thank you Frank and Douglas for your appreciation of Hafiz.
I just turned my room upside down looking for my Hafiz, but couldn't find it. once
i've found it, i'll dig out some lines and translate them for yous. to my knowledge,
Paul Smith has provided the most thorough English versions of the ghasels and
masnavis(New Humanity Books, Melbourne)even though they lean more towards imitations
ala Lowell than literal translations. one good Hafiz site is:
http://www.hafizonlove.com/
although Hafiz is the most popular poet amongst sufis, Rumi is generally held in
higher steam. i've had many arguments with my mum on this one. Hafiz's down to earth
lyrics, his use of real-life symbolism - the taverns, barmaids (wine-bringers),
names of real locations and references to history - speak directly to my senses
where as Rumi seems a bit too smart and refined for his own good; however, the older
i get, the more i see in Rumi. both poets are, nevertheless, passionate advocates of
universal bonding and eternal compassion; and love that transcends and evolves.
whilst sufisim has been seen as an offshoot of islam, in practice it has been
excluded from the mosques and all the official religious teachings. Hafiz was,
indeed, a drinker and, so the story goes, more interested in women - such as the
beautiful Shakh-eh Nabat (Branch of Sugar) and, later, his wife - than the
established islamic orders. what saved his arse was his huge popularity and his
incredible celebrity status. after his death, the islamic rulers of Shiraz denied
him a burial in the city since Hafiz had made a lousy muslim, and had abandoned
theology when younger - possibly because of the fear of being persecuted by the
orthodox muslisms who disagreed with his mysticism. Mystics are a danger to
religions, or so I read somewhere in the context of Joan of Arc's burning. either
way, people of Shiraz, who saw Hafiz as their voice, took to the streets until the
authorities gave up and the poet was buried in his favourite garden at the heart of
the city.
my grandma, a true dervish unlike pretenders like me or my mum, used to recite us
Hafiz when we were hiding in the bomb-shelters during the Iraqi bombings of Tehran.
perhaps, and I hope, his words can provide for the horrified Americans what they
granted us back then; the gift and the cup, beyond the vaults of hatred and (I fear)
impending war and genocide.
goodnight.
Ali
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