that of translations of classical Persian verse in general, has had the effect of an overfocus (depending on the translator's or target-culture's preference and prejudice) either on the poet's more overtly bacchanalian, threnodic, amorous or anti-authoritarian facets, or the more obviously mystically-tinted and godwardly oriented ones, and of course there are the various intersections of these. But there's more to him. This poem is an example of that, for it has not as far as I know been translated by anyone who has not set themselves the task of translating Hafez' works in their entirety. Though not by any means one of Hafiz best works, it is superior to some of the more recognizably hedonistic or mystical (or hedonomystical) poems that are more frequently translated. It is an entreaty to Fakhr-al-Din Abdul-Samad, presumably a potential patron (whose real-world referent has yet to be satisfactorily triangulated by Hafiz scholars, but then the historical goings on of that turbulent period's politickings are a bit murky anyway.)

The most determinant factor of medieval Persian poetry was that it was court poetry, and unless they had some other source of support, poets were either in the service of a patron or wishing they were. The result was that much poetry was addressed to sovereigns and other grandees, and nearly all medieval Persian poetry of the period, most especially that of Hafiz the illustrious court poet, is pervaded by a courtly aesthetic. 

In medieval Persian poetic discourse, the heart-ruling beloved and the world-ruling potentate (or the universe-ruling divine by extension) tended to blend in poetic discourse, and this poem is an obvious testament to that. Addressing a social or political superior in the poetic voice of an abandoned or desperate lover seems to me to be a common feature of poetry traditions which develop among urbanized elites whose social and political power relationships are bound up within a highly aestheticized court environment. Other examples include the closely related medieval Arabic and the quite unrelated medieval Chinese traditions. 

A word on technical issues. You'll notice that my translation (like many of my translations of Persian lyric poems) is in somewhat stanzaic form and (like all of said translations) has more line-breaks than the included Persian text would appear to have. 

The poem, being a persian ghazal, is monorhymed throughout, with every so-called line carrying the same rhyme ending. Here's the poem in transliterated Latin characters, spaced as it would typically be in a traditional Persian edition. Note the phrasal rhyme /-ārī kunad/

Ān kīst kaz rūy-i karam bā mā wafādārī kunad 　bar jā-i badkārī ču man yakdam nikōkārī kunad
Awwal ba bāng-i nāy u nayy ārad ba dil payɣām-i way　 wāngah ba yak paymāna mayy bā man wafādārī kunad
Dilbar ki jān farsūd az ō kām-i dilam naɣšūd az ō 　nawmēd natwān būd az ō bāšad ki dildārī kunad
Guftam: girih nagšūdaam zān turra tā man būdaam 　guftā manaš farmūdaam tā bā tu tarrārī kunad
Pašmīnapōš-i tundxō kaz išq našnīdast bō　 az mastīyaš ramzē bigō tā tark-i hušyārī kunad
Čun man gadā-i bēnišān muškil buwad yārī čunān　 sultān kujā ayš-i nihān bā rind-i bāzārī kunad
Zān turra-i pur pēč u xam sahlast agar bīnam sitam 　 az band u zanjīraš či ɣam har kas ki ayyārī kunad
Šud lašgar-i ɣam bē'adad az baxt mēxwāham madad 　tā faxr-al-dīn abd us-samad bāšad ki ɣamxwārī kunad
Bā čašm-i pur nayrang-i ō Hāfiz makun āhang-i ō 　
kān turra-i šabrang-i ō bisyār tarrārī kunad

But the natural divisions of the poem are more like this. (Note the many rhymes, phrasal and not.)

