The Garden of Bright Waters by Translated by Edward Powys Mathers
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Translated by Edward Powys Mathers >> The Garden of Bright Waters
Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Susan Woodring,
Tom Allen and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team.
The Garden Of Bright Waters
One Hundred And Twenty Asiatic Love Poems
Translated by Edward Powys Mathers
1920
Dedication: To My Wife
INTRODUCTION
Head in hand, I look at the paper leaf;
It is still white.
I look at the ink
Dry on the end of my brush.
My soul sleeps.
Will it ever wake?
I walk a little in the pouring of the sun
And pass my hands over the higher flowers.
There is the soft green forest,
There are the sweet lines of the mountains
Carved with snow, red in the sunlight.
I see the slow march of the clouds,
I hear the crows jeering, and I come back
To sit and look at the paper leaf,
Which is still white
Under my brush.
_From the Chinese of Chang-Chi (770-850)._
CONTENTS
INTRODUCTION
AFGHANISTAN (PUS'HTO)
The Princess of Qulzum
Come, my Beloved!
Ballade of Muhammad Khan
Ghazal of Tavakkul
Ghazal of Sayyid Kamal
Ghazal of Sayyid Ahmad
Ghazal of Pir Muhammad
Ballade of Nurshali
Ghazal of Muhammad Din Tilai
Micra
Ballade of Muhammad Din Tilai
Ghazal of Mira
Ghazal of Majid Shah
Ghazal of Mira
Ballade of Ajam the Washerman
Ghazal of Isa Akhun Zada
ANNAM
The Bamboo Garden
Stranger Things have Happened
Nocturne
The Gao Flower
The Girl of Ke-Mo
The Little Woman of Clear River
Waiting to Marry a Student
A Song for Two
ARABIC
Sand
Two Similes
Melodian
The Lost Lady
Love Brown and Bitter
Okhouan
Lying Down Alone
Old Greek Lovers
Night and Morning
In a Yellow Frame
Because the Good are Never Fair
White and Green and Black Tears
A Conceit
Values
What Love Is
The Dancing Heart
The Great Offence
An Escape
Three Queens
Her Nails
Perturbation at Dawn
The Resurrection of the Tattooed Girl
Moallaka of Antar
Moallaka of Amr Ebn Kultum
BALUCHISTAN
Comparisons
BURMA
A Canker in the Heart
CAMBODIA
Disquiet
CAUCASUS
Vengeance
The Flight
CHINA
We were Two Green Rushes
Song Writer Paid with Air
The Bad Road
The Western Window
In Lukewarm Weather
Written on White Frost
A Flute of Marvel
The Willow-Leaf
A Poet Looks at the Moon
We Two in a Park at Night
The Jade Staircase
The Morning Shower
A Virtuous Wife
Written on a Wall in Spring
A Poet Thinks
In the Cold Night
DAGHESTAN
Winter Comes
GEORGIA
Part of a Ghazal
HINDUSTAN
Fard
Incurable
A Poem
Fard
Mortification
Fard
JAPAN
Grief and the Sleeve
Drink Song
A Boat Comes In
The Opinion of Men
Old Scent of the Plum-tree
An Orange Sleeve
Invitation
The Clocks of Death
Green Food for a Queen
The Cushion
A Single Night
At a Dance of Girls
Alone One Night
KAFIRISTAN
Walking up a Hill at Dawn
Proposal of Marriage
KAZACKS
You do not Want Me, Zohrah
KOREA
Tears
The Dream
Separation
KURDISTAN
Paradise
LAOS
Misadventure
Khap-Salung
The Holy Swan
MANCHURIA
Fire and Love
Hearts of Women
PERSIA
To His Love instead of a Promised Picture Book
Too Short a Night
The Roses
I Asked my Love
A Request
See You Have Dancers
SIAM
The Sighing Heart
SYRIA
Handing over the Gun
TATARS
Honey
THIBET
The Love of the Archer Prince
TURKESTAN
Distich
Things Seen in Battle
Hunter's Song
TURKEY
The Bath
Distich
A Proverb
ENVOY IN AUTUMN
TRANSLATOR'S NOTES
THE GARDEN OF BRIGHT WATERS
_AFGHANISTAN_
THE PRINCESS OF QULZUM
(BALLADE BY NUR UDDIN)
I have seen a small proud face brimming with sunlight;
I have seen the daughter of the King of Qulzum passing from grace to
grace.
