Jahane Rumi In search of the unsearchable: O, my soul! where would you find your house?

3Mar/101

Lovers have nothing to do with existence

The lover's food is the love of the bread;
no bread need be at hand:
no one who is sincere in his love is a slave to existence.
Lovers have nothing to do with existence;
lovers have the interest without the capital.
Without wings they fly around the world;
without hands they carry the polo ball from the field.
That dervish who caught the scent of Reality
used to weave baskets even though his hands had been cut off.
Lovers have pitched their tents in nonexistence;
they are of one quality and one essence, as nonexistence is.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
1Mar/100

Kaifi & I

Shabana Azmi reads from her mother Shaukat Kaifi’s memoirs at the Jaipur literary festival. The segment was introduced by Urvashi Butalia
Presented by DNA

Jaipur Literature Festival 2010 from Dreamcast India on Vimeo.

27Feb/102

I become like a pen

Ghazal 2530 from the Diwan-e Shams, in a version by Coleman Barks, in translation by Annemarie Schimmel, and in translation by A.J. Arberry:
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I become a pen in the Friend's hand,
tonight writing "say," tomorrow "ray."
He trims the pen for fine calligraphy.
The pen says, "I am here, but who am I?"
He blackens the pen's face.
He wipes it in his hair. He holds it upside down.
Now he begins to use it.
On one sheet he cancels everything.
On another he adds a dangerous conjunction.
The writing depends entirely on the scribe,
who knows how to split the head of the pen.
Galen knows what a patient needs.
The pen cannot speak for itself, or know what
to disapprove of in its own nature.
Whether I say "pen" or "flag", it is with this wonderful
conscious unconsciousness: the mind unable to include
its own description, composing blindly.
Held in a hand, yet free.
-- Version by Coleman Barks
(Based on the translation by A.J. Arberry)
"These Branching Moments"
Copper Beech Press, 1988
26Feb/100

This thirst in our souls

No sound of clapping comes from only one hand.
The thirsty man is moaning, "O delicious water!"
The water is calling, "Where is the one who will drink me?"
This thirst in our souls is the magnetism of the Water:
We are Its, and It is ours.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hich bâng-e kaff zadan na-âyad beh dar
az yeki dast to bi dasti degar
Teshneh mi nâlad keh "Ay âb-e govâr"
âb ham nâlad keh "Ku ân âb khvâr"
Jazb-e âbast in `atash dar jân-e mâ
mâ az ân-e U va U ham ân-e mâ

-- Mathnawi III: 4397-4399
Version by Camille and Kabir Helminski
"Rumi: Jewels of Remembrance"
Threshold Books, 1996
Persian transliteration courtesy of Yahyá Monastra

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25Feb/100

His form has passed away and he has become a mirror (Rumi)

Sunlight has recently offered two versions/translations of Rumi's Mathnawi story of the dervish Bayazid Bestami
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
BESTAMI
That magnificent dervish, Bayazid Bestami,
came to his disciples and said,
"I am God."
It was night, and he was drunk with his ecstasy.
19Feb/103

I am enslaved to fate, of all else say no more – Rumi

" I am enslaved to fate, of all else say no more

With a sweet tongue speak, else I plea say no more

Speak not of troubles, of treasures, tell me more

And if of this you know not, be not troubled, say no more

I have gone insane, Love found me, then whispered in my ear

'I am here, cry not aloud, curse yourself not, say no more'

I said ' O Love it is other than Thee that I fear'

Said ' it may thus appear, yet it is not so, say no more

I speak in you ear, to you bring secrets near

Speak with your head, confirm a nod, say no more'

I asked, ' What do I see? Is it an angel or a man? '

Said ' no more an angel than a man, is another, say no more'

'Tell me what it is, why withhold, why the flames of my torment fan'

Said ' just be tormented, confused, say no more

For leaving this colorful and false abode, you have made no plan

Rise up and just depart, leave this home, say no more'

Maulana Jalaluddin Rumi

18Feb/10Off

Tau kiya yeh tay haye… (Gulbahar Bano singing)

A piece of Urdu poetry that has remained with me through seasons, years and all the vicissitudes...
This is an extraordinary ghazal (rhymed poem in Urdu composed in classical style). The poet is perhaps Saleem Kausar whose expression is subtle yet brutal. There is a sense of finality in the lyrics - a denouement that is being challenged and hence a dynamic is created that allows the tragedy of two people parting their ways to turn into a moment of absolute beauty. The sadness of the verse is augmented by Gulbahar Bano's unique voice that brings out the depth of meaning in the lines.

