English Translations of Hafiz

THE ENGLISH TRANSLATIONS OF HAFIZ

When I really began to translate Hafiz at the time I had no idea at all that I had actually started it. I was twenty years old and had been composing poetry for twelve years. For the first seven years I did not know that it was ‘poetry,’ only that it was coming into my heart and mind. Then at the age of fifteen a teacher told me that it was ‘poetry’ and that I should write it down.

By the age of twenty I had read the ‘beat’ poets, the French Symbolists, the Surrealists, Whitman, Sandburg, e.e. cummings, T.S. Eliot, Pound, William Carlos Williams, Olson, Creeley, Villon, Heine, Blake, Coleridge, Rilke, Rimbaud, the Modern Russians, and a fair selection of the works ‘old’ and ‘new’ of the Western world. I had not discovered much of Eastern poetry except for Tu Fu and a few other Chinese poets, the ‘I Ching,’ some Zen Poets and the Tibetan, Milarepa.

The first couplet I read that was by Hafiz was a literal translation by Meher Baba in a biography of him, ‘The God-Man’ by C.B. Purdom. Allen & Unwin. 1964. It was couplet 7 from ghazal 184, and Meher Baba’s translation went as follows:

Without the guidance of a Perfect Master, do not enter the path of love,
I have failed hundreds of times while doing so by self-help.’

This couplet immediately struck a sympathetic chord within me and began my search to find out more about this Master Poet of Persia and about other Persian poets. Later in the same book Meher Baba stated that all the well known trans-lations of Hafiz did not do justice to the poet. When I read this I thought to myself for a moment: "I will try to rectify that one day," which I promptly forgot for a year. About a year later I happened to come across a copy of Masud Farzaad’s ‘Haafez and his Poems.’ Stephen Austin & Son. 1949. In this slim volume written in 1949 Farzaad explores the problems in translating Hafiz and lists all the reasons why this had not been successfully achieved, although many had tried. Apart from an authentic text (which he was working towards gaining, and of which we have not yet been given a literal translation), Farzaad states: "Haafez is waiting for an English poet, but the latter should in turn, be waiting for the Persian scholar. It is indeed as much beyond a Persian to give the ultimate poetic translation of Haafez in English as it is beyond an Englishman to establish the ultimate text of these and such, Persian poems."

On reading these lines I can remember thinking: "Maybe, I am that poet," a thought that I tucked away again and that did not surface completely until eight years later, after reading constantly every translation of Hafiz that I could lay my hands on. I realized that I did not have the ability or the time to spend ten years studying Persian, only to come up with a literal translation similar to those that had already been done. I had spent the eight years constantly reading the translations and reading every other Persian poet of importance, the Koran, many books on Persian Poetry, history, art and religion so that I would understand Hafiz’s influences and all the people, events and places that he talks about in his poetry.

For the next two years I studied the form and history of the ghazal and the other forms of poetry which Hafiz used. Then I began trying to write ghazals of my own, to allow the form and feeling to become natural to me. After about six months and a hundred attempts I found that the ghazal still eluded me. No matter how hard I tried, the poems that I wrote were not ghazals in every sense of what a ghazal means. Through tiredness and desperation I gave it up, and the following night I could not sleep and finally found myself enveloped in a deep feeling, that I can only call ‘nostalgia for God.’ Eventually like someone in a trance I found pen and paper and quickly wrote a poem and returned to bed. In the morning I noticed the poem and then remembered having written it. Inspecting it I found that it was a ghazal in every way, and I realized once again that ‘content dictates form’ and that you have to ‘feel it’ before you can write it, but one must study the form at first to be able to create the correct vessel for the content to be displayed. In the next six months I found that I was enveloped in this ‘feeling,’ and many of my own ghazals were written. I found that I could also write in the other forms in which Hafiz wrote.

