Nagy László - Nebo i zemlja



Nagy László - Laslo Nađ

(Felsőiszkáz, 1925. július 17. – Budapest, 1978. január 30.)

NEBO I ZEMLJA

Oratorij

GLAS

I video je mudrac kroz naviruće suze

beskonačnost, i video  je ate zime

kako na  brežuljcima u nenadanom grču

na kolena padaju, i vratovi, bele

parabole strše u visinu da već para

mesto grive ih  kiti da se raspadaju

da kosti leda i ira penuše, srebrne

vode u dolini s zlatnim plamenima

nepomućenu ekstazu zelena izazovu,

i video je mudrac kroz naviruće suze

olujni skut kukute, divlje gibanje

maslačka, video je da i razrezani

prošlogodišnji panj zazeleni, zemljanu

kupolu podiže jedan siroti proklijali krompir,

i video je mudrac kroz naviruće suze

među potomcima neuništive akacije

kako se željezni kolut u lokvu rđe pretvara: -

tad su mu opet došli gromoglasni sinovi

šarajući, prljajući plavetnilo,

rutav venac ostavljajući na ohladnelo

mesto duge, neprestanim eksplozijama

glasa, kružeći, dalje rušeći sagrađeno -

a mudrac je dlanovima štitio glavu,

obručem stezao neutešno, da ne bi pukla.

MOMCI

Dobro jutro dobri mudrače, dobro jutro oče,

ponovo smo tu, poštu ti znacima odajemo,

na nebo od mašina stvarani vrisak ljiljana

kačimo i tvojim staračkim očima neprekidnu

znamenitost dočaravamo, neka likuju, sjaje,

uzdigni se već jednom iz biblijske tame,

iz mraka zemlje, zagrljaja zelene trave,

podigni pogled na nas, u novo bleštavilo,

ushićeno promatraj jurišnike horizonta,

dobro jutro mudrače,dobro jutro oče!

MUDRAC

Pa opet ste tu, sramni potomci ove zemlje,

unapred osetih: pre ste mi želudac

nego nebo okrenuli i gušio sam se

znajući: i zrak odvraćate od mojih  usta,

jezdeći  odmetnici, vi s krilima brušenih sablji,

vi s kapama bikove kože, kuglasto - glave,

vi s očima  staklenih šaka, bezobraznici -

i kao nedolični i kao ne sećam vas se

tek na čela iz kolevke i nemate kose

tek ta vitica dojenčeta koju smo nekad

u sitan snop svezali,  nad ogledalom i

mom srcu visi, kad krenete već se zaljulja.

MOMCI

Dobri mudrače, tvoje antene su dobre

ali su osobne, bezličan sistem signala

bilo gde, bilo kad, bilo kom može služiti,

na zapoved i najprepredeniju zvezdu

kao pauk šakom uhvati i isisa joj tajne,

ispljuje rezultat, crvena i zlatna slova.

MUDRAC

Crvena i zlatna slova na pogrebni venac,

ako ćete sahranu uopšte imati,

jer gde hodate samo se puknuti može,

naduvane krastače, vi labode od krvi

koji zvezde proveravate samo zato

da  i  bleštavilo zauzdate, jer napokon

ste sve pokvarili na zemlji - sramota,

takvu oholost ni Gospod još nije video -

izračunajte: dokle će Bog strpiti!

MOMCI

Ali boga nema, čega nema, nemerljivo je!

MUDRAC

Gde je nemoguće, tamo Gospod stražari!

MOMCI

Onda tvoj bog  neprestano se povlači

kao kakav kralj  kome domovinu krnje,

nestaje magla, nemoguće, zemlja tajni,

na naše želje grom se u skut pretvara,

milujemo time sebe, stene mekšamo,

sićušnu crv od rubina  iz paperja laste

do sveopšte lokve krvi uveličamo, dani

i meseci plamte tamo, komete krstare,

potvrđujući, varljive su veličine.

MUDRAC

Potvrđujući, od moje krvi ste se debljali,

šteta je vašku uveličati, i bolje je

ako gromovi u Božjoj ruci ostanu.

MOMCI

I taj koga si u prvoj prestrašenosti

za sebe stvorio, bog se degradira,

rutavom, rasparanom knutom čuva koze

kao i ti, i mrmljate o prošlosti, ali mi -

MUDRAC

Ali vi se dičite i u srebrnom plaštu

letate po nebu dok na meni trune košulja.

MOMCI

Ali mi zvezdanim glavama krčimo stazu

kroz maglu, kroz idiotluk i praznoverje,

ne klanjamo se pred idolima mahovinastih očiju

samo pred jasnim činjenicama, nas samo

znanje može očarati, u vis nas diže -

MUDRAC

Tako diže, da mi koža opet i opet puca.

MOMCI

Ali zanosna kultura osećaja ne

cveta u nama, pupoljke mrazom trebimo,

miris cveta duha kao plin  ubija,

nemilosrdne su kamilice - oči milosti,

skromnost ljubičice: smrt, poput  margarete

bele oči martirstva na lomaču teraju

jer budućnost redu, trezvenosti pripada.

