A Woman’s Place

Parvin E’tesami
Persian
1907 – 1941

 

A home without a woman lacks amity and affection.
When one’s heart is cold, the soul is dead.

Providence has nowhere decreed in book or discourse.
that excellence is man’s, defect woman’s share.

In creation’s edifice woman has always been the pillar.
Who can build a house without a foundation?

If woman hadn’t shone like the sun above life’s mountain.
love’s jeweler in vain would seek for gems in the mine.

Woman was an angel the moment she showed her face.
How ironic, then, that Satan slanders the angel!

Plato and Socrates were great because the mothers
who nurtured them were themselves great.

Loghman was succored by his mother in the cradle
long before attendance at school made him a philosopher.

Whether heroes or mystics, ascetics or jurists,
they all were first pupils in her school.

How can a child with no mother learn to love?
A kingdom with no ruler offers no safety and order.

Do you want to know the duties of man and woman?
The wife is the ship, the husband the sailor.

When the captain is wise and the ship solidly built.
why should there be fear of maelstroms and tempests?

If disaster strikes on this sea of troubles.
both can rely on each other’s diligence and effort.

Today’s girls are tomorrow’s mothers.
On the mothers rests the greatness of the sons.

The clothes of good men would be all tattered,
if good women’s hands didn’t mend their holes.

Wherein lie man’s strength and sustenance? In his wife’s support.
What are woman’s riches? Love of her children.

A good wife is more than the lady of the house.
She is its physician and nurse, guardian and protector.

In times of felicity she is comrade and tender friend.
In times of adversity she shares the trouble and is helpmate.

An understanding wife frowns not in times of paucity.
A gentle husband fouls not his mouth with ugly words.

If life becomes restive like an unruly horse,
husband and wife assist each other in drawing the reins.

That man or woman succeeds to greatness
who gathers in fruits from the garden of knowledge.

In the world of arts and science are proffered attractive goods.
Let’s trade in that market.

A woman who neglects to buy the gems of education and learning
has sold the jewel of her precious life too cheaply.

Alive are only those who wear a robe of excellence;
dead are those whose worth is measured by their nakedness.

Providence provides us with countless books of ideas.
We tear them all apart in search of a title or slogan.

When schools were wisely opened, we behaved foolishly.
When the arts flourished, we hid ourselves.

If the Devil’s booth of selfishness and langor
is torn down, we are all lost.

Our time is spent in things like finding out
how much this one’s dress cost, how much that one’s shoes.

For our bodies we buy fanciful ornaments.
For our souls we tailor only coats of contempt.

We undermine the foundation of our spiritual building with conceit.
but build up new shops everywhere for our body’s sake.

This attitude betrays corruption, nor dignity.
This conduct represents abjection, not glory.

We do not grow wild like weeds on plains and river banks.
We are not little birds content with some seeds.

If we stick to wearing our own homespun, what matter to us
Whether others’ brocade has gone up in price or down.

Worn out cloth of our own manufacture is comelier
Than the silk produced by foreigners.

Is there any robe more precious than that of knowledge?
What brocade is prettier than that of learning?

Any clew spun by the spindle of wisdom
in the workshop of ambition turns into linen and silk.

Not by wearing earrings, necklaces, and coral bracelets
can a woman count herself a great lady.

What are colorful gold brocades and glittering ornaments good for,
if the face lacks the beauty of excellence?

The hands and neck of a good woman, O Parvin,
deserve the jewels of learning, not of color.

My Friend Has Fled

We present this work in honor of Eid al-Adha.

Hafez
Persian
1326 – 1389

 

My friend has fled! alas, my friend has fled,
And left me nought but tears and pain behind!
Like smoke above a flame caught by the wind,
So rose she from my breast and forth she sped.
Drunk with desire, I seized Love’s cup divine,
But she that held it poured the bitter wine
Of Separation into it and fled.

The hunter she, and I the helpless prey;
Wounded and sick, round me her toils she drew,
My heart into a sea of sorrow threw,
Bound up her camel loads and fled away.
Fain had I laid an ambush for her soul,
She saw and vanished, and the timid foal,
Good Fortune, slipped the rein and would not stay.

My heart was all too narrow for my woe,
And tears of blood my weeping eyes have shed,
A crimson stream across the desert sped,
Rising from out my sad heart’s overflow.
She knew not what Love’s meanest slave can tell:
“‘Tis sweet to serve!” but threw me a Farewell,
Kissing my threshold, turned, and cried “I go!”

In the clear dawn, before the east was red,
Before the rose had torn her veil in two,
A nightingale through Hafez’ garden flew,
Stayed but to fill its song with tears, and fled.

Moonlight

Nima Yooshij
Persian
1895 – 1960

 

The moon beams
the glowworm glows
sleep is seldom ruined, but
worry over this heedless lot
ruins sleep in my tearful eyes.

Dawn stands worried at my side
morning urges me to announce
its arrival to the lot.
alas! a thorn inside,
stops me in my tracks.

A delicate rose stem
which I planted with my hands
and watered with my life
its thorns break inside me.

I fumble about to open a door
uselessly expecting someone to meet
a jumble of walls and doors
crumbles over my head.