Ān kīst kaz rūy-i karam 
bā mā wafādārī kunad 　
bar jā-i badkārī ču man 
　　yakdam nikōkārī kunad

Awwal ba bāng-i nāy u nayy 
ārad ba dil payɣām-i way 
wāngah ba yak paymāna mayy 
　　bā man wafādārī kunad

Dilbar ki jān farsūd az ō 
kām-i dilam naɣšūd az ō 
nawmēd natwān būd az ō 
　　bāšad ki dildārī kunad

Guftam: girih nagšūda-am 
zān turra tā man būda-am 
guftā manaš farmūda-am 
　　tā bā tu tarrārī kunad

Pašmīnapōš-i tundxō 
kaz išq našnīdast bō 
az mastīyaš ramzē bigō
　　tā tark-i hušyārī kunad

Čun man gadā-i bēnišān
muškil buwad yārī čunān 
sultān kujā ayš-i nihān 
　　bā rind-i bāzārī kunad

Zān turra-i pur pēč u xam 
sahlast agar bīnam sitam 
az band u zanjīraš či ɣam
　　har kas ki ayyārī kunad

Šud lašgar-i ɣam bē'adad 
az baxt mēxwāham madad 
tā faxr-al-dīn abd us-samad 
　　bāšad ki ɣamxwārī kunad

Bā čašm-i pur nayrang-i ō 
Hāfiz makun āhang-i ō 
kān turra-i šabrang-i ō 
　　bisyār tarrārī kunad

Like many ghazals that seem to have been written to be sung, the "lines" (I'll explain the quotation marks below) are rhymed internally (a feature termed taṣrīˁ in the Persian and Arabic traditions) and so break down into equivalent metrical chunks with their own rhyme configurations in a pattern that could be called stanzaic or strophic. My translation, obviously, attempts to mimic this. 

It is routinely said of Persian, and of Arabic and many another Islamicate literature besides, that the concept of the stanza is alien to its poetic tradition. The idea that medieval Persians and Arabs had no concept of the stanza is true in the sense that the concept as westerners understand it has no precise analogue in medieval Persians' descriptions of their own literature. But when you get down to it neither does the concept of "a line of verse", really. Broadly speaking/stereotyping, western traditions have, at least since late antiquity, conceived of the verse-line as something which can be, and typically is, part of a larger unit of verse, in which it is linked to other lines by rhyme and/or meter etc. The Persian and Arabic traditions have (again in general/stereotype, and with some important exceptions) operated with something else, called a bayt, with certain formal parameters (one of which is that it end with a rhyme) to be understood not as primarily something of which larger formal units are composed, but which can itself be broken down into (at least) two smaller units which may under various conditions (milage may vary) also be marked by rhyme as well. The bayt is as a rule much longer than the verse-lines of western languages. Bayts written in the most common Persian meters can have around 30 syllables a piece, give or take. The common translation of the term bayt as "line" is ridiculous and inapposite for verse written before the 20th century (the terms "couplet" and "distich" have been used also and, though also inexact, are infinitely more to the point.) Bayt isn't a line of verse. It's just a verse, plain and simple. 

What we have here seems to be a case of scholars assuming a kind of equivalence between practice and theory, between what people do and what they say or say they do, even though it is by now well-understood that humans and human societies generally differ far more sharply in their attitudes, and in their descriptions of self and others, than in the ways they actually behave. 

In fact, scholars ironically instantiate this principle by thinking they're taking an alien tradition on its own terms, but they end up merely once again describing it on their terms - but now by inversion. Instances of this abound in scholarship on the Islamic world even today. 

