Who says words with my mouth?

 

All day I think about it, then at night I say it.
Where did I come from, and what am I supposed to be doing?
I have no idea.
My soul is from elsewhere, I’m sure of that,
and I intend to end up there.

This drunkenness began in some other tavern.
When I get back around to that place,
I’ll be completely sober.  Meanwhile,
I’m like a bird from another continent, sitting in this aviary.
The day is coming when I fly off,
but who is it now in my ear who hears my voice?
Who says words with my mouth?

Who looks out with my eyes? What is the soul?
I cannot stop asking.
If I could taste one sip of an answer,
I could break out of this prison for drunks.
I didn’t come here of my own accord, and I can’t leave that way.
Whoever brought me here will have to take me home.

This poetry, I never know what I’m going to say.
I don’t plan it.
When I’m outside the saying of it,
I get very quiet and rarely speak at all.

I often feel like this ….
This is a paraphrased translation of a poem by Mevlana (Rumi) done by Coleman Barks with John Moyne, A. J. Arberry and Reynold Nicholson. Barks is problematic by himself, because he does not speak Farsi, and relies on the translators mentioned above and his interpretation of Sufism to place Rumi in free verse. I’ve also really enjoyed the first book of the Masnawi translated (very properly) by Jawid Mojaddedi, which is in iambic pentameter. It’s strange to read these different translations – on the one hand, one strives for authenticity, finding Barks deplorable – on the other, Barks’ free verse is living, inspiring, moving, all in ways in which Rumi’s work was in the 13th century. Even if I were to speak Farsi, I could never comprehend the significance of these verses in their own context – in a real sense, they only exist in their meaning for us. Yet, their meaning which reverberates through the ages, their historical significance – is also just as real. Rumi was a real Sufi saint, and his work played a fundamental role in shaping the literary heritage of Persian-speaking cultures, including the elites of the Ottoman Empire. So what now? What does history (Homer, Shakespeare, Gilgamesh) mean for us today? What does it mean to translate? How much are we Coleman Barks, and can we understand each other outside of language? Is there thought outside of language? The purported impossibility of Qur’anic translation really resonates in this debate for me. I think there is thought outside of language – good art gets there, sometimes. And there is such a gradient between art and craftsmanship… So, I leave you with an image of the Masnawi, where art and craftsmanship intersect… and thoughts of gradients and fractals…

I will try not to be quiet with this blog, even if it’s not exactly poetry.