Archive for the ‘FUZULI’ Category

Füzuli – Məni candan usandırdı, cəfadan yar usanmazmı? qəzəli

My love has tired me of my life – will she not tire of cruelty?
My sigh has set the spheres on fire-will not the candle of my passion burn?
On those faint and fail for her, my love bestows a healing drug
Why does she give none to me; does she not think that I am sick?
I hid my pain from her. They said tell it to your love.
And if I tell that faithless one-I do not know, will she believe, or will she not?

Tərcümə edən : Bernard Ayus

Məni candan usandırdı, cəfadan yar usanmazmı?
Fələklər yandı ahımdan, muradım şəmi yanmazmı?
Qamu bimarinə canan dəvayi-dərd edər ehsan,
Neçün qılmaz mənə dərman, məni bimar sanmazmı?
Qəmim pünhan tutardım mən, dedilər yarə qıl rövşən,
Desəm ol bivəfa, bilmən, inanarmı, inanmazmı?

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CII
Herein is set forth the Explanation of the Writing of the Book, and the
Date when the Door that led to this Result was first opened.

O travelling pen, split reed, now wom to naught,
O fellow traveller not vainly sought,
With growing effort, keeping still thy pace,
Thou reachest now thy final resting place.
God’s sweet compassion on thee in thy need,
For all thy proffered help was help indeed,
And now the ancient building lives again,
And prospers, sadly born of grievous pain.
With silvered tears the outer walls are built.
The inner spread with ambergris and gilt.
The treasured jewels of sweet affliction rest
Within its fast secured chest.
Each window opens as a channel clear
Through which the blood is cooled in passing near.
A garden sweet is now in beauty made
Within its bosom thousand tulips laid,
While of the thousand, each one fiercely bums
As still the heart’s consuming blood fast turns
To sweet abundant streams that succour bring
While all the lovely eyelashes may sing
In cloudy unison, bestowing tears
To see how Death all earthly sorrow clears.
That day that saw the end of my desire,
That tempted me thus feebly to aspire
To join with Leyla Mejnun’s mighty name
In magic verses, that the world might claim
A masterpiece of love made manifest
In showing still these lovers, nobly blessed,
Saw love at last, as constant as the sun,
In life though parted, dead they ruled as ONE.

CI
Herein is set forth the Poet’s Answer to the Criticism of Fortune.

O Parrot, in a plot of idle words
Still chattering, a feeble critic still,
Of sad Fuzuli’s sadly written words,
Be not deceived if yet the changing skies
Should slander thee and name thee liar foul.
Spend not thy substance calling poems bad,
Nor yet fatigue thy critic soul in vain.
The merchandise that makes the poet’s store
Is never easy found, for words are jewels
Close guarded in the heart’s dear treasury.
That still to all the herd is closely locked.
The door once opened, personality
With all its attributes made manifest
The poet only knows. The soul remains
For those who have the wisdom to observe
A lonely word, and only foolishness
Can deem the soul may show a difference.
And thus, invoking God’s so dreaded Name.
Fuzuli asks what evil may .be found
In words that make the dead to live anew.
Or where the sin that makes the world rejoice
In telling o’er the sad unhappy tale
Of Leyla fair and Mejnun nobly mad?

C
Herein is set forth the Epilogue to the History of Leyla and Mejnun.

