Come, take the tally, tear the table down,
Sequester not the liar in the town,
For he hath given haste and made escape
To run into the lake where liars drown.
Let feet not steep too deep upon the grape
As vineyards keep the sweet and purple shape
To gift a cobbler who shall make the shoe
That slips around the foot as measure tape.
The fruit upon the vine is mine to gain
To ease my passage through this edge of pain;
'Tis mine to keep, 'tis mine to toss in fire
And never take the way of shame again.
The ecstasy and poignancy of lust
Is part of human beauty man must trust,
Until awareness ceases to exist
When flesh is once again returned to dust.
Each session of discretion dissects blight
To fragments of eternal wrong and right
Infused with two essential elements
That fire the sun and moonlight of the night.
Sweet mystery of life, not found when dead,
But in anticipation free of dread,
For life begins anew with every breath
And every rising from the slumber bed.
Drink long and deep from fruited flask so sweet,
To energize the dreams one soon shall meet
With vivid recollections of the calm
Enwrapped by sated days of balm to greet.
Now voices cloistered in rebellion sing,
Beyond the grove of Willows grown in spring.
Then fate of state must make grave changes which
Will leave rebellion grounded without wing.
The secret buried casualties of war
Still whisper words of wisdom on the shore
Of life; where icy-fingers grasp at last
The brutal truth of man's now empty core.
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Author Notes
Omar Khayyam was a Persian born mathmatician, astronomer, and poet. He was born 18 May 1048 in Nishapur, in northeastern Iran. His poetic masterpiece the Rubaiyyat of Omar Khayyam was written in the form of quatrains (rubaiyats) as was almost all of his poetry. His prodigious gifts of intellect were recognized quite early in his life and he was given the advantage of studying under Muwaffaq Nishaburi, the greatest teacher in Khayhyyam's region. During his life he was recognized, in Iran, more for his genius as a mathmatician and astronomer. However, in 1859, when Edward FitzGerald, an English academic and writer quietly and without pretension published his translation of Khayyam's epic poem, anonymously, in a small pamphlet that remained essentially unknown until discovered, in 1860, by English artist and poet Dante Gabriel Rossetti, the poem became one of the most wide read poem's every written. FitGerald's translated poem has become a classic in English literature for its own brilliance as a stand alone poem with unique merit on its own. Below are a few quatrains from FitzGerald's translation but he certainly only represents the first English version of the poem and many think other, later translations are more accurate but most agree FitzGerald captured the poetic music of the original with unique style and brilliance.
A Book of Verses underneath the Bough,
A Jug of Wine, a Loaf of Bread and Thou
Beside me singing in the Wilderness
Oh, Wilderness were Paradise enow!
The Moving Finger writes; and, having writ,
Moves on; nor all your Piety nor Wit
Shall lure it back to cancel half a Line,
Nor all your Tears wash out a Word of it.
'Tis all a Chequer-board of Nights and Days
Where Destiny with Men for Pieces plays:
Hither and thither moves, and mates, and slays,
And one by one back in the Closet lays.
Hope you all find time to peruse more of Kahayaam's many, many poems. You will be well rewarded for the effort. easyeverett
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