I soon realized that I was putting off beginning on Hafiz’s ghazals, so early one morning on a 25th of February I lined up every translation of ghazal no. 218 that I had, and launched into it. The first draft took two hours but that particular ghazal took four years to bring it to its present state.

After one and a half years I thought that I had completed one hundred and fifty ghazals, but suddenly it all came to a standstill. All the reasons why I had been doing it suddenly didn’t seem good enough reasons to continue and to suffer the headaches, backaches and lack of sleep. So I put down the pen and refused to continue and said to myself: "Unless there’s a better reason, then that’s the end of that!" Immediately in my inner ear a voice that was not my own said loud and clear: "You were doing it for yourself, now do it for ME. Try, just once. Just one. Pick up the pen and do it for Me and I will help you."

I picked up the pen and it moved by itself and it was easy: the ghazal completed itself. That night I finished twelve ghazals in five hours. Then I had to re-do the one hundred and fifty that I thought I had completed. On looking at them I found that they lacked spontaneity, humour, music, simplicity and strength. They were wooden! All that they had was the cold, dry intellect. A few nights after this incident I had a dream in which I was walking beside Hafiz through the rose garden that surrounds his tomb at Shiraz. Hafiz was on my left and much taller than me, and as he was a small man, I had the impression later that I must have been a small child. As we approached his tomb I noticed a line of people respectfully entering it, bowing and placing two fingers upon his grave. (Later I discovered that this is the actual custom). Suddenly, I blurted out: "Isn’t it a shame that he lies there, dead?" The feeling in my question was both serious, as I was upset by this, and also the realization that I had unconsciously made a joke. At no time did I see Hafiz’s face but I certainly felt his presence, for when I asked this question/joke he immediately broke into peals of laughter which were so loud and irrestible that I immediately woke from the dream, laughing (infected by it) with tears streaming down my face. The laughter was unlike any laughter that I had ever heard before, and on thinking about it I could ‘feel’ one aspect of it: a wonderful sense of irony. It wasn’t until some time later that I recognized the other aspect which I hadn’t been able to fathom. It was laughter for its own sake: the sheer pleasure and joy of laughing and the wonderful sense of freedom that goes with it. Due to this dream I understood that all my previous attempts, except for those that I had recently made, had been devoid of this wonderful sense of humour that Hafiz had, and from then on I recognized it in many of the poems that he wrote.

In the one hundred and fifty poems that I had previously translated I had diligently stopped myself from using a number of poetic techniques that I happened to use in my own poetry. Techniques such as creating double rhymes within a line, inversion, using words that sound similar but mean the opposite and a number of other techniques. I stopped myself because I thought that I was taking liberties and I did not know if Hafiz did such things. On reading a number of books on Hafiz again, which I had forgotten, I found that all of these techniques Hafiz did use, so I decided never again to stop myself from being natural in my writing and wherever any of these devices seemed natural and appropriate, to use them as best as I could.

In my translations I tried never to sacrifice the meaning or content for the rhyme or length of line or the form, and I feel sure that I have usually done this because whenever there was a meaning that I wished to convey, or a feeling, and I could not find a rhyme-word that fitted it, I would wait, sometimes for a year, and come back to that couplet with the word that had the meaning and rhyme; or I would re-assemble the couplet, or the whole ghazal, to keep the meaning and also the rhyme-structure and length of line.

I have tried to keep Hafiz’s poems as simple as they are in the literal translations by using words and phrases that are beautiful, musical, poetic, clear and sparkling and sweet sounding, but without changing the literal meaning. The only times when I have expanded on a word or thought of Hafiz has been when there has not been a single word in English that is the equivalent, or when Hafiz had used a word or phrase that would be incomprehensible to a Westerner and so I have tried to explain it in my translation, but always as clearly and simply as possible. I have written notes to explain any Persian or Eastern names and images and ideas which might be alien to a Westerner, and I advise the reader to consult them whenever he or she comes across something that is not understood. For a highly detailed description of any obscure word or phrase I recommend Clarke’s complete literal translation with many notes that are of great interest.

