I see no love in anyone.Where have the loyal lovers gone?
When did the days of friendship end?Why have the friends we had withdrawn?
The liquor of life turned grime-dark. Where's green Khizr in our hour of need?
Color has drained out of the rose. Where are the winds of spring and dawn?
None says "our fellows have the rightto love as much as anyone"
Where are those friends who knew what's right, who loved and did as should be done?
It has been years now since the minesof gracious manhood yielded gems.
Where is the touch of breeze and rain? Where now the beaming of the sun?
This was a noble lovers' town, this soil the country of kind men.
When did the rule of kindness end?How was nobility undone?
The ball of magnanimityis thrown out on the polo grounds.
No riders come to strike it now. What happened to our champion?
A hundred thousand roses bloom, and not one bird sings in return.
What stopped a thousand nightingales? What happened to that unison? The music of the spheres is out of tune. Has Venus torched her harp?
No one is keen on drinking now.Why are the drunken revelers gone?
Hafiz! Nobody can divine the Lord's mysterious sways. Stop asking.
Who can say how the wheeling times in this strange revolution run?
The Original:
This poem was likely an expression of political complaint, and has even managed to serve as such in modern Iran. Though it is of course subject to the pressures of courtly decorum and of simple self-interest, limiting the ways in which direct criticism of one's ruler could be expressed.
Yārī andar kas namēbīnēm, yārānrā či šud?
Dōstī kay āxir āmad, dōstdārānrā či šud?
I see no love/comradeship in anyone. What has happened to the lovers/companions? When did friendship come to an end. What happened to the friends?
It is difficult to pinpoint in translation the exact resonance of the words yār and yārī in this verse, in part because of the ambiguities of the lyric vocabulary. In the Persian lyric tradition these are, like the dōst of the same verse, connected with the idea of the "Friend" in the same sense (only generally not masculine) as the "Amic/Amie/Amica" of amorous address in medieval European courtly love lyric. The words also suggests one who gives succor, a partner, one comes to give aid in the time of need.
Āb-i haywān tēragūn šud, Xizr-i farruxpay kujāst?
Gul bigašt az rang-i xwad, bād-i bahārānrā či šud?
The water of life has become dark. Where is auspicious-footed Xizr? The rose has shifted from its (natural, former color). What has happened to the spring winds?
(A variant reading in the second half of the verse is Xūn čakīd az šāx-i gul "blood dripped from the rose's thorn")
Xizr (خِضْر) is a figure who, though not mentioned directly in the Qur'an, is usually identified with Moses' companion in Qur'an 18:60. His name is associated with "greenness" in Arabic, a color connected with joy, freshness and hope. Wherever Xizr walks, grass is said to grow. He is someone who appears whenever a righteous man is in need. He is Alexander's guide on his journey through the land of darkness in search of the fount of immortality, the nahru l-ḥayāt (Persian āb-i hayāt "water of life", here referred to with the synonym āb-i haywān presumably for metrical purposes.) Terms relating to the "water of life" seem to me to have been widespread across western Eurasia in a number of loosely connected senses. (The Qur'anic story is based on eastern versions of the Alexander Romance. See also ὕδωρ ζωῆς of John [4:10–26] in contrast.) A later sense, presumably throughout the Mediterranean cultural area, was as a term for particular kinds of distillates including high-quality wine (c.f. the Latin term aqua vitae), originally stemming from the idea, in humoral physiology, of alcohol as a medicinal substance that energized the blood. (This is alchemically connected with the idea of immortality, as alchemists throughout the middle ages are known to have experimented with various forms of alcohol in an effort to discover a longevity drug.) In the medieval Persian lyric tradition, this alcoholic sense of āb-i haywān is present everywhere. In this poem, in particular, not only is "the water of life" as a metonym for "wine, liquor" very much to the point, but so too is the idea of wine as a mainstay of the "good life" in every sense of the word.
Kas namēgōyad ki "yārē dāšt haqq-i dōstī"
Haqšināsānrā či hāl uftād, yārānrā či šud?
No one says that a lover/friend/comrade has the right/duty of friendship. What befell those who know the right thing (to do for others)? What happened to the friends?
I have transcribed, and translated, what I take to be the most likely (or at least the primary) reading of the verse. It would be possible to read the first part as yārē dāšt haqqdōstī "a lover/friend (is one who) possesses affection for the truth (or: for God)." Haqšinās is someone who does as they should, who gives everyone their due, who is grateful. One who is more mystically inclined might read it it as someone "Knows the Truth/God" in a less temporal sense.
La'lē az kān-i muruwwat barnayāmad, sālhāst,
Tābiš-i xwaršēd o sa'ī-i bād o bahārānrā či šud? For years not one single ruby has come from the mines of chivalry/manfulness. What happened to the splendor of the sun and the striving of the wind and spring?
