Darvish Khan Writes

come sufi, and we will rip off the cloak of hypocrisy,
and draw a line defacing this portrait of fraud.

we will pledge the alms and offerings of the monastery-
we will wash the cloak of deceit with wine-house water.

the secret of fate concealed by the invisible curtain-
intoxicated, we will draw the veil from its cheek.

we will jump out, tipsy with joy at the sufi’s banquet,
and plunder all, taking wine and beauty to our side!

we will enjoy ourselves, or, if not, die from regret
on the day we take the soul’s affairs to another world.

where the glance from his arched brow like the new moon,
for us to play the ball of time with the chaugan of gold?

if, tomorrow, the garden of paradise is not granted to us,
servants and houris from heaven will be dragged to the door.

hafez, it is not within our right to boast like this-
why shove the foot out from under one’s own blanket?

notes: chaugan= a hockey like playing stick, but which
carries the ball in its curved (crescent like) end. gold=
presumably refers to the golden hue of the crescent moon.
houris= astral girlfriend promised to the good (male)
muslim in the afterlife. last line= proverb

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my service in the wine-house began a long time ago,
in the robe of poverty working for those of great fortune.

i lie in ambush for the opportune moment to snare
the pheasant of graceful walk with the net of union.

our preacher doesn’t have a scent of the truth- listen, i speak
my words also in his presence, not behind his back.

like the rising and falling breeze, i run to the friend’s street,
asking for help from fellow travelers for spiritual support.

the dust from your street won’t endure pain such as this,
you have shown kindness, o idol- i will restrain my protests.

her curls are a snare in the path, and her glance calamity.
remember, o heart, all the advice i have given you!

veil the eye of cavil, o noble concealer of faults,
from these brave thoughts in the corner of my solitude.

i am the hafez to the pious, and the drinker of dregs also.
see the humor of how skillfully i play with people!

notes: hafez= one who has memorized the qoran.

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Last night, I vowed to drive passion for her face from my mind.
She said; “where are the chains for me to manage this Majnun?”

I likened her stature to the cypress- she drew back in anger.
Friends, the beloved took the truth badly- what am i to do?

I made a crude remark to the heart ravisher, full of pardon-
“Dally with me, and refine my genius into measured verse”.

My face pales from that subtle nature without fault.
O Saqi, bring the cup that colors the cheek with rose!

O breeze from the camp of Salma, for god’s sake for how long
Do i cry over all the pieces of her scattered life?

I, who has found the treasure of the friend’s infinite beauty,
Will make a hundred beggars like myself rich as Qarun.

O Moon of the sovereign Prophet, remember the slave Hafez,
That I pray for the dominion of that beauty waxing daily.

notes: Majnun= legendary lover of pre islamic Arabia,
whose name means “jinxed by a jinn”. Salma= figure
from pre islamic poetry in a genre in which the absent
beloved is remembered by recalling their trysting places.
qarun= a pre islamic figure of great wealth. chains=
“chains of curls”- the alluring and captivating charms of
the beloved.

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A thousand times, I have tried to make you my friend
For you to fulfill the desire of my restless heart.

You have become a light for my eyes keeping vigil,
And become the companion of my hopeful heart.

Since Khosrow of such excellence favored his slaves,
May you like him be for me my great good king!

Those carnelian lips which have bloodied me with kisses-
If I make a complaint, may they be my secret’s keeper.

In that garden where idols walk hand in hand with lovers,
Should your hand appear, may I find you my beloved!

A leaping ray of the Sun would be small prey for me,
If a bright gazelle like you were at last my quarry.

The three kisses from your two lips which are my due,
If not given, will place you singularly in my debt.

I consider this one desire for myself; that at midnight
Instead of flowing tears, I hold you in tight embrace!

I am the hafez of my city, but not worth a damn-
Unless you out of your kindness become my lover!

notes: Khosrow= legendary pre islamic king.
hafez= one who has memorized the Qoran.

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Come, because the Turk of heaven has plundered the feast’s table,
And the festival of the crescent points to the time of cup-sharing.

