poetry

The revolving sky, which has never revealed any mysteries, has brutally crushed a thousand innocents. Have some wine, since no one is given a long life and once people have left this world they aren’t coming back. Translated by Juan Cole from Omar Khayyam’s Rubaiyat, [pdf] Whinfield 259 

Since you can’t comprehend the mysteries, why wallow uselessly in grief?  Since you ‘re  not going to get your way, be happy in this fleeting moment for which you exist. Translated by Juan Cole from Omar Khayyam’s Rubaiyat, [pdf] Whinfield 458

You’re fast on your feet, server, and dawn is breaking. Let’s have another song, and bring more wine! For summer’s new warmth has melted memories of last December, and of the hundred thousand famous kings and leaders  who have been laid  beneath the hard, cold earth these past few months. Translated by Juan Cole from Omar […]

As for the parts of a wineglass                that have been joined together– no hand would set out                 to break them apart. But as for the shapely hands and feet of a temptress–     whose grace joins them together?     […]

It is a shame for anyone to be well-known for righteousness. It is a great disgrace to feel distress at the injustice of  the turning of the wheels of fate. To get drunk on the nose of a fine vintage born of luscious grapes is better than to be renowned to be a self-denying prude. Translated by […]

I know the outside  of being and nothingness, and I know the inside  of the high and the low. Even so, I should be ashamed  of all my knowledge if I knew of any higher status than drunkenness. Translated by Juan Cole from Omar Khayyam’s Rubaiyat, [pdf] Whinfield 336

       Wine, you are                       my insane                                  sweetheart;             I hit the bottle and         have no fear of disgrace. Drink […]

I staggered, drunk, outside a bar last night and saw a tipsy older man emerge,  a bottle slung across his shoulder; and I said to him, “At your age, aren’t you  ashamed before the Lord Almighty?” He  laughed, “God is merciful: Here, have some wine!” Translated by Juan Cole from Omar Khayyam’s Rubaiyat, [pdf] Whinfield 284

Last night I wandered into a  dark pottery workshop and saw  about two thousand pots lined up in silence. But then suddenly  a vase cried out, inquiring, ‘Where in the world are the potter and the customers and salespeople?” Translated by Juan Cole from Omar Khayyam’s Rubaiyat, [pdf] Whinfield 283