Rubies are often metaphors for wine, the sweet lips of the beloved etc. These meanings hover around the line here, but are not primary. A legend particularly current in mystical poetry had it that the ruby began as a common stone, which was transformed into a gem after absorbing the sun's rays, reflecting the slow maturation involved in personal development, often of a spiritual nature. The ruby in this sense has overtones of a enlightenment and wisdom. The core sense of murūwat is "manfulness." But its full semantic range involves civility, generosity, politeness and being, as one might say, "a gracious gentleman" particularly in reference to one of high social position in dealing with those in their charge. The verse continues in its lament for the decline of civility, implying irresponsibility on the part of those who really ought to know better.
Šahr-i yārān būd o xāk-i mihrbānān īn diyār,
Mihrbānī kay sarāmad, šahryārānrā či šud?
This country was the city of friends/lovers/fellows, and the soil/dust of the kindly. When did simple kindness come to an end. What happened to the monarchs/royalty?
This is a famous line. The terms šahr-i yārān "city of friends" and šahryārān "royalty, rulers, lords" are ambiguous both in speech and in writing. Particularly since Persian has at least since the Early New Persian period allowed (as it still does allow) optional epenthesis between two heavy syllables at the boundary between a stem and a suffix (e.g. pādšāh~pādišāh, pāsbān~pāsibān) which means that šahryārān could well be realized as šahriyārān and thus identical to šahr-i yārān (compare English "grade A" vs. "gray day" or "gollum" vs. "gall 'em.") This seems intentional. Prof. Franklin Lewis writes in a footnote to his dissertation
The orthography in either case is basically the same, particularly in the manuscript tradition, though one might expect the ر and ي of a modern edition to be typeset in somewhat closer proximity in the latter than in the former case. the pronunciation can be fudged so as to make the difference between the two negligible, thus affording the performer and perhaps originally also Hafiz an excuse for the authorities.
If anyone took offense at the criticism of a change in rule, or the implication that the new dynasty was at fault, it would be possible to claim that in the second half of the verse had just been misunderstood, and that Hafiz "really" meant to repeat šahr-i yārān. It was, in short, a good way for Hafiz to address problems with the sovereign while making sure that his courtly ass was covered. This deniability has carried down into modern times, when this poem was performed to music by Muhammad Rizā Šajariān in 1986. Lewis writes:
This particularly by the plaintive way he sang it, was understood by everyone but the Islamic Republic's censors as a clear statement of preference for the overthrown monarchy. Šajariān, who around the time when Mohammad Reza Shah was deposed, had been performing some very impassioned and innovative songs of a nationalist and revolutionary cast, chose for this performance to sing Hafiz' poem in a little-used melody...of the classical repertoire by the name bēdād or "injustice." The tape sold over eight million copies in a land of 55 million people before it was finally banned
Hāfiz' audience may have also been sensitive to the folk-etymology of šahryār as a combination of šahr and yār meaning "city-friend, city-helper." Thus "city of friends" in chiasmus with "friends of the city." The actual etymology is somewhat different. šahr is indeed the same etymon (the word originally meant "district, domain") but the -yār part is not. François de Blois tells me that "-yār as in šahryār is from *dar- “to hold”. yār “friend” is from *adyawa-bara- (or something like that) “bearing aid”, from *bar- “to carry”."
Gōy-i tawfīq o karāmat dar miyān afgandaand,
Kas ba maydān dar namēāyad, suwārānrā či šud?
The (polo-)ball of attainment and magnanimity has been thrown out in (our) midst. Nobody enters the arena. What happened to the mounted ones?
Polo, a game of Central Asian origin, was a favored game of Persian courtly life, and it serves as a frequent source of metaphors. Suwārān refers to mounted polo-players. Important also is the sense "cavaliers, champions" i.e. those who render aid of arms in the hour of need. There are no such people to ba maydān dar āmadan "take to the field." Nobody is playing the game (implicitly, the game of statecraft) as it should be played. A note by Dehkhoda on tawfīq with regard to this verse glosses it as "merit, aptitude, prowess, ability."
Sad hazārān gul šukuft o bāng-i murɣē barnaxāst,
'Andalībānrā či pēš āmad, hazārānrā či šud?
A hundred thousand roses blossomed, and the sound of even one bird did not rise. What checked the nightingales? What happened to the thousands?
hazārān "thousands" is a metonym for the nightingale (bird of a thousand tunes.)
The nightingale and the rose is a much-exploited, much-examined and much-exhausted theme of Persian poetry and related literatures. Basically, the nightingale has a passion for the rose, and sings for/to it (with various elaborations on this trope.) Here, however, the rose blooms but no nightingales come. This is a severe wrongness, in the Persian lyric universe. Like drinking wine in order to sober up. An illustration of how the time is "out of joint." On another level, the nightingale is often equated with the poet (who sings for the rose, his beloved.) Poetry, and song, may not be as appreciated as the speaker implies it should be. This would fit in well with the reign of Mubāriz al-Dīn Muhammad (who had deposed and executed Hāfiz' beloved former patron) with his orthodox insistence that the singing and drinking come to an end. For a poem in which Hafiz is generally taken to be complaining of the new regime's pietism and cruelty see ghazal 42 here, and for a lament for Abū Ishāq see ghazal 203 here.
Zuhra sāzē xwaš namēsāzad, magar 'ūdaš bisōxt,
Kas nadārad zawq-i mastī, maygusārānrā či šud?