The moon beams
the glow-worm glows
blisters marking a distant road

Standing before the village
a single man
knapsack on his back, hand on the knocker, murmurs
‘Worry over this lot
ruins sleep in my tearful eyes.’

Address

Sohrab Sepehri
Persian
1928 – 1980

 

“Where is the friend’s house?” asked the horseman just at dawn.
The Heavens paused.
A wayfarer took the bright branch from his lips,
conferred it on the darkness of the sands,
pointed with his finger to a poplar tree and said,
“Just before that tree
there is a garden path greener than God’s dreams.
In it there is love as wide as the blue wings of true friendship.
You go on to the end of the path that takes up again
just beyond maturity,
then turn toward the flower of loneliness.
Two steps before the flower,
stop at the eternal fountain of earthly myth.
There a transparent terror will seize you,
and in the sincerity of the streaming heavens
you will hear a rustling.
High up in a pine tree,
you will see a child
who will lift a chick out of a nest of light.
Ask him,
‘Where is the friend’s house?’”

Rostam and Akvam Div

Ferdowsi
Persian
935 – 1020

 

Kei Khosro sat in a garden bright
With all the beauties of balmy Spring:
And many a warrior armor-dight
With a stout kamand and an arm of might
Supported Persia’s King

With trembling mien and a pallid cheek,
A breathless hind to the presence ran;
And on bended knee, in posture meek,
With faltering tongue that scarce could speak
His story thus begun:

“Alackaday! for the news I bear
Will like to follies of Fancy sound:
Thy steeds were stabled and stalled with care,
When a Wild Ass sprang from its forest lair
With a swift resistless bound,”

“A monster fell, of a dusky hue,
And eyes that flashed with hellish glow;
Many it maimed and some it slew,
The back to the forest again it flew,
As an arrow leaves the bow.”

Kei Khosro’s rage was a sight to see:
“Now curses light on the foul fiend’s head!
Full rich and rare will his guerdon be
Whose stalwart arm will bring to me
Monster, alive or dead!”

But the mail-clad warriors kept their ground,
And their bronzed cheeks were blanched with fear;
With scorn Shah on the cowards frowned,-
“One champion bold may yet be found
While Rostam wields a spear!”

No tarrying made son of Zal,
Small reck had he of the fiercest fray;
But promptly came at the monarch’s call,
And swore that monster fiend would fall
Ere closed the coming day.

Swift Raksh’s sides he spurred,
And speedily gained the darksome wood;
Nor was trial for long deferred,-
But soon a hideous roar was heard,
Had chilled a baser blood.

Then darting out like a flashing flame,
Traverse his path the Wild Ass fled;
And the hero then with unerring aim
Hurled his stout kamand, but as erst it came,
Unscathed monster fled.

Then darting out like a flashing flame,
Traverse his path the Wild Ass fled;
And the hero then with unerring aim
Hurled his stout kamand, but as erst it came,
Unscathed monster fled.

“Now God in heaven!” bold Rostam cried,-
“Thy chosen champion deign to save!
Not all in vain will my steel be tried,
Though he who my powers has thus defied
By none but Akvan Div.”

Then steadily chasing his fiendish foe,
He thrust with hanger, he smote with brand:
But ever avoiding the deadly blow
It vanished away like the scenes that show
On Balkh’s delusive sand.

For full three wearisome nights and days
Stoutly he battled with warlike skill;
But Demon such magical shifts essays
That leaving his courser at large to graze,
He rests him on a hill.

But scare can slumber his eyelids close,
Ere Akvan Div from afar espies;
And never disturbing his foe’s repose
The earth from under the mound hr throws,
And off with the summits flies.

“Now, daring mortal!” Demon cried,-
“Whither wouldst have me catty thee?
Will I cast thee forth on mountain side,
Where lions roar and reptiles glide,
Or hurl thee into the sea?”

“O bear me off to the mountain side,
Where lions roar and serpents creep!
For I fear not the creatures that spring or glide;
But where is the arm that can stem the tide,
Or still the raging deep?”

Loud laughed the fiend as his load he threw
Far plunging into the roaring flood:
And louder laughed Rostam as out he flew,
For he fain had chosen the sea, but knew
The fiend’s malignant mood.

Soon all the monsters that float or swim,
With ravening jaws down on him bore:
But he hewed and hacked them limb from limb,
And the wave pellucid grew thick and dim
With streaks of crimson gore.

With thankful bosom he gains the strand,
And seeketh his courser near and far,
Till he hears him neigh, and he sees him stand
Among the herds of a Tatar band,
The steeds of Isfandiar.

But Rostam’s name was a sound of dread,
And the Tatar heard it has caused to quake;
The herd was there, but the hinds had fled,-
So all the horses he captive led
For good Kei Khosro’s sake.

Then loud again through the forest rings
The fiendish laugh and the taunting cry:
But his kamand quickly the hero flings,
And around Demon it coils and clings,
As a cobweb wraps a fly.

Kei Khosro sat in his garden fair,
Mourning his Champion lost and dead,
When a shout of victory rent the air,
And Rostam placed before his chair
A Demon Giant’s head.