The Rubaiyat: Quatrain LVI

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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

This is the fifty-sixth quatrain of the FitzGerald's Rubaiyat. The poet says I know this, I am sure about this. The True Light, the one that drives such passion and emotion of Divine Love or Wrath. Those emotions consumes my entire self. It is better to get a glimpse of that Being in a casual encounter in a tavern where we meet and chance upon as friends or companions on a journey than to be lost utterly trying to find Him in a temple. As an equal companion in a informal tavern, a glimpse could turn into a conversation about the nature of things. But in a temple setting, where I am one of the countless seeker, chances are I will be lost than getting some answers from You.

Poems Of India - XXI

  

Like a silkworm weaving
her house with love
from her marrow,
    and dying
in her body's threads
winding tight, round
and round,

    I burn
desiring what the heart desires.

Cut through. O lord,
my heart's greed,
and show me
your way out,

O lord white as jasmine.

-- Akka Mahādēvi [Translated by A. K. Ramanujan in the book - Speaking of Siva]

 

How can I feel right
    about a god who eats up lacquer and melts,
    who wilts when he sees fire?

How can I feel right
    about gods you sell in your need,
    
    and gods you bury for fear of thieves?

The lord of the meeting rivers,
self-born, one with himself;

he alone is the true god.

 

-- BASAVAŅŅA [Translated by A. K. Ramanujan in the book - Speaking of Siva]

Poems Of India - XX

  

Winnow, winnow!

Look here, fellows

winnow when the wind blows.

Remember, the winds

are not in your hands,

Remember, you cannot say

I'll winnow, I'll winnow

tomorrow.

When the winds of the Lord's grace

lash,

quickly, quickly winnow, winnow,

said our Chowdaiah of the Ferrymen.*

*Grace can not be called, recalled, or commanded. Be prepared to catch It as It passes.

--CHOWDAIAH OF THE FERRYMEN [Translated by A. K. Ramanujan in the book - Speaking of Siva]

 

See-saw watermills bow their heads.

So what?

Do they get to be devotees

to the Master?

The tongs join hands.

So what?

Can they be humble in service

to the Lord?

Parrots recite.

So what?

Can they read the Lord?

How can the slaves of the Bodiless God,

Desire,

know the way

our Lord's Men move

or the stance of their standing?*

*a rejection of orthodox ritual genuflections & recitations

-- BASAVAŅŅA [Translated by A. K. Ramanujan in the book - Speaking of Siva]

The Rubaiyat: Quatrain LV

The Vine had struck a Fibre; which about
If clings my Being--let the Sufi flout;
Of my Base Metal may be filed a Key,
That shall unlock the Door he howls without.

This is the fifty-fifth quatrain of the FitzGerald's Rubaiyat. The wine (made from grapes from the vines) has stuck me hard, has stuck deep and has touched the marrow. It has wrapped around my Self and moved me to a higher plane. Such is the ecstasy of it! I do not care if the world sees me as a Sufi gone berserk! Let it be! This base and primal and unremarkable state of my Being has now been filed into a Key (by the pleasures of the vine) that will unlock the secrets of the existence, without the howling and fervour utterances that has till now achieved nothing. There is nothing to be found by zealous arguments and passionate devotion. A glass of this would move to a state of mystical bliss where all worries, all questions do not matter.. everything is ephemeral, but it has to be lived.

The Rubaiyat: Quatrain LIV

I tell Thee this---When, starting from the Goal,
Over the shoulders of the flaming Foal
Of Heav'n and Parwin and Mushtari they flung,
In my predestin'd Plot of Dust and Soul.

This is the fifty-fourth quatrain of the FitzGerald's Rubaiyat. To say these lines are obtuse would be an understatement. I have not been able to gather my head around it. There is references to heavenly bodies like Mushtari, Parwin and the flaming foal of heaven. Here is my take. When starting from the Goal (an eventual demise or a fulfillment of something) and looking back and over there in the heavenly sky, lies these eternal bodies flying around and amidst all this my predestined life is playing out from the goal to the birth. If my goal/end is given and decided already so already has my entire life and its origins been. Even if I were to live backwards, these bodies would be flying around and so ignore them for they do not decide the destiny of man. Here dust and soul covers both the material and the supernal and use to 'plot' is used to manifest an intrigue on part of the One who has already decided.

Credits - see here

Poems Of India - XIX

 

Did the breath of the mistress
have breasts and long hair?

Or did the master's breath
wear sacred thread?

Did the outcaste, last in line,
hold with his outgoing breath
the stick of his tribe?

What do the fools of this world know
of the snares you set,

0 Ramanatha?

-- DĒVARA DĀSIMAYYA [Translated by A. K. Ramanujan in the book - Speaking of Siva]

 

The sacrificial lamb brought for the festival
ate up the green leaf brought for the decorations.

Not knowing a thing about the kill,
it wants only to fill its belly:
born that day, to die that day.

But tell me:
    did the killers survive,

0 lord of the meeting rivers?

-- BASAVAŅŅA [Translated by A. K. Ramanujan in the book - Speaking of Siva]