Yesterday she threw her bed on the floor of her double house
And laughed with a thousand graces.
She has a little pearl and coral cap
And rides in a palanquin with servants about her
And claps her hands, being too proud to call.
I have seen a small proud face brimming with sunlight.
"My palanquin is truly green and blue;
I fill the world with pomp and take my pleasure;
I make men run up and down before me,
And am not as young a girl as you pretend.
I am of Iran, of a powerful house, I am pure steel.
I hear that I am spoken of in Lahore."
I have seen a small proud face brimming with sunlight.
I also hear that they speak of you in Lahore,
You walk with a joyous step,
Your nails are red and the palms of your hands are rosy.
A pear-tree with a fresh stem is in your palace gardens,
I would not that your mother should give my pear-tree
To twine with an evil spice-tree or fool banana.
I have seen a small proud face brimming with sunlight.
"The coins that my father gave me for my forehead
Throw rays and light the hearts of far men;
The ray of light from my red ring is sharper than a diamond.
I go about and about in pride as of hemp wine
And my words are chosen.
But I give you my honey cheeks, dear, I trust them to you."
I have seen a small proud face brimming with sunlight.
The words of my mouth are coloured and shining things;
And two great saints are my perpetual guards.
There is never a song of _Nur Uddin_ but has in it a great achievement
And is as brilliant as a young hyacinth;
I pour a ray of honey on my disciples,
There is as it were a fire in my ballades.
I have seen a small proud face brimming with sunlight.
_From the Pus'hto (Afghans, nineteenth century)._
COME, MY BELOVED!
Come, my beloved! And I say again: Come, my beloved!
The doves are moaning and calling and will not cease.
Come, my beloved!
"The fairies have made me queen, and my heart is love.
Sweeter than the green cane is my red mouth."
Come, my beloved!
The jacinth has spilled odour on your hair,
The balance of your neck is like a jacinth;
You have set a star of green between your brows.
Come, my beloved!
Like lemon-trees among the rocks of grey hills
Are the soft colours of the airy veil
To your rose knee from your curved almond waist.
Come, my beloved!
Your light breast veil is tawny brown with stags,
Stags with eyes of emerald, hunted by red kings.
Come, my beloved!
_Muhammad Din_ is wandering; he is drunken and mad;
For a year he has been dying. Send for the doctor!
Come, my beloved!
_From the Pus'hto of Muhammad Din Tilai (Afghans, nineteenth
century)._
BALLADE OF MUHAMMAD KHAN
She has put on her green robe, she has put on her double veil, my
idol;
My idol has come to me.
She has put on her green robe, my love is a laughing flower;
Gently, gently she comes, she is a young rose, she has come out of the
garden.
Gently she has shown her face, parting her veil, my idol;
My idol has come to me.
She has put on her green robe, my love is a young rose for me to
break.
Her chin has the smooth colour of peaches and she guards it well;
She is the daughter of a Moghol house and well they guard her.
She put on her red jewels when she came with a noise of rings, my
idol;
My idol has come to me.
She has put on her green robe, my love is the stem of a rose;
She breaks not, she is strong.
She has a throne, but comes into the woods for love.
I was well and she troubled me when she came to me in the evening, my
idol;
My idol has come to me.
She has put on her green robe, her wrist is a sword.
The villages speak of her; the child is as fair as Badri.
She has red lips and six hundred and fifty beads upon her light blue
scarf.
Give your garland to _Muhammad Khan_, my idol;
My idol has come to me.
_From the Pus'hto (Afghans, nineteenth century)._
GHAZAL OF TAVAKKUL
To-day I saw Laila's breasts, the hills of a fair city
From which my heart might leap to heaven.
Her breasts are a garden of white roses
Having two drifted hills of fallen rose-leaves.
Her breasts are a garden where doves are singing
And doves are moaning with arrows because of her.
