A Talk on the Poetry, Life and Times of Hafiz

A TALK ON THE POETRY, LIFE AND TIMES OF HAFIZ

(Paul Smith at the Asia Centre, Melbourne University, 20th April 2004.)

Hafiz was born in Shiraz in south-west Persia (modern Iran) in 1320, twenty two years before the birth of Chaucer and a year before Dante’s death. He was named Shams-ud-din, which means ‘Sun of Faith,’ Mohammed. When he began to write poetry he selec-ted ‘Hafiz’ for his pen-name or takhallus. ‘Hafiz’ is the title given to one who has learnt the whole of the Koran by heart and Hafiz did in fourteen different ways. It also means ‘guardian’ and ‘preserver’.

Physically Hafiz was small and ugly, but even as a young boy he began to show the gifts that would take him to the height of artistic and spiritual achievements. He was loving and helpful to his parents, brothers and friends, and had a wonderfully ironic sense of humour. Even at this early age he was fascinated by the poetry and prose of Persia’s great poets and writers and stories about the spiritually advanced souls and Perfect Masters (Qutubs). He loved the Koran, which his father read to him and he began to memorise it. He discovered he was blessed with a remarkable memory, and before he was nine had memorised the Koran and many of poems of the great poets.

As a boy his favourite poet was Sadi, Shiraz’s most loved poet at that time, who had died about thirty years previously. All Shiraz was singing his beautiful songs, his ghazals, and telling his magical stories, and Hafiz was no exception, and Sadi sang the praises often, of his beloved, and of Shiraz ...

Fortune doesn’t allow me to hold to my heart that sweetheart,
never letting exile be forgotten by a kiss from lips sweetly apart.

The noose that one likes to use to trap victims from far and wide
I’ll steal away so that one day to my heart I’ll lure that heart.

Yet I don’t dare stroke that one’s hair with a hand that’s bold:
snared in that hair like birds are lovers hearts too many to chart!

I am a slave to that beautiful form ... which in my imagination
is clothed in grace measured by a rod tailors apply to their art.

O cypress with your silver limbs, the scent and colour of you
put to shame myrtle’s smell, made eglantine’s bloom depart.

Use your eyes, see it’s time to walk in garden without concern
and step upon jasmine and flower of Judas tree ... that upstart!

Full of joy, happiness is New Year’s Day, especially in Shiraz:
here a stranger forgets where he is from and loses to it his heart.

Then a change occurred in his life. His father Baha-ud-din, a coal merchant, died and left his family poverty-stricken. His two older brothers left home to work in Isfahan and young Hafiz and his mother went to live with his uncle, Sadi, who fancied himself a poet like his famous namesake. Because of their poverty, Hafiz had to leave school and although only in his early teens, began work in a drapery shop and later night time work in a bakery. Half of his salary he gave to his mother and the other half he used to go to day school.

Hafiz was twenty-one in 1341, and was still working in the bakery and studying most days. He had learnt to get by with little sleep. Until this time he had not gained much success as a poet although he had been occasionally invited to the court of Masud Shah to recite his ghazals, but found little rewards for his efforts. He had become skilled in jurisprudence, had learnt all the sciences, including mathematics and astronomy. For ten years he had been studying the great Persian poets and the lives and works of the Spiritual Masters. He was fluent in Arabic and Turkish.

Early one morning at the bakery a worker who delivered the bread was sick, and he had to deliver to a certain quarter of Shiraz where the rich, ruling Turkish upperclass lived. At a mansion, Hafiz’s eyes fell upon the unveiled form of a young woman who was standing on a mansion’s balcony. Her name was Shakh-e-Nabat, meaning ‘Branch of Sugarcane’. Nabat’s unique beauty immediately intoxicated Hafiz and he fell hopelessly in love with her and he almost lost consciousness. He could not sleep or eat. He began to write ghazals inspired by her.

Lord, that bright candle lights the night of whose dwelling?
Our soul burns while asking this: ‘That is whose darling?’

That one overturns my heart and my faith and my religion.
That’s whose bedmate, I want to know, with whom is living?

May that lip of ruby wine be not far away from my lip!
It’s wine of whose soul, giver of whose cup for drinking?

Every one devises a spell for that one; but it is not known
which way the tender heart goes; to whose magic-making?

That undrunk ruby wine, has made me so drunk and mad;
it’s whose companion and cup: with whom is it associating?

O Lord, one so regal, face like the moon, forehead of Venus,
is whose peerless pearl and whose jewel beyond comparing?

Ask the destiny of companionship of that candle of delight;
before God ask: ‘That candle for which moth’s burning?’

I said this: ‘The insane heart of Hafiz burns without you!’
Hiding a smile: ‘For whom is he mad?’ was the replying.