MUDRAC

Željezni ste popovi, rđa je vaš cvet!

MOMCI

Jer dugmadi spremišta za alate nisu tratinčice

niti obrazi odbojnika cvatovi zove.

MUDRAC

Mrzite sve što je rascvetalo, nesretnici,

mada ste nekada voleli  i u štali

nad svoj krevet čadar od sveta pravili,

grozdovi cveta visili sa akacija,

slatke sise izgladnelim zubima grickali,

opanak od božura pravili, moji sinovi,

kao i u bajci gde ste stali  cvetovi nikli,

tokom ispita cvetom okićenim štapom

stajali kraj geografske karte i pokazali

gde je Betlehem, gde su zastrašujući okeani,

vašoj majci ste odelo od šarenih cvetova

ispleli, svečano ju obukli, ali je kraj,

prokletsvo je na vama, ne znate za oca, majku,

nemate više doma samo nebeski Babel,

nismo povezani, razlika je: zemlja i nebo.

MOMCI

Nebo i zemlja, starče, nebo i zemlja!

MUDRAC

U ime nade na zemlji u dronjcima sam bio,

radi vas sam se ranjavao: radi izbavljenja

ali ostaje bol jer i vi ste zbog mučenja tu!

MOMCI

Mi prema zakonima prirode delujemo,

sa prirodom se boriš.

MUDRAC

                                   Sa nevernicima

koji su pobegli i pljuju na ognjište.

MOMCI

O jagnjo ove zemlje, nek te napuste jadi!

MUDRAC

Do stola i mater vas je uzalud zvala,

zabadava uzdisala, oblaci su došli.

MOMCI

Na pupku su nam žigovi azbesta, odnosi

su se promenili, starče, promenili.

MUDRAC

Tek su oblaci došli, cereći đavoli,

izobličene figure su se vrtili,

stiskali, bubrili u bludu, jedan drugog

slepljeno tezmali, pas-nevestu pas-verenik,

venčanu haljinu i naborana creva

ispred vaše majke su uzeli u usta,

mesto sinova opake bande su došle,

gorde lavlje glave, bleštave od bakra trube,

nad njenom glavom lovci pakla su se razmetali,

u isčekivanju sinova njeno srce ste gađali,

pred njene oči crkve od magle gurnuli,

biskupa krokodila, pomahnitali svet,

ranjenu siku, nagrd potomak, lošu budućnost.

MOMCI

Jezivo je priviđenje staraca, bezumlje,

sve pobrka.

MUDRAC

                  Umorili ste vlastitu majku,

bezdušna deca, poslali ste joj takvu zimu

da joj je srce puklo, srce, orah od mraza,

da ju je lekar otvoriti mogao, lekar

bi dokazao, srce joj je puklo.

MOMCI

Jao, šteta zbog mame, šteta, šteta!

MUDRAC

Jao, ti siroto, ti samotna suprugo,

zar je bilo vredno njih na svet doneti,

zar ti je bilo vredno njima život dati,

poručnicima pustahija jer već smrt

gone na nas, zar je bilo vredno hraniti ih

jer i zrak od nas oduzimaju, oblačiti ih

jer naše dronjce habaju, zakrpe kidaju,

zar je bilo vredno učiti ih na lep govor

jer mesto odgovora kao gorile mucaju,

zar je bilo vredno dojiti ih jer zemljom,

crvima zemlje prerano ti suše krvne sudove!

MOMCI

Jao, šteta zbog mame, šteta, šteta!

MUDRAC

Jao, ti siroto, ti samotna suprugo,

već tad zašto ih nisi na mraz gurnula,

što ih svezane u svežanj nisi kurjaku bacila,

draga moja, te sisavce zelene glave

zašto poput bundeve nisi razbila,

bundevu svinjama, ali ti si dobra bila,

zbog njih bi i ubila, sad su te oni ubili.

MOMCI

Jao, šteta zbog mame, šteta, šteta!

MUDRAC

Jao, ti moja siroto u toj maloj kolibi,

nevesta si groblja, skut ti je mnoštvo korenčića,

znam, i mene tamo čekaš na pir kostiju,

na gozbu peska, bez pehara na piće pljuska,

jao, već u mrak, i zbog sebe crno oblačim,

jao, imaš li mira u tvom domu, u večnoj domovini,

draga moja družico, znam, i tamo te tuku,

potresaju ti humku, cepaju nadgrobni krst,

lebdeći potomci cvetove ti čupaju,

ovi čak i groblje do meseca duvaju,

u dvorištu meseca i kosti prevrću,

jao, ni na zemlji, ni u zemlji nemamo mira,

nemamo milosti, ni život, ni smrt ne valja,

laž je i uteha sama.

MOMCI

                              Šteta zbog mame, šteta,

šteta što sutra nije doživela, šteta, šteta!

