S. R. Faruqi:

(1) So you believe that Majnun is in futile pursuit of the howdah, my young friend?
Well, actually he’s very wise, that deranged crazy man, my young friend.

[The howdah in which Laila travels, riding her camel.]

(2) Does anyone bother even to taste sugar, my young friend?
Everyone here grants the utter sweetness of those lips and talks of nothing else, my young friend.

(3) I grant the preacher is angel-pure.
What’s difficult is to be human, my young friend.

(4) Largesse from wet eyes flows all the time.
Even the flood comes to beg at this door, my young friend.

(5) There’s surely relief and comfort beyond death
but between then and now there’s that deadly event, my young friend.

(6) Trampling the heart under foot is not only tyranny but wrathful violence.
Did anyone ever pound it so? After all, it’s a heart, my young friend.

(7) Why dread the doomsday that must come someday. Tomorrow?
The night is pregnant, so let’s see what it brings forth at dawn, my young friend.

[A Persian proverb, shab hāmil ast tā fardā che zayad, translated almost literally here by the poet. It was not an uncommon practice until about the mid-nineteenth century to literally translate a Persian phrase or proverb into Urdu.]

(8) The heart is still, not even writhing or throbbing: who knows
what sharpshooter brought it down, my young friend?

(9) The eye must open before the time of the prayer.
Woe unto him who slept his time away, my dear young friend.

[The “prayer” could refer to the early morning prayer or the funeral prayer. A marvelous example of how wordplay can enhance the meaning of a verse.]

(10) True, the color of colorlessness is something apart from all,
but it partakes of all colors, like water, my young friend.

[Some Sufis have described the various stages of the soul’s journey to truth in terms of colors: each stage has a color of its own, but the ultimate stage has al-launu lā launa lahu (Arabic), a color that has no color at all.]

(11) Were the sky to move just a bit away from here, I wouldn’t be sick in the chest like a
consumptive.
It is a slab of stone on my breast, my young friend.

(12) Why such sportiveness, such attachment of the heart to the world?
It’s just the road—or is it the destination, my dear young friend?

(13) It’s not worth discussing how little depth the ocean of life really has.
From end to end in a hundred places there’s only shallows and dry shore, my young friend.

(14) Look at things a brief moment with an eye that seeks the truth,
and you’ll find that all you see is false, my young friend.

(15) Empathy is all. There’s nothing else that avails.
Medication? Well, for the lovesick it’s a deadly blow, my young friend.

(16) For years and years I wandered there weeping like a cloud,
and now the mud and mire in her street reach to the thigh, my young friend.

(17) Ancient of days and yet so juvenile!
How barbarously intractable the sky is even though bent with age, my young friend.

[The sky is regarded as ancient because it seems to be bending earthward, like an old woman’s back, from wherever one may look. Reviled for its cruelty, heartlessness, and wayward ways, the sky is a convenient topos for referring to destiny, or God, or the omnipotent will.]

(18) Why complain about the sad and wounded heart?
For one thing, it is sad, for another, wounded, my young friend.

(19) Comfort your heart with the sight of green grass.
That’s all the harvest of the world’s tillage you’ll have, my young friend.

(20) It’s the smart alecks of the world who’re the talk of the town now.
My art is poetry—and who gives a damn for it, my young friend?

(21) Yesterday, I too managed a pilgrimage to Mir.
He seemed a little indifferent and arrogant but perfect nevertheless, my young friend.

[“Perfect” could mean a perfect man, in the Sufi sense: insān-e kāmil (“the man who has reached the perfection of humanity, of knowledge or gnosis”). It could also mean “perfect in poetry.” This is the longest ghazal Mir wrote (twenty-one verses), and not one verse can be viewed as second-rate. He has used twenty-three rhyme words, none of them repeated.]

FWP:

(inspired by SRF's translation)

(1) As if he pursued the howda for nothing, sir!
That madman is 'crazy like a fox', sir.

(2) Who has any regard for sugar, sir?
Everyone speaks only of her lips, sir.

(3) I grant that the Preacher is an angel.
To be a human is very difficult, sir.

(4) Charitable tears flow endlessly from my wet eyes.
The flood comes to beg at my door, sir.

(5) Beyond death there's ease, it's true, but
In between, this 'event' is an obstacle, sir.

(6) To trample the heart under foot is cruelty, is oppression!
Does anyone abuse it so? After all, it's a heart, sir!

(7) Why should we fear today the Doomsday that might come tomorrow?
Let's see what would be born by dawn--'The night is pregnant', sir.

(8) The heart is not even twitching--
No telling what well-armed hunter brought it down, sir.

(9) The eyes ought to open before the time of prayer.
Alas for him who is heedless, sir!

(10) The color of colorlessness is apart from all, but
Like water, it partakes of all colors, sir.

(11) If it would move away a little, I wouldn't feel so oppressed.
The sky is a slab of stone on my breast, sir.

(12) Why so much attachment to the world?
Is it a road, or is it a destination, sir?

(13) The shallowness of the ocean of life-- don't ask!
From here to there, in a hundred places-- it's shoreline, sir.

(14) Just take a look with a judicious eye
You'll see that everything here is false, sir.

(15) Sympathy is the only thing that's real.
For lovers, to take medicine is fatal, sir.

(16) For years I wandered, weeping like a cloud.
Now her street is knee-deep in mud, sir.

(17) Ancient of days, yet still so juvenile!
The venerable sky-- is it still so ignorant, sir?

(18) What complaint of the injured and melancholy heart!
For one thing it's sad, and for another it's wounded, sir.

(19) Comfort your heart with the sight of greenery
That's the only harvest from this world, sir.

(20) Capable people are criticized nowadays--
'Poetry, your art and craft-- well, what is it fit for, sir?'

(21) Yesterday I made a pilgrimage to see Mir.
He wasn't very friendly, but still perfect, sir.

 

Zahra Sabri:

Zahra Sabri is a special guest translator for this site.

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