|
Ghazal 532
Each Note
Advice doesn't help lovers!
They're not the kind of mountain stream
you can build a dam across.
An intellectual doesn't know
what the drunk is feeling!
Don't try to figure
what those lost inside love
will do next!
Someone in charge would give up all his power,
if he caught one whiff of the wine musk
from the room where the lovers
are doing who-knows-what!
One of them tries to dig a hole through a mountain.
One flees from academic honors.
One laughs at famous mustaches!
Life freezes if it doesn't get a taste
of this almond cake.
The stars come up spinning
every night, bewildered in love.
They'd grow tired
with that revolving, if they weren't.
They'd say,
"How long do we have to do this!"
God picks up the reed-flute world and blows.
Each note is a need coming through one of us,
a passion, a longing-pain.
Remember the lips
where the wind-breath originated,
and let your note be clear.
Don't try to end it.
Be your note.
I'll show you how it's enough.
Go up on the roof at night
in this city of the soul.
Let everyone climb on their roofs
and sing their notes!
Sing loud!
The Essential Rumi
Version by Coleman Barks with John Moyne
HarperSanFrancisco, 1995
The advice of anyone is never useful for lovers; this (love) is not
like a
flood which somebody might restrain.
An intellectual can never know the savor (in) the head of the (mystic)
"drunkard," (and) a sensible person can never know the "senseless" state
of (such a) heart.
If kings smell those wines which lovers drink during the meetings of
hearts,
they would become fed-up with kingship.
For the sake of (his beloved) Sheereen, (King) Khosraw says farewell to
his
kingdom, (and) Farhâd pounds a mountain with a pick-ax* for
her sake as
well.
From love of (his beloved) Laylà, Majnûn flees the
circle of intellectuals,
(and the lover) Wâmiq has laughed at the foolish pride of
every arrogant
one.
That life (is) frozen which has passed without that sweet spirit (of
love).
(And) that (delicious) kernel is putrid which is unaware of this special
cheese.
If the sky were not a lover and bewildered like us, it would become
weary of
its whirling and say, "It's enough for me! How (much) longer?"
The world (is) like a reed-pipe, and He blows into every hole of it;
every
wail it has (is) certainly from those two lips like sugar.
See how He blows into every (piece of) clay (and) into every heart; He
gives
a need and He gives a love which raises up a lament about misfortune.
If you uproot the heart from God, tell (me) whom will you place it with?
Anyone who is able to tear (his) heart from Him for a moment is without
a
soul!
I'm stopping. Be nimble and go up on top of the roof at night. Make a
happy
uproar in the city, O soul, with a loud voice!
Translation by Ibrahim Gamard, 10/24/98
*The legendary Farhâd dug through a mountain to reach his
beloved
|