HANG

I opet biva mir i video je mudrac kako

među prstima treperi isčupana krečna kosa,

i video je mudrac kroz naviruće suze

kako od opalih cvetova beli kolutovi,

puni meseci se zgusnu u podnožju stabla

i potonu, dok gore zelene bebe pupaju,

video je ludu lastu kako neprestano

šopa sićušne zlatno - kljune putunjaše,

video je lakovernost: udovu ženku kosa

kako u odsjaju prozorskog stakla žutim plamenom

se susreće i ljubi ništa, i video je mudrac kako

povređeno srce na štakama žila u vlastitoj

lokvi žuči kao popljuvani prosjak šepa,

i izvrnuvši se video je iznutrice na horizontu

ljutito goriti, video je vlastiti sumrak

i samrtno odelo, cvećem postavljenu raku,

tako je sedeo u trenu na jabuku naslonjeno,

nad glavom mu je  razapeta nevinobela jareća

koža, nebeska ira, kulisa uz tragediju,

dobra je za glađenje potiljka, al se glava ludog

starca potresla u tišini zbog novog naleta,

jer tad su opet gromoglasni sinovi došli.

MOMCI

Dobro veče dobri mudrače, dobro veče oče,

veče mirisa hrušta, veče mirisa obora,

veče s kozjim mlekom ukusa lopuha,

veče dedečavo s žiškom plazeći jezik na zvezde,

krivudavu stazu puža, dinamiku mira,

avijatiku slepog miša za našeg oca,

predistoriskom ocu, prastarom mudracu,

koga, vidi prizor, radosno zabavljaju

po krvi srodni gosti.

MUDRAC

                                Nepozvani,

i rugobe, koji moj sumrak kaljaju!

MOMCI

Koji nevino plove prokrvljenim jezerima sumraka

i girlande svečanih holova kače na nebo

i tvoje oči na ples primoraju, da se rasplaču,

da pun snage možeš živeti kao gore Šag

i Šomlo.

MUDRAC

             Iskasapite vi i brda,

mesari ste večnih vrednosti i zalud razapinjate

laneno platno na nebo, probija ga krv.

MOMCI

Trebalo bi da se veseliš, potomci su ti

se uzdigli iz blata štale, iz kaljuže

deobe, iz bezumlja škrtosti što dušu

razdire, iz paradnih verskih obreda,

gore - gore među nebeske odsjaje metala,

do iskonske materije gde čistota čeka,

bit ćemo bezgrešni pastiri svemira,

tamo nema zaraze, ne ludi čovek ni stado,

tamo mlaz mleka i plamenozlatne bunde vijore,

za takva ogledala i tvoj okean je malen,

i ne vraćamo se, ne vraćamo se više

na metiljastu livadu da stenama međe

razbijemo susedu lobanju, više ne vraćamo.

MUDRAC

I zemlji će biti bolje.

MOMCI

                                  Ne vraćamo  se tamo

gde kosa posedi, gde težina povlači.

MUDRAC

Zemlja se oslobađa od nevernih pretega...

MOMCI

Hrabar je, ko poleti!

MUDRAC

                                  Kukavica je, jer beži

od zakonitosti zemlje, moju krv skrnavi.

MOMCI

Tvoja krv nas goni, na tebe nalikuju i

silnici dezoksiribonukleinske kiseline,

ali ti je lošoj sudbi kraj, pa veseli se, besni,

u nasleđe ni delić od tebe nam ne treba.

MUDRAC

Odavno prognah vas, nažalost iz srca samo,

ostale vrednosti što imah zbog vas su nestali,

razum izgubih, umirem, samo plakati znam.

MOMCI

Zavrni šiju labuđoj pesmi, zvižduk žele

tvoji sinovi!

MUDRAC

                   Ne sinovi, moji lešinari!

MOMCI

Na zelenom listu zviždi, na fruli od trstike sviraj,

neka tvoje mamuze mesečev kolut ljube,

nek tvoju stoletnu bradu vetar prosvira!

MUDRAC

Neka moju golenjaču prosvira vetar!

MOMCI

Mudrače, ne odriči se gozbe, ne poriči

da ti se već ugasila prastara utvara.

MUDRAC

Ispred mene ste ju zdrobili, na nebu vidim,

razapetu na plovećim križevima vidim,

rumenilo golgote u ludilo me tera

i vrtim ništa, nemam za što da se uhvatim.

MOMCI

Uhvati se za flašu vina, za flašu piva,

odgovornosti više nemaš, sve ti je dozvoljeno.

MUDRAC

Dakle već smem piti kvarne tekućine,

smem od bludnih mešanaca čemer dobiti,

meni i pivo iz smrdljivih buradi točite

gde je zmija crkla, rađe bi mokraću ždrepca pio,

ali ni toga više nema, vaše trakama kićene

staklene - čelične kurve mesto izmeta ulje stvaraju,

nema mirisa, dobrog okusa, kvarno je meso,

u nemoć se pretvara, ali živahno banči crv,

hleb s krznom štakora bacate, veseli se, starče!

MOMCI

O, ti mudrače s ustima ljiljana, ubij jare,

ali u čisto belo se oblači.

MUDRAC

                                       Ubih jare,

ubih krasno jare, i ime mu je bilo lepo,

Nada, Nadom nazvah - kako živiš Nado,

idemo u pašu, Nado, u zeleno, među

viseće kapljice rose, listove ljubičice

i kiseljak i mišjakinju možeš rezati,

neka ti se prolepša svila, sazriju bradavice,

o, mazi te moja duša, pobožno te gledam

i na zastavama kapele tvoje čisto lice

vidim, kroz suze te sa Devicom zamenim,

ako postoji još milost, tvoja je dobrota daje,

ojačaj se, samo si mi ti oslonac, Nado!

