Authors born between 800 and 1100 CE
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Contents
Be Merry with the Fruitful Grape
Fitzgerald’s Rubaiyyat of Omar Khaiyyam was
very well received as an English poem, but Persian writers have expressed
concern about the distortions he introduced by his very free
and selective translation.
Fitzgerald spoke of his work as a “transmogrification” and mentioned that
he “mashed” together verses. His poem stressed living for the day, because of the impossibility of understanding the universe. It
emphasized the immensity of space and time and the insignificance of man,
and advocated shared friendship and conviviality, particularly the vinous
delights of the tavern.
Independent of whether
Omar's words have a secret meaning known only to
initiates,
as some have alleged, they undoubtedly have an explicit meaning that can be enjoyed by
the non-initiate.
In the following extracts, the number after each verse refers to
the sequence of verses in the first edition. To give some idea of the way
Fitzgerald gave free rein to his poetic impulse, I have included in the Sources section some comparisons with the translation by Omar Ali-Shah and
Robert Graves in a collaboration intended to yield a literal translation.
1
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.
2 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.”
The Tavern shouted—"Open
then the Door.
You know how little
while we have to stay,
And, once departed,
may return no more."
4 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.
5 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.
6 Look to the Rose that blows about us—”Lo,
Laughing,” she
says, “into the World I blow:
At once the silken
Tassel of my Purse
Tear, and its
Treasure on the Garden throw.”
7 Think, in this batter'd Caravanserai
Whose Doorways are
alternate Night and Day,
How Sultan after
Sultan with his Pomp
Abode his hour or
two, and went his way.
8 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.
9
And this delightful herb whose tender green
Fledges the river's
lip on which we lean—
Ah, lean upon it
lightly! for who knows
From what once lovely
lip it springs unseen!
1
0 Ah! my Beloved, fill the Cup that clears
To-day of past
Regrets and future Fears
To-morrow?—Why,
To-morrow I may be
Myself with
Yesterday's Sev'n Thousand Years.
11 Lo! some we loved, the loveliest and the best
That Time and Fate of
all their Vintage prest,
Have drunk their Cup
a Round or two before,
And one by one crept
silently to Rest.
12 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!
13 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.”
14 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.
15 Then to this earthen Bowl did I adjourn
My Lip the secret
Well of Life to learn:
And Lip to Lip it
murmur'd—”While you live,
Drink! —for once
dead you never shall return.”
16 For in the Market-place, one Dusk of Day,
I watch'd the Potter
thumping his wet Clay:
And with its all
obliterated Tongue
It murmur'd—”Gently,
Brother, gently, pray!”
17 How long, how long, in infinite Pursuit
Of This and That
endeavour and dispute?
Better be merry with
the fruitful Grape
Than sadden after
none, or bitter, Fruit.
18 You know, my Friends, how long since in my
House
For a new Marriage I
did make Carouse:
Divorced old barren
Reason from my Bed,
And took the Daughter
of the Vine to Spouse.
19 For “is” and “is-not” though with
Rule and Line,
And, “up-and-down”
without, I could define,
I yet in all I only
cared to know,
Was never deep in
anything but—Wine.
20 The Grape that can with Logic absolute
The Two-and-Seventy
jarring Sects confute:
The subtle Alchemist
that in a Trice
Life's leaden Metal
into Gold transmute.
21 But leave the Wise to wrangle, and with me
The Quarrel of the
Universe let be:
And, in some corner
of the Hubbub couch’t,
Make Game of that
which makes as much of Thee.
22 'Tis all a Chequer-board of Nights and Days
Where Destiny with
Men for Pieces plays:
Hither and thither
moves, and mates, and slays,
And one by one back
in the Closet lays.
23 The Moving Finger writes; and, having writ,
Moves on: nor all thy
Piety nor Wit
Shall lure it back to
cancel half a Line,
Nor all thy Tears
wash out a Word of it.
24 With Earth's first Clay They did the Last
Man's knead,
And then of the Last
Harvest sow'd the Seed:
Yea, the first
Morning of Creation wrote
What the Last Dawn of
Reckoning shall read.
25 Ah, with the Grape my fading Life provide,
And wash my Body
whence the life has died,
And in a Windingsheet
of Vineleaf wrapt,
So bury me by some
sweet Gardenside.
26 And much as Wine has play'd the Infidel,
And robb'd me of my
Robe of Honor—well,
I often wonder what
the Vintners buy
One half so precious
as the Goods they sell.
27 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!
28 Ah, Moon of my Delight who know'st no wane,
The Moon of Heav'n is
rising once again:
How oft hereafter
rising shall she look
Through this same
Garden after me—in vain!
29 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!
Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam (First Edition) Rendered into English Verse by Edward Fitzgerald. Bernard Quaritate, London, 1859. An electronic text version is available from Project Gutenberg via FTP.
The Original Rubaiyyat of Omar Khayaam.
A new translation by Robert Graves and Omar Ali-Shah. Doubleday & Company
Inc. Garden City, New York, 1968.
A sample comparison of the two translations from three of the more
famous verses:
Where Fitzgerald writes
Awake! for
Morning in the Bowl of Night
Has
flung the Stone that puts the Stars to Flight:
Graves
and Ali-Shah write
While Dawn, Day's herald straddling the whole sky,
Offers the drowsy world a toast “To Wine”,
Here
with a Loaf of Bread beneath the Bough,
A
Flask of Wine, a Book of Verse—and Thou
Graves
and Ali-Shah write
Should our day's portion be one mancel loaf,
A haunch of mutton and a gourd of wine
Set for us two alone on the wide plain,
Where
Fitzgerald writes
The
Moving Finger writes; and, having writ,
Moves
on: nor all thy Piety nor Wit
Shall lure
it back to cancel half a Line,
Graves
and Ali-Shah write
What we shall be is written, and we are so.
Heedless of God or Evil, pen, write on!
By the first day all futures were decided;