I can only translate the first couplet:
Tau kiya ye tay haye ke ab umr bhar nahee milna
Tau phir ye umr bhi kiyon, tum se gar nahee milna

Is it now agreed that we shall not meet for life
But what good would be living if I will not be with you

As I rendered this literal translation, I wanted to curse myself for being so inadequate with words.. Those who can understand Urdu or Hindi would know what exactly I am complaining about. I dedicate this to someone special who remains as close as time itself. In fact, I am grateful to this muse who sent it the other day bringing back the smell of summer heat, the shades of white and all the flowers that bloomed and were tucked into thick books.

Here is the ghazal

another version found on youtube:

17Feb/102

‘My life-achievement’ – karnama e hayat

What great lines

Mera karnama-e-zindagi
Meri hasraton kay siwa nahi
Yeh kiya nahi, woh hua nahi
Yeh mila nahi, woh raha nahi

The achievement of my life is nothing
But things that could not be done
I could not do it, [or] 'that did not happen'
Did not get that and what I got, did not stay with me

17Feb/100

When you dance

Sunlight's interpretation of  Rumi's Quatrain 784:
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
When you dance
the whole universe dances.
What a wonder,
I've looked
and now I cannot look away!
Take me or do not take me,
both are the same –
As long as there is life in this body,
I am your servant.
***
-- Version by Jonathan Star and Shahram Shiva
A Garden Beyond Paradise
Bantam Books, 1992
14Feb/105

Jaipur, Faiz and Ali Sethi

Ali Sethi recently attended the Jaipur literary festival and his extraordinary performance is now accessible to those who were not there. I should thank him for sharing this video. Ali's instructions were also meticulous but I will not post them here except his concluding comment: the whole of the rest of the session is fantastic, and includes an excellent performance by Shabana Azmi as well as a very funny story told by Javed Akhtar about his first meeting with Faiz Sahib..

Click and enjoy!

Jaipur Literature Festival 2010

11Feb/105

Baba Najmi’s little poem

Iko Tera mera payu (You and I share the same father)

Iko teri meri maan (We share the same mother)

Iko saadi janam bhon (one is our birth place)

Tu Sardar tey mein kammi kiyon? (why are you the chief and I a slave)

7Feb/104

Chal Way Bullehya Chal O’thay Chaliyay – Let’s go where everyone is blind

Chal Way Bullehya Chal O’thay Chaliyay
Jithay Saaray Annay
Na Koi Saadee Zaat PichHanay
Tay Na Koi Saanu Mannay
***
O’ Bulleh Shah let’s go there
Where everyone is blind
Where no one recognizes our caste (or race, or family name)
And where no one believes in us
***
Ab to jaag Musaffir pyare
Raeen gayi latke taare
Kar le aj karni da weera
Mod na ho si aawen tera
***
Awake, dear traveller, you've got to move on.
Trailing its stars, the night is gone.
Do what you have to do, do it today.
You will never be back this way.
Your companions are calling.
Let us go.
***
Awake, dear traveller, you've got to move on.
Trailing its stars, the night is gone.
A pearl, a ruby, the touchstone and dice
With all that you thirst by the waterside.
Awake, dear traveller, you've got to move on.
Trailing its stars, the night is gone.
Below a modern rendition of these verses by the inimitable Meekal Hasan Band. They have been instrumental in reintroducing Sufi poetry among the youth of our country.
4Feb/100

Who is looking out?

Who sees inside from outside?
Who finds hundreds of mysteries
even where minds are deranged?

See through his eyes what he sees.
Who then is looking out from his eyes?