MOMCI

Ojačaj se, samo si nam ti oslonac,Nado!

MUDRAC

Ali vi prljate moje stvari, urlajući

na ljupki ples proleća, na nevino ushićenje,

tvrdu zimu bljujete na krhke cvetove,

očima staklenih šaka udarate svet,

pogledali ste mi ugar i jare slep posta, slep.

MOMCI

Jare slep posta, o slepa nado, slepa, slepa.

MUDRAC

Psi groblja, režete na ostatke, ali ja  

sam se toliko udario i kriknuo modro

i ljubičasto koliko je jare o zid udareno,

ušica sekire nasrnulo  i nosio na glavi

krvavu zvezdu  igre kao sirota devojka

koju, kad pleše, udare  - nisam podneo,

na njegov vrat pored trake bodež sam stavio.

MOMCI

Nestade nada, umire ćorava nada!

MUDRAC

Jao, jare, jarence, trakom kićeni  sirotico,

oprosti bodežu, ruci sažaljenju, mojoj starosti,

ali ta nedužna krv nek ih zauvek obeleži

i kroz staklene maske pegama ih udari,

nek se ugnezditi u poverenju zvezda ne mogu.

MOMCI

Jao, stvarno već ne prepoznajemo oca.

MUDRAC

Čemu zemlja i zeleno ako ne živiš,

nek dođe suša  na tvoje mesto, sevajućim,  žutim

štapovima nek dotuče zeleno, zelene

jutarnje ukrase, nek dođu skakavci, nek drvo

izgubi senku, tek šušteća krila, valjci,

tek vreva, senke, da ne vidim let potomaka,

tu na moju bradu na od vetra bledu kosu,

tu na moju košulju neka mi tetiva i kosti

samelju, neka dođu trešteći mlinovi

zelenih krila kad već nemam zašto živeti,

Nado, družico u prognanstvu, ako te već nema.

MOMCI

Nek plače nebo, nek oplakuje čoveka, ne jare!

MUDRAC

Devojčica si mi s plavom trakom, belom soknom,,

sićušna, nevina, koja je na moju radost

na daskama šetala, koja mekanim nosom

ispod pazuha me je škakljala i nasmijavala,

koja me sad u plač tera, jao, gde si nestala,

jao meni, jao stolu na kojem si ležala,

jao bodežu koji te je mučki rasporilo,

jao, tvoje mirišljavo meso, Marija-plave

plućne opne, sitne bubrege, jao, tvoje srce,

jao, sve je tako   detinjasto, ko bi jeo

to meso, jao, brzo su te sahranili. Ubih jare -

MOMCI

Mudrače, lepo je veče i krasna će biti noć.

MUDRAC

Ubih krasno jare, tebe, kojeg su oslepili,

koji mi  ja nada bio i kćerkom prihvatio,

sad se do tebe spuštam, suton me okružuje,

ali  vidim  te svilena vatro, vidim te kroz mrak,

u toj garnoj noći samo ja grbačim na zemlji,

vrtećoj crnoj kugli, jao, plačući između

dve rake, jao, u treću, u svoju krećem!

MOMCI

Krasna će biti noć, utiša se zemlja i patnja.

MUDRAC

Od mog glasa, vi nevernici, pobeći nećete!

MOMCI

Toneš u dubinu, uzdižemo se u visinu!

MUDRAC

Na mene ćete misliti  u stezi oluje!

MOMCI

Iz groba, iz groba, ti iz groba govoriš!

MUDRAC

Zemlja tu govori, jer zemlja, zemlja je moje grlo!

MOMCI

O, ne diraj nas, smiri se konačno, laku noć,

laku noć tebi, mudrače, oče, laku noć!

                                                    Prevod: Fehér Illés

Irfan Horozović Vrt predaha – A megnyugvás kertje

Irfan Horozović (Horozovity Irfan) - Banja Luka 27. aprila 1947 –



Vrt predaha

Močvaran je ovaj krajolik sa prevarenim stablima,

sad kad ga vidjeh čini mi se

da negde postoji krajolik neki močvarni sa samotnim

drvetom kakva je ova zemlja

što je moje oko prelistava kao slikovnicu,

na prvi pogled čini se da tu nema ničeg osim lelujave vlage

i halapljivog zelenila,

u daljini se naslućuju obrisi nekih brda

a čitav taj svijet ima oblik izdubljene zdjele,

to je dakle ta zemlja i to je dakle taj svijet,

nekoliko ptica kojima ne znam ime

drhture u smeđem jutru iznad ljubičaste vode,

najednom kao da mi iznenada postaje jasno

da sam ipak na pragu Memle,

pred otvorenom kapijom mukle zemlje

i pokreće se dijamantni mozak slika koji kaže:

To nije krajolik močvarni, Asirijane,

sa osamljenom stablom,

to si ti sa jednom davnom tugom,

nije to vlaga što ti se činilo,

već blažena tečnost u kojoj pliva tvoj um

a te ptice zaleđene, te mrlje od tinte...

