PERSIAN - KHAYYAM, Omar

KHAYYAM, Omar

Rubàiyat

Awake! for Morning in the Bowl of Night

Has flung the Stone that puts the Stars to Flight:

And Lo! the Hunter of the East has caught

The Sultan's Turret in a Noose of Light.

Dreaming when Dawn's Left Hand was in the Sky

I heard a Voice within the Tavern cry,

"Awake, my Little ones, and fill the Cup

"Before Life's Liquor in its Cup be dry."

And, as the Cock crew, those who stood before

The Tavern shouted --- "Open then the Door!

"You know how little while we have to stay,

"And, once departed, may return no more."

Now the New Year reviving old Desires,

The thoughtful Soul to Solitude retires,

Where the White Hand of Moses on the Bough

Puts out, and Jesus from the Ground suspires.

Iram indeed is gone with all its Rose,

And Jamshyd's Sev'n-ring'd Cup where no one knows;

But still the Vine her ancient Ruby yields,

And still a Garden by the Water blows.

And David's Lips are lock't; but in divine

High piping Pehlevi, with "Wine! Wine! Wine!

"Red Wine!" --- the Nightingale cries to the Rose

That yellow Cheek of hers t'incarnadine.

Come, fill the Cup, and in the Fire of Spring

The Winter Garment of Repentance fling:

The Bird of Time has but a little way

To fly --- and Lo! the Bird is on the Wing

Here with a Loaf of Bread beneath the Bough,

A Flask of Wine, a Book of Verse - and Thou

Beside me singing in the Wilderness -

And Wilderness is Paradise enow.

“How sweet is mortal Sovranty!” – think some:

Others – “How blest the Paradise to come!”

Ah, take the Cash, and let the Credit go,

Nor heed the rumble of a distant Drum!

The Worldly Hope men set their Hearts upon

Turns Ashes—or it prospers; and anon,

Like Snow upon the Desert's dusty Face

Lighting a little Hour or two—is gone.

I sometimes think that never blows so red

The Rose as where some buried Caesar bled;

That every Hyacinth the Garden wears

Dropt in its Lap from some once lovely Head.

Ah, make the most of what we yet may spend,

Before we too into the Dust descend;

Dust into Dust, and under Dust to lie,

Sans Wine, sans Song, sans Singer, and--sans End!

Myself when young did eagerly frequent

Doctor and Saint, and heard great Argument

About it and about: but evermore

Came out by the same Door as in I went

With them the Seed of Wisdom did I sow,

And with my own hand labour'd it to grow:

And this was all the Harvest that I reap'd --

"I came like Water and like Wind I go.

Into this Universe, and Why not knowing

Nor Whence, like Water willy - nilly flowing;

And out of it, as Wind along the Waste,

I know not Whither, willy - nilly blowing.

Up from Earth’s Center through the Seventh Gate

I rose, an on the Throne of Saturn sate,

And many Knots unravel’d by the Road

But not the Master Knot of Human Fate

One Moment in Annihilation's Waste,

One Moment, of the Well of Life to taste-

The Stars are setting and the Caravan

Starts for the Dawn of Nothing - Oh, make haste

So when at last the Angel of the Drink

Of Darkness finds you by the river – brink,

And, proffering his Cup, invites your Soul

Forth to your Lips to quaff it - do not shrink.

When You and I behind the Veil are past,

Oh, but the long long while the World shall last,

Which of our Coming and Departure heeds

As much as Ocean of a pebble - cast.

The Moving Finger writes; and, having writ,

Moves on: nor all your Piety nor Wit

Shall lure it back to cancel half a Line,

Nor all your Tears wash out a Word of it.

Oh, Thou, who didst with Pitfall and with Gin

Beset the Road I was to wander in,

Thou wilt not with Predestination round

Enmesh me, and impute my Fall to Sin?

Oh, threats of Hell and Hopes of Paradise!

One thing at least is certain - This Life flies;

One thing is certain and the rest is Lies;

The Flower that once has blown for ever dies.

Ah, with the Grape my fading Life provide,

And wash my Body whence the Life has died,

And in a Winding-sheet of Vine-leaf wrapt,

So bury me by some sweet Garden side.

Alas, that Spring should vanish with the Rose!

That Youth's sweet-scented Manuscript should close!

The Nightingale that in the Branches sang,

Ah, whence, and whither flown again, who knows!

And when Thyself with shining Foot shall pass

Among the Guests Star-scatter'd on the Grass,

And in thy joyous Errand reach the Spot

Where I made one - turn down an empty Glass!

Old tent-maker, your body is a tent,

your soul a sultan from the eternal world.

Death’s messenger gives the call to journey on,

and strikes the tent, and lets the sultan go.

Ah, Love! could thou and I with Fate conspire

To grasp this sorry Scheme of Things entire,

Would not we shatter it to bits - and then

Re-mould it nearer to the Heart's Desire!

Adaptation: Edward FITZGERALD

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Een vijand blijkt op wie gij meest vertrouwt,

Als van nabij uw oordeel hem beschouwt.

Beter voorshands niet veel met vrienden wezen:

Alleen van ver zijn mensenwoorden goud.

(vertaling P.C. BOUTENS)

168

God, you have shattered my happiness.

You have raised a wall between my heart and you,

its creator.

The harvest of my life, you trample it down.

It's time for me to die, but God, you hesitate.

You think I am too drunk to die?

169

Be quiet, pain and sorrow!

Let me find a remedy. I have to live,

as once dead there is no memory.

And I want to see my love and be with her.

And I want to remember our being together.

170

Stringed instruments, perfumes,

winecups, lips, long hairs, eyes - mere toys

that are destroyed by time, toys! Frugality, loneliness,

labour, meditation, prayer and renunciation,

ash that time will blow away,

mere ash!