Venus does not strike up good tune. Might she have burned her lute? No one has a taste for getting drunk. What happened to the wine-bibbers?
Venus in Persia was the celestial muse. Known as Zuhra (her Arabic name) or Nāhēd (her Persian name) she is associated above all else with music and dancing. Her abode was said to be in the third or fourth of the eight heavens, where her musics were so captivating as to make even Jesus himself break into dance and song. Her rhythms were said to regulate the harmonies of the cosmos (c.f the musica universalis or musica mundana of medieval European cosmology.) Her association with music and the harp in particular may stem from the fact that in Sassanid times, the harp was traditionally played by women, a practice condemned by Islamic orthodoxy.
(Digression: Actually, sung music was in general condemned, though most especially when the singer was a woman. Mind you song, like poetry itself, nonetheless managed to make it into Sufi ritual. As Jerome W. Clinton put it "poetry was an integral part of Christian and Jewish worship in the West as were music and the other arts, but poetry entered the realm of Islamic worship only through the back door of mysticism." Though when it did slip in, it slipped all the way in — right on through Imam Khomeini's ghazals.)
This verse contains some subtle wordplay. sāz is "musical instrument" but it can have a more general sense of "apparatus, set-up, what one has to work with" (think of the broader sense of "instrument" in English.) It is a lexicalization of the present stem of sāxtan "to make, to construct, to compose" which can be construed with musical instruments in the sense "play, strike up a tune on." That verb occurs in this verse in the form mēsāzad. No doubt because of identical consonants, the verb sōxtan "to burn" is often paired with sāxtan in Persian poetry (one thing you build up, another you burn down.) When the two are paired in reference to a musical instrument, it may imply also that the burning of a harp or lute makes for a pleasant odor. Formulations of the sense "burn the lute and play the lute" or "burn one lute and play another" are especially common in other Persian poets, including Xwājō, Sa'dī, Sōzanī and a great many others. There is even an Arabic precedent in ˁAlī ibn Ḥasan Al-Bāxarzī's line: "O owner of the two lutes, do not neglect either of them. Burn the one and strum the other." (yā ṣāḥiba l-ˁūdayni lā tahmilhā, ḥarriq lanā ˁūdan wa-ḥarrik lanā ˁūdā.) My impression though is that here the image is meant to be taken in a straightforward manner: has Venus herself just abandoned the cosmic harmony? Might even she now hold music so cheap as to torch her instruments?
Hāfiz, asrār-i ilāhī kas namēdānad, xamōš!
Az kī mēpursī, ki dawr-i rōzgārānrā či šud?
Hafiz, nobody knows the secrets of the divine. Be silent. Who are you asking what has happened to the way the times turn?
Hello! How are u? I'm Brazilian and I need to do a seminar about ghazal, i would like to use Hafiz poems, but we need to do - besides other things - an structural analysis (rhymes, 'Beher', 'Radif' and so on). For this, i will need of a version wrote in Latin alphabet. I search in the web, i tried to change the Persian or Urdu on online Latin alphabet converters but nothing work. I find some ghazal also in Latin alphabet, but i could not translate them...So, would u have some ghazal with English translation and with the original one in persian and Latin alphabet? Thank u =)
Actually I had that very phrase in mind when I translated the poem. I couldn't help it, really. Yārān rā che shod ("Where have all the lovers gone" or more literally "What has become of the lovers") is very close in threnodic mood to that. Also "Ou sont les neiges d'antan" in a way.
Actually this ghazal has been sung by one of Iranian grand masters of traditional singing, Shajarian (شجریان ). The name of the album is Bidad (بیداد) meaning tyranny. Here is the link to it on youtube.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vd7TAZ3npB8
If you like this song it is in "Homayoun" همایون scale and the whole album is a masterpiece.
Hello! How are u? I'm Brazilian and I need to do a seminar about ghazal, i would like to use Hafiz poems, but we need to do - besides other things - an structural analysis (rhymes, 'Beher', 'Radif' and so on). For this, i will need of a version wrote in Latin alphabet. I search in the web, i tried to change the Persian or Urdu on online Latin alphabet converters but nothing work. I find some ghazal also in Latin alphabet, but i could not translate them...So, would u have some ghazal with English translation and with the original one in persian and Latin alphabet? Thank u =)
ReplyDeleteI believe this would be excellent if sung - Pete Seeger's "Where Have All the Flowers Gone" almost fits in theme and meter! :P
ReplyDeleteActually I had that very phrase in mind when I translated the poem. I couldn't help it, really. Yārān rā che shod ("Where have all the lovers gone" or more literally "What has become of the lovers") is very close in threnodic mood to that. Also "Ou sont les neiges d'antan" in a way.
ReplyDeleteActually this ghazal has been sung by one of Iranian grand masters of traditional singing, Shajarian (شجریان ). The name of the album is Bidad (بیداد) meaning tyranny. Here is the link to it on youtube.
ReplyDeletehttp://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vd7TAZ3npB8
If you like this song it is in "Homayoun" همایون scale and the whole album is a masterpiece.