Sada je sve rečeno i ti možeš otići, Asirijane mrki,

u neki vrt ogoljen poput čela

gdje će se  otvoriti zemlja i vrhovi planina pocijepati

i šta ćeš tada učiniti,

u kojoj ćeš zemlji biti, Asirijane, u kojem os svoja

dva života,

tvoje ništa i tvoje sve

podsjećaju na san u bašti prezrelih dunja i zrele smrti.

Iz zbirke pesama: Testament iz mladosti(1980)

                              Glas - Banja Luka.

A megnyugvás kertje

Megcsalt tölgyekkel tele ez a mocsaras táj,

most, hogy felismertem, mintha

létezne valahol egy ehhez az országhoz hasonló ingovány

magányosan küzdő tölggyel

melyet képeskönyvként forgathatok,

úgy tűnt nincs itt semmi más csak a ringó nedvesség,

a burjánzó zöld,

s a messzi homályban a hegyek vonulatai,

mindez együtt faragott rönk,

ez tehát a föld és ez tehát a világ,

néhány nevét nem tudom madár

didergett a hajnali hidegben az ibolyakék víz felett,

világossá lett

mégis a Nyirok szélén állok,

a néma föld nyitott kapuja előtt,

a gyémánt agy gyorsan pergő képei mintha ezt mondanák:

te Asszírián, nem mocsaras lápos vidék ez

magányos büszke tölggyel,

te magad vagy régi bánatoddal,

nem nyirkosság az ami szerinted az,

de életet adó nedv, elmét éltető,

és azok a jégmadarak, azok tintacseppek…

Most, hogy minden elhangzott, a homlokodhoz hasonló puszta kertbe

te is elmehetsz, komor Asszírián,

ahol megnyílik a föld és szétválnak a hegyek csúcsai,

te akkor mit fogsz tenni,

melyik égitesten leszel, Asszírián, két életed közt

melyiken,

a te semmid és mindened

túlérett birsekkel és érett halállal teli kerti álom.

                                                       Fordította: Fehér Illés

Omar Khayyam – Edward Fitzgerald Rubaiyat

Ghijaszu-d-din Abu-l-Fath Omár ibn Ibrahim al-Kháyyám – XI. century

The Rubaiyat

I
Wake! For the Sun, who scatter'd into flight
The Stars before him from the Field of Night,
Drives Night along with them from Heav'n, and strikes
The Sultan's Turret with a Shaft of Light.

II
Before the phantom of False morning died,
Methought a Voice within the Tavern cried,
"When all the Temple is prepared within,
Why nods the drowsy Worshipper outside?"

III
And, as the Cock crew, those who stood before
The Tavern shouted--"Open then the Door!
You know how little while we have to stay,
And, once departed, may return no more."

IV
Now the New Year reviving old Desires,
The thoughtful Soul to Solitude retires,
Where the White Hand Of Moses on the Bough
Puts out, and Jesus from the Ground suspires.

V
Iram indeed is gone with all his Rose,
And Jamshyd's Sev'n-ring'd Cup where no one knows;
But still a Ruby kindles in the Vine,
And many a Garden by the Water blows,

VI
And David's lips are lockt; but in divine
High-piping Pehlevi, with "Wine! Wine! Wine!
Red Wine!"--the Nightingale cries to the Rose
That sallow cheek of hers t' incarnadine.

VII
Come, fill the Cup, and in the fire of Spring
Your Winter-garment of Repentance fling:
The Bird of Time has but a little way
To flutter--and the Bird is on the Wing.

VIII
Whether at Naishapur or Babylon,
Whether the Cup with sweet or bitter run,
The Wine of Life keeps oozing drop by drop,
The Leaves of Life keep falling one by one.

IX
Each Morn a thousand Roses brings, you say;
Yes, but where leaves the Rose of Yesterday?
And this first Summer month that brings the Rose
Shall take Jamshyd and Kaikobad away.

X
Well, let it take them! What have we to do
With Kaikobad the Great, or Kaikhosru?
Let Zal and Rustum bluster as they will,
Or Hatim call to Supper--heed not you

XI
With me along the strip of Herbage strown
That just divides the desert from the sown,
Where name of Slave and Sultan is forgot--
And Peace to Mahmud on his golden Throne!

XII
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!

XIII
Some for the Glories of This World; and some
Sigh for the Prophet's Paradise to come;
Ah, take the Cash, and let the Credit go,
Nor heed the rumble of a distant Drum!

XIV
Look to the blowing Rose about us--"Lo,
Laughing," she says, "into the world I blow,
At once the silken tassel of my Purse
Tear, and its Treasure on the Garden throw."

XV
And those who husbanded the Golden grain,
And those who flung it to the winds like Rain,
Alike to no such aureate Earth are turn'd
As, buried once, Men want dug up again.

XVI
The Worldly Hope men set their Hearts upon
Turns Ashes--or it prospers; and anon,
Like Snow upon the Desert's dusty Face,
Lighting a little hour or two--is gone.