All of the translators into English that will be quoted in this chapter I have used at one time or another and this book is a result of their interest, dedication and skill as well as my own. I must state most strongly that each one of them had something to give, no matter how large or small it was, and that Hafiz somehow seems to shine through even the dullest and least conscious of them. I am indebted to them all and have tried to incorporate their good points (each different) and learn from their mistakes, in my version.

When many of these versions were produced the translators were suffering under severe handicaps: the most important being the consciousness of the time in which they lived and the lack of appreciation for what they were doing and the importance of it, and the unsuitability of the English language at that time for the presentation of Hafiz into an English that was simple and natural and ‘conversational.’

It has not been until the last few decades that the English language has become a balanced language. Before then, it was a heavily masculine language, abrupt, harsh, and unmusical. In the past twenty or so years the English language has become softened or feminized and more conversational in tone. This has mostly been brought about by the running together of words in our natural way of speaking. Some examples of this are: ‘That’s’ for ‘that is,’ ‘they’d’ for ‘they would,’ ‘you’ve’ for ‘you have,’ ‘isn’t’ for ‘is not,’ ‘I’d’ for ‘I would,’ ‘hasn’t’ for ‘has not’ and so on. The Persian language, being an amalgamation of Pahlevi and Arabic has a balance of masculine and feminine sounds and it wasn’t until recently that English also achieved this balance that is so important in the writing of natural, free-flowing beautiful poetry. The translations that I found to be most helpful were those by Clarke, Payne, McCarthy, Bicknell, Aryanpur and A Member of the Persia Society. The translations that inspired me most were those by Meher Baba.

My method of working was this: I would open Clarke’s translation at random and whatever poem the book fell open at I would work upon, in that way I allowed Hafiz to make the choice. I must state here that every time that this happened the poem that the book was opened at was extremely relevant to what I was experiencing in my life at that time and was very helpful to me in many difficult times. Anyone who says that Hafiz’s Divan does not work as an oracle, or Spiritual Guide, cannot see past his or her own nose!

I would then lay out all the translations that I had collected of the particular poem, sometimes even ten or more, often only two (Clarke and Payne) and rarely only one. I would then read fully each translation then meditate for some time on what I thought and felt the poem was about: what its content was. I would then read only the first couplet of each translation, meditate again and wait until I couldn’t wait any longer, then I would write the first couplet and continue in this fashion until the poem was finished as a first draft. The rhyme-structure was not difficult to obtain: whatever came naturally in the first line was it, and in this I was helped by the translations of Payne and Leaf. In the following couplets one could be spontaneous in the first line of each couplet and when coming to the second line, have the rhyme sound in the back of the mind so that by the time the end of the line came the word would come into my mind. When a rhyme-word could not be found, but the meaning of the word needed was there, I would either occasionally use a rhyming dictionary or wait until later for the word to come. When all the translators translated a word com-pletely differently I would either look up the word in the Persian/English dictionary or think about the whole poem and decide for myself what he was saying.

This ‘translation’ is by no means finished. It began in 1771 when Jones first published his version of a Hafiz ghazal and will continue over the years to come. It will be corrected against Farzaad’s authenticated edition when that is finally published in a literal English translation, and other translations will appear. If this version goes into further editions I will correct and polish it more and more, for the power of the poetry of Hafiz is such, that one can never leave it alone; not only is it intoxicating: like love, it’s irresistible.