All her body is a flower and her face is Shalibagh;
She has fruits of beautiful colours and the doves abide there.
Over the garden of her breasts she combs the gold rain of her hair....
You have killed _Tavakkul_, the faithful pupil of Abdel Qadir Gilani.
_From the Pus'hto (Afghans, nineteenth century)._
GHAZAL OF SAYYID KAMAL
I am burning, I am crumbled into powder,
I stand to the lips in a tossing sea of tears.
Like a stone falling in Hamun lake I vanish;
I return no more, I am counted among the dead.
I am consumed like yellow straw on red flames;
You have drawn a poisoned sword along my throat to-day.
People have come to see me from far towns,
Great and small, arriving with bare heads,
For I have become one of the great historical lovers.
In the desire of your red lips
My heart has become a red kiln, like a terrace of roses.
It is because she does not trouble about the bee on the rose
That my heart is taken.
"I have blackened my eyes to kill you, _Sayyid Kamal_.
I kill you with my eyelids; I am Natarsa, the Panjabie, the pitiless."
_From the Pus'hto (Afghans, nineteenth century)._
GHAZAL OF SAYYID AHMAD
My heart is torn by the tyranny of women very quietly;
Day and night my tears are wearing away my cheeks very quietly.
Life is a red thing like the sun setting very quietly;
Setting quickly and heavily and very quietly.
If you are to buy heaven by a good deed, to-day the market is open;
To-morrow is a day when no man buys,
And the caravan is broken up very quietly.
The kings are laughing and the slaves are laughing; but for your sake
_Sayyid Ahmad_ is walking and mourning very quietly.
_From the Pus'hto (Afghans, nineteenth century)._
GHAZAL, IN LAMENT FOR THE DEAD, OF PIR MUHAMMAD
The season of parting has come up with the wind;
My girl has hollowed my heart with the hot iron of separation.
Keep away, doctor, your roots and your knives are useless.
None ever cured the ills of the ill of separation.
There is no one near me noble enough to be told;
I tear my collar in the "Alas! Alas!" of separation.
She was a branch of santal; she closed her eyes and left me.
Autumn has come and she has gone, broken to pieces in the wind of
separation.
I am _Pir Muhammad_ and I am stumbling away to die;
She stamped on my eyes with the foot of separation.
_From the Pus'hto (Afghans, nineteenth century)._
BALLADE OF NURSHALI
Come in haste this dusk, dear child. I will be on the water path
When your girl friends go laughing by the road.
"Come in haste this dusk; I have become your nightingale,
And the young girls leave me alone because of you.
I give you the poppy of my mouth and my fallen hair."
Come in haste this dusk, dear child.
"I have dishevelled and spread out my hair for you;
Take my wrist, for there is no shame
And my father has gone out.
Sit near me on this red bed quietly."
Come in haste this dusk, dear child.
"Sit near me on this red bed, I lift the poppy to your lips;
Your hand is strong upon my breast;
My beauty is a garden and you the bird in the flowering tree."
Come in haste this dusk, dear child.
"My beauty is a garden with crimson flowers."
But I cannot reach over the thicket of your hair.
This is _Nurshali_ sighing for the garden;
Come in haste this dusk, dear child.
_From the Pus'hto (Afghans)._
GHAZAL OF MUHAMMAD DIN TILAI
The world is fainting,
And you will weep at last.
The world is fainting
And falling into a swoon.
The world is turning and changing;
The world is fainting,
And you will weep at last.
Look at the love of Farhad, who pierced a mountain
And pierced a brass hill for the love of Shirin.
The world is fainting,
And you will weep at last.
Qutab Khan of the Ranizais was in love
And death became the hostess of his lady.
The world is fainting,
And you will weep at last.
Adam loved Durkho, and they were separated.
You know the story;
There is no lasting love.
The world is fainting,
And you will weep at last.
_Muhammad Din_ is ill for the matter of a little honey;
This is a moment to be generous.
The world is fainting,
And you will weep at last.
_From the Pus'hto (Afghans, nineteenth century)._
MICRA
When you lie with me and love me,
You give me a second life of young gold;
And when you lie with me and love me not,
I am as one who puts out hands in the dark
And touches cold wet death.