XVII
Think, in this batter'd Caravanserai
Whose Portals are alternate Night and Day,
How Sultan after Sultan with his Pomp
Abode his destined Hour, and went his way.

XVIII
They say the Lion and the Lizard keep
The Courts where Jamshyd gloried and drank deep:
And Bahram, that great Hunter--the Wild Ass
Stamps o'er his Head, but cannot break his Sleep.

XIX
I sometimes think that never blows so red
The Rose as where some buried Caesar bled;
That every Hyacinth the Garden wears
Dropt in her Lap from some once lovely Head.

X
And this reviving Herb whose tender Green
Fledges the River-Lip on which we lean--
Ah, lean upon it lightly! for who knows
From what once lovely Lip it springs unseen!

XXI
Ah, my Belov'ed fill the Cup that clears
To-day Past Regrets and Future Fears:
To-morrow!--Why, To-morrow I may be
Myself with Yesterday's Sev'n Thousand Years.

XXII
For some we loved, the loveliest and the best
That from his Vintage rolling Time hath prest,
Have drunk their Cup a Round or two before,
And one by one crept silently to rest.

XXIII
And we, that now make merry in the Room
They left, and Summer dresses in new bloom
Ourselves must we beneath the Couch of Earth
Descend--ourselves to make a Couch--for whom?

XXIV
Ah, make the most of what we yet may spend,
Before we too into the Dust descend;
Dust into Dust, and under Dust to lie
Sans Wine, sans Song, sans Singer, and--sans End!

XXV
Alike for those who for To-day prepare,
And those that after some To-morrow stare,
A Muezzin from the Tower of Darkness cries
"Fools! your Reward is neither Here nor There."

XXVI
Why, all the Saints and Sages who discuss'd
Of the Two Worlds so wisely--they are thrust
Like foolish Prophets forth; their Words to Scorn
Are scatter'd, and their Mouths are stopt with Dust.

XXVII
Myself when young did eagerly frequent
Doctor and Saint, and heard great argument
About it and about: but evermore
Came out by the same door where in I went.

XXVIII
With them the seed of Wisdom did I sow,
And with mine own hand wrought to make it grow;
And this was all the Harvest that I reap'd--
"I came like Water, and like Wind I go."

XXIX
Into this Universe, and Why not knowing
Nor Whence, like Water willy-nilly flowing;
And out of it, as Wind along the Waste,
I know not Whither, willy-nilly blowing.

XXX
What, without asking, hither hurried Whence?
And, without asking, Whither hurried hence!
Oh, many a Cup of this forbidden Wine
Must drown the memory of that insolence!

XXXI
Up from Earth's Centre through the Seventh Gate
rose, and on the Throne of Saturn sate;
And many a Knot unravel'd by the Road;
But not the Master-knot of Human Fate.

XXXII
There was the Door to which I found no Key;
There was the Veil through which I might not see:
Some little talk awhile of Me and Thee
There was--and then no more of Thee and Me.

XXXIII
Earth could not answer; nor the Seas that mourn
In flowing Purple, of their Lord forlorn;
Nor rolling Heaven, with all his Signs reveal'd
And hidden by the sleeve of Night and Morn.

XXXIV
Then of the Thee in Me works behind
The Veil, I lifted up my hands to find
A Lamp amid the Darkness; and I heard,
As from Without--"The Me Within Thee Blind!"

XXXV
Then to the lip of this poor earthen Urn
I lean'd, the Secret of my Life to learn:
And Lip to Lip it murmur'd--"While you live
Drink!--for, once dead, you never shall return."

XXXVI
I think the Vessel, that with fugitive
Articulation answer'd, once did live,
And drink; and Ah! the passive Lip I kiss'd,
How many Kisses might it take--and give!

XXXVII
For I remember stopping by the way
To watch a Potter thumping his wet Clay:
And with its all-obliterated Tongue
It murmur'd--"Gently, Brother, gently, pray!"

XXXVIII
And has not such a Story from of Old
Down Man's successive generations roll'd
Of such a clod of saturated Earth
Cast by the Maker into Human mould?

XXXIX
And not a drop that from our Cups we throw
For Earth to drink of, but may steal below
To quench the fire of Anguish in some Eye
There hidden--far beneath, and long ago.

XL
As then the Tulip for her morning sup
Of Heav'nly Vintage from the soil looks up,
Do you devoutly do the like, till Heav'n
To Earth invert you--like an empty Cup.

XLI
Perplext no more with Human or Divine,
To-morrow's tangle to the winds resign,
And lose your fingers in the tresses of
The Cypress--slender Minister of Wine.

XLII
And if the Wine you drink, the Lip you press
End in what All begins and ends in--Yes;
Think then you are To-day what Yesterday
You were--To-morrow You shall not be less.

XLIII
So when that Angel of the darker Drink
At last shall find you by the river-brink,
And, offering his Cup, invite your Soul
Forth to your Lips to quaff--you shall not shrink.

XLIV
Why, if the Soul can fling the Dust aside,
And naked on the Air of Heaven ride,
Were't not a Shame--were't not a Shame for him
In this clay carcase crippled to abide?

