The Rubaiyat: translation and inspiration
Edward FitzGerald’s translation of “The Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam” is justly famous and justly beloved. I studied the poem in high school, and it was one of my favorite assignments—really, a revelation. But FitzGerald was very free with his translation, making a new and different work of art out of an already-existent work of art (or rather, many works of art; he consolidated a bunch of quatrains).
I’ve long been curious about the art of translation, and here’s a discussion, with examples, of what Fitzgerald did to create his own Rubaiyat from Omar’s.
Here’s a demonstration. First we have a literal translation of a famous quatrain (in prose, because a verse cannot be a literal translation) from Justin Huntley McCarthy:
Since life flies, what matters it whether it be sweet or bitter? Since our souls must escape through our lips, what matters it whether it be at Naishaptir or Babylon ? Drink, then, for after thou and I are dust the moon will for many days pass from her last to her first quarter, and from her first to her last.
Fitzgerald turns it into this gem:
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.
Analyzed thusly:
Each quatrain in the original is a detached thought, and with no consecutive arrangement other than an alphabetical one ; whereas in FitzGerald there is a certain unity that has been obtained by selecting fragmentary thoughts and rendering and grouping them so as to form an Oriental poem, rather than a handful of loose gems as in the original. But this arrangement renders it far more delightful to English readers, and when it has been discovered that there exists in Omar a prototype for nearly all of FitzGerald’s lines, we have no quarrel with the translator for transposing them to suit his own fancy.
I certainly have no quarrel with FitzGerald.
More, from a different literal prose translation (by Heron-Allen):
Heron-Allen :
“This vault of heaven, beneath which we stand bewildered,
We know to be a sort of magic-lantern :
Know thou that the sun is the lamp-flame and the universe is the lamp,
We are like figures that revolve in it.”FitzGerald (fourth edition) :
“We are no other than a moving row
Of Magic Shadow-shapes that come and go
Round with the Sun-illumin’d Lantern held
In Midnight by the Master of the Show.”
And I doubt there’s anyone who doesn’t know and appreciate this:
(Heron-Allen):
“I desire a little ruby wine and a book of verses,
Just enough to keep me alive, and half a loaf is needful;
And then, that I and thou should sit in a desolate place
Is better than the kingdom of a sultan.”How near this is, to –
“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! ”
One more favorite:
Mr. Heron-Allen says:
“From the beginning was written what shall be ;
Unhaltingly the Pen writes, and is heedless of good and bad;
On the First Day He appointed everything that must be –
Our grief and our efforts are vain.”This, with complementary thought selected from other quatrains of Omar, has been expanded by FitzGerald into two stanzas, 71 and 73 of the fourth edition :
“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.
Perhaps in the original Persian the first is as good as the second. Perhaps; I don’t know, because Persian is Greek to me. But in English translation, it is the second one that sings—and not just because of the rhyme, although it helps.
No small skill, to render a translation. I read Ciardi’s translation of the Divine Comedy. While his extensive notes made clear much that was obscure, I often found myself lost in the trees of the notes, and missing the forest of the epic.
There are only a handful of blogs that I read every day. One of them is Neo’s. Another is “Anecdotal Evidence,” written by Patrick Kurp. Yesterday, Kurp wrote about the Rubaiyat, and now today it’s Neo.
Amazing coincidence — at least for me, though I guess that makes it somewhat less amazing.
For anybody who’d like to read what Kurp wrote, here’s a link http://tinyurl.com/j5u3sge
The Rubaiyat is a singular treasure. Fitzgerald’s translation reveals it’s sublime essence. It may be the Mideast’s highest artistic achievement. I can’t imagine it’s author being pleased at the state of the Mideast today.
I can’t imagine it’s author being pleased at the state of the Mideast today.
And I can’t imagine the Rubaiyat sitting well with the rulers in Iran/Persia today. All that talk of wine, for instance, in a country that bans alcohol and where apparently the Ministry of Culture even removes the word “wine” from books.
What Fitz adds is the aesthetic quality and a simple efficiency of words in it’s English form.
In any case, I have no idea what it reads like in the original Persian, but one can bet it has those same aesthetic qualities in that language.
Yes, translation is a fascinating subject. I posted some thoughts & examples here:
http://chicagoboyz.net/archives/11391.html
I like Walter Arndt’s translation of Goethe’s ‘Faust’, in which he attempts to preserve the rhyme-scheme of the original as much as possible, at the cost of some loss of precision. Compare the Arndt version of the passage in which Gretchen (now pregnant by Faust) remembers her earlier attitude toward other girls in the same situation:
How readily I used to blame
Some poor young soul that came to shame!
Never found sharp enough words like pins
To stick into other people’s sins
Black as it seemed, I tarred it to boot
And never black enough to suit
Would cross myself, exclaim and preen—
Now I myself am bared to sin!
Yet all of it that drove me here
God! ws so innocent, was so dear!