_From the Pus'hto of Mirza Rahchan Kayil (Afghans, nineteenth century)._
BALLADE OF MUHAMMAD DIN TILAI
A twist of fresh flowers on your dark hair,
And your hair is a panther's shadow.
On your white cheeks the down of a thousand roses,
They speak about your beauty in Lahore.
You have your mother's lips;
Your ring is frosted with rubies,
And your hair is a panther's shadow.
Your ring is frosted with rubies;
I was unhappy and you looked over the wall,
I saw your face among the crimson lilies;
There is no armour that a lover can buy,
And your hair is a panther's shadow.
"The cool fingers of the mistress burn her lovers
And they go away.
I have fatigued the wise of many lands,
And my hair is a tangle of serpents.
What is the profit of these shawls without you?
And my hair is a panther's shadow."
"A squadron of my father's men are about me,
And I have woven a collar of yellow flowers.
My eyes are veiled because I drink cups of bhang,
Being a daughter of the daughter of queens.
You cannot touch me because of my palaces,
And my hair is a panther's shadow."
I will touch you, though your beauty be as fair as song;
For I am a disciple of Abdel Qadir Gilani,
And my songs are as beautiful as women and as strong as love;
And your hair is a panther's shadow.
Your ring is frosted with rubies....
_Muhammad Din_ awaits the parting of your scarves;
_Tilai_ is standing here, young and magnificent like a tree;
And your hair is a panther's shadow.
_From the Pus'hto (Afghans, nineteenth century)._
GHAZAL OF MIRA
The lover to his lass: I have fallen before your door.
I came to ask for alms and have lost my all,
I had a copper-shod quarter-staff but the dogs attacked me,
And not a strand of her hair came the way of my lips.
The lover to his lass: I have fallen before your door.
The lamp burns and I must play the green moth.
I have stolen her scented rope of flowers,
But the women caught me and built a little gaol
About my heart with your old playthings.
The lover to his lass: I have fallen before your door.
_Mira_ is a mountain goat that climbs to die
Upon the top peak in the rocks of grief;
It is the hour; make haste.
The lover to his lass: I have fallen before your door.
_From the Pus'hto (Afghans, nineteenth century)._
GHAZAL OF MAJID SHAH
Grief is hard upon me, Master, for she has left me;
The black dust has covered my pretty one.
My heart is black, for the tomb has taken my friend;
How pleasantly would go the days if my friend were here.
I can only dream of the stature of my friend;
The flowers are dying in my heart, my breast is a fading garden.
Her breast is a sweet garden now, and her garments are gold flowers;
I am an orchard at night, for my friend has gone a journey.
I am _Majid Shah_, a slave that ministers to the dead;
Abdel Qadir Gilani, even the Master, shall not save me.
_From the Pus'hto (Afghans, nineteenth century)._
GHAZAL OF MIRA
The world passes, nothing lasts, and the creation of men
Is buried alive under the vault of Time.
Autumn comes pillaging gardens;
The bulbuls laugh to see the flowers falling.
Wars start up wherever your eye glances,
And the young men moan marching on to the batteries.
_Mira_ is the unkempt old man you see on the road;
He has taken his death-wound in battle.
_From the Pus'hto (Afghans, nineteenth century)._
BALLADE OF AJAM THE WASHERMAN
Come to me to-day wearing your green collar,
Make your two orange sleeves float in the air, and come to me.
Touch your hair with essence and colour your clothes yellow;
The deer of reason has fled from the hill of my heart;
Come to me.
The deer of reason has fled from the hill of my heart
Because I have seen your gold rings and your amber rings;
Your eyes have lighted a small fire below my heart,
Put on your gold rings and your amber rings, and come to me.
Put on your gold rings and your amber rings, and you will be more
beautiful
Than the brown girls of poets and the milk-white wives of kings.
The coil of your hair is like a hangman's rope;
But press me to your green collar between your orange sleeves.
Press me to your green collar between your orange sleeves,
And give yourself once to _Ajam_. Slip away weeping,
Slip weeping away from the house of the wicked, and come to me.
Come to me to-day wearing your green collar,
Make your two orange sleeves float in the air and come to me.