H. Wilberforce Clarke says of Hafiz’s poetry in general, and in particular his style, in his introduction to his literal translation: "Hafiz breathes originality in all his works; scorns to imitate any authority but nature, or to use any art but art to conceal art; h defects but only his own; has beauties but only his own. He may be condemned; he cannot be compared; in no other country, was ever born a genius so rare. Eccentricity, the badge of the learned, and the companion of genius, was found in Hafiz to such a degree that the people found him to be inspired, and the sage, distraught. His verse is rich in fancy, powerful in imagination, original, sublime, wild and glowing, grave and gay. He dwells on the degeneracy of his age, on the vanity of the world, on the power of sin, on the greatness of the Creator, on the pleasures of the time of youth, on the enjoyments of the world, on universal charity, and on toleration and liberty of conscience. His odes are free from any mean or abject spirit, from attempts at wit, from obscure metaphor, from inflated style; they are insinuating, inimitable, unique, plaintive and sportive, encomiastic and sarcastic, tender and querulous, simple and dignified, voluptuous and sublime. The style is effulgent, dazzling, finished, concise; the loss of a word is the loss of a beauty. It is clear, unaffected, harmonious, displaying great learning, matured knowledge, or intimate acquaintance with the nature (outward and inward) of things, and a certain fascination of expression unequalled by any. His love of liberty and his natural mirth have never been strained, nature alone, he has held up to admiration. In music and eloquence, the strains of Hafiz are without equal in Persian literature. His scorn for sober thoughts, the wildness of his fancy, and the easy flow of his numbers, delight the reader, saint or sinner."

The description of Hafiz’s poetry given above and the criteria for writing a good ghazal according to Hafiz and established by Masud Farzaad and quoted in the chapter on Hafiz’s poetry should be remembered when reading the translations that I have made and the selections from the various translations that will follow.

The first translation into English of a ghazal by Hafiz was by Sir William Jones in his ‘A Grammar of the Persian Language,’ published in 1771. Almost a hundred years earlier in 1680 the first translation into a European language (Latin) appeared. It was a translation of ghazal no. 1 by F. Meninski and was followed by translations into Latin by T. Hyde (again ghazal no. 1) in 1767 and de Reviski (the first sixteen ghazals) in 1771. In 1774 J. Richardson translated the sixteen Latin versions of de Revski into English. The first translation into German was to appear in 1791 when some ghazals were translated by Wahl. In his ‘Grammar’ Jones had made both a literal and a poetic translation of ghazal no. 8, and it was his poetic translation which he called ‘A Persian Song’ that was to become a catalyst for a great surge of interest in the languages, poetry, literature and art and religions of the East and of Persia in particular, and of all the poets, Hafiz more than any other.

In 1771 Jones published a small book titled: ‘Poems, consisting chiefly of Translations from the Asiatick languages,’ which contained his version of ghazal no. 8. The book became popular and the ‘Annual Register’ for 1772 chose this poem for publication. Later the poem came to the notice of Horace Walpole who criticized its florid style, but later relented and professed admiration for the work of Jones. Byron read and liked the poem and copied Jones’ rhyme-structure in an early lyric and Swinburne was later to perfect the structure. Soon the poem was to become even more well-known for it was selected for inclusion in ‘The Oxford Book of Eighteenth Century Verse.’

As previously stated, ghazals nos. 1 and 8 were the first translated into English by Jones and Richardson), and throughout the two centuries that followed these two were to become the most popular with the ninety or more translators who attempted English versions of Hafiz’s poetry. This is possibly the greatest number of translators for any author into English.

By studying the versions of these two poems and others one can see a history of the times in which they were written: of the consciousness, morals, literature and poetic styles and of the changes in the English language. The most famous translators of Hafiz have attempted these two ghazals, but this does not mean that they were necessarily the best.

For the purpose of exploring, evaluating and making available to all who are interested in the various English versions of Hafiz’s poems, I will quote the first couplet of ghazals nos. 1 and 8 and others of those that I have available and have used, in the hope that they will stimulate in the reader an interest in whatever versions appeal to him or her and in the hope that this interest might be pursued. I will list the translations chronologically so that the reader can perceive the changes in consciousness, style, morals and interpretations over the centuries and I will give a short personal critical opinion about each version, and while reading this I ask the reader to remember that I found something worthwhile and useful in EVERY translation.

click here to go to page 2 ...

click here to return to top of this page ...

Home