Iqbal was of the opinion that poetry should be translated
into another language only in prose. This, I suppose, is the most
sensible suggestion. In reading poetry, one feels before one
understands. For example:
It is so deeply moving in Urdu. But when I translated it for an Arab and, later, for a Frenchman, it left them cold.
There
is just no way of carrying the feeling from one language to another.
Iqbal is right. Only the literal meaning can be transited and so the
best vehicle would be prose.
It is said that Edward FitzGerald is
an exception to this general belief; that he has actually transposed
Omar Khayyam into English, e.g.
has been rendered into English as:
“Think, in this batter’d
Caravanserai,
Whose Portals are alternate Night and Day,
How Sultan after Sultan
with his Pomp,
Abode his destin’d Hour
and went his way.”
It
is an approximate rendering. And the lines are alien to English and yet
not authentically Persian. In English, the form is exotic, like the
lines written by Pushkin and Lermontov in the style of Saadi.
The
Iranian Scholar, Dr Mohammad Ali Faroghi, says about quatrains
attributed to Khayyam, that he was a man of mathematics, specially
Algebra, and that was a matter of pride for him. There is no proof that
the quatrains circulating in his name are his work. Even if they are,
these must be products of light moments not at all meant to be
published. Actually, they were not published in his lifetime.
Faroghi
says, the truth is that Khayyam’s reputation as a poet arose not in
Iran, but with the Europeans and Americans, who ignored his serious
works in science.
Authentic Persian poetry is deep and moving, like:
This
is not frivolity. The world before the nineteenth century was marked by
extreme material penury in general and outright deprivation for the
overwhelming majority of mankind. Here Hafiz asks the fellow-humans to
enjoy the blessings available to him - love of a woman, companionship of
a good friend etc. And yes, wine!
Take a bottle and go to a pleasant place in the countryside, where the nightingale sings for you.
“Mais la nature est là qui t’invite et qui t’aime;
Plonge-toi dans son sein qu’elle t’ouvre toujours.”
(Alphonse de Lamartine)
(But the nature is there which invites you and loves you; plunge into her bosom which she always opens for you.)
The writer is a retired ambassador.
Email: abul_f@hotmail.com