That one wins the reward for fasting and proper pilgrimage,
Who pays holy regard to the dust at the wine-house of love.

Our real home is our corner at the wine-house of ruin;
May god bless him with riches who makes this his palace!

He offers prayers in the arch of the mehrab-like eyebrows,
Who has ritually cleansed himself with the liver’s blood.

What is the price of that ruby-like wine? The jewel of reason.
Come, because only profit is made in a bargain like this!

Alas! that the drunken eye of the city’s sheikh today,
Looked at “those who drink the dregs” with such contempt.

Hear the story of love from Hafez, not from the preacher,
However exceedingly skillful his rhetoric may be.

notes: Turk= a reference to the planet mars, whose
marauding nature typifies the gluttony following
prescribed fasts. The new moon indicates the end of the fast.
mehrab= niche indicating orientation of the daily prayers.
liver= the persian word jegar means liver and heart,
and is the “seat” of courage.

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Saqi, bring the tulip-cup now that it is filled with wine;
why this incoherence, and how long this nonsense?

Leave all pomp and pride behind, because time has seen
Caesar’s robe rot away and King Kay lose his crown.

Be aware, the bird of the meadow is drunk with song;
wake up, the sleep of oblivion is right behind you!

Beautiful and slender you sway, new branch of spring;
may you not be ravaged by the terror of winter’s wind!

Do not rely on the kind wheel of time and its play;
pity on that one who has felt safe from its deceit!

Tomorrow, the wine of heaven and houri are ours;
but today, we have the Saqi’s bright face and glass!

The dawn breeze brings memories from the time of youth;
grant o youth, the soul’s remedy that relieves sorrow!

Do not regard the pomp and rule of the rose, because
the wind has torn and left under foot all its petals.

Bring, in the name of Hatim of Tay a flagon of wine,
that we can close the book on the black names of misers.

From the wine that confers slender beauty to the arqavan,
the grace of its nature rolls like sweat down its cheek.

Carry the throne to the garden, because like the service of slaves
the cypress is standing, and the reed pen prepared to write.

Hafez, news of the wonderful charm of your magic has reached
the borders of China and Egypt, and the regions of Rum and Ray.

notes: Saqi= wine bearer. grant o youth…= the idealized saqi
in court poetry is a beardless youth. houri= buxom astral girlfriend.
Hatim…= good and generous bloke. arqavan= a reddish resinous tree.
Rum= Byzantium. Ray= area of Iran.

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remember- that when my house was on your street,
the eye was made bright by the dust at your door.

true like the lily and rose, the result of pure company,
everything that was in your heart, was on my tongue.

while the heart was receiving truths from the wise elder,
love was explaining what for the heart was so difficult:

“in my heart, i never wish to be without the friend.
what can be done, when all my striving is useless?”

last night i went to the tavern remembering cronies.
the wine made my heart pound, then my head hit mud.

much have i wandered and asked about separations’s pain-
the mofti buried his head in this matter, but couldn’t find it!

to be sure, the royal turquoise ring of abu ishaq
flashed brillantly, but his reign ended quickly.

hafez, did you see the clucking and strutting partridge
who was so careless of the eagle’s claw of fate?

notes: mofti= cleric with judicial authority. abu ishaq= hafez’s
patron who dallied until captured and executed.

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idol, how am i to manage the pain of love for you,
and for how long do i cry in grief through the night?

the heart goes berserk when it is so rebuked-
unless all of your curls secure me with chains.

by your head of curls, my total distraction is such
where is the skill to explain each one, all at once?

all that i have suffered in separation from you,
is ridiculous to recount in this single ghazal.

when it is time to desire sight of the beloved,
i paint my mind with the image of your beautiful face.

if i knew that in this way union would be granted,
i would bet my heart and faith, and win so much more.

keep your good distance preacher, and stop blathering-
i’m not the one to listen to dressed-up lies- again!

there is no hope of honor from corruption, hafez
and when fate is such, how can i re-arrange it?

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