On the most superficial level, Hafez’s ghazals deal with the worldly satisfaction of human appetites. He seems to have a keen eye for beautiful faces and an appreciation of the “flirtation” of the beloved, a word that he uses frequently (naaz, kereshmeh, and such). One can be quite satisfied with his worldly wine and beloveds -- even appreciate Hafez’s rarified sensuality. It seems to me that Hafez reached a tremendous individuation and discernment; that is, if we are to talk about the divine and the mystical, our starting point must be the physical. It is in the real flesh-and-blood lovers and consummation of love that we begin our initiation into the ranks of the elect.
Hafez argues that the transcendent can be only understood through the flesh because flesh gives spirit a house, and the understanding of the nature of the house is imperative for an understanding of the content, the spirit. Not for a moment do I think Hafez considers his debauchery a terrible state of mind. On the contrary, it is from there that one slowly approaches a window at the end of the room and very slowly looks through the opening to see the other side. Without this flesh and blood awareness, spiritual awareness is at best difficult, at worst, misunderstood.
On the first level of writing, Hafez provides the reader a table of delights to be consumed, experienced, and enjoyed, but one cannot remain in this place of delight for long. One must move on for better understanding of the world on the other side of the window. Therefore, the second level of expression is a painting of the transcendent. Ordinary wine becomes an element of God, beloved is the divine Person, and “Peereh Moghan” or “Tavern Keeper,” a manifestation of the divine. Without the literal tavern, understanding the metaphorical tavern is impossible. No wonder, Hafez has been considered both a “lout,” ready to corrupt the minds of men and “a spiritual,” who is conversant with the divine through his art, conflicting stances! He is both, of course, and unless we see the whole of the poet, we will only have access to a part of his mind.
Fortunately, there are English poets who have a similar mind set. Keats considers this metaphor of window in his idea of “negative capability,” and Wordsworth talks about the attainment of the mystical through exposure of the body to the physical (nature). In this sense, then, my task as a translator becomes easier than I had anticipated. Not that I have substituted English metaphors for the metaphors of Hafez, but my awareness of English poetry makes it easier to deal with the task of translation with foreknowledge.
Persian poetry enjoys such a variety of form and structure that discussing the style of even one poet will require an extended exploration. Since this book is a translation of the ghazals of Hafez, a few words should suffice here.
Structurally, as in Anglo-Saxon poetry (e.g. Beowulf), all traditional Persian poetic lines are divided into two half-lines with a caesura in the middle. I suggest that most Persian poetry, as the traditional poetry of any other culture, was composed not so much to be recited as sung -- even without accompanying musical instruments -- either as chanting or straight singing. The caesura technically affords a singer to catch his breath -- certainly most singers were men -- in the middle of the line and then continue to the second half; Persian music is commonly in minor key and uses quarter-tone notes and trill, the rapid alternation of two tones either a whole or a half tone apart in the voice, requiring a great amount of exhaling breath.
Some scholars use the term sonnet -- from sonata, meaning a song -- to refer to ghazal. Ghazals are certainly sonata, but this is not exactly an accurate naming because sonnet has a definite form of fourteen lines, both in the Pertrarchan and Shakespearean forms. An English sonnet is divided into three quatrains and an ending couplet; a Petrarchan sonnet is composed of two sections, the first with eight lines and the second with six. They both require definite rhyming schemes, which are consistent and syllabic.
However, Hafez composes his ghazals in a varying number of lines and often uses whole words -- one could consider them as word refrains -- for his rhyming, which come at the end of all second half-lines and the two halves of the first line, a good reason for the editors of Hafez in Persian to arrange his poetry alphabetically and according to these end-words.
The narrative voice in both English and Latin sonnets remains somewhat constant, which allows the poet to propose a theme in the first section of a sonnet and then go to a conclusion in the second part. Hafez has a clever twist to his ghazals. He commonly uses at least two voices, one in the main body of the ghazal, with varying conversational or descriptive tones, the voice remaining constant, as if an observer is making comments and is not necessarily involved with the content of the poem.
Yet, when the final couplet is reached, often the voice changes, and it is Hafez’s turn to make a comment openly or be addressed by another mysterious voice, which could be the voice of his inner self, consciousness, or reason. I assume this device allows Hafez to say more than he is willing to say, at the same time escaping even a harsher censor from his critics. After all, when his voice is heard, it is all reason and circumspection. In the 202 ghazals that I have translated, rarely does Hafez leave himself open to criticism in the final couplet. If anything, he is self deprecatory and evasive
.
Hafez argues that the transcendent can be only understood through the flesh because flesh gives spirit a house, and the understanding of the nature of the house is imperative for an understanding of the content, the spirit. Not for a moment do I think Hafez considers his debauchery a terrible state of mind. On the contrary, it is from there that one slowly approaches a window at the end of the room and very slowly looks through the opening to see the other side. Without this flesh and blood awareness, spiritual awareness is at best difficult, at worst, misunderstood.
On the first level of writing, Hafez provides the reader a table of delights to be consumed, experienced, and enjoyed, but one cannot remain in this place of delight for long. One must move on for better understanding of the world on the other side of the window. Therefore, the second level of expression is a painting of the transcendent. Ordinary wine becomes an element of God, beloved is the divine Person, and “Peereh Moghan” or “Tavern Keeper,” a manifestation of the divine. Without the literal tavern, understanding the metaphorical tavern is impossible. No wonder, Hafez has been considered both a “lout,” ready to corrupt the minds of men and “a spiritual,” who is conversant with the divine through his art, conflicting stances! He is both, of course, and unless we see the whole of the poet, we will only have access to a part of his mind.
Fortunately, there are English poets who have a similar mind set. Keats considers this metaphor of window in his idea of “negative capability,” and Wordsworth talks about the attainment of the mystical through exposure of the body to the physical (nature). In this sense, then, my task as a translator becomes easier than I had anticipated. Not that I have substituted English metaphors for the metaphors of Hafez, but my awareness of English poetry makes it easier to deal with the task of translation with foreknowledge.
Persian poetry enjoys such a variety of form and structure that discussing the style of even one poet will require an extended exploration. Since this book is a translation of the ghazals of Hafez, a few words should suffice here.
Structurally, as in Anglo-Saxon poetry (e.g. Beowulf), all traditional Persian poetic lines are divided into two half-lines with a caesura in the middle. I suggest that most Persian poetry, as the traditional poetry of any other culture, was composed not so much to be recited as sung -- even without accompanying musical instruments -- either as chanting or straight singing. The caesura technically affords a singer to catch his breath -- certainly most singers were men -- in the middle of the line and then continue to the second half; Persian music is commonly in minor key and uses quarter-tone notes and trill, the rapid alternation of two tones either a whole or a half tone apart in the voice, requiring a great amount of exhaling breath.
Some scholars use the term sonnet -- from sonata, meaning a song -- to refer to ghazal. Ghazals are certainly sonata, but this is not exactly an accurate naming because sonnet has a definite form of fourteen lines, both in the Pertrarchan and Shakespearean forms. An English sonnet is divided into three quatrains and an ending couplet; a Petrarchan sonnet is composed of two sections, the first with eight lines and the second with six. They both require definite rhyming schemes, which are consistent and syllabic.
However, Hafez composes his ghazals in a varying number of lines and often uses whole words -- one could consider them as word refrains -- for his rhyming, which come at the end of all second half-lines and the two halves of the first line, a good reason for the editors of Hafez in Persian to arrange his poetry alphabetically and according to these end-words.
The narrative voice in both English and Latin sonnets remains somewhat constant, which allows the poet to propose a theme in the first section of a sonnet and then go to a conclusion in the second part. Hafez has a clever twist to his ghazals. He commonly uses at least two voices, one in the main body of the ghazal, with varying conversational or descriptive tones, the voice remaining constant, as if an observer is making comments and is not necessarily involved with the content of the poem.
Yet, when the final couplet is reached, often the voice changes, and it is Hafez’s turn to make a comment openly or be addressed by another mysterious voice, which could be the voice of his inner self, consciousness, or reason. I assume this device allows Hafez to say more than he is willing to say, at the same time escaping even a harsher censor from his critics. After all, when his voice is heard, it is all reason and circumspection. In the 202 ghazals that I have translated, rarely does Hafez leave himself open to criticism in the final couplet. If anything, he is self deprecatory and evasive
.
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