By way of digression, my favorite example of this is Western scholars' translation, and understanding, of the Arabic term ħarf as "letter" or "consonant" in traditional Arabic writings on phonology and prosody, while pointing out (at times with poorly-concealed condescension) the technically true fact that Arab grammarians lacked a concept of the syllable. And of course we western linguists (since we clearly understand all human linguistic phenomena better than those premodern ragheads) just "know" the syllable to be a fundamental aspect of every language's phonology including Arabic. 
Of course everything would become much clearer, and the Arab grammarians' true phonological insight more appreciable, if one simply understood the Arabic term ħarf in terms of the modern western linguistic tradition's concept of the mora or chroneme. (Perhaps even calling the Arabic script a moraic script or chronemic script instead of a consonantal one, thereby leaving less room for puzzlement as to why generally only the long vowels have regular orthographic representatives.) 
This fact, however, continues even today to escape the overwhelming majority of Westerners who study or describe the Arab grammarian tradition. (They seem to be behind the times compared to western scholars in other disciplines e.g.  Japanologists who long ago realized that 音 on does not mean syllable in any sense. The idea of Haiku as a form containing seventeen syllables is very much an unwitting invention of westerners.) One can forgive their failure of imagination, though. Modern phonologists have only recently begun to entertain the possibility that the mora is a far more fundamental and experimentally verifiable phenomenon of language than the syllable. It's crazy to think that those Arabs of yesteryear figured out something which white people wouldn't realize for another thousand years. It would almost be as ridiculous as the idea that the mathematical system we use, with its handy concept of zero, is an Arab accomplishment. If that were true, we'd  refer to our numeral system as "Arabic numerals." And how crazy would THAT be!

Anyway, of course there are larger units - of a thematic, semantic or other nature - consisting of more than one bayt but less than the entire poem, a fact which I hope is clear to anyone who reads even just the small sampling of Hafiz' verse translated on this site. The idea of atomistic oriental poetics, of bayt being stacked onto bayt "like Orient pearls at random strung" has recently been convincingly demolished (though its votaries are still legion and putting up fight after fight like the denizens of Estakhr under Arab hegemony, but for far less understandable reasons) and is, at best, only valid for certain lyric pieces by certain authors, and in general for certain places and periods. Though the coherence, and progression that are there aren't always of a type that western literatures, since the renaissance anyway, would lead us to expect and recognize. Then again, the inter-stanzaic relationships of verses in medieval Provençal lyric poetry of a non-narrative nature can also be quite varied or even surprising from our post-medieval perspective.  


The Original

آن کیست کز روی کرم با ما وفاداری کند 　بر جای بدکاری چو من یک دم نکوکاری کند

اول به بانگ نای و نی آرد به دل پیغام وی　 وان گه به یک پیمانه می با من وفاداری کند

دلبر که جان فرسود از او کام دلم نگشود از او　 نومید نتوان بود از او باشد که دلداری کند

گفتم گره نگشوده‌ام زان طره تا من بوده‌ام 　گفتا منش فرموده‌ام تا با تو طراری کند

پشمینه پوش تندخو از عشق نشنیده‌است بو　از مستیش رمزی بگو تا ترک هشیاری کند

چون من گدای بی‌نشان مشکل بود یاری چنان　سلطان کجا عیش نهان با رند بازاری کند

زان طره پرپیچ و خم سهل است اگر بینم ستم　از بند و زنجیرش چه غم هر کس که عیاری کند

شد لشکر غم بی عدد از بخت می‌خواهم مدد　تا فخر دین عبدالصمد باشد که غمخواری کند

با چشم پرنیرنگ او حافظ مکن آهنگ او
　کان طره شبرنگ او بسیار طراری کند

Farzona Khujandi: The Flute Player (From Tajik)

The Flute-Player
By Farzona
Translated by A.Z. Foreman
Click here to hear me recite the original in Tajik Persian

Where is the bazaar?
I want to buy a whole eyeful of kindness.
I want my soul
To wear a dress of ecstasy's silk.
There is a merchant
Bringing me a whole crazed spectrum of joy's colors
From the city of desires.
But here, here at the bazaar, here at the bazaar of Khojand,
Faces are sour and talk beats down like the sun,
And I ache for cool Tabrizi sweets.
Where is the bazaar?
A flute-player tells me:
Come by with ears used to naught but the sounds of scorn,
And listen to the light reciting Yā-sīn¹ to the dark
Open your eyes used to naught but the shades of shame,
And behold truth's beauty.
Where is the bazaar?
The flute-player is there
Calling my heart with his voice
Calling my heart to his hat, full of loose change but not one pearl.
I am a tear's jewel.
I must go.

Notes:
¹ Yā-sīn: a Qur'anic chapter traditionally deemed "the heart of the Qur'an" whose main themes include reflections on the order of the universe, touching on - among other things - the unity of God and the fact of reckoning in the afterlife.   