_From the Pus'hto (Afghans)._
GHAZAL OF ISA AKHUN ZADA
Beauty with the flame shawl, do not repulse me;
Breathing idol of rose ivory, look at me;
Beauty with the flame shawl, let me say a little thing,
Lend your small ears to my quick sighing.
Breathing idol, I have come to the walls of death;
And there are coloured cures behind the crystal of your eyes.
Life is a tale ill constructed without love.
Beauty of the flame shawl, do not repulse me;
I am at your door wasted and white and dying.
Breathing idol of rose ivory, look at me;
Beauty with the flame shawl, do not repulse me.
This is the salaam that slaves make, and after the salaam
Listen to these quick sighings and their wisdom.
All the world has spied on us and seen our love,
And in four days or five days will be whispering evil.
Knot your robes in a turban, escape and be mine for ever;
Beauty with the flame shawl, do not repulse me.
After that we will both of us go to prison.
Breathing idol of rose ivory, look at me;
Beauty with the flame shawl, do not repulse me.
My quick sighings carry a tender promise;
I will have time to remember in the battle,
Though all the world is a thousand whistling swords against me.
The iron is still in the rock that shall forge my death-sword,
Though I have foes more than the stars
Of a thousand valley starlights.
Breathing idol of rose ivory, look at me;
Beauty with the flame shawl, do not repulse me.
I am as strong as Sikander, I am as strong as death;
You will hear me come with guns brooding behind me,
And laughing bloody battalions following after.
_Isa Gal_ is stronger than God;
Do not whip me, do not whip me,
Beauty with the flame shawl, do not repulse me;
Breathing idol of rose ivory, look at me.
Breathing idol of rose ivory, look at me;
Beauty with the flame shawl, do not repulse me.
_From the Pus'hto (Afghans, nineteenth century)._
_ANNAM_
THE BAMBOO GARDEN
Old bamboos are about my house,
And the floor of my house is untidy with old books.
It is sweet to rest in the shade of it
And read the poems of the masters.
But I remember a delightful fisherman
Who played on the five-stringed dan in the evening.
In the day he allowed his reed canoe to float
Over the lakes and rivers,
Watching his nets and singing.
A sweet boy promised to marry me,
But he went away and left
Like a reed canoe that rolls adrift
In the middle of a river.
_Song of Annam._
STRANGER THINGS HAVE HAPPENED
Do not believe that ink is always black,
Or lime white, or lemon sour;
You cannot ring one bell from two pagodas,
You cannot have two governors for the city of Lang Son.
I found you binding an orange spray
Of flowers with white flowers;
I never noticed the flower gathering
Of other village ladies.
Would you like me to go and see your father and mother?
_Song of Annam._
NOCTURNE
It is late at night
And the North Star is shining.
The mist covers the rice-fields
And the bamboos
Are whispering full of crickets.
The watch beats on the iron-wood gong,
And priests are ringing the pagoda bells.
We hear the far-away games of peasants
And distant singing in the cottages.
It is late at night.
As we talk gently,
Sitting by one another,
Life is as beautiful as night.
The red moon is rising
On the mountain side
Like a fire started among the trees.
There is the North Star
Shining like a paper lantern.
The light air brings dew to our faces
And the sound of tamtams beaten far away.
Let us sit like this all night.
_Song of Annam._
THE GAO FLOWER
I am the Gao flower high in a tree,
You are the grass Long Mai on the path-side.
When heat comes down after the dews of morning
The flower grows pale and tumbles on the grass,
The grass Long Mai that keeps the fallen Gao.
Folk who let their daughters grow
Without achieving a husband
Might easily forget to fence their garden,
Or let their radishes grow flower and rank
When they could eat them ripe and tender.
Come to me, you that I see walk
Every night in a red turban;
Young man with the white turban, come to me.
We will plant marrows together in a garden,
And there may be little marrows for your children.
I will dye your turban blue and red and yellow,
You with the white turban.
You that are passing with a load of water,
I call you
And you do not even turn your head.
_Song of Annam._
THE GIRL OF KE-MO
I'm a girl of Ke-Mo village
Selling my rice wine on the road.
