Jahan Malek Khatun (#WITMonth)

 

Come Here A Moment

Come here a moment, sit with me, don't sleep tonight,

Consider well my heart's unhappy plight, tonight;

And let your face's presence lighten me, and give

The loveliness of moonlight to the night, tonight.

Be kind now to this stranger, and don't imitate

Life as it leaves me in its headlong flight, tonight.

Be sweet to me now as your eyes are sweet, don't twist

Away now like your curls, to left and right, tonight.

Don't sweep me from you like the dust before your door;

Dowse all the flames of longing you ignite, tonight.

Why do you treat me with such cruelty now, my friend,

So that my tears obliterate my sight, tonight?

If, for a moment, I could see you in my dreams,

I'd know the sum of all the world's delight, tonight.

-Jahan Malek Khatun (tr. Dick Davis)

I read that volume Faces of Love, with translations of three Shirazi poets earlier in the summer and quite liked it. I quoted some by Jahan Malek Khatun (1324-1393, approximately) earlier, but saved this one for Women in Translation month.

Rubaiyat of Jahan Malek Khatun

 

Four Rubaiyat

I feel so heartsick. Should my doctor hear,

He'll sigh and groan and want to interfere;

Come on now dearest, heal me, you know how

To make my doctor's headache disappear.

You wandered through my garden, naked and alone

(The roses blenched to see their beauty overthrown).

My cheeky love, your body is the Fount of Youth

(But in your silver breast your heart is like a stone).

I swore I'd never look at him again,

I'd be a Sufi, deaf to sin's temptations;

I saw my nature wouldn't stand for it--

From now on I renounce renunciations.

The roses have all gone; "Goodbye," we say; we must;

And I shall leave the busy world one day; I must.

My little room, my books, my love, my sips of wine--

All these are dear to me; they'll pass away; they must.  

-Jahan Malek Khatun (tr. Dick Davis)

These were among the rubaiyat that sent me back last week to reread the ones by Omar Khayyam and translated into English by Edward FitzGerald. They're by Jahan Malek Khatun (1324-1393, approximately). She was the niece of Abu Ishaq, the Injuid king of the area around Shiraz in what is now southwest Iran, at least until his overthrow in 1353.

The ruba'i is a four-line form that rhymes AABA. The third one quoted is thus technically not a ruba'i, and either Khatun or Dick Davis the translator is being a little slack. I didn't mind... 😉