He heard she had been promised in marriage to Abu Ishak, the king’s handsome and talented young brother and realized how hopeless was his love. Still, the vision of her beauty filled his heart and his thoughts were constantly with her. Then one day he remembered the famous ‘promise of Baba Kuhi.’ Baba Kuhi was a Perfect Master-Poet who had died in Shiraz in 1050 and had been buried four miles from Shiraz on a hill named after him. Baba Kuhi had composed a ruba’i that had summed up Hafiz’s position perfectly and gave him some hope ...

Wherever a heart has blood flowing from it, I see it.
Crazy for hair of moon-faced ones? I admit I see it!

That particular Essence ... the same in both worlds,
in moon-faced ones looks, pure, exquisite ... I see it.

The promise that Baba Kuhi gave was that if anyone could stay awake for forty consecutive nights at his tomb he would grant them the gift of poetry, immortality, and his heart’s desire. Hafiz, interested in the third, vowed to do it, and; he’d had plenty of practice in not sleeping.

Every day Hafiz would go to work at the bakery then he would eat, walk past the house of Nabat, who had heard some poems that of his in praise of her. One in particular had affected her ...

To tell to you the condition of my heart is my desire:
to know news that your heart may impart is my desire.

Notice the desire so fundamental: the tale well known:
to conceal from the watchers spying art, is my desire.

‘Night of Power’ such as this that is precious and holy,
being with you until day sees night depart is my desire.

O no, that pearl that is unique, that is tender and lovely,
in the dark night to pierce, know every part, is my desire.

O breeze of the East give some help to me in this night,
for to blossom when morning does start ... is my desire.

For the sake of praising, to sweep the dust of the Path
with point from where my eyelashes dart, is my desire.

Like Hafiz, without regard for those who are censors,
verse beyond reason, loving, to impart, is my desire.

She had noticed him passing, each day more weary, but with fire in his eyes that had lit the lamp of her heart for him. Hafiz was in a kind of trance. The only thing that kept him going was the love in his heart and his determination to keep the lonely vigil. On the fortieth day she ran out and threw herself in the dust at his feet, declaring she had lost her heart to him and no longer would marry Abu Ishak, but, he stumbled single-mindedly towards his quest. She remained in love with him for the rest of her life and was his muse through whom he saw and praised God’s Beauty in the most perfect of human form, the female form through which can be contemplated both the creative and the receptive nature of God.

The next morning Angel Gabriel appeared and gave Hafiz a cup containing the Water of Immortality and declared he had also received the gift of poetry. Gabriel asked him his heart’s desire. Hafiz could not take his eyes off Gabriel. So great was the Angel’s beauty he had forgotten Nabat. He thought: ‘If Gabriel’s so beautiful, how much more beautiful God must be.’ ‘I want to be united with the Beauty of God!’ He declared. Gabriel directed him to the perfume shop of Mahmud Attar who was the Qutub, the Head of the Spiritual Hierarchy at that time, the Perfect Master, who had sent Gabriel, and if Hafiz would serve him faithfully, Attar promised that one day he would attain his wish, but, he must learn to be patient and to obey him.

Hafiz joined the circle of Attar’s disciples and on the Master’s orders it wasn’t until many years later, after Attar had dropped his physical form, that Hafiz revealed his Master’s identity. He soon married as Attar ordered him (not Nabat) and later had a son.

Hafiz’s vigil had made him known throughout Shiraz and the poetry he now created, in praise of his Beloved, and out of longing to gain his heart’s new desire was soon sung throughout the city by the minstrels such as Haji Ahmed and in far flung places.

He saw the wisdom and mercy of God manifesting through his Master Attar, and composed many poems praising him and begging him to fulfil the promise of Union. When Hafiz went to visit him, Attar would ask Hafiz to recite his latest ghazal, then Attar would spiritually analyse it for the sake of Hafiz and his other disciples, (this practice continued for forty years).

As long as of wine and Winehouse a name and trace shall be,
the dust of the path of the Perfect Master our face shall be.

When you pass by the head of our tombstone ask for grace,
for the pilgrimage of the drunken lovers, this place shall be.

From before Time, slave-ring of First Master was in my ear;
and as we were we remain, and in this way our case shall be.

Proud bigot, go; because from your eye and also from mine,
the Mystery of this veil is hidden: visible not a trace shall be.

Today, lover slaying, my bold Turk went out intoxicated;
now where, blood flowing from whose eye’s base shall be?

Wherever on land is even a trace of the heel of Your foot,
for every person with Vision, the Adoration Place shall be.

From that night my eye entombed desires, desire for You
until the Resurrection’s dawn impossible to efface shall be.

O Sir, do not censor the intoxicated, for from this old inn
none has known how the departure, from its space shall be.

If in this way the fortune of Hafiz shall give some benefit,
Beloved’s long hair in hand of others, due to Grace, shall be.