O saki, see my sad position changed,
Bereft indeed of strength to utter words.
Henceforth thy cup withhold. No more thy wine
In sweet libation pour, for I am drunk
With joy and sorrow. Let thy mercy sweet
Incline, for all my days in slumber wrapped
I lately passed, not knowing how ’twill end.
The capital of all my life is spent;
My hand is empty; none of profit stays
Of all the dealings of my lengthy life.
See, Saki, how this cruelty endures
And makes this alteration in my state,
‘ But causing yesterday a weary flood
Of glist’ning pearls to flow from out my eyes,
I railed at Fortune, told her she was cruel
No moment was I free from grief and woe.
Thy turning wheel revolves against thy friends,
And tortures all perfection found in man.
Had Mejnun nurtured been in ignorance
Thy hair had all grown grey obeying him:
His foreman then, thy instantly expressed
Approval, would have gained: but Mad Mejnun,
For reason he was born a man of skill,
And prudence knew, possessing insight clear,
Was sadly lowered from the rank of those
His equals, sinking still, with honour gone,
And all esteem departed in disgrace.
Had Leyla been, indeed a shameless one,
Or loveless and disloyal as thyself,
Thy time had not been spent in torture cruel,
Thy wheel had spun more closely thy desire.
But since the maid, all virtuous, virtue loved,
And understanding in perfection claimed,
Thou mad’st her life a wretched misery
By ever holding out the hand of grief,
And breeding deep bewilderment and pain.
And if, O Tyrant, I were man of lies
Thy helping hand would not in darkness lie,
A happy end I yet might find in thee.
Thy wheel would quickly turn and bring me rest.
But since I claim a decent dignity,
And hold roe fast to honour, thou, in hate
Thy pleasure take’st, bestowing misery
And sorrow every weary lagging hour.
Thus, knowing naught of honour, claiming none.
Thy wheel still turning passes slowly on
Unchecked.
Now Fortune my reproof had heard,
And thus made answer:
‘Thou of little mind,
Who talkest, still unheedful of the truth
That deeply lies where few can drag it forth,
Unskilled thou art, not knowing every point
Of wisdom; still in sweet accord I turn,
And tell thee this so-called blind cruelty
Is loyalty and deep philosophy.
The fault is thine: thy actions all are wrong.
The teacher of the spirit of thy sect
Is merely air: in poetry thy boast
Still, wearing falsehood wicked as a badge.
That sweet perfection, called by thee Mejnun,
Through thee found knowledge and ability;
‘Twas thou that called him mad, and madman named;
His cruelty and torment came of thee.
While Leyla, Moon of all Perfection named
I hid behind the curtain’s heavy veil,
Her, madest thou, ‘fore people a disgrace,
The butt of all a thousand slanders foul.
Then, too, ’twas thou that charged a cruelty
To Nevfel brave, then, changing thy attack,
Staunch Ibni Salam to thy venomed words
Accused of tyranny, was basely dead.
Thou therefore stand ashamed, absurd thy plaint,
For where is Ibni Salam, where Nevfel?
A story in thy verses thou would’st tell,
Thus finding just excuse for idle speech,
And now, with idle words exhausted, speed
With all the living dead and calumnied,
The dead themselves thy victims now are made
And thus the grave no more protection yields.
The time is near when all the public mind
Of this thy crime will stand it firm convinced,
And accusation sternly will be made.
Think carefully and find an answer clear
For this thy spirit’s torture growing near.

XCIX
Herein is related the Dream of Zayd concerning Leyla and Mejnun.

Now dose to the tomb of the martyrs dwelt Zayd
Where signs of his loyalty grew on each side.
Full many a gift did he make to that tomb
New building erecting while yet there was room
While ever the warmth of his heart did incline
To harbour the candle that brightly it shine.
When slowly infiltering, sand of the plain
Had sullied the tomb, then his tears, fell as rain
And eyelashes proudly became as a broom
And swept up the garbage and tidied the room.
Each instant he mourned with his tears ever fresh
Time passed and the faithful companion distressed
In body now frail as in spirit oppressed
Against the fair tomb for a moment released
Relaxed into slumber with forehead uncreased.
And sleeping he saw through the eye of a dream
Within a glad garden two beauties supreme,
Their faces he saw with all pleasure aglow,
No fear, grief or trouble did either face show.
Each countenance spoke of all joy and delight
No stranger a-gossiping saddened the sight.
A thousand sweet angels attended each moon
As faithful loyal servants. Now Zayd in a swoon
All drowned with his slumber said:
‘Say who are these
Bright Moons? Are they princes? Recount their degrees.
What Garden of Paradise this here I lie?
What people are these that with happiness cry?’