XLV
'Tis but a Tent where takes his one day's rest
A Sultan to the realm of Death addrest;
The Sultan rises, and the dark Ferrash
Strikes, and prepares it for another Guest.

XLVI
And fear not lest Existence closing your
Account, and mine, should know the like no more;
The Eternal Saki from that Bowl has pour'd
Millions of Bubbles like us, and will pour.

XLVII
When You and I behind the Veil are past,
Oh, but the long, long while the World shall last,
Which of our Coming and Departure heeds
As the Sea's self should heed a pebble-cast.

XLVIII
A Moment's Halt--a momentary taste
Of Being from the Well amid the Waste--
And Lo!--the phantom Caravan has reach'd
The Nothing it set out from--Oh, make haste!

XLIX
Would you that spangle of Existence spend
About the Secret--Quick about it, Friend!
A Hair perhaps divides the False and True--
And upon what, prithee, may life depend?

L
A Hair perhaps divides the False and True;
Yes; and a single Alif were the clue--
Could you but find it--to the Treasure-house,
And peradventure to The Master too;

LI
Whose secret Presence, through Creation's veins
Running Quicksilver-like eludes your pains;
Taking all shapes from Mah to Mahi; and
They change and perish all--but He remains;

LII
A moment guess'd--then back behind the Fold
Immerst of Darkness round the Drama roll'd
Which, for the Pastime of Eternity,
He doth Himself contrive, enact, behold.

LIII
But if in vain, down on the stubborn floor
Of Earth, and up to Heav'n's unopening Door
You gaze To-day, while You are You--how then
To-morrow, You when shall be You no more?

LIV
Waste not your Hour, nor in the vain pursuit
Of This and That endeavour and dispute;
Better be jocund with the fruitful Grape
Than sadden after none, or bitter, Fruit.

LV
You know, my Friends, with what a brave Carouse
I made a Second Marriage in my house;
Divorced old barren Reason from my Bed
And took the Daughter of the Vine to Spouse.

LVI
For "Is" and "Is-not" though with Rule and Line
And "Up" and "Down" by Logic I define,
Of all that one should care to fathom,
Was never deep in anything but--Wine.

LVII
Ah, but my Computations, People say,
Reduced the Year to better reckoning?--Nay
'Twas only striking from the Calendar
Unborn To-morrow, and dead Yesterday.

LVIII
And lately, by the Tavern Door agape,
Came shining through the Dusk an Angel Shape
Bearing a Vessel on his Shoulder; and
He bid me taste of it; and 'twas--the Grape!

LIX
The Grape that can with Logic absolute
The Two-and-Seventy jarring Sects confute:
The sovereign Alchemist that in a trice
Life's leaden metal into Gold transmute:

LX
The mighty Mahmud, Allah-breathing Lord
That all the misbelieving and black Horde
Of Fears and Sorrows that infest the Soul
Scatters before him with his whirlwind Sword.

LXI
Why, be this Juice the growth of God, who dare
Blaspheme the twisted tendril as a Snare?
A Blessing, we should use it, should we not?
And if a Curse--why, then, Who set it there?

LXII
I must abjure the Balm of Life, I must,
Scared by some After-reckoning ta'en on trust,
Or lured with Hope of some Diviner Drink,
To fill the Cup--when crumbled into Dust!

LXIII
Oh, threats of Hell and Hopes of Paradise!
One thing at least is certain--This Life flies;
One thing is certain and the rest is Lies;
The Flower that once has blown for ever dies.

LXIV
Strange, is it not? that of the myriads who
Before us pass'd the door of Darkness through,
Not one returns to tell us of the Road,
Which to discover we must travel too.

LXV
The Revelations of Devout and Learn'd
Who rose before us, and as Prophets burn'd,
Are all but Stories, which, awoke from Sleep,
They told their comrades, and to Sleep return'd.

LXVI
I sent my Soul through the Invisible,
Some letter of that After-life to spell:
And by and by my Soul return'd to me,
And answer'd "I Myself am Heav'n and Hell:"

LXVII
Heav'n but the Vision of fulfill'd Desire,
And Hell the Shadow from a Soul on fire,
Cast on the Darkness into which Ourselves,
So late emerged from, shall so soon expire.

LXVIII
We are no other than a moving row
Of Magic Shadow-shapes that come and go
Round with the Sun-illumined Lantern held
In Midnight by the Master of the Show;

LXIX
But helpless Pieces of the Game He plays
Upon this Chequer-board of Nights and Days;
Hither and thither moves, and checks, and slays,
And one by one back in the Closet lays.

LXX
The Ball no question makes of Ayes and Noes,
But Here or There as strikes the Player goes;
And He that toss'd you down into the Field,
He knows about it all--He knows--HE knows!

LXXI
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.

LXXII
And that inverted Bowl they call the Sky,
Whereunder crawling coop'd we live and die,
Lift not your hands to It for help--for It
As impotently moves as you or I.

LXXIII
With Earth's first Clay They did the Last Man knead,
And there of the Last Harvest sow'd the Seed:
And the first Morning of Creation wrote
What the Last Dawn of Reckoning shall read.