-- Version by Coleman Barks
Open Secret
Threshold Books, 1984

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

who is the one
who sees the external
right from within
who is the one
who casts a hundred magic spells
when watching the insane in love
try your own eyes
see how they see
who is the one
who is looking out
through your eyes for you

--Translation by Nader Khalili
Rumi, Dancing the Flame
Cal-Earth Press, 2001

1Feb/100

Bahar Ayee (Spring Has Come)

*By Faiz Ahmed Faiz
Translated by Ayesha Kaljuvee
Spring has come

So have returned suddenly from the past
* *
All those dreams, all that beauty

That on your lips had died
* *
That had died and lived again each time

All the roses are blooming

That still smell of your memories

That are the blood of my love for you
* *

30Jan/100

A poem by Sarmad

A special friend sent this poem via Facebook. I have read it again and again..hope the readers like it too

Along the road, you were my companion
Seeking the path, you were my guide

No matter to whom I spoke, it was you who answered
When Sun called Moon to Sky, it was you who shined

In the Night of aloneness, you
were my comforter

When I laughed, you were the smile on my lips
When I cried, you were the tears on my face

When I wrote, you were the verse
When I sang, you were the song

Rarely did my heart desire another lover
Then when it did, you came to me in the other.

28Nov/090

Love is a mirror

With love you cannot bargain
there, the choice is not yours.
Love is a mirror, it reflects
only your essence,
if you have the courage
to look in its face.

-- Translation by Azima Melita Kolin
and Maryam Mafi

18Nov/09Off

Iqbal – The Universal Reformer

3Nov/093

Crimson Gharara – tragedy in Rawalpindi

I am posting a lovely poem by Foqia composed after the horrible tragedy in Rawalpindi.

I queuing at the Bank,

for my monthly salary.

Image of crimson gharara, its goata lace,

dancing before my eyes.

My four year old Sara in my arms,

I saw it in the market a week ago.

17Oct/091

When will my beloved visit my courtyard

The soulful poetry of Khawaja Ghulam Farid (1845-1901) best represents the essence of Seraiki language. Diwan-e-Farid, a collection of the poet’s verses, happens to be an outstanding masterpiece of Seraiki mystical poetry that reaches the poetic excellence and transcendence found in the messages of Rumi and Iqbal in terms of exploring the metaphysics of knowledge and being.

Shahzad Qaiser has undertaken a major labour of love by rendering the Diwan-e-Farid into English and issuing another separate volume – The Metaphysics of Khawaja Ghulam Farid – that explores the vastness of meaning in Khawaja Farid’s poetry. It is rare these days to find a civil servant who can spare time to devote himself to the cause of letters. In contrast to past traditions, present day civil service has become a vehicle for playing along with palace intrigues and extracting opportunities from the vicissitudes of power. Rejecting this trend, Qaiser appears to have shunned the ordinary power-mongering culture and delved deeper into the mysteries of divine love. Therefore, his endeavour to search for the inner meanings of Khawaja Ghulam Farid’s poetry has been eminently successful. These two volumes are highly readable and well-presented for specialists and lay readers alike.

Khawaja Ghulam Farid was born in Chachran, located in the south of present day Pakistan’s Punjab province. His spiritual ancestry was somewhere linked with the revered Baba Farid Ganj-e-Shakar of Pakpattan and hence he was named after the master saint of the family. It is the metaphysical understanding which talks of reality as the divine essence and removes the difference between Ahad and Wahad and one and many that constitutes the doctrine of ‘oneness of being’

16Oct/090

To that Beloved

To that Beloved,
flower and thorn are one;
A verse of the Koran
And a Brahmin's thread are one.
Don't try to impress Him –
To that Beloved,
hero and fool are one.
-- Version by Jonathan Star and Shahram Shiva
A Garden Beyond Paradise
Bantam Books, 1992
2Oct/09Off

Parveen Shakir – ‘coins of my truthfulness’

Parveen Shakir with her mentor Qasimi whom she called Ammu

Young Shakir at a mushaira

Fifteen years later Shakir remains intensely popular. Her poetry has been reinterpreted and critics who dismissed her as a poetic lightweight have realized that there was much more to Parveen's poetic vision than just henna-dyed hands

Parveen Shakir (1952-1994) has defined the sensibilities of several generations and beyond. At the relatively young age of 42 years, Parveen Shakir died on an empty Islamabad boulevard, as if this was an essential part of her romantic persona. But she had lived a full life where poetry and tragedy intersected each other and became inseparable from her being.