Compare Randall Jarrell’s translation:
Back in the old days, how I’d score
When some poor girl had got herself in trouble
Other people’s sins–how I’d go on about them
My tongue couldn’t find enough words!
How black it all was! And then I’d blacken it some more.
And even then it wasn’t black enough
And then I’d bless myself, and feel so big
And now I’m just as bad myself!
But–everything that made me doit
God, was so good! Oh, was so sweet!
I’m sure the Jarrell version is a far closer representation of the original German; the Arndt version, though, is more likely to keep the typical reader reading.
It is a special talent to take poetry and translate it into poetry again, I imagine.
And that, too is one of my favorite works. Even though I knew it was only a translation, I guess I had never really thought about that until today. Much like I never really consider the King James Bible a translation.
I can hardly speak for the original langage and languages of the Bible, but the King James Version in English is an astonishing work of literature, whatever deeper truths lie within.
Only a century ago the KJV was still a primary influence on English literature. Hemingway’s title, “The Sun Also Arises” was a slight cleanup from the KJV, “The sun also riseth” in Ecclesiastes.
These days few students of literature know the Bible like they used to.
Yancey Ward:
I think perhaps the mark of a good translation is that it doesn’t read like a translation, it reads like an original work of art—even if it’s not an exact literal translation.
More on translating poetry or song lyrics here, here, here, and here; and here for the King James Bible.
I actually like the more literal translation of “since life flies…” This is a cool article Neo and it’s interesting to see the side by side comparisons. “The moving finger writes” is so good it gives me chills.
There are many versions of this Spanish poem. Here is my favorite translationl discovered so far of The Dark Night of the Soul by St. John of the Cross:
Once in the dark of night
When love ingited me, I yearned and rose
(Oh stroke of sheer delight!)
And went though no one knows,
Leaving behind a house in cold repose.
In darkness all went right.
By secret ladders, in clandestine clothes,
(Oh stroke of sheer delight!)
In darkness I arose
Leaving a house in cold respose.
And in the luck of the night
In secret places where no one spied
I went without my sight
Without a light to guide
Except the heart that lit me from inside.
It guided me and shone
Surer than sunlight in the noonday blue
And led me to the one,
The one I truly knew
Who waited with nobody else in view.
Oh guiding dark of night!
Oh dark of night more darling than the dawn!
Oh night that can unite
A lover and a loved one,
A lover and a loved one moved in unison.
And on m flowering breast
Which I kept for him and him alone
He slept as I caressed
And loved him for my own,
Breathing an air from redolent cedars blown.
And from the castle wall
The wind came down to winnow through his hair
Bidding his fingers fall,
Searing my throat with air
And all my senses were suspended there.
I stayed there to forget.
There on my lover, face to face, I lay.
All ended, and I let
My cares all fall away
Forgotten in the lilies on that day.
“The Moving Finger” was clearly influenced by the Book of Daniel, “Mene, meme, tekel upharsin.” Which, according to a literary theory that I think interesting — that referenced texts inform the read text — probably is some sort of FitzGerald comment on the Persians. (In Belshazzars dream/ Daniel’s interpretation, the kingdom is split.)
I preferred the more literal translation of “I desire a little ruby wine…”.
Heron-Allen has a little wine and a half a loaf, and sits in a desolate place. He finds that sitting with the subject is better than the being in a kingdom. FitzGerald has a full jug and a whole loaf; she’s beside him singing, and the wilderness is Paradise. Everything about Heron-Allen’s is ascetic. FitzGerald makes it all sensual. Every reference is indulgent. Who wouldn’t find the wilderness Paradise with wine, a woman, and song? FitzGerald isn’t saying anything more than “let’s spend the night together”. It doesn’t honor the subject. Heron-Allen’s is courtly, reverent. He desires only the subject and enough to survive.
If anyone here intends to buy the Rubiyat, be sure to find one with the Edmund J. Sullivan illustrations. I’m pretty sure the Grateful Dead plagiarized the illustration accompanying Verse XXIV – a skeleton surrounded with roses.
I’ve always thought it curious that Old Omar – who must certainly have been a Muslim – advocated the consumption of wine. The muslim fatalism is certainly woven into his poetry, though. My favorite is this one:
Come, fill the Cup and in the Fire of Spring
The Winter Garment of Repentance fling
The Bird of Time has but a little way
To Fly – and Lo! the Bird is on the Wing
Thank you Neo! I loved Omar”s verses as a teen, reread a couple of years ago, and will go root out the book to read again! Just think, no political overhang at all!
It’s very interesting post.
The are a lot of dissagreement about the number of “The Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam” some number wide different they started from 88 to 600 !
Some thinks some parts were inserted or not related to Omar Khayyam, because can’t be him due to his attitude and personality as he is well known he were ver knowledgable in medical field, sciences and mathmatics in addition to his high ranking in Islamic religious study and fiqih.
Um Kalthom, egyptian/ Arabic singer were sang “The Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam” it was one of the best of her songs, here the link if you would to listen.
https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=UKpbSN_lDbE