LXXIV
Yesterday This Day's Madness did prepare;
To-morrow's Silence, Triumph, or Despair:
Drink! for you know not whence you came, nor why:
Drink! for you know not why you go, nor where.

LXXV
I tell you this--When, started from the Goal,
Over the flaming shoulders of the Foal
Of Heav'n Parwin and Mushtari they flung
In my predestined Plot of Dust and Soul.

LXXVI
The Vine had struck a fibre: which about
If clings my being--let the Dervish flout;
Of my Base metal may be filed a Key,
That shall unlock the Door he howls without.

LXXVII
And this I know: whether the one True Light
Kindle to Love, or Wrath-consume me quite,
One Flash of It within the Tavern caught
Better than in the Temple lost outright.

LXXVIII
What! out of senseless Nothing to provoke
A conscious Something to resent the yoke
Of unpermitted Pleasure, under pain
Of Everlasting Penalties, if broke!

LXXIX
What! from his helpless Creature be repaid
Pure Gold for what he lent him dross-allay'd--
Sue for a Debt he never did contract,
And cannot answer--Oh, the sorry trade!

LXXX
Oh, Thou, who didst with pitfall and with gin
Beset the Road I was to wander in,
Thou wilt not with Predestined Evil round
Enmesh, and then impute my Fall to Sin!

LXXXI
Oh, Thou who Man of baser Earth didst make,
And ev'n with Paradise devise the Snake:
For all the Sin wherewith the Face of Man
Is blacken'd--Man's forgiveness give--and take!

LXXXII
As under cover of departing Day
Slunk hunger-stricken Ramazan away,
Once more within the Potter's house alone
I stood, surrounded by the Shapes of Clay.

LXXXIII
Shapes of all Sorts and Sizes, great and small,
That stood along the floor and by the wall;
And some loquacious Vessels were; and some
Listen'd perhaps, but never talk'd at all.

LXXXIV
Said one among them--"Surely not in vain
My substance of the common Earth was ta'en
And to this Figure moulded, to be broke,
Or trampled back to shapeless Earth again."

LXXXV
Then said a Second--"Ne'er a peevish Boy
Would break the Bowl from which he drank in joy,
And He that with his hand the Vessel made
Will surely not in after Wrath destroy."

LXXXVI
After a momentary silence spake
Some Vessel of a more ungainly Make;
"They sneer at me for leaning all awry:
What! did the Hand then of the Potter shake?"

LXXXVII
Whereat some one of the loquacious Lot--
I think a Sufi pipkin-waxing hot--
"All this of Pot and Potter--Tell me then,
Who is the Potter, pray, and who the Pot?"

LXXXVIII
"Why," said another, "Some there are who tell
Of one who threatens he will toss to Hell
The luckless Pots he marr'd in making--Pish!
He's a Good Fellow, and 'twill all be well."

LXXXIX
"Well," Murmur'd one, "Let whoso make or buy,
My Clay with long Oblivion is gone dry:
But fill me with the old familiar juice,
Methinks I might recover by and by."

XC
So while the Vessels one by one were speaking,
The little Moon look'd in that all were seeking:
And then they jogg'd each other, "Brother! Brother!
Now for the Porter's shoulder-knot a-creaking!"

XCI
Ah, with the Grape my fading Life provide,
And wash the Body whence the Life has died,
And lay me, shrouded in the living Leaf,
By some not unfrequented Garden-side.

XCII
That ev'n my buried Ashes such a snare
Of Vintage shall fling up into the Air
As not a True-believer passing by
But shall be overtaken unaware.

XCIII
Indeed the Idols I have loved so long
Have done my credit in this World much wrong:
Have drown'd my Glory in a shallow Cup
And sold my Reputation for a Song.

XCIV
Indeed, indeed, Repentance of before
I swore--but was I sober when I swore?
And then and then came Spring, and Rose-in-hand
My thread-bare Penitence apieces tore.

XCV
And much as Wine has play'd the Infidel,
And robb'd me of my Robe of Honour--Well,
I wonder often what the Vintners buy
One half so precious as the stuff they sell.

XCVI
Yet Ah, that Spring should vanish with the Rose!
That Youth's sweet-scented manuscript should close!
The Nightingale that in the branches sang,
Ah, whence, and whither flown again, who knows!

XCVII
Would but the Desert of the Fountain yield
One glimpse--if dimly, yet indeed, reveal'd,
To which the fainting Traveller might spring,
As springs the trampled herbage of the field!

XCVIII
Would but some wing'ed Angel ere too late
Arrest the yet unfolded Roll of Fate,
And make the stern Recorder otherwise
Enregister, or quite obliterate!

XCIX
Ah, Love! could you and I with Him conspire
To grasp this sorry Scheme of Things entire,
Would not we shatter it to bits--and then
Re-mould it nearer to the Heart's Desire!

C
Yon rising Moon that looks for us again--
How oft hereafter will she wax and wane;
How oft hereafter rising look for us
Through this same Garden--and for one in vain!

CI
And when like her, oh, Saki, you shall pass
Among the Guests Star-scatter'd on the Grass,
And in your joyous errand reach the spot
Where I made One--turn down an empty Glass!