As a young student in high school, I was introduced to Shakir’s romantic poetry, which was best represented by her first collection of poetry ‘Khushbu’. I had won an essay writing competition in Urdu and a delightful award came in the form of this tender volume of poetry. Since then I have always returned to bits and pieces of Khushbu. It may not be according to the cannons of literary theory, but it is spontaneous, fresh and almost dreamlike. Shakir was bearly 24 years old when Khushbu was published and since its first edition, this book has been a best seller wherever Urdu poetry is read or appreciated.

Khushbu turned Shakir into a celebrity. Aside from mushairas, newspapers and public fora, she was ever-present on the Pakistan television, perhaps as its only saving grace during the rigid years of Zia-ul-Haq’s Martial Law. Shakir had a natural talent for public speaking, reciting poetry and just being herself. I remember one monsoon evening in Murree when we were hooked to her presentation on Pakistan’s Independence Day. There was a distinct tenderness in her voice that was in sharp contrast to the platitudes being churned out. Above all she was beautiful. I remember she would read verses from her own work and from the great masters of Urdu poetry with complete ease and immense refinement. In the short period of time that she lived as a poet, Parveen did rather well and was quite prolific. Her later collections comprised Sad Barg (marsh merrygold), Khud Kalami (conversing with one’self), Inkaar (refusal), Maah-e-Tamaam (full moon) and Kaf-e-Aaina (edge of the mirror).

Her raw romanticism runs through her poetry. For instance, yay haseen shaam apni is a love poem of rare beauty; and has always been a favourite of mine. It is composite, taut and melodic; and here is my translation.

This melting evening of ours

Where everything dissolves

The scent of your clothes

The blossoming sprouts of my dreams

A deferred vision, this is

In a little while,

A star will emerge on the horizon

To gaze at you meaningfully…!

Your heart shall then reminisce

The echo of a memory

The tale of a separation,

Of an unfinished moment

Of un-blossomed dreams, things unsaid

We ought to have met

In times, considerate

In pursuit of attainable dreams

On a different sky

On a different earth

We ought to have met

29Sep/091

Journey in yourself, journey out of self

Sunlight has compiled a several version of Ghazal (Ode) 1142, from Rumi's "Diwan-e-Shams-e Tabrizi"*, in a version by Star, a translation by Schimmel, a version by Barks, and a translation by Nicholson (from which the Barks version is derived).
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
If a tree could run or fly
it would not suffer from the teeth of a saw
or the blows of an axe.
If the Sun did not run across the sky
the world would not see
the colors of morning.
If water did not rise from the sea
plants would not be quickened
by rivers or rain.
26Sep/091

Take simplicity as your companion

O, how often have knowledge and wit
become as deadly to the wayfarer as any demon or bandit!
Most of those destined for Paradise are simple-minded,
so that they escape from the mischief of philosophy.
Strip yourself of useless learning and vanity,
so that every moment Divine mercy may descend upon you.
23Sep/096

A TRIBUTE TO KAIFI AZMI

Dr. Visho Sharma has been kind enough to send me this guest post that pays tribute to a legendary poet of the subcontinent who was committed to his principles and ideology throughout his life. RR

Jo bejaan khilonon se bahel jaati haiy

Tapti saanson ki haraarat se pighul jaati haiy
Paaon jis raah mein rakhti hai phisul jaati haiy
Bunkey seemaab hur ek zurf mein dhul jaati haiy
Zindagi jihad main hay sabar kay qabu main nahin.
Jannat ek aur hay jo murd kay pahloo main naheen.
Uski azaad ravish pur bhi machalna hay tujhey
Zeest key aahni saanchey main dhulna hai tujhey
Uth meri jaan mere saath hi chalna hai tujhey.”

These verses are from the Urdu poem “Aurat” (Woman) written by the famous Urdu poet from India , Kaifi Azmi. What is remarkable is that Kaifi wrote this poem in the 1940s before the independence of India . In that era when the Indian society was very traditional and very much a man’s world, such thoughts were almost unheard of. But then Kaifi was always decades ahead of his time.

