Preface to Hafiz, Drunk with God

                                                                                                  PREFACE

                 


                                                    And HAFIZ  has also left the shrine
                                                    I bet he’s coming to have some wine
                                                                   
Hafiz was born as Shamsuddin Mohamed in 1320 AD, in Shiraz, Persia, the modern Iran. He lost his father when relatively young and had to do unskilled work as a child to help support his family. He memorized the Quran at an early age and was, therefore, called Hafiz, a title he later adopted as his pen name. He taught himself and became a scholar, a mystic, and a poet par excellence. He also became a favorite of kings, princes, and ministers, and spent the rest of his life in relative affluence. He married and had at least one son, but his wife and son died in his lifetime. He died in 1381 AD at the age of 61 years in Shiraz, and was buried there.

                                                      Though HAFIZ is poor and odd and flawed
                                                      He has the treasure of the love of God

Undoubtedly, Hafiz is one of the greatest poets this world has seen. Much of his poetry has been lost over the centuries. Only about six hundred poems, mainly odes, have survived, and these are revered by very, very many. He has been translated in many, many languages, including English, many, many times.

Translation, by its very nature, cannot capture the taste and flavor of the original, and this is especially true of the translations of Hafiz. It is impossible to translate the music, the beat, the rhythm, and the flow of his poetry, but I tried to retain some of the flavor by translating his odes couplet by couplet

                                                      The heavens are empty, and the world is naught
                                                      It’s an illusion, in which we are caught

Hafiz is a lover with a capital L. He loves music, dance, wine, and women, and indeed all the good things in life, but above all, he is a lover of love and beauty. He coins exquisite words and phrases and combines them to produce exceedingly beautiful musical sounds. See, how he paints the picture of feminine beauty:

                                                        By the magical eyes of my beautiful doll
                                                        By her graceful figure, so slim, so tall

                                  By the fountain of life that is in her lips
                                  By her narrow waist and her swinging hips

                                                        By her lovely face that looks like a rose
                                                        By her glowing cheeks and her precious nose

                                  By her silken tresses and her golden curls
                                  By her voluptuous mouth which is full of pearls

                                                        By her playful eyes and the way she winks
                                                        By the wine red and the way she drinks

                                  By her charming manners, her elegance, and grace
                                  By her stately carriage, her poise, and her pace
                                               
                                                        For her pity and kindness does HAFIZ crave
                                                        He remains her humble and a lowly slave 


     
And look, how he describes the pleasure of drinking in the garden surrounded by the beauty of nature:

                                    I went to the garden and drank some ale
                                    And heard the wailing of the nightingale
   
                                                          Blooming there also was a beautiful rose
                                                          But, unlike the birds, it had no woes

                                      It looked so happy, so vigorous, so proud
                                      Standing alone and above the crowd

                                                          The narcissus also was looking very grand
                                                          Had a tulip in waiting with a cup in hand

                                      The iris there also was lashing its tongue
                                      Scolding them all, whether old or young
                                                 
                                                          And holding a flask was there a lass
                                                          Pouring red wine in everyone’s glass

                                      And there was HAFIZ singing his song
                                      Telling us to come and sing along   



He does not distinguish appearance from reality, and neither can we when we read him. In human beauty he sees the glory and  majesty of God. For him, the bar is a place of worship, the bar keeper a teacher, and the wine the spirit of Divine knowledge. And the barmaid, yes the barmaid, is a houri straight from paradise, so beautiful, so obliging. See how he portrays her:

                                        The maid of the bar, she is truly divine
                                        Just see how she wets her lips with wine

                                                          If you don’t kiss it, it would be a sin
                                                          For nothing is sweeter than her dimpled chin

                                        Just see how she serves and how she smiles
                                        Our faith and reason, oh how she beguiles

                                                          And look at her body and her narrow waist
                                                          For whoever made her had a wonderful taste



But above everything else, he is a mystic and a man of God. He is looking for God and finds Him everywhere, and most surprisingly, within his own heart:

                                        My heart was looking for the magic bowl
                                        When it was there, built in his soul

                                                            O mystic look in my clear wine
                                                            In it you’ll see the image divine
   
                                        I see in the tavern the glory of God
                                        But everyone thinks it’s all very odd

                                                            He may be hidden but He is also bare
                                                            You also can see him, if you only care

                                          Whether on earth or up in the sky
                                          He never is hidden from His lover’s eye

                                                              And though HAFIZ is poor and odd, and flawed
                                                              He has in his heart the love of God 



And at the end of his mystical journey when he finds God he says:
                       
                                          The realm of nothingness did I finally reach
                                          And the limits of being, I managed to breach

                                                              Open not the mouth, and blink not the eye
                                                              For allowed you aren’t to speak or pry
                       
                                          There’s nothing to ask, and none to inform
                                          No life, no body, no shape, no form                 



But nothing captures Hafiz more in his totality than the following ode:

                                            With the bar all swept, and nice and clean
                                            The keeper of the bar was doing the routine

                                                                The topers were kneeling to show their respect
                                                                Although they’re always so proud and erect

                                            The shine of the wine was shaming the moon
                                            And the maids were gracing the happy saloon

                                                                  The angels from Heaven were also there
                                                                  And the lovely houris were dancing everywhere

                                              The beauties while drinking couldn’t stay quiet
                                              They were tempting and flirting and causing a riot

                                                                  Then the lady luck also came down there
                                                                  With all her glory, and pomp, and flair

                                              I also went down just to say hello
                                              To the keeper who said, “My good fellow

                                                                  “You’re coming from the shrine, a fine place
                                                                  Looking in the tavern the Divine grace

                                              “But never will you reach your worthy goal
                                              Unless you’ve awakened your sleeping soul

                                                                      “But if you can perform this daring feat
                                                                      The moon will bow and kiss your feet

                                              “And your reason, with all its pomp and pride
                                              To be your slave it’ll surely decide
                                         
                                                                      “And our HAFIZ says if you stay in the pub
                                                                      You’ll become a member of a blessed club”     
                                                                                              ====