Then the disciples would put tunes to the ghazals and the songs would soon be sung with the fame of Hafiz continuing to grow. Soon Hafiz’s poems were being sung at court and the new king, Abu Ishak (Masud Shah having been murdered by an usurper) having a great love of good poetry and art, wine and philosophy sent an invitation to Hafiz to come and recite his ghazals. Hafiz accepted and a strong friendship grew between them. Abu Ishak was intoxicated by the verse and knowledge and humour of this young man and introduced him to many of the notable people who frequented his court, including his niece the petite, beautiful, liberated and tragic Princess Poet Jahan Malek and the king engaged Hafiz to help her with her work which he did and they remained very close friends for the rest of his life.

She says in her Divan (collection of poems) that is nearly four times the size of Hafiz’s, ‘I am ... Princess Jahan, the daughter of Masud Shah and I preferred ... I sometimes had to choose a lonely path. Don’t choose to be alone but also don’t choose to open your heart. I composed poems all day long. Sometimes untalented and lazy people teased or found fault with me. Only some people are able to compose poetry. If composing poems is so bad we wouldn’t have so many poets. At first I thought it wasn’t a good occupation because it was disapproved of and not liked in the society that I lived in. After sometime I realised that our Prophet Mohammed’s daughter composed poems and other women too, including his wife Ayesha. I began to compose poems everyday ... it became my pleasure.

If mine you will be, it is my pleasure:
and if you kill me, it is my pleasure.

You may never be mine I know but if
you remember me, it is my pleasure!

He was introduced to the powerful blue-robed false Sufi Master Shaikh Ali Kolah (whose followers were the Taliban of the time) and his offsider the fake ascetic Abdullah bin Jiri who would try to persecute and kill Hafiz and other liberated poets for the following 30 years.

One poet who had recently arrived in Shiraz was satirist and poet-jester Obeyd Zakani (the Lenny Bruce and Seinfield of the time) the author of ‘Mice and the Cat’ and works critical of the upper levels of society, stories and poems as well as many beautiful ghazals that would have influenced Hafiz. Obeyd would confront the false Sufis with his stand-up comic routines at court and in the winehouses, such as ‘It was said to a Sufi, ‘Why don’t you sell that special blue cloak of yours?’ He replied, ‘If a fisherman should sell his net what will he keep fishing with?’

Finally, among many other poets at that time was the much older Khaju Kirmani, Abu Ishak’s official Court poet and author of many masnavis and ghazals of the first order. Hafiz also met judges, scholars and the highest members of the orthodox clergy, who having heard of Hafiz and his poetry, eyed him with jealousy and suspicion, for Hafiz had been free in his criticisms of their deceit and hypocrisy.

Preachers who at the altar and the pulpit a great display make,
when into privacy they go, business of a different way make.

My soul is full of amazement at such brazen-faced preachers,
who practice so little of what on pulpit a display they make.

I’ve a difficulty to be put to the wise ones of the congregation ...
‘Why don’t they do penance, who it the order of the day make?’

You may say that they don’t believe in the Day of Judgement,
since in the business of the Judge, fraud and deceit they make.

Lord, place such upstart owners of new wealth on their asses,
for of having Turkish slave and ass, they boasts today make.

I’m the slave of the Master of the Winehouse, whose disciples, independently fling dust on all riches that the world may make.

You beggar of the monastery, leap up: in the Master’s dwelling
they give the pure liquid, that all hearts strong and gay make.

Make your house empty of idols so it can be Beloved’s home:
for the lustful, heart and soul a place for others to stay make.

O no, these clever ones full of deceit who don’t see the jewel,
equation that shell is worth the same as the pearl they make.

At dawn from God’s Throne was commotion as wisdom spoke ...
it could be said ‘Angels, a song from Hafiz’s verse today make.’

Abu Ishak was a humble but powerful ruler, who was also a great patron of the arts which flourished during his reign that lasted for ten years. For Hafiz, during this period, his life must have seemed to have been split in two, and this is reflected in many of his ghazals. On one hand there is the pursuit of knowledge and truth through the intellect and on the other hand is his growing desire for Union with God. More and more, he recognised the fruitlessness of trying to know God, and more and more his heart told him to let go of the mind and give full rein to feelings. Although Hafiz had reached, while still in his thirties, the height of Shiraz society, and he had the ear of famous and powerful men including the king and his advisers, there was a rebellious streak in him. He had a wanderlust, a vagrant soul that prompted him constantly to give it all away and become like one of the God-intoxicated outcasts that he had seen on the back-roads and on the outskirts of Shiraz. These were the kalandars, the dervishes dressed in rags, indifferent to the world, singing the praises of God and living on the few scraps of food that may be thrown their way. He knew, however, that this was not the answer for him. He had his master Mahmud Attar, whom he had to obey, and he had responsibilities to his wife and child and to the people of Shiraz who were singing his songs, and who more and more, looked to him for some direction in their relationships to God and to each other. As time passed, he realised that he must somehow steer a middle course and that responsibilities were there to be fulfilled; that desires for anything other than God must be abandoned and that one must become mad for God in-side, while on the outside showing no pain or sign at all. This period of Hafiz’s life was not without problems for the young teacher. It seems that through a set of circumstances that are unclear, he fell into debt and had to leave Shiraz for two years and stay in Yazd.