22Sep/090

W H Auden on Partition

A poem by WH Auden (published in 1966) about Radcliffe - I am grateful to KA for this contribution:
Partition
Unbiased at least he was when he arrived on his mission,
Having never set eyes on the land he was called to partition
Between two peoples fanatically at odds,
With their different diets and incompatible gods.
“Time,” they had briefed him in London, “is short. It’s too late
For mutual reconciliation or rational debate:
The only solution now lies in separation.
The Viceroy thinks, as you will see from his letter,
That the less you are seen in his company the better,
So we’ve arranged to provide you with other accommodation.
We can give you four judges, two Moslem and two Hindu,
To consult with, but the final decision must rest with you.”
Shut up in a lonely mansion, with police night and day
Patrolling the gardens to keep the assassins away,
He got down to work, to the task of settling the fate
Of millions. The maps at his disposal were out of date
And the Census Returns almost certainly incorrect,
But there was no time to check them, no time to inspect
Contested areas. The weather was frightfully hot,
And a bout of dysentery kept him constantly on the trot,
But in seven weeks it was done, the frontiers decided,
A continent for better or worse divided.
The next day he sailed for England, where he could quickly forget
The case, as a good lawyer must. Return he would not,
Afraid, as he told his Club, that he might get shot.
22Sep/090

Ramadan came to the heart’s temple

Rumi on Eid

Ramadan came, but Bairam is with us.
The lock came, but the key is with us.

Mouth is closed. Eyes are opened.
That brilliance that the eyes see is with us.

6Sep/090

Bulleh! to me, I am not known

My dear friend Nabila has sent this poem that was posted on the Poetry Chaikhana website --It is well known but I loved this translation. At the end there are some comments that elucidate Bulleh's life and message. Please also see this piece of mine based on a longer paper that I authored last year.
Bulleh! to me, I am not known  - By Bulleh Shah (1680 - 1758)
Not a believer inside the mosque, am I
Nor a pagan disciple of false rites
Not the pure amongst the impure
Neither Moses, nor the Pharaoh
Bulleh! to me, I am not known
Not in the holy Vedas, am I
Nor in opium, neither in wine
Not in the drunkard`s intoxicated craze
Niether awake, nor in a sleeping daze
Bulleh! to me, I am not known
In happiness nor in sorrow, am I
Neither clean, nor a filthy mire
Not from water, nor from earth
Neither fire, nor from air, is my birth
Bulleh! to me, I am not known
Not an Arab, nor Lahori
Neither Hindi, nor Nagauri
Hindu, Turk, nor Peshawari
Nor do I live in Nadaun
Bulleh! to me, I am not known
Secrets of religion, I have not known
From Adam and Eve, I am not born
I am not the name I assume
31Aug/091

Yeh Daagh Daagh Ujala – Faiz

As I was commenting on the Pak Tea House, I just recalled Faiz's wonderful poem Subh-e-Aazaadii, a masterpiece of our times.

I am posting the Urdu version with translations here:

Ye daagh daagh ujaalaa, ye shab-gaziida sahar,

Vo intizaar thaa jis-kaa, ye vo sahar to nahiiN,

Ye vo sahar to nahiiN jis-kii aarzu lekar

Chale the yaar ke mil-ja`egi kahiiN na kahiN

28Aug/093

Faiz’s ‘Intesab’ – a lovely translation

A reader - Joe 31 - has rendered a great translation of Faiz's poem - "Intesab". I am posting it as a separate blog entry for all those who read and enjoy Faiz Ahmad Faiz, Pakistan's eminent poet. This poem appears as an introduction to one of his early collections of verse. This timeless poem is relevant even today as it celebrates the resilience and courage of Pakistani proletariat.

Dedicated to these times, and the sorrow of these times.
The pain of today, that is set against the plentiful garden of life.
The forest of dead leaves, that is my land.
The collection of pain that is my land.

Dedicated to the gloomy lives of clerks
Moth eaten hearts and words.
Dedicated to the postmen
Dedicated to the coachmen
Dedicated to the railway workers
Dedicated to the innocent beings in the factories.

27Aug/090

A Sacred Blasphemy

Rumi once again...

Be off and know
That the way of lovers is opposite all other ways.
Lies from the Friend
Are better than truth and kindness from others.

For Him
The impossible is commonplace,
Punishment is reward,
Tyranny is justice,
Slander is the highest praise.