Mine is the strongest rice wine in the land,
Though my bottle is so patched and dirty.
These silly rags are not my body,
The parts you cannot see are counted pleasant;
But you are just too drunk to drink my wine,
And just too plain to lie down on my mat.
He who would drink the wine of the girl of Ke-Mo
Needs a beautiful body and a lofty wit.
_Song of Annam._
THE LITTLE WOMAN OF CLEAR RIVER
Clear River twists nine times about
Clear River; but so deep
That none can see the green sand.
You hear the birds about Clear River:
Dik, dik, dik, dik, Diu dik.
A little woman with jade eyes
Leans on the wall of a pavilion.
She has the moonrise in her heart
And the singing of love songs
Comes to her up the river.
She stands and dreams for me
Outside the house by the bamboo door.
In a minute
I will leave my shadow
And talk to her of poetry and love.
_Song of Annam._
WAITING TO MARRY A STUDENT
I still walk slowly on the river bank
Where I came singing,
And where I saw your boat pass up beyond the sun
Setting red in the river.
I want Autumn,
I want the leaves to begin falling at once,
So that the cold time may bring us close again
Like K'ien Niue and Chik Nue, the two stars.
Each year when Autumn comes
The crows make a black bridge across the milky sea,
And then these two poor stars
Can run together in gold and be at peace.
Darling, for my sake work hard
And be received with honour at the Examinations.
Since I saw your boat pass up beyond the sun
I have forgotten how to sing
And how to paddle the canoe across the lake.
I know how to sit down and how to be sad,
And I know how to say nothing;
But every other art has slipped away.
_Song of Annam._
A SONG FOR TWO
I have lacquered my teeth to find a husband.
And I have need of a wife.
Give me a kiss and they will marry us
At Mo-Lao, my village.
I will marry you if you will wait for me,
Wait till the banana puts forth branches,
And fruit hangs heavy on the Sung-tree,
And the onion flowers;
Wait till the dove goes down in the pool to lay her eggs,
And the eel climbs into a tree to make her nest.
_Song of Annam._
_ARABIC_
SAND
The sand is like acres of wet milk
Poured out under the moonlight;
It crawls up about your brown feet
Like wine trodden from white stars.
_From the Arabic of John Duncan._
TWO SIMILES
You have taken away my cloak,
My cloak of weariness;
Take my coat also,
My many-coloured coat of life....
On this great nursery floor
I had three toys,
A bright and varnished vow,
A Speckled Monster, best of boys,
True friend to me, and more
Beloved and a thing of cost,
My doll painted like life; and now
One is broken and two are lost.
_From the Arabic of John Duncan._
MELODIAN
I have been at this shooting-gallery too long.
It is monotonous how the little coloured balls
Make up and down on their silvery water thread;
It would be pleasant to have money and go instead
To watch your greasy audience in the threepenny stalls
Of the World-famous Caravan of Dance and Song.
And I want to go out beyond the turf fires there,
After I've looked at your just smiling face,
To that untented silent dark blue nighted place;
And wait such time as you will wish the noise all dumb
And drop your fairings and leave the funny man, and come ...
You have the most understanding face in all the fair.
_From the Arabic of John Duncan._
THE LOST LADY
You are the drowned,
Star that I found
Washed on the rim of the sea
Before the morning.
You are the little dying light
That stopped me in the night.
_From the Arabic of John Duncan._
LOVE BROWN AND BITTER
You know so well how to stay me with vapours
Distilled expertly to that unworthy end;
You know the poses of your body I love best
And that I am cheerful with your head on my breast,
You know you please me by disliking one friend;
You read up what amuses me in the papers.
Who knows me knows I am not of those fools
That gets tired of a woman who is kind to them,
Yet you know not how stifled you render me
By learning me so well, how I long to see
An unpractised girl under your clever phlegm,
A soul not so letter-perfect in the rules.
_From the Arabic of John Duncan._
OKHOUAN
A mole shows black
Between her mouth and cheek.
As if a negro,
Coming into a garden,
Wavered between a purple rose
And a scarlet camomile.
_From the Arabic._
LYING DOWN ALONE