During the late 1340’s Abu Ishak became worried by the growing power of the robber prince of Yazd and Kirman, Mubariz Muzaffar. Twice Abu Ishak invaded Kirman and he failed both times. In 1350 he tried to take Yazd but again he failed; and after failing one more attempt at taking Kirman, he was defeated two years later. Mubariz now invaded his enemy’s camp and captured Shiraz in 1353 and Abu Ishak fled to Isfahan.

In 1353 when Mubariz entered Shiraz, murdering and plundering and with the help of Shaikh Ali Kolah and his fanatical followers he immediately closed the taverns and wineshops.

O heart, the door of the Winehouse maybe they’ll open;
perhaps the difficult knot of our difficulty they’ll open.

If because of selfish preachers they have closed the door,
for God’s sake keep heart brave and happy: they’ll open.

By the pure hearts of lovers drunk from the morning cup,
soon the door with Love’s prayer as key, they’ll open.

Write a note of consolation to the daughter of the vine,
that lovers cry blood from grief, and see: they’ll open.

On the death of pure wine cut the strands of the harp;
its tangled hair, young magicians, quickly they’ll open.

O God, they’ve closed Winehouse door; do not approve,
or the door of lies and deceit and hypocrisy they’ll open.

Hafiz, this costume that you wear, when tomorrow comes
they’ll tear away, and its cord you will see, they’ll open.

Mubariz Muzaffar was a stern, cruel and ruthless ruler who was famous for executing many of the city’s citizens with his sword in one hand and the Koran in the other. Obeyd Zakani who had satirised Mubariz in his ‘The Mice and the Cat’ had to flee the city and sent back this ghazal to Hafiz and his friends ...

I’m leaving the land of Shiraz, as my life will be taken ...
O no, because of this unavoidable despair, heart is broken.

I go beating my head with my hands, feet sinking in shit:
what will to happen to me, on this road what will happen?

Now, I cry out like the nightingale that is lost in love ...
now, like the heartsick bud, my collar’s been torn open.

If I leave this city I am leaving what I have for an unknown ...
when I go through the city gate ... my life it is gone then.

As I leave my Self, heart, friends, Shiraz behind me...
I go on, hopelessly looking back, remembering ... when.

There is no strength in my hands left to hold the reins ...
can legs go on when strength from them has been taken?

I am so sick today and heart-aching from the pain of love:
no help wise friends, parents’ advice I should’ve taken.

O Obeyd, this is not a journey that I wanted to make ...
sky pushes me, then the chain of Fate pulls me ... again.

Soon Hafiz was deprived of his position as professor of Koranic studies due to Shaikh Ali Kolah’s influence. Hafiz who was an excellent calligrapher, began to copy manuscripts of other poets to receive enough money for his family to survive.

Princess Jahan being the last of the Inju family was locked in prison with her daughter who later died there and Jahan would be shut off from her friends most of the time for the following 20 years.

But the tyrant’s death was soon to follow. In 1358 while he was conquering Tabriz, his son Shuja who could no longer bear his father’s madness and cruelty took him prisoner and to repay him for his atrocities and to prevent him from escaping, blinded this dictator.

Hafiz was re-instated and resumed his duties as a teacher at the college. While the poems of Hafiz written during this oppressive reign of Mubariz Muzaffar were poems of protest at the atrocities that he committed. With the coming to power of Shah Shuja, Attar had begun to internalise Hafiz’s consciousness and Hafiz’s poems became more subtle, ‘spiritually impressionistic,’ for Hafiz had begun to experience the inner realms of consciousness. Maulana Azad, one of the Court poets of the time would say of Hafiz ...

Tell that great man of Paradise, this time’s Firdowsi:
‘Seeing your face, eyes of a huri enlightened will be.’

Your wisdom, humanity, light up sky on Holy Night:
your splendour is such the moon is made easier to see.

Though enemy is baffled by the meaning you divulge...
in land of knowledge you are angelic herald, obviously.

You dive deeply into sea of poetry when prose is said,
prose’s ship fills with strings of pure pearls of poetry.

You’re the sunshine and I’m a mote beautified by you:
your grace is mine though your heart thinks not of me.

Do not think the bad would not learn from the good ...
and from place of ambush a thief will come inevitably.

In name of the Koranic verse El Shams, you are Hafiz:
to Azad you are the Sun... others in the dark, can’t see.

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