The answer he had, showed the garden of joy
As the sweet field of paradise lovers enjoy,
While mid all the huris and beautiful boys
Sweet Leyla and Mejnun did gladly rejoice.
This valley of peace the dear lovers enjoyed
And loved with a pleasure that time never cloyed.
The Garden of Paradise mansion became
Of them who in love and in death loved the same.
While fairy faced huris, with mnist’ring grace
Assisted by beautiful youths every trace
Of hardship of labour withheld from the eye
And laughter encouraged with never a sigh.
Thus clearly is shown that if God’s great decree
Is followed implicitly, all may be free,
And patience in trouble that mutilates life
May yet earn a Paradise empty of strife.

When Zayd awoke from his slumber of peace
His dream in a torrent of words found release,
And telling the story the people around
In pilgrimage sought for the sanctified ground.

XCVIII
Herein is set forth the Epilogue that follows on the Death of Mejnun.

The secret of his heart now clearly told
Decree came granting Mejnun all his wish.
The Grace of God to rescue swiftly came
Fulfilling all the purpose of his soul.
He plucked the roses in the garden bright
Of hope: from Death’s decanter drank the wine,
Embraced his Idol in her darkling tomb
And spent his soul in service of its alms.

‘O, Leyla,’ soft he murmured in release
Of all his hold upon his parting life,
And thus this sad unresting lover left
The world and all its grief for Paradise.

If justly one may think, conclusion plain
Is reached, that love may do no more than this:
And this, the highest point that love may reach,
Can but instil a marvel in the breast.
At times it seems that Love within the hand
Retains the soul in careful watch all day,
That when revolving time has swiftly sped
An auth’rization granting to the soul
Permits a journey to a better land.
While yet his Idol dwelt within the world,
The world remained his only resting place.
But, Leyla gone, he followed without thought
Spontaneously from this too dreary world.
His sad condition Zayd sadly saw
And, loudly mourning, rent his collar off,
And wailing in an agony of grief,
His outcry reached the apex of the sky.
He wept so grievously that mighty crowds
Fast gathered round his sighs’ consuming flames,
And, crowding still, they looked with awestruck eye
At him who darkly lived and starkly died,
And saw him sunk upon the waiting tomb
While still his love made scattered pearls of love.
And all, in common sympathy, bewailed
His passing, and a burial decreed
With fine ablution bathing all his limbs,
They made him fitting for his resting place.
Then slow they opened up the tomb of love,
And laid him there with tender loving care:
Beside his fellow sufferer at last
The man of sorrows to his love was joined.

His spirit now in sympathy supreme
Was Joined to hers he sought above the skies,
While on the earth at last his body joined
The body he had worshipped unto death.
Now fell the barriers to great desire
At last the seeker found his search fulfilled.
The tomb a double resting place became
Of two great shahs, and in one mansion now
A single constellation held two moons.
In awe inspiring love a sign was made
And placed upon the entrance to the tomb,
That all who passed the story sad could read
And make their passion known to all the world.
While still in circumambulation slow
The crowds made circuit of the holy place,
It grew in honour as the years unrolled
And came to be a lovers’ pilgrimage.
See now the sweet reward of love divine
If but clear understanding opes the eyes!

XCVII
Herein is set forth the Ode recited by Mejnun as suitable to the Occasion.

Consumed with desolation lies my soul
Still seeking union with love’s dear cheek;
While Love’s dear countenance
Of healing all compact
In weary search I pass my endless days
Each moment knowing an affliction deep
Of separation sore.
A nightingale sad moaning in the brake
No more than I
In vain endeavour thrills the midnight hour;
Yet I, the fair rose garden of desire
Solicit still while in the fettered care
That sees my constant weeping sad appeal.
No more in this sad market that the world calls life
My goods a purchaser
May find howe’er I try.
Then hear my plea and in another world
A market let me find,
And vanished from all earthly misery
With weakened body, wounded soul at rest.
In sweet extinction from the troubled world
I peace and mart may both securdy find.
Yet, wishing still for death within the night
Of desolation,
How pursue my course? My cup of grief
O’erflows its plenty,
And thus to ease excess
A dear companion at my side I need.
A permanency marks the union
Of love divine: within the mortal world
I may not linger while my love awaits
Its promised union.
For mark, Fuzuli, how my wish to die
In sweet contentment, knowing no other road
Save that the sweet necessity inspires
The parting as it now inspireth me.