The Original, in Tajik Cyrillic and Perso-Arabic:

Найнавоз
Фарзона Хӯҷанди

Роҳи бозор куҷост?
Ман басе мехоҳам аз чашме меҳрубонӣ бихарам.
Ман басе мехоҳам пироҳане дошта бошад
Руҳам аз ҳарири шодӣ.
Тоҷире ҳаст ки аз шаҳри таманноҳоям меорад
Ранги мунири шодӣ
Лек ҳайҳот дар ин бозор, бозори Хӯҷанд
Чеҳраҳо туршу суханҳо тунданд
Канди Табриз дилам мехоҳад.
Роҳи бозор кучост?
Найвозе ҳаст дар он ҷо ки ба ман мегуяд:
Гуши нашнида ба ҷуз ҳарфи ҳақорат пеш ор
Бишнав нур, бихонад ба сиёҳии Ёсин
Чашми нодида ба ҷуз ранги қабоҳат бигушо
Ба ҷамоли ҳақ бин.
Роҳи бозор куҷост.
Найнавозе ҳаст дар он чо ки диламро ба садо мехонад
Ба кулоҳаш ки пур аз як дурри маҳтобӣ нест
Гавҳари ашк бимонам, биравам

نينواز
فرزانه خجندى

راه بازار كجاست؟
من بسي مىخواهم از چشمى مهربانى بخرم
من بسى مىخواهم پيراهنى داشته باشد
روحم از حريرى شادى.
تاجرى هست كه از شهر تمناهايم مىارد
رنگ مونير شادى
ليك هيهات در اين بازار ، بازار خجند
چهرﻩ ها ترش و سخن ها توندند
قند تبريز دلم مىخواهد.
راه بازار كجاست؟
نينوازى هست در آنجا كه به من مىگويد:
گوش نشنيده به جز حرف حقارت پيش آر
بشنو نور، بخاند به سياهى يا سين
چشم ناديده به جز رنگ قباحت بگشا
به جمال حق بين
راه بازار كچاست؟
نينوازى هست در آنجا كه دلم را به سدا مىخواند
به كلاهش كه پر از يك دُر مهتابى نيست
گوهر اشك بمانم، بروم

Hafiz: Ghazal 200 "For The Love of God" (From Persian)

This translation is dedicated to Sheikh Yusuf al-Qaradawi, who time and again has shown himself to be worthy of a place of honor among the self-anointed god-wielders mentioned at the end of this poem.

Ghazal 200: For The Love Of God
By Hafez
Translated by A.Z. Foreman
Click to hear me recite the original Persian

Do you hear the advice we're getting
from harps and lutes tonight?

  "They're on an infidel-hunt. Don't drink 

  unless you're out of sight."

They say: don't speak or hear innuendo
about what lovers do.

  It's a hard teaching, a harsh sentence

  they're giving me and you. 

They smear the grace of lovers, strip

love of its dignity.

  They scorn the old and tell the young

  such things should never be¹. 

Standing outside, I was beguiled

by a hundred wiles and tales.

  I wish I knew just what goes on

  behind closed doors and veils.

They tax old Zoroastrian priests

and give them grief. Have you

  Seen what these novice punks are willing 

  to put those old men through?

A single glance can buy a hundred

honors for one's appeal. 

  The fault lies with the fair who make us

  take such an unfair deal. 

Some strive and struggle to be joined

unto the Friend in love.

  And others freely let Fate be

  sent to them from above.

In sum: do not count on the world

to have consistency.

  It is a workshop where all things

  are changed up constantly.

Bring wine! Qur'an-wonks, clerics, sheikhs,
inquisitors of God...

  Look close, and you'll see all of them

  are ministers of fraud.

Notes:
1- The old and the young here would seem to be in reference to same-sex pederastic relationships between older men and adolescent boys of the sort familiar to westerners from Greco-Roman antiquity. 

The Original:

دانی که چنگ و عود چه تقریر می‌کنند پنهان خورید باده که تكفیر می‌کنند

گویند رمز عشق مگویید و مشنوید مشکل حکایتیست که تقریر می‌کنند

ناموس عشق و رونق عشاق می‌برند عیب جوان و سرزنش پیر می‌کنند

ما از برون در شده مغرور صد فریب تا خود درون پرده چه تدبیر می‌کنند

تشویش وقت پیر مغان می‌دهند باز این سالکان نگر که چه با پیر می‌کنند

صد ملک دل به نیم نظر می‌توان خرید خوبان در این معامله تقصیر می‌کنند

قومی به جد و جهد نهادند وصل دوست قومی دگر حواله به تقدیر می‌کنند

فی الجمله اعتماد مکن بر ثبات دهر کاین کارخانه‌ایست که تغییر می‌کنند

می خور که شیخ و حافظ و مفتی و محتسب

 چون نیک بنگری همه تزویر می‌کنند

Obeyd-e Zakani: "I can't pay for a boy to fuck...." (From Persian)

"I can't pay for a boy..."
By Obeyd-e Zakani
Translated by A.Z. Foreman

I can't afford a boy to fuck today
Or wine to wash life's nuisances away.
Without the cash to buy a good debauch,
There's nothing left for me to do but pray. 

Original:

"زر نيست..."

عبيد زكانى

زر نیست که قصد کون نازی بکنیم

یا باده که عیش دل نوازی بکنیم

چون مایه ی فسق نیست چیزی حاضر

برخیز که ناچار نمازی بکنیم

Hedd Wyn: Black Spot (From Welsh)

Black Spot
By Hedd Wyn (Ellis Evans)
Translated by A.Z. Foreman
Click here to hear me recite the Welsh

We have no claim upon the stars
Nor the moon in homesick view,
Nor yet the clouds contoured in gold
Amid the unending blue.

We have no claim on anything save
This old earth's moldered façade,
And the things that come apart in chaos
Amid the glory of God.

The Original:

Y Blotyn Du

Nid oes gennym hawl ar y ser,
Na'r lleuad hiraethus chwaith,
Na'r cwmwl o aur a ymylch
Yng nghanol y glesni maith.

Nid oes gennym hawl ar ddim byd,
Ond ar yr hen ddaear wyw;
A honno sy'n anhrefn i gyd
Yng nghanol gogoniant Duw

Najwan Darwish: In Hell (From Arabic)

Najwan Darwish is from Jerusalem. When he writes about Palestinian experience, as he does here, he often mixes in a healthy sense of irony. 

In Hell
By Najwan Darwish
Translated by A.Z. Foreman
Click to hear me recite the original Arabic

1
In the 30s of the past century
The Nazis got the idea of putting their victims into gas chambers
Today's Nazis are professionals
And put the gas chambers right into their victims.

2
To Hell, O 2010!
To Hell! You occupiers with all your spawn can go
To Hell! All mankind if it is like you can go
To Hell! The boats and planes, the banks and billboards all can go
"To Hell..." I scream
And am well aware that I am the only one now
Squatting there

3
So let me just lie back
And rest my head on the pillows of Hell

The Original:

في الجحيم

نجوان درويش

١

في ثلاثينات القرن الماضي

خطر للنازيين أن يضعوا ضحاياهم في غرف الغاز

نازيو اليوم أفضل حرفةً

يضعون غرف الغاز في ضحاياهم

٢

إلى الجحيم يا ٢٠١٠

إلى الجحيم أيّها المحتلون أنتم وجميع سلالاتكم

إلى الجحيم فليذهب الإنسان إذا كان على شاكلاتكم

إلى الجحيم فلتذهب السفن والطائرات والبنوك وإعلانات الشوارع

أصرخ "إلى الجحيم..." 

وأعرف أنني الوحيد الذي يقبع الآن 

هناك.

٣

فلأضطجع 

ولأوسّد رأسي بمخدّات الجحيم!