Posts from Eastern Poetry

I am interested in knowing if anyone on the forum reads Eastern poetry (by "Eastern" I mean the poetry of the Arab East). If so, what kind? If not, why not. Personally, I enjoy the rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam. Here are some of them:

The moments fly, and spring is quickly gone;
So spend them well, with song and flowing wine.
For in this world of ours, there is no greater good than life,
And how you spend it is how it will pass you by.

I have made knowledge my craft,
I am familiar with the highest truth and the lowest evil.
I have untangled all the tight knots in the world,
Except for death, which is tied with a dead knot.

"Drinking wine is a sin." Think about it, don't rush!
You yourself are clearly not sinning against life.
To send someone to hell because of wine and women?
Then there probably isn't a soul in paradise.

Nobility is born of suffering, my friend,
Is it given to every drop to become a pearl?
You can lose everything, but save your soul,
The cup will be filled again, if there is wine.
Translation by G. Plisetsky.

Omar Khayyam is unparalleled. I enjoy reading his works, but I haven't bothered to explore other authors from the East, so I can only judge based on him.

To judge the poetry of the East, one should read only Hafez, Rudaki, and Khayyam. Rudaki is the "founding father" of Persian poetry; he was the one who introduced rubaiyat, ghazals, and qasidas. Omar Khayyam wrote only rubaiyat, while Hafez was a master of the ghazal.

Here are the verses of Rudaki: Be cheerful with your dark-haired beloved, For the world is like a fleeting dream. Greet the future with joy, Do not grieve for the past. I and my gentle friend, We live for happiness. How happy is he who gives and receives, Equally unhappy is the indifferent miser. This world, alas, is but an illusion and smoke, So let it be, enjoy the wine! Yes, it is true: our world is not fair to the wise. Do not expect good from the world, but be diligent. Give and receive, for he is happy Who gives and receives, accumulating wealth. Every day you catch the sweet sounds of songs, But you do not want to hear the groans of the oppressed. Added 18 minutes ago And here are the ghazals of Hafiz: Song, be ready to burst forth – again and again, and again! Drink from the cup – in it lies the foundation of dreams – again and again, and again! Friend, sit in sweet conversation with your idol, Await the call for kisses – again and again, and again! Shall we not enjoy life if we do not bow over the cup? Drink with the one with dark eyebrows – again and again, and again! You will find no protection from your eyes, eyebrows, and cheeks – You are a new delight to my eyes – again and again, and again! Wind! You, in your airy robe, rushing to your beloved, O Hafiz, Cast words after words – again and again, and again! I will give Samarkand to the Turk from Shiraz, and if necessary – Bukhara! And in return, I crave a glance and a look. Give wine! To the bottom! O cupbearer! For in paradise there will be no Musalla of luxurious gardens and the streams of Roknabad*. Patience has fled from our hearts – so with prey, the Turks rush – A swarm of whims, with which there is no more sweetness for the Shirazian. In our pitiful admiration, there is no need for your beauty. Will beauty be adorned by moles, paints, or lipstick? The beauty of Yusuf, I know, ignited desires in Zuleikha, And she tore down the veil of modesty. I am comforted by bitter speech – may the Creator forgive you – For in the mouth of the sweet-tongued, unsweet speech is a delight. Listen, my life, to advice: for happy young men Speeches about the path of life are instruction, not annoyance. Speak of wine, of dance – do not touch the secret of eternity: The wise cannot comprehend this dark riddle. Stringing the pearls of the ghazal, read it – and the sky Will light up for you, Hafiz, with the constellation of midnight stars. * - Musalla - the name of the suburban gardens of Shiraz * - Roknabad - the name of a river One legend is associated with the last ghazal. When Tamerlane began his campaigns, Hafiz wrote this poem. Having captured the poet's hometown of Shiraz, Tamerlane ordered him to be brought and angrily said: "I have conquered half the world, I have taken many cities to glorify Samarkand and Bukhara, and you, a mere commoner, dare to give them away for some Turk?" "Lord, through my extravagance, you see how much I have come to poverty?" Hafiz replied humorously. The conqueror laughed and could not be angry with the poet. In reality, this could not have happened, since Hafiz died 4 years before Timur's campaign.

Actually, it's quite interesting... but still, Khayyam is a master! No poet from the East or West has ever surpassed him...