The Mirror of My Heart: A Thousand Years of Persian Poetry by Women - Softcover

Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

Dick Davis is an English-American poet and translator. Before the Islamic Revolution, Davis lived in Iran and taught English at the University of Tehran. Davis is now a Fellow of the Royal Society of Literature, and is considered to be one of the world's foremost translators of Persian literature.

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Rabe'eh

Tenth century

Rabe'eh's family claimed descent from Arabs who had entered Iran during or after the seventh-century conquest of the country. By the time Rabe'eh was born, her father had become ruler of Balkh in what is now northern Afghanistan. Almost no information about her life has come down to us, although the lurid story of her demise is well known: after her father died she is said to have carried on a secret love-affair with a slave or servant at what was now the court of her brother, Hareth. The liaison was discovered, and Hareth cut her throat and left her in a bath-house where she bled to death; her lover then killed Hareth and committed suicide.

*

The garden shows so many flowers, as though

Mani had painted their resplendent glow

Dawn's breezes never bore Tibetan musk,

How is the world so musky when they blow?

Are Majnun's eyes within the clouds, that they

Shed Layli's cheeks' hue on each rose below?

Like wine within an agate glass, his tears

Have filled each tulip with their crimson glow

Raise up the wine bowl, raise it generously

Since bad luck dogs deniers who say "No"

Narcissi glow with silver and with gold

It's Kasra's crown their shining petals show

Like nuns in purple cowls the violets bloom

Do they turn into Christians as they grow?

*

My hope's that God will make you fall in love

With someone cold and callous just like you

And that you'll realize my true value when

You're twisting in the torments I've been through.

*

His love has caught me once again-

I've struggled fiercely, but in vain.

(Well, sobersides, explain to me

Just who can swim love's shoreless sea!

To reach love's goal you must accept

All you instinctively reject-

See ugliness as beauty, eat

Foul poison up and call it sweet.)

I jerked my head to work it loose,

Not knowing all this would produce

Was further tightenings of the noose.

*

I'm drunk with love to know my love is here tonight

And that I'm freed from sorrow and from fear tonight;

I sit beside my love, and earnestly I say,

"God, make the key to morning disappear tonight!"

Mahsati

c.1089-1159

Mahsati was said to be from Ganjeh, in what is now independent Azerbaijan, and to have sought employment as a scribe at the court of the Seljuk king Sanjar, who ruled from 1118 to 1157. She became known as the writer of a considerable number of short poems, and it is likely that many otherwise anonymous poems from the medieval period that seemed to be by women became attributed to her.

*

As wounded, and caught in your snare-there's no one like me

As driven by you to despair-there's no one like me

So many, so eagerly, vie for your love . . .

As steadfastly faithful I swear-there's no one like me.

*

If you're a hypocrite, and bow your face in prayer-what use is that?

Once poison's reached into your soul, remedial care-what use is that?

Showing yourself to everyone as though you're virtuous and moral,

If you're all filth within, the spotless cloak you wear-what use is that?

*

Love makes a lion cower in its lair-

It is a sea of wonders, strange and rare;

At times its kindly ways delight our souls

At times the smell of blood is in the air.

*

O son of Ganjeh's preacher, my advice to you

Is: "Take the wine glass in your hand, give joy its due . . ."

Your piety and heresy don't interest God-

Seek pleasure in this world now, while you're able to.

*

Come, I've prepared a private room where we can meet,

With precious cloths laid there, to make a snug retreat;

I've grilled kebabs and wine I want to share with you-

The wine is from my eyes, my anguished heart's the meat.

*

I wish I were a shining thumb-ring,

                        Such as our archers wear!

Each time he came to shoot an arrow

                        He'd lean to me with care,

And as the bow-string reached his teeth,

                        I'd steal such kisses there!

*

You think you'd like to sleep with me?

That's an impossibility!

No dream of yours could bring about

This idiotic fantasy;

What makes you think you might? Even

The winds of heaven can't get to me.

*

Great king, the heavens have saddled Glory for you-

More than all other monarchs, they adore you!

To keep your horse's golden horseshoes spotless

They've spread a silver carpet out before you.

*

I said, "Quick, bring some wine." He said, "Look here,

It's Friday's eve; shouldn't you sleep, my dear?"

I said, "Each week there'll be another Friday-

The roses bloom for us but once a year . . ."

*

Those nights when I so sweetly slept with you-they've gone.

Those pearl-like tears my lashes wept with you-they've gone.

You were my heart's peace and my soul's dear friend-you went,

And all the promises I kept with you-they've gone.

*

I knew your promises were feeble-hearted,

I knew you'd break them, long before we parted;

And all the nasty things you did at last-

My friend, I had foreseen them when we started.

*

We're drunkards, ne'er-do-wells, but kind and civil-

We're not the men for prayers and all that drivel.

Our judge thinks wine's a sin; we're petty thieves,

He filches orphans' wealth . . . so who's more evil?

*

The judge's wife was pregnant, he was furious,

"I'm old," he cried, "and this is more than curious!

That whore's no Virgin Mary, and my prick can't stir-

So whose child is it then that's grown so big in her?"

*

I'm drunk, and drunkards are the crowd I follow-

Ascetics' claims I find absurd and hollow;

I love that moment when